Markings (5 page)

Chapter 5: Birthday Surprises

T
he damp floor squished below my toes. Trees
towered on every side, shooting miles upwards. Their bare branches were pointed, crawling over the purple sky like spider legs
.

I shuddered. Where the heck was I? One second I had been on the trail, the next I was here. Had I taken a wrong turn? Looking around the clearing, I shivered uncontrollably. The air carried a chill that left my breath hanging in the air. Shadows surrounded me like walls. Between them and the trees, it was impossible to see into the woods. Where was the path?

The hair down my spine stood up. I whirled around and froze.

A red cedar tree stood off to the side. Something shifted below its needles on the ground. I couldn’t really see what it was—the being blended in with the dark, making its shape un-definable—only that it was very large . . . and had bright, amber eyes.

I stumbled backwards, terrified to leave the light, but desperate to get away. The creature stared at me from its hiding place, never blinking. It expelled a low, wolf-like rumble as the breeze came through.

“Child of the Shifter and Shiftless.” A whispery voice filled my ears. “Heir to the fallen queen and son, to you a deathbed waits.”

The creature blinked. With the help of evening’s last light, I saw the outline of a shadow darker than the others. Its body unfolded, connected to four legs, a long back, and a bushy tail. It slinked around the clearing, circling it, never coming fully into view.

“In the shadows they wait, those of dominant rule to the western lands,” the voice continued. “Feared by many, lost are the lives of those who’ve crossed them. Destruction, until one capable of all forms sheds thy mortal skin.”

I walked slowly around the clearing, trying to ignore the creepy voice and concentrate on the moving eyes. They grew to be more yellow than amber. My instincts told me to do exactly what I shouldn’t: run. Bolt. Scream. They were hard urges to resist, and as I finally caught sight of the trail, I’m not sure how I managed.

This time when the voice spoke, I felt the breath in my ear, though no one stood behind me. “Be wary of the company you keep, dear one,” it warned. “Those with golden eyes seek revenge and blood, not friends.”

Suddenly the prowling shadow and yellow eyes disappeared. I whipped around, trying to find it. Where did it go, where did it go? I needed to find it before it could pop out of the trees and claim, if the voice had been true, my blood.

But the monster was gone. Another figure appeared. A tall boy stepped through the ferns, hands in his pockets as he stood at the clearing’s edge. He looked up, tossing his hair from his freckled face. Aaron watched me, a hungry look in his eyes. A smile curved his lips.

I woke abruptly, head jerking off the pillow. My nightlight flickered at the end of the bed, the woods disappearing.

I was in my room.

Groaning, I sat up, brushing some hair from my mouth. Light flooded the curtains. My comforter drooped off the bed, damp sheets twisted around my legs. I flipped the blankets off to find myself covered in sweat. I shivered. My room felt strangely chilly, like the dream. Maybe the furnace had turned off again. Wrapping a dry blanket around myself, I checked the clock. Six-ten. Thursday morning. A little earlier than I usually got up, but an extra-long shower didn’t sound like a bad idea.

My shoulders burned under the hot water. The itch came and went instantly. As I towel-dried off, patches of bumpy red skin caught my eye. I picked at the inflammation, grimacing at the bathroom mirror. If it didn’t clear up soon I would call the doctor. It looked like poison oak, but when would I have come in contact with that? It wasn’t a common plant around here, and even on the reserve I’d been careful to avoid it.

I pulled out some clean jeans and a soft, short-sleeve turtleneck. I zipped up my jacket and picked my glasses off the nightstand. I gasped and leapt back. The glasses fell off the tip of my nose, tumbling across the carpet. I blinked a second then bent down to pick them up. Looking through the lenses, everything was blurry. Really blurry. I lowered them and focused across the room. Everything appeared . . . crystal clear?

What the hay
? A large teddy bear slumped against the side of my desk. He’d been a get-well gift from Dad some years ago, when I’d been sick with the flu. I’d named him Mr. Chips, after some TV character I barely remember. I focused on Mr. Chips’ figure, looking through the glasses again. He became a fat, white blur I lowered the glasses. He was suddenly sharp as a knife. I must’ve done this several times, a little more surprised with each round.

I could
see
!

“Mom!” I threw the glasses aside, dashing out of the room. I didn’t care if she was sleeping. She had to know!

