His palms sink into the mattress, feeling its cool softness. Lying facedown on it, his nose pressing into the sheets, inhaling deeply. They are clean, their fresh scent something he can not explain. He lets his body sink into the bed. It is like diving into a vat of cool, minty pudding. Soft and soothing, caressing and hugging his sore body. And again he finds himself in tears. Lying on the bed, enveloped in its comfort, he wants never to move, never to leave. His body quakes. His senses are firing on all synapses at once. He has lost all the things he took for granted. Stripped of everything—his daughter, his mother, and his wife—and here he is, rediscovering joy. Rediscovering the simplest of pleasures. Drifting off, there is only silence. Feeling himself falling down a pit, faster and faster, he cannot stop until, quite abruptly, he stands before a room with its door open wide. Inside, his daughter begs for help because the floor has fallen away to become a cliff. One hand holds on for dear life. The other hand dangles, reaches for Jack.

Oh, how he hurt! But he reaches for her hand. Takes it. It slips from his grasp. He can’t hold on to it. It is slick to the touch.

“Why are you letting go, Daddy? Why?”

“I’m not. I can’t hold on.”

“Neither can I.” She falls, and her screams echo up to him.

“No!”

Jack falls forward. Rushing into darkness, only to be standing before his home when it ignites. A window shatters, and in the open space, his daughter appears, screaming, “Help me Daddy! Help me!” Running to the front door, he grabs the knob. It is so hot, his palm sizzles. But he cannot turn it.

“Help me, Daddy!”

As he goes to try the door again, the home flashes over, engulfed completely, taking his daughter’s shape with it.

Again the floor opens up and Jack is falling. Faster and faster and faster until eyes open. Quick gasp of air. He rolls off the bed, spills onto the cool cobblestone floor. His eyes open on a pair of snakeskin boots. He follows them up a pair of pressed denim jeans. Looks up at a man of Latino descent. Midthirties. Coal-black hair with a peppering of gray, trimmed and wavy. His hands glitter with gold rings. He smiles.

“You’re a popular man.”

Jack pushes himself up to his creaky knees, braces a hand on the bed, gets himself upright. “Who are you?”

Confident green eyes. Slim. Muscular but not huge—the build of a college wrestler. He says, “Who I am is not important at this time. All you need to know is you’re safe.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

Smiling, he says, “Your people are looking for you. Offered a, shall we say, hefty incentive. They reached out.”

“My people?”

“People you manage, employ. Your company.”