Jocelyn sits with one leg crossed over the other, looking so refined and elegant. She's older in this-this vision or dream or whatever it is-but she's also the same. The eyes that look at me are the same ones that looked at me in that classroom and that hallway and that love we shared such a short and such a long time ago.

"We don't have much time," she says.

"Time-what is this? Am I really here? Are you?"

"How are you, Chris?"

I don't worry about what I'm saying, not here, not looking into those eyes.

"Terrified," I say. "Lost. And like totally just-sad."

She nods.

I want to kiss her and grow old with her.

"The next few months are important for you. You need to know this."

"I'm sorry I didn't-that I wasn't able to help you," I say.

"Don't apologize for something you didn't do. That's not why you're here."

"What is this place? Is this real?"

"Yes. What you see and what you feel are real. Very real. This is not a dream."

"I'm sorry, Jocelyn."

"Chris. A hundred sorrys won't get me back."

"What will?"

She smiles.

I remember everything about her and how short-lived everything was and how she kept warning me-how the whole world warned me-but how I just refused to understand.

"How could you understand, Chris?"

She can read my thoughts? In dreams, or nightmares, or visions, or whatever this is, I guess anything is possible.

"Can I run away with you?"

She shakes her head.

I hear something shaking above us and see a plane taking off.

"You need to listen carefully."

"Jocelyn, help me to get out of Solitary."

"That's precisely why I'm here, Chris. Why we're talking."

"What do you mean?"

The adult Jocelyn doesn't smile or give me any sense of security or hope in her expression.

"There are those you can still help. There is still time."

"Time for what?" I ask.

"You have to stay in Solitary. You cannot leave."

52. And So And so I stay.

Like I'm going anywhere.

Some ghost of an adult beautiful fantasy Jocelyn is telling me to stay, so yeah, I'm going to stay.

I just hope she doesn't tell me to fall asleep on the train tracks tomorrow, because chances are high that I might.

I stay and I endure.

Take a breath and hold it.

Keep holding it.

Keep.

Holding.

It.

53. The Hurting The boy sits with his arms on his knees and his hands over his eyes.

Is it an horrific dream?

Yet somehow he does what everybody wants him to do.

"Listen to me, okay? You have to lie low. For a while."

So he listens to his newfound friend and relative Jared and lies low.

He ticks off the time, the class periods, the homework, the bus rides, the silence.

Say what you want.

"You go about your business, and you leave your stories and your troubles to your imagination. I'm not saying that it's easy being a newcomer, but you gotta go with the flow."

So he listens to his sheriff, who isn't being very sheriff-y, and decides to go with the flow.

No fighting back at the bullies.

No speaking out to others.

No investigating with Newt.

No investigating in the woods.

How can I be sure?

"Your mother needs you."

So he listens to the shadow of Jocelyn and stays around to try and help his mother.

Memories fade.

Avoiding the dreams.

Avoiding the memories.

Avoiding the pain.

The scars still linger.

"When I tell somebody something, I mean it. You do not want to mess with me."

So he doesn't mess with the man named Staunch.

Waiting but not relating.

And he walks the familiar halls and sees the familiar faces and feels the familiar fears and finds the familiar shadows. A host of secrets and lies and deception.

It's a very, very mad world.

The school doesn't know him and the teachers look through him and everything makes him sad.

"Don't lose your sanity like the rest of us."

So he tries to follow the card's advice from the unknown friend or mocker.

You can change.

So he tries to stay sane and tries to change and tries to fit in.

He tries to listen. He tries to change and not do anything.

"Mind your own business and stay away from trouble."

So he minds his own business and stays away from trouble and lets February become March.

I'll make no noise.

And he doesn't.

I'll hide my pain.

And he does.

I'll close my eyes.

And he does, every day.

He finally does everything he's told to do and he does it in silence and fear and anger and numbness.

There's nowhere to run or go.

He stays away from anything bright or hopeful.

He closes the door and locks it and memorizes the albums that detail his hurting.

54. Groundhog Day I almost forgot about Aunt Alice. I'm just about maxed out with creepiness until the moment Mom says, "We need to visit your aunt," and I suddenly remember that oh yeah I have an aunt named Alice.

Who likes mannequins.

And whose place smells like death.

And who looks like she's one seance away from joining the realm of the dead.

"Thanks, but I have to go grave digging tonight."

"That's not funny. It's been a while since I visited her, and it'd be good for her to see you, too. Last time, she asked about you."

"As in the size of my body? So she knows how much stuffing she can fill me with?"

Mom laughs, but the joke of Aunt Alice doesn't seem as funny to her as it did the first time we left her creepy cabin.

Soon we arrive at her place. It's a soggy Sunday afternoon with the rain stopped just enough so we're able to see the road that leads to my aunt's cabin. Right before we reach it, my mom drives over something.

"What was that?"

"I don't want to know," I say.

She stops the car, and we both get out.

Wedged underneath the car is something big and hairy. Mom freaks out and gets back in the car. I notice that the thing is not moving hello nice little doggie hello nice little black smoke doggie from hell and I also notice the smell.

That thing isn't going to move for a long time.

It looks gray but also seems to have glitter over it.