I came to her bedroom door down the hall, only to find it ajar. The curtains hung neatly around the windows, their middles tied back. The sun reflected off her jumbled blankets. She wasn’t in bed. Darting downstairs to the living room, I saw the TV on, the kitchen glowing. The aroma of burnt butter and something sweet filled the air.

I walked into the kitchen. Sitting on the table was a plate steaming with fresh bacon and chocolate chip pancakes.
What the heck
? A large postal box was beside the plate, a piece of notebook paper tucked under the corner. I pulled the paper towards me.

Got called in early. But eat up, sweet girl, and save some of your energy! Make sure you call the shelter and tell them you’re not coming in today! We’re going out this afternoon no matter who dies or what chef calls out! Happy birthday! I love you so much.

Xoxo! –Mom

How distracted do you have to be to forget your own birthday? Never in my sixteen—seventeen now—years had I forgotten this day!

Sitting down at the table, I picked up the fork Mom had left out and sawed off a bite of pancake. It melted in my mouth. Biting into a piece of bacon, I prodded at the postal box, turned it around. I frowned as I caught sight of the address.
Oh, great
. It was from Dad. Beside the address, I saw Mom’s handwriting.

Better just get it over with now!

I huffed a sigh. “Thanks for the advice, Mom.” She should know by now I didn’t need a warning. I’d learned to deal with Dad sending fancy, expensive, forgive-me-for-cheating-on-your-mother gifts . . . It was the letters, the pictures he sent with it that I still had a hard time with. Here was the thing: I didn’t want to hear about Dad’s life. He could ask about mine, but I didn’t want to hear about his vacations in Hawaii or how his skateboarding store was the biggest thing since Zumiez. I didn’t want to see pictures of the mansion he might buy, and I most certainly did
not
want to see pictures of his slinky, boob-job blonde who I referred to as She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named . . . I didn’t want to see the life he’d built without us.

I pushed the box aside and proceeded to stuff myself with chocolate chip pancakes.

•   •   •

At school, Kat freaked out when she saw I was glasses-less. She squealed out of excitement when I told her about it, the sound echoing through the locker room.

“I’m sorry, I—I just can’t believe it!” She hopped up and down in her cardigan and lacy underwear, like a kid before bath time.

I laughed, shutting my locker. “I know, me neither. Now put your shorts on, dork.”

“Oh! Before I forget.” She grinned while reaching for the back of her locker. She pulled out a colossal pink bag oozing tissue paper.

“Aw, Kat,” I said as she handed it over. “I told you nothing extravagant.”

“Psh! It’s not that extravagant,” she laughed, pulling on a pair of neon shorts. “Open it, open it! We have time before they shoo us into the dog pen.” She glanced over her shoulder at the group of girls crowded around the door. By
dog pen
, she meant the gym.

I tore the tissue paper out, finding a white envelope inside. I set it on my lap. It didn’t take me long to find the main gift: a giant, plush cougar with a bow around its neck. “Oh my gosh,” I laughed. She knew I had a soft spot for stuffed animals, especially the big ones that double as pillows.

“Yeah, I was going to tell you I found the cougar that escaped,” she smirked.

I ripped open the envelope, revealing a card with Barbies in ballet dresses. Shifting the card behind the bag, a piece of construction paper fell out. I bent to pick it off the floor, realizing it was a whole other card, one that—judging by the ribbon and hot glue—Kat had made herself.

Happy 17th Birthday!
This Gift Certificate is one of a kind and nonrefundable.
Only valid this coming weekend
A trip for three to
Mt. Hood’s
Purple Iris Resort:
A free stay & hiking & adventure & all you can eat buffet!

It was my turn to squeal. I jumped up, throwing my arms around her. “Oh, Kat! You bought me a
vacation
?”

“Your cougar’s getting fur in my mouth.” She pushed on the stuffed animal pressed against her face. “Well, it’s not just for you—it’s sort of a celebration for Mom. Her boss has offered her a position full-time at the office, so she’ll no longer be working for the shelter. We wanted you to come along and celebrate with us.”

I stood back, overcome by an emotional surge.

“Aw, don’t cry, Lina.” With her sleeves, Kat brushed the corners of my eyes.

“I love you, Kat. You’re so awesome.” I sniffled, trying to remember the last time I really took a vacation. A real one, away from Seaside or Wildcat Country. Not much surfaced.

