“I suppose it’s a trade-off. How badly do you want something, and how big is the risk?”

“Question. So it’s okay to risk another’s life or happiness simply because you really want something?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Question. Are you and Jason still sleeping together?”

Frankie stopped.

“What? How dare you ask me something like that? What does that have to do with anything? It’s none of your business!”

Marvin kept walking, leaving her behind. He seemed taller than he was in real life.

Frankie’s senses felt oddly sharp. The noise of the waves was crisp and unnaturally loud, making her want to cover her ears. The beach was littered with hundreds of dead fish, their carcasses swarmed by flies, and rotting flesh squished under her bare toes. A briny smell filled her nose. Everything in the world felt bigger, brighter, and more intense. The ocean. The huge rocky cliffs climbing to the sky. Her father striding ahead of her. It was like a movie playing in her head.

She caught up with him. His voice was softer now.

“Was I a good father?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “No.”

“You’re successful.”

“Not because of you.”

“Did I praise you enough?”

“No.”

“I need you,” her father said.

She cocked her head. “What?”

“You have ten minutes to save me.”

“What?”

She blinked, and her father was suddenly gone. She stood alone on the beach. The wind and waves grew more ferocious, as if she were in the center of a storm. Dead fish washed in with each slap of the tide. Spray soaked her skin. She looked all around to find her father, and then she saw him—a silhouette high on the tall cliff, his arms spread wide. He was going to jump.

“Stop!”

Frankie shouted, but the noise drowned her voice. She ran, but the wet sand sucked her down. He flew. Gravity brought him shooting toward her, larger and faster with each second. She turned away in horror, but she heard the sickening thump of flesh and rock colliding. Not ten feet in front of her, when she looked again, her father’s broken form cartwheeled down the beach and lay still. She stood over him. His limbs were twisted. Blood striped his face.

His eyes snapped open.

They were not human eyes under his eyelids. They were fly eyes. Bug eyes. His lips grew into a giant, red-lipped grin from ear to ear. He sang to her in a horrible falsetto.

“Fran-kieeee, Fran-kieeee.”

She bolted upward in bed, screaming. Her body under her nightgown was clammy with sweat, and she threw off the covers. Warm sunlight streamed through the windows of her bedroom. She shook herself to drive the dream out of her brain, but the memory lingered, making her shiver.