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Back Glimmer Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY MARJORIE B. KELLOGG AVAILABLE FROM DAW BOOKS
  3. Dedication
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  47. About the Author

I shook my head. But a faint glow of hope bloomed. He was so patient, so persistent. I could almost imagine feeling safe with this man. “I need . . . time.”

He looked down. “I am pushing too hard, then. It’s all that’s going on now. I’m ready to restart my life now.”

“What, like we might all get Addered before I learn how to be normal about things?” I’d lost control of my tongue. I needed sleep. In an actual bed. Alone.

But his glance darkened far more than one irritable remark deserved. He stretched in his chair, then rose. “Something like that.”

He rested a hand on my head, unthreatening but still nudging the boundary. “To be continued.” He turned away. Nearly at the door, he muttered, “Addered. Didn’t know that was a verb.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

Someone was pounding on my cabin door. Or maybe the hull. It was loud, like right by my ear. The rhythm was broken, irregular, like the person was exhausted or desperate. Hoped it wasn’t anyone I knew. But then, no one I knew would be wandering around the marina at this hour. No way was I getting up to check.

Where was Magus? He should’ve been barking up a storm. Then I remembered. Oh, Magus. My dear, sweet boy. The loss was still so fresh.

The pounding stopped, started up again. I shrank into my berth, glad I’d locked the hatch, locked the cabin door, even locked the single port above my berth, and drawn the blackout curtain. The narrow space was hot, airless, and heavy with darkness. I felt for my big police flashlight. I could blind or brain him if he managed to break in.

Then I shuddered and was awake. Not Lizzy in her berth on Haiku, but Glim in my bunk at Unca Joe. When I got my bearings, I swung my legs over the edge and sat very still, woozy with time-slip and disassociation. First time dreaming my past. Way more vivid than simple remembering. I’d been there.

Haiku. Our fifty-foot catamaran/house boat. Now I could draw a picture of it, a deck plan, a rigging layout. If I’d had paper and pencil, I’d have done it right then, to keep these new memories from slipping away, as dreams so often do.

But the pounding went on, so that was actual, a bridge between dream and reality. And now, raw tearing noises, sudden choruses of shouts, echoing thumps that made the building vibrate. I threw on some sweats and dropped down the tier to see what was up.