It was funny, he reflected as he placed a foot in the brook and felt the cold water swirl around it. He had known her for years, had loved her from the first day he had met her, yet for the life of him he couldn’t remember her name.

“It’s Jennifer,” she said.

“Right.” He nodded. “Jennifer.”

“Please hurry, Sebastian,” she said. “I’m frightened.”

“I’m coming.”

He crossed the brook in five large steps, feeling remarkably invigorated by the water.

“You see?” he laughed. “There’s nothing to it.” He paused, momentarily disoriented. “Now what?”

“Now carry me across.”

“Why don’t I just hold your hand and lead you?” he asked.

“The stones hurt my feet,” she said, half crooning the words. “Won’t you please carry me?”

He sighed. “If that’s what you want.”

“You’ll have to drop the stick first,” she said.

He frowned. “What stick?”

“The stick you’re carrying in your right hand. You can’t lift me up if you’re carrying a stick.”

“Sure I can,” he said, suddenly uneasy.

“It will hurt me,” she said, “and it might even rip my dress. Please drop it, Sebastian.”

He took a step back, still reluctant to drop the stick. “Something’s wrong,” he said, frowning again.

“What is it?” she asked innocently.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe it’s the dress.”

The dress became a burgundy skirt and a frilly white blouse.

“Is this better, Sebastian?”

He stared at it. “I suppose so,” he said at last.

“Then carry me across the brook. I’m late.”

“For what?”

She giggled. “You know,” she said with a sense of shared intimacy.

“Oh.”

He stood motionless.

“Well?” she said at last.

“It’s still wrong,” he said, puzzled.

“What is, Sebastian?”

“I don’t know. Let me think for a minute.”

“We haven’t got a minute, Sebastian. I’m late. Don’t tease me like this.”

He took a step toward her. “I’ve almost got it.”

“Hurry, Sebastian!” she said, a note of urgency creeping into her voice.

He reached out to her uneasily.

“The stick, Sebastian,” she chanted seductively. “Put it down.”

He dropped the stick.

“Thank you,” she said, a strange smile on her lips. “Are you happy, Sebastian?”

“I suppose so,” he said, forcing himself to return her smile.

“I’m so glad.”

“What’s that in your hand?” he asked, peering at some shining object he hadn’t seen before.

“A flower,” she said. “A lovely silver flower.”

“It’s very pretty,” he said, the uneasiness growing within him once again.

“Would you like a closer look, Sebastian?”

“Yes, I—Shit!” he muttered, diving for the stick. He grabbed it as he rolled over on the ground, pointed it at her, and squeezed it.