What did they see, this intruder? Did they watch me? As I made my chicken and grape salad, or as I watched TV, or slept? The only real question, of course, is, did they see Lauren and Olivia? They can’t have done. I would know by now. There would have been consequences.

Mommy would say, look for the variable. My neighbors, the police—they haven’t bothered me for years. So what has changed?

The neighbor lady. She is new. She is the variable. She didn’t want to be my friend. She stood me up at the bar. I stare at her house and think.

I was going to unground Lauren and let her come home this weekend—but that can’t happen obviously. And there can be no more dates, for now. It’s not safe.

“Lauren can’t come out to play,” I sing along to the music. Then I realize that’s kind of mean, so I stop. I have been very stupid but I will take care from now on.

Deal with things one at a time. Lauren first, then I’ll see about the intruder. Maybe it’s the neighbor lady, maybe not.

I think I hear a Chihuahua barking in the street and I put my eye to the peephole to look. Maybe she’s back! That would be one less thing to worry about. The bark comes again—it’s much deeper and louder than a Chihuahua. The man with the orange-juice hair comes into view, walking his dog to the woods. He looks at my house and for a second it’s like our eyes meet, like he sees me. But he can’t see me through the peephole, I tell myself. Then I think, he doesn’t live on our street, so why is he always here? Is he the Bird Murderer, or the intruder, or both? I sit down with my back against the wall, heart galloping. My nerves are singing like struck metal.

Bourbon, just to calm me down. I drink it standing out in the yard, watching the neighbor lady’s house. Let her see me.

DEE

She has not had the dream since she moved to Needless Street. Tonight it begins immediately, as if in response to some long-awaited cue.

Dee is walking by the lake. The trees lean over, casting dark, glassy reflections. Damselflies kiss the surface of the water, sending out shining circles. The sky above is an aching nothing. The sand beneath her feet is sharp, a million tiny shards of glass. She bleeds but feels no pain. Or perhaps there is so much pain in her that she doesn’t notice the cuts. She keeps walking. Dee would give anything to stop, to turn, to wake. But she has to get to the trees and the birds and the nests, that’s how it goes. She has to see it.