She stumbled, which only made the man shoo her away harder, walking out to the sidewalk to stop her there. But Lara found her legs wouldn’t move. There was also now a voice inside her. They think you’re drunk.

“But I’m not drunk,” Lara answered.

Don’t talk to me, Lara. They can’t see me.

“Huh?” This voice was weird. “Cecile?”

Yes. Lara, listen to me. Your body is having a reaction to me being in it. I had feared this. It will take time to adjust, if it can absorb me. If not, then we have bigger problems, but for now, you need to act normal. Do you understand?

Looking across the street, Lara could see that everyone in the restaurant had turned and was staring at her. They had spoonfuls of soup and bitefuls of duck on their utensils, mouths agape—all had stopped mid-bite and mid-conversation to take in the spectacle of her. “I understand.”

Lara heard a groan followed by a sigh of frustration in her head. Obviously, you don’t.

A man in a suit appeared and stepped in front of the waiter. “You need to leave, now.”

Lara couldn’t understand him, but the voice in her head did.

Do you know where you were staying before you came to the circus? I cannot help you, these streets look different to me.

“Hotel Vivienne,” said Lara to the voice.

The man did not budge and pointed to the left. “Rue Vivienne. Hotel Vivienne. Allez.”

Lara knew what allez meant—“go.” But she could feel her legs swaying, which made her think of the chills she was having. Violent chills.

Lara. Lara.

She wasn’t sure she answered, but she could feel the impact of the sidewalk on her knees and knew they had to be bloodied.

Todd was there. Todd? He was overexposed—the too-bright sun, like the scene from the carousel that caused her to squint up at him. She was so relieved to see him. He’d help her. This version of him was glorious—square chin, brown hair that he pulled back into a low ponytail. He sat on the hood of his car, the beloved Mustang. The one he’d been separated from—the same car that had been towed through town. Now he was perched on it as though their wedding day had never happened. This was what it would have been like, Lara thought. He wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt and jeans, black high-top Chuck Taylors. He was peeling a blade of grass in two, and she realized they were parked in a field. She turned and walked up the hill, unsure of what this scene meant—trying to interpret it like a dream. “Where are you going, Lara?” he called. “Stay with me.”