•   •   •

My head pounded, like someone had banged a hammer against it while I’d been sleeping. I squinted at the light drifting through the crack in my curtains. It seemed so bright. It burned my eyes.

“Oh, God,” I groaned as my stomach rolled. What had the chef stuffed into those crab puffs last night at the restaurant? They’d tasted fine, though indeed rich. And I
had
asked for extra ice cream on that 3-layer-chocolate cake.

I wobbled to the closet. Holding to the handles, I closed my eyes, waiting for the acid to climb my throat. My insides felt pinched, like they were being squeezed through a tube. I plucked out the first bra and pair of clean underwear I could find then retreated to the shower. I’d been under the hot water barely a minute when I needed to sit down.
Maybe a bath would do instead
. I reached for the handle and a splotch of black caught my eye. Tilting my head, I gasped, nearly jumping out of my skin.

I flung aside the shower curtain and leaped out, water pooling on the floor as I ran to the sink. Steam enveloped the mirrors, creating a translucent seal. Grabbing a nearby towel, I swiped the steam away. The girl staring back at me was covered in itchy, small spots from her collarbone all across her shoulders.

They looked like . . .
leopard
spots.

There must’ve been two, maybe three dozen of them. Each had a slightly different shape, but all of them were small and black as coal, their centers hollow.

A knock echoed off the bathroom door. “Hey! What’s the hold up in there?” Mom called. “I need a shower, too, you know! Did you leave me any hot water?”

I threw a towel over my shoulders, collecting myself enough to open the door.

Mom’s eyebrows furrowed. “Lina, what’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”

I groaned, “I don’t feel so good either.”

“Are you sick?” She pressed a hand to my damp forehead. “You’re a little warm. I can’t tell if it’s just from the shower though.”

I held my stomach. “I don’t know. I’m really dizzy and a little nauseous.” It wasn’t a lie.

Mom sighed, made a comment about how pale I looked then waved a hand to my room.

“I’ll call the school when I’m out of the shower. Go get some rest,” she said as I slipped out and around her. She muttered something about last night’s chocolate cake before heading into the bathroom.

Once I heard the bathroom door close, I jogged down the hall. Safely shut in my room, I dropped the towel and ran to my full body mirror. Luckily, the spots had only invaded my shoulders. I ran a finger up my left arm. They felt so strange, the fur sprouting out of my pores. The soft fibers were like peach fuzz, only thicker. The thickest patches circled my shoulders then grew thinner and faded out mid-arm.

I sunk to the floor, shaking, gaping at my reflection. How had this happened? Where had these things come from? Maybe I was delusional
No, they’re real
. They felt real, looked real. I crawled across the floor. Oozing back into bed, I pulled the covers over me. The spots rubbed against the sheets, making me cringe. I couldn’t feel the skin of my shoulders touching the pillow.

Maybe if I sleep
. It wasn’t a bad idea, and what other option did I have? Wander around the house freaking out?

I passed out.

Chapter 6: Seeing Spots

T
he universe has a way of speaking to us, or so Dad once said in his more intelligent days. Not that I didn’t believe it, but what kind of message was the world sending by covering me in a mutation? The spots were still there when I woke up mid-afternoon. Every time I looked at them, touched them, caught a glimpse of them in a mirror or window, it was like an electric shock. They terrified me.

I called in sick at work, spent my day on the couch in front of the TV, though I wasn’t really watching; I was busy hunting for a solution. My mental state seemed like the ocean—one wrong thought was an earthquake capable of a tsunami. What was I supposed to do about this? It was a toss up between keeping quiet or calling nine-one-one. I surfed the Internet, trying every combo of words in the search bar, hoping to unlock a similar case. Nothing remotely close to my condition came up.

Far as I knew, I was the only person on the planet mutating like this.
Maybe it’s global pollution
, I thought, desperate for any logical explanation.
Or synthetic hormones in steak and milk
. Heck, it could be anything—weird stuff happens every day! If snakes can sprout two heads, why couldn’t I grow leopard fur?

It wasn’t until I got a text from Kat reminding me about my “B-day Vaca” that I made my decision: I would keep this on the down-low, at least until the weekend was over. Unless I
really
got furry and my hands turned into paws (I literally couldn’t think about that), I would hold it together through the weekend. After that, I’d get help . . .

