Then he found himself on the sidewalk in front of his house in his gym shorts and T-shirt—no shoes. The wind was as high as it had been the previous morning on his way to the library. It rustled the trees and sounded like running water. Owen’s hair was tossed in the gale, and he knew he should have felt colder in such meager clothes. He looked down and could see through himself, just barely. Holding up his left hand, he saw the outline of the full moon through it. For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been a ghost.

And yet he could smell the spring night, heard the insects buzzing at the streetlight two houses down. Creepers sang and a night bird, far off, cried shrilly. A dog barked. He looked around and saw the living room light on in his next-door neighbor’s house. Mrs. Hultz, seventy-five, who’d lived there his entire life, had recently confided in him that she never slept anymore. Instead, she drank gin and watched old mystery movies all night. Up the street, he saw the Blims’ dog, Hecate, a mad Sheltie—in silhouette by moonlight—shitting on the Rogerses’ lawn. Music came from some house, Nat King Cole, singing “Too Young.” Owen took a few steps and felt as if he were gliding along the sidewalk. The movement was strange but pleasant for its unexpected lightness.

Since he took the entire experience to be a dream, he decided to draw closer to Mrs. Hultz’s house and see what she was watching. The lighted window looked in over her shoulder. She sat in an old armchair upholstered with pink flowers. He saw her blue-white hair, the frame of her enormous glasses, and her arm bending, bringing the crystal gin to her lips. One glance at the TV, and he saw she was watching some old black-and-white movie. The quiet scene was a tableau of loneliness, but Owen felt it peaceful. There was a quick flash of Orson Welles’s face emerging from the shadows, and he knew it was Carol Reed’s The Third Man. Upon noticing Welles, he heard, very faintly, as if being played by a mosquito, the sound of zither music. He leaned his head closer to the window to better hear it. The classic tune came much clearer. In the next second, he realized he was leaning through the side of the house into Mrs. Hultz’s living room like something from a cartoon. The experience made him shudder, which shook loose a memory of Helen dead behind the counter. In an instant, he was reeled in, rolled up, and everything went black.

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