“Yeah, but not literally. It’s not memories we’re talking about here. This—” She waved a hand to take in the room. “This is all real.”

“No, it’s not like that,” I said, remembering what Timony had told me. “It’s only like that if you believe it to be true.”

“Oh, how I wish that were true. But I know better. I . . .”

She broke off and turned to the window. It took me a moment to hear the voices that had distracted her. Outside I saw unkempt fields, choked with high weeds and brush. Beyond them was a forest—mostly dark cedar, maple and pine. It all looked vaguely familiar—as though I’d seen it before, just not from this particular perspective. In the closest field, I could see a man approaching along a path that wound through the weeds. He had a loose, lanky stride and held the hand of a little girl who trotted to keep up with him. Behind them another little girl followed, redhaired and trailing a half field back. They were all too far away for me to make out any real details.

I turned back to look at Jilly. Her face was scrunched up, eyes closed, brow furrowed.

“Jilly, what are—”

“Shhh,” she told me. “I’m trying to concentrate on sending you back.”

“I don’t want to go back. I’ve been looking for you ever since you disappeared. I’m here to help you.”

Her eyes opened and her gaze met mine. Her eyes held an unfamiliar sadness.

“There’s no one in the world I’d rather see than you,” she told me. “But that’s just me being selfish. Every moment you’re here is more dangerous than the last. You have to go back.”

“Not without you.”

“This is no time to be brave, Geordie, me lad. It’s a time for running away and hiding.”

“Then run away with me.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. Everything that’s horrible and dangerous comes from inside of me. How can you run away from yourself?”

I’d never seen this Jilly before. I don’t mean the child she now was, but the defeatist attitude she wore like a huge weight on her shoulders. The Jilly I knew had no patience for resignation or any sort of unhappy acceptance to whatever obstacles the world could throw at a person. And she’d had some serious problems, both as a child and an adult, from her brother’s mistreatment of her to the accident that had left her sitting in a wheelchair most of a day.

But regardless of their severity, she’d always met her difficulties head-on, often with a cheerful smile that was surprisingly genuine.

“Ms. The-Glass-Is-Half-Full,” she’d say. “That’s me.”

But now she stood in front of me, lost and vulnerable with a hopeless look in her eyes.