•   •   •

“
Hola, mi amiga!”
Kat beamed, strolling up the driveway.

“Hey, Kat.” I smiled from the front door, pulling my UGG boots on.

She hopped up the porch steps. A black beanie with running wolves embroidered on the front was pulled over her head, making her curls stick out to the sides. She rubbed her fleecy mittens together.

“A little cold?” I asked while grabbing my backpack. “Or are we going to the North Pole today?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Ask me that again when Jack Frost is grabbing your butt.
I’ll
be nice and toasty while you’re bringing in the snow.”

She had a point. Mt. Hood is definitely colder than Wildcat Country. As Kat skipped back to the car, I glanced at my shoulders. My sweater had a thickly-woven pattern, ensuring it wasn’t see-through. I’d promised myself tranquility today. I would not panic. If I was mutating or dying or about to be locked away in a test lab for the rest of my life, I’d save all the worry for Monday.

After dumping my suitcase in the back, Kat and I climbed into the SUV.

“Hey, Lina,” Jamie beamed from the driver’s seat. She also wore mittens and a knitted beanie. “You ready for an awesome weekend get-away?”

“More than you know,” I said, and buckled up.

The sun got lost behind the clouds, bringing dusk sooner than expected. The drive to Mt. Hood ended up being long and dark, but inside the car Kat and I roared with laughter as Jamie copied the radio, belting out a terrible sing-along with Elvis Presley. It was the most fun I’d had in weeks.

We flew forward as Jamie slammed the brakes. Kat and I bounced off our seatbelts, flattening against the backs of the seats. Our bags tumbled to the floor as the SUV screeched across the asphalt. As fast as it happened it was over. The car rocked to a stop.

“Mom?” Kat rubbed her neck, poking her head up.

Jamie was staring outside. I straightened, peering out the windshield.

It stood in the middle of the road, framed in the headlights. Its body was black as the shadows it had slid out of, claws bear-like. It lifted its head, baring brilliant, sharp teeth and flattening its long ears at us. The light glittered off its amber eyes.

We sat in stunned silence. The fur on my shoulders shot up. I experienced a bristly sensation, my instincts saying,
lock the car doors, lock the car doors
. I reached across Jamie, clicking the all-locks button. The beast’s tail flicked from side to side, as if daring the car to come closer. That was odd—usually when a predator is faced with a challenge bigger and more powerful than itself, it retreats. It’s common sense. I shifted against the glove box, uneasy. Its amber eyes . . . I swore I’d seen them before.

There are two kinds of déjà vu in the world: light déjà vu and hardcore déjà vu. Light déjà vu happens in situations like eating a flavor of ice cream you haven’t had in a while, and it brings back faint memories from childhood. It is short, familiar, and comforting. Hardcore déjà vu is unnerving, the kind where you swear you’ve been in a place or done the same thing before. It can last for minutes, and it leaves you with an eerie after-feel.

Looking at this beast before us . . . I had hardcore déjà vu.

Another black beast appeared, this one with eyes more yellow than amber. The newcomer glanced at the car, curled its lips back then trotted on. It had no interest in us. When it was out of sight, the first creature finally looked away. Lumbering across the road, it followed its partner into the trees.

“Oh,” Jamie sighed, laying a hand over her heart. She went limp against her seat.

“It was a wolf! Oh my God, Mom! Did you see, did you see him?” Kat started bouncing in her seat, a grin plastered to her face.

I sat back, bristly feeling subsiding. I tried to clear my mind, rid it of the aftermath of panic. I succeeded in tuning out all negative thoughts and images . . . all but one.

I saw Aaron. Aaron in a woodland clearing, smiling . . .

“Aw, Lina, wasn’t he beautiful?” Kat chirped. “The black coat and the scary, yellow eyes! God, I love wolves.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, faking enthusiasm. Honestly, how could she call such animals beautiful? I didn’t think they were wolves. Yes, they had a strong resemblance, but their size was greater. Their jaws stretched wider and their tails looked too long.

“All I can say,” Jamie butted in as she let off the brake. The car drifted back into the proper lane. “Is that I’m thankful this happened on the back roads. If somebody were behind us or coming at us, we’d have been hit for sure. You okay, Lina?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I answered, glancing over my shoulder. Staring through the back window at where the canines had disappeared, my heart jumped as I saw a dark shape sitting off the roadside. Its eyes gleamed as it shifted in our direction. Another thing about wolves: they don’t turn around to watch you drive away after you’ve nearly hit them.

