She moved one hand inside his jeans and slipped her other hand under her silk underwear. She worked her lips up to his neck and darted her tongue upon his skin like a snake searching for prey. Her breath was thick and musty, as if something had taken over her body—something not of this world.

Someone knocked on the door.

In the dim light, a Nordic-looking woman sauntered into the room. Feathered bangs covered half her face, her eyes as blue as Lake Superior.

The blonde’s full lips were set in a dreamy smirk. She stalked onto the bed like a prowling feline and kneeled next to the brunette. Then she hugged the brunette from behind, her hair draping over the brunette’s shoulders.

“I love you, Stacey,” the blonde said.

“You’re so sincere,” Stacey muttered, her tongue warm and serpentine on Matt’s neck.

The blonde kissed the nape of Stacey’s neck and bundled her hair with a gentle, smooth motion.

Matt couldn’t believe this was happening. These were classy women, not the kind you find clinging to rock stars in their trailers. They weren’t going to fuck him because he was famous. They didn’t want him because he was rich. He was neither. These women just wanted him, period. As he happily watched the women, he had the distinct sensation what they shared was not merely lust, but love. They were in love with each other and maybe they loved him too.

“Turn over,” the blonde said to Stacey.

WAKE UP PERVERT! WAKE UP! the little voice said. We have no time for that. Wake up.

Matt’s eyes opened to fuzzing black and white specks, the kind you see on your TV when the cable isn’t plugged in. His head felt like a swollen watermelon. For a moment his thoughts drifted to The Incident in high school and the trapped coyote with its head pinned to the earth. The pain must have hammered the coyote’s skull the way it now hammered his.

Open your eyes, Matthew, the little voice said. Open your eyes before something opens them for you. He opened his eyelids halfway and peered into the darkness. A cool breeze stung his face, fresh from the Hurons. He found himself squinting at the night sky. No stars, though, just clouds. Crickets sang around him, the first time he’d heard them in days. The orchard grass swayed and caressed him the way it had since he was a little boy.

Matt rubbed his temples. When he pulled his hand back, blood caked his fingertips.

Must have gotten whacked pretty good, he thought. He closed his eyes, not wanting to be alive. Nice dream, too. Wish I could’ve finished that one.

At last he sat up and examined his surroundings. A shape loomed out of the orchard grass before him. The old leaning post.

Look behind you, idiot, the little voice said.

He turned.