“We’re fine! The boys will burn his GPS in the backyard. That bot’s got at least an ounce of fluff in him. He’s not leaving here.” Matt shrugged Lacy off and lumbered toward Joey, closing his hand around his shoulder tight enough to crush his frame. He put his fingers against Joey’s face and pulled down the skin beneath his eyes. “You’re fucking pristine,” he said.

“Matt, you said you loved me. This is the only thing I’ll ever ask, just let him go.”

Matt turned toward Lacy and looked at her in the bed. Then he turned back to Joey, whose head was still in his grasp. “Nobody’s letting anyone go. Come on,” he said to Joey, “let’s open you up.”

That was when Joey heard the click of the safety. Lacy raised the gun from the bedside table and pointed it at Matt. “Let him go,” she said.

Matt turned his head toward Lacy. “Really?” he asked. “You’re going to shoot me for a fucking bot?”

“I can take a lot more bullets than you can,” she said.

Joey looked to his sister. “Lacy—”

“Shut up, Joey. Matt, let him go. Now.”

Matt released Joey from his grip and rose to face Lacy. “Don’t pretend like you have emotions.”

“Joey, leave. Right now. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

And though Joey was certain he’d feel the men’s hands pulling him back into the room, he listened to his sister, who was lying to him in the same breath as she was saving him. And Lacy was right: no one touched him as he ran down the hallway, or stopped him when he unlocked the front door and escaped into the waiting cab.

On the dark state road were farms and a couple of low-lying ranch houses. Every now and again a street lamp emerged, sending a momentary flash of light through the car. The driver adjusted his rearview mirror to look at Joey. “You okay?” he asked.

Joey was nestled in the corner of the backseat, looking out at the fields of dry and broken corn husks. Soon it’d be Christmas, and the radio station was playing some version of “Silent Night.” What he needed was for his mother to hold him like she had when he was small. She’d wrapped him in her arms and covered him in his Snoopy blanket and told him there was nothing to be afraid of—no monsters in his closet, in the basement, or under his bed. He was safe. And Joey realized, as clearly as if it were his sister speaking, that none of those memories had ever happened. There was no Snoopy blanket, no mom holding him, just the plastic flakes of another snow globe, and his tears soaking the collar of his shirt against his chin.