•   •   •

Extending a dozen houses in length, Mt. Hood’s Purple Iris Resort had three stories, the exterior lined with logs for that wood cabin look. Mountains with their tops powdered by snow curved behind the building and stars twinkled overhead in the navy sky. The place belonged on a postcard.

Jamie parked in the paved lot and we hopped out. I inhaled a breath of crisp air. Kat had been right: Mt. Hood was currently undergoing a chilly spring, making me grateful for the fleecy she’d lent me—not without the I-told-you-so, of course. The night smelled of icy pine needles, a sign there’d be frost on the ground by morning. For a moment, I forgot the stress I’d been enduring. I felt normal, good—like sprouting spots and seeing wolf-creatures had never happened.

We wheeled our suitcases into the lobby, which smelled lightly of spearmint. With its high ceilings, the walls had plenty of space to host portraits of the mountains and wildlife. The remains of a fire burned in a fancy, brick fireplace near the room’s center. A chandelier of elk horns hung from the ceiling. Jamie pointed out the earthy-colored furniture.

We checked in and got our room key. After dumping our cargo in Room 185, we went searching for the buffet hall. Hours in the car had left us starving, and we piled our plates with meats and freshly steamed veggies, breads and mashed potatoes. When we couldn’t fit any more on, we trotted into the maze of round tables and folding chairs, choosing a spot by the windows.

The table fell silent as we ate, a sign the food was good. I chewed happily on a bite of perfectly seared steak. Jamie’s and Kat’s plates had sweet rolls, corn on the cob, and a chicken with vegetable medley. I looked at mine: one sweet roll, a few slices of meatloaf, a small steak, and a turkey drumstick.

I furrowed my brows.
Do I usually eat this much meat
? I thought about it for a second, trying to remember what I’d eaten the last few days.
Hmm
. Apparently I was protein-deprived. I glanced at the buffet, wondering if I should go get some vegetables, when another guest caught my eye.

Sitting near the middle of the room, maybe four or five tables over, a young man sat with his friends. His arms, long and curving with muscle, leaned casually on the tablecloth. Black, gelled spikes covered his head, eyes dusty brown. He looked at me, and the fur on my shoulders stood up. His lips pulled into a tiny smile. Finally dropping his eyes, his focus returned to his table mates—two guys, and a girl with a Yorkshire terrier in her lap.

There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about him or his group’s appearance or the way they chewed their food or sat in their chairs . . . so why did they give me such a bad feeling? I decided not to make another trip to the buffet.

“Lina? Hellooo?”

I startled as Kat waved her fingers in front of my face. “Oh. Sorry. What’s up?”

She traced where my gaze had gone, tilting on her chair. Her green eyes grew round. “Woo hoo.” She whistled. “No wonder you’re staring. He is
smoking
.”

“Who is?” Jami cocked her head.

I smacked a hand over my face. “Ugh, come on, guys! Don’t look! What if he—” They snapped their heads back to the table before I could finish. “What is it?”

“Shh!” Kat hushed me. “He’s looking!”

I rolled my eyes, biting into my drumstick. “Fantastic. No more gawking, understand? We’re gaining unwanted attention.”

Kat smirked then sat up straighter, chest sticking out. It didn’t help that she’d shed the sweater and had a very clingy tank underneath. She might as well have stamped
I’m single
on her forehead. I was relieved when we stood up to leave the dining hall. It was tempting to glance at the Watcher again, but I didn’t.

We stepped into the corridor when I realized my phone was missing. “Oh, shoot!” I checked the pockets of my fleecy.

Kat turned around, standing by a decorative totem pole. “What’s wrong, Lina?”

“I left my phone on the table.”

“Well, run, run! Go get it,” Jamie called, almost at the elevator.

I jogged across the ugly tan carpet of the buffet hall. Keeping my eyes low, I only looked up when I was in seeing-distance of our table. My phone was gone. I checked under the chairs, on the floor. Maybe it had fallen off and I just hadn’t noticed. On hands and knees, I crawled halfway under the table when I heard footsteps approaching.

