“Not a word, he just moved—thrashed. That’s how I’d know a fit was coming on: The bed would start moving—thumping, like an earthquake, Pierce’s feet kicking the mattress. Lying on his back, kicking with his heels—like he was marching somewhere. Then his hands would shoot up.” She stretched her arms toward the ceiling. “Like he was being arrested. Then his hands would slam down fast, start slapping the bed and waving around wild, and soon he’d be grunting and punching the mattress and kicking—his feet never stopped. Then he’d arch his back and freeze—like he was paralyzed, like he was building up steam to explode and you could see his teeth gnashing and his eyes would pop real wide. But they weren’t looking at anything, he was somewhere else—some hell only he could see. He’d hold that frozen pose for maybe ten seconds, then let go and start punching himself—in the chest, on the stomach, on the face. Sometimes, the next morning, he’d be bruised. I tried to stop him from hurting himself, but it was impossible, his arms were like iron rods, it was all I could do to jump out of the bed to avoid getting hit myself. So I’d just stand there and wait for him to finish. Just before he was finished, he’d let out a howl—this loud howl that would wake up the horses. They’d start mewling, and sometimes the coyotes would chime in. That was something to hear—coyotes screaming from miles away. Ever hear that? When a pack of them goes at it? It’s not like a dog barking, it’s a thousand creatures gone crazy. Ululation’s the name for it. They’re supposed to do it only when they’re killing or mating, but Pierce’s howling would get them going.”

She’d squeezed the bandana into a blue ball. Now she studied her fingers as they uncurled. “Those coyotes were scared witless by the sound of Pierce’s fear.”

She offered me a drink that I declined, got up and filled herself a glass of water from the kitchen tap. When she sat back down, I said, “Did Pierce have any memory of the nightmares?”

“Nope. When the fit was over he’d just go back to sleep, and there’d be no mention of it. The first time that happened, I let it pass. The second time, I was shook up but still said nothing. The third time, I went to see Dr. Harrison. He listened and didn’t say much and that evening he came by, paid a visit to Pierce—alone, in Pierce’s darkroom. After that, Pierce started seeing him for regular sessions, again. About a week in, Dr. H. had me over to his house, and that’s when he told me about Pierce struggling to live with failure.”