“I wadda go hobe!” the boy wailed again—he had no idea how he had gotten here. Then Allie realized a moment too late that she wasn’t hiding behind his consciousness— she was out there in the open, right in the middle of his mind. Now that she was awake, the boy knew she was there, and he screamed in terror.

“Who are you?” the boy wailed. “Go away! Go away! Get out of here!” Allie’s mother backed off, thinking he was talking to her. “I don’t want you here! Get out of me!”

This was a bad situation that was only getting worse. The best Allie could hope for now was damage control. She struggled to seize the boy’s body, and send him back to dreamland, but now that he knew she was there, he didn’t go easily. He went kicking and screaming all the way, until finally his thoughts fell in upon themselves and he was unconscious.

Allie was in control, but the boy’s body was still full of fear and heaving with sobs. She looked to her father who was holding the phone in one hand, and in his other hand … in his other hand …

… he had no other hand.

His left arm now ended just past the elbow. As Allie tried to process this, she saw that his left hand was shifting the phone in his palm, preparing to dial with his thumb. He was poised over the 9 button.

Calling 911 was definitely not part of Allie’s damage control.

“You’re calling the police?” Allie screeched, using the boy’s wild state to her advantage. “I don’t want the police! I don’t I don’t I don’t!” She screamed as loudly as she could, and her father looked helpless.

“Put down the phone, Adam!” her mother ordered.

“All right, all right!” He dropped it on the desk like it was about to explode. “There, I’ve put it down.”

Allie stopped screaming, and took a minute to calm the boy’s body down, allowing her mother to hold her. Allie hugged her back, and took more comfort from it than her mother could possibly know. The convulsive sobs eased until they were nothing more than shallow sniffles. “Can you tell us your name?” Allie’s father asked.

Allie did know his name, because if there’s one thing that little kids fill every thought with, it’s their identity.

“Danny,” she said. “Danny Rozelli.”

“Well, Danny,” said Allie’s mom, “I think you did a little bit of sleepwalking last night.”

“Yeah,” said Allie, “sleepwalking, yeah.” She was always impressed by her mother’s ability to be logical against all reason.

“Could you tell us where you live?” Allie’s father asked.

She knew where Danny Rozelli lived, but wasn’t ready to share that information, so she shook her head, and said, “Something street.”

Her parents sighed in unison.