And why did that man look at me with such a knowing expression? Russell called him Josiah. He must be the new DA. Why did he tip an imaginary hat to me? It’s almost as if he also knew I broke the vase. Which is patently impossible. Isn’t it?

She pressed her hands over her eyes, remembering the sparks of light at the edges of her sight and the burst of energy that had shot out of her body just before the vase crashed into a million irreparable pieces. Was she quite sure she wasn’t going crazy?

The angry hornet of her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Grabbing it, she checked the screen. There were many more texts and calls than before, and a low-battery warning that said she had less than ten percent power.

A power cord was another thing she hadn’t thought to grab. She made another call to the concierge desk. Then she sat, cupping the phone in her hands and staring into space until a knock sounded at her door and everything she had ordered arrived.

After eating a few bites of pasta and drinking most of the wine, she finally felt calm enough to shower and fall into bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she went out like a light.

After a formless darkness, she found herself in a kitchen.

It was large and Victorian, decorated with yellow-patterned tiles and pale green paint. Warm sunlight streamed through tall windows while, outside, someone was gardening. A man with shaggy blond hair walked by, carrying a rake over one broad shoulder.

A woman stood cooking at a clunky, ancient gas stove, her back turned to Molly. Graying hair tumbled down her back. She had a round, comfortable figure, and she wore an old flowered housecoat.

“You’re a noisy one,” the woman said. Her rich, warm voice washed over Molly’s shattered nerves like a soothing balm. “Woke me out of a sound sleep, you did. I thought since I was awake, I might as well scramble a few eggs.”

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” Molly said. “I don’t know how I got here.”

“No? Well, don’t fret about it,” said the woman. “When are you coming to see me?”

“I don’t know that either. I don’t know who you are or where this is. Or, for that matter, what I’m doing here.”

As Molly looked around, she realized she was sitting on a tall stool at a large butcher-block table in the middle of the kitchen. She was wearing the T-shirt she had worn to bed, and her legs were bare. Embarrassed, feeling exposed, she hooked her heels on the edge of her chair and tucked her knees under the shirt.