Zander.

“Remember . . .”

I’m looking around now, desperately, looking around trying to find the source of the voice, but it’s everywhere and nowhere. It’s infinite.

“Zander . . . ?”

But now I’m falling. Falling back down and getting smaller. No power. Just a bleak descent, getting smaller and smaller, shutting in on myself and down down down, toward the blue marble, into the atmosphere, below the clouds, down above the treetops and now through the roof, back into the covers on the bed.

But I don’t wake.

I’m still dreaming.

In my dream I want desperately to go back to the constellations, to hear that voice and see the beauty there. To feel the beauty there.

But it’s impossible.

In my dream now, I hide under the covers, pulling them over me like a shield. Shivering. Scared. Unable to open my eyes.

Begging to wake up.

Chapter 36

Dawn, now. The sun coming in.

I’m dreading breakfast. Penelope will be there. But, of course, downstairs in the kitchen, she acts as if everything is super normal. As if last night she did not come into my room and stand over me with a hammer. A hammer she found at the foot of my door.

I watch her, sipping her morning coffee as if everything is just peachy.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore.

“So, um . . . that was pretty weird last night,” I say, hoping to open the matter up for a polite discussion.

“What was?” She keeps sipping.

“Um . . . when you came into my room,” I answer.

“Into your room? Don’t be ridiculous.” She sips, again.

Wait.

What?

“Uh, I don’t think I’m being ridiculous . . . I think something really strange happened last night.”

She looks at me. “My dear girl. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

It’s not harsh, the way she says it. Just matter of fact.

“Oh, no no no no. You don’t get to pretend that didn’t happen. It was insane. And scary. And you don’t get to pretend it doesn’t exist.” I’m trying to keep my temper.

“Scary? What do you mean, scary?” she asks, genuinely curious.

“Okay. Last night . . . don’t you remember? You came into my room . . . and you were standing above me . . . with a hammer in your hand,” I tell her.

“What an insane accusation!” She looks sincerely baffled.

I’m shaking, trying to contain myself. “I really can’t believe you’re pretending this didn’t happen.”

“Dear girl, has it occurred to you that this might have been a dream?” she asks, genuine.

My mouth opens to answer, but then somehow I can’t form the words. I contemplate this.

I did have that vivid dream about the constellations and flying. But I’m fairly sure this happened before.

I mean—that this really happened.

“Exactly,” she says, taking my silence as affirmation. Case closed! “You were dreaming. Certainly, a macabre kind of dream. But, then again, I don’t know you quite that well. Maybe you had a macabre upbringing.”