I said, “So, what other bands of mine did you see?”

“Shh.” She pointed at the TV. “Vampire movie. Maybe you should take notes. Want me to get you a pen?”

On screen Evil Ed cackled at poor Charlie and said, “Oh, you’re so cool, Brewster!”

* * *

I won’t detail the dreams I had that night. No one cares about dreams.

But I’ll say this: the dreams were wonderful, and they were terrible, and the terrible parts were what was wonderful, and the wonderful parts were the terror.

* * *

I woke in the dark, on my back, openmouthed and gasping. My lungs were bellows, squeezed clean of air underneath a grinding, spurred heel. Pinned flat, I couldn’t move. My sputtering heart was an experimental poem. I thought I was dying, that my aorta had burst and my heart hissed gouts of steam and blood. There was a part of me that didn’t want to fight, wanted to remain lying down, and was willing to be washed away like a fallen branch in a raging river.

I rolled onto my side without falling off the couch. The thing on my chest was cold and smooth, and as I pushed it to the floor my hands reacted as though it were made of spiderwebs.

I could breathe again, but my heart was still a crazed moth bashing itself into a ceiling light. I sat up, avoiding placing my feet on whatever it was that had been on my chest. I took deep, slow breaths, attempting to reboot instead of totally freaking out.

Scooting to the other end of the couch, I lunged for the end-table lamp, and as I did so, my legs flippered out behind me, kicking the coffee table and toppling it over. The table landed with a heavy thunk, followed by a raindrop patter of tabletop debris. I gathered my feet under me and turned on the lamp. The light barely cut through the murk of the room, but for my light-starved eyes, it was enough to see what I’d brushed off my chest to the floor. Sagging between the couch and prone coffee table was my leather jacket.

My forehead and temples throbbed. My brain had had enough and wanted to break free from its skull prison. My heart resumed keeping proper time, but there was a hot stitch in the left side of my chest. My lower back was weak and loose on its track. The wrong move might send it off the rails.

Shivering even though it was a warm, humid night, I gathered my coat and put it on.

Because you needed what was inside the bottle in your coat pocket.

I decided it was time to leave, even if it meant walking to my car or directly home despite my legion of physical ailments. After warily eyeing Mercy’s shrouded bed on the other side of the room, I reset the coffee table upright. In the table’s skeletal shadow, Mercy’s canvas bag had toppled and spilled its contents, including her Polaroid camera. I crept and crouched, and like a reverse burglar put the loose change and wallet and everything else back inside and then on the table.