Leather boots appeared, standing inches away.
Oh, crap
. Slowly, I crawled out. My eyes followed the boots up the legs of his jeans, across the grey shirt, until I was looking at his face.

Watcher smiled down at me. He was taller than I’d estimated, with the kind of strong face you’d find on television or in magazines. “Forget something?” He waggled a rectangular object with a pink cover.

Damn
. Standing up, I said, “Yeah. That’s mine.”

He held it out, the thing sinking into his huge, bronze hand. His nails, longer than was usual for a guy, made me think of claws. I tensed while reaching for the phone. I imagined his fingers smacking down over mine, like one of those plastic hands in Halloween candy bowls. I didn’t mean to snatch it from him so fast, but the fear took over. Blushing, I jammed it in my pocket.

“Kind of a jumpy thing, aren’t you?” he asked, amused.

“Habit,” I answered.

“Ah.” He nodded, seeming to understand. He glanced at his table. The girl with the dog kept an intense, no-blinking watch. I noticed the bow in her hair matched the bow on her dog.

The next thing Watcher said startled me. “So. You’re Aaron’s new pe—coworker?”

“What?” Was he about to say
pet
? “You know Aaron?”

Something dark passed behind Watcher’s eyes. “We have some . . . history. Aaron and I aren’t exactly the best of friends, though I’m sure a lot of people say that about him.” Smiling again, he added, “But you live out in Wildcat Country. Small community. Word spreads fast, and there’s been talk about a new pretty thing at the shelter.”

“Do you live in Wildcat Country?” He was right about the small community, which was exactly why I grew more suspicious of him. I’d never once seen this boy near home or in town. And since when has the shelter been big talk?

Watcher shook his head. “Not anymore. Sort of got . . .
kicked out
, I guess would be the way to put it.”

I was about to question further when Kat came bouncing up beside me, holding back a smile as she and Watcher exchanged glances. “Hey. Came to make sure you didn’t get lost.”

I shook my head. “Nope.”

“So.” Her smile finally broke free. “Who’s your friend?”

“Oh! I’m sorry,” Watcher apologized. “How rude am I? My name’s Cain. I’m visiting Mt. Hood for the weekend.”

“Cain.” The way it rolled off Kat’s tongue, there were few doubts she liked the name.

“And your name?” he asked her.

“I’m Katherine.” Kat extended an elegant arm. They shook hands. “But you can call me Kat.”

“Kat. Very pretty,” Cain commented, then returned to me. “And I never asked for your name.”

“I’m Jane,” I said, choosing my middle name over my first. To my surprise, Kat only glanced at me, blank-faced.

“Jane.” He extended his hand.

I shook it. A powerful odor rolled off his skin, sticking to my fingers. It smelled like damp dirt mixed with wet dog. My stomach squirmed from the smell. Suddenly I regretted all that food.

“Well, we’d better get going,” I said. “We have someone waiting for us outside.”

“Of course.” Cain gave a gentlemanly bow. “Good evening, ladies. I’ll see you around?”

“Sure.” Kat grinned, going dreamy. Grabbing her wrist, I gave Cain one last glance before yanking her away. The second we were out of hearing distance, Kat gushed, “Oh my gosh, did you see that? He was totally into you!”

“
Into me
is the last thing he will ever be,” I mumbled.

She laughed, glancing over her shoulder. “Oh my God, he’s sniffing his
hand
! Damn, aren’t you glad I sprayed that fleecy with Siren by Paris Hilton?”

“Kat, I— . . . He’s doing what?” That was almost as weird as Aaron’s nose in my hair. What the hell was up with men and my scent lately?

“Well, he’s not doing it now—he’s walking back to his table—but he was sniffing the hand you shook. And might I say he seemed to be enjoying it?”

“Brilliant.” We’re here an hour and already I’ve gained another problem. My weekend at the resort was supposed to be peaceful, relaxing. Tonight would hopefully be the last I saw of Dog-Breath Boy.

It might’ve just been Cain’s smell, but by the time we reunited with Jamie and got back to Room 185, I had a new migraine rolling in. Popping two Advil from the travel bottle in my purse, I announced I’d be turning in early.

The TV played in the background, making me drowsy. Kat and I had a bedroom off the main living area, the walls pea-green with old-fashioned, floral borders from the sixties. I was only half-conscious when I dreamt of my cell phone ringing.