Something bothered him about that morning. He'd seen signs of psychological trauma before. The way something from the past could well up like sewage from a storm drain and stain the present moment, crowding out all other thought. It was in Jennifer's eyes.

Elliot grabbed her hair on purpose. He knew it would trigger her. Jacob was too tired to hit the bag anymore. Furious energy melted into cold, ragged fatigue. He drifted over to his desk, sat down, and rested his forehead on his palms. He needed to focus to see the bigger picture.

Jacob took an old micro tape recorder from the top drawer. He kept the message by forwarding it from phone to phone, before finally recording it a few days before he was deployed. His thumb pushed down the red play b.u.t.ton and he drew his hand back and listened to his sister's voice.

"Hey, Jake," she teased in her girlish voice, "I hope you had a good time with your stupid video game. I made sure Mom and Dad took me to Olive Garden just like always. I didn't buy you anything for Christmas. I hope you're happy."

His mother said something. His sister's phone didn't pick up the words, just a faint hint of her voice.

"Mom says to hang up. We're almost home."

Shearing rock and twisted steel shrieked. Debris crashed into the river and sank. The noise came from the boards under her feet, and from the walls. The kitchen television blared until the speakers distorted and the little grilles blew out of their plastic frames in a shower of sparks.

A driving rainstorm sent a muddy wave through the street. Jennifer clutched the old sliding doors between the kitchen and living room.

The world shook and red, blue, and amber flashed in the window as the sirens wailed. The freezing wet floor stung her bare feet. The world turned under her until she fell on her side with a grunt. Dread clenched in her chest like a fist of frozen stone grasping her heart.

Open the door. The dream would end when she opened the door. None of this was real. The past couldn't harm her, but the dream refused to end. All the windows in the back of the house blew out at once in a hail of gla.s.s that sent razor shards skittering over the floor.

The door opened. The wind carried the rain, snow, and icy hail sideways. Her dress caught on a crooked nail and tore at the seam. Sobbing, she clutched the tatters, but the dress unraveled in the wind. The front windows all burst out, spreading gla.s.s through the air in a glittering fan.

Running was her only defense, but no matter which way she ran, the bridge was always there. In the distance she could see the old skeleton of interlocked triangles and steel chains that formed a jagged mouth. Taillights transformed into red and hateful eyes. The metal twisted and bent, then snapped apart with a great tw.a.n.ging sound.

"Jennifer!"

Franklin's voice cut through the roar. Great gasping sobs froze on her cheeks as the snow thickened around her ankles, and b.l.o.o.d.y footprints trailed behind. Her skin turned brittle from the cold. She didn't want to wake up anymore. She might reach him.

The bridge contorted, and the overhead struts slammed down. Their little red Honda folded up under the beam. Franklin's pale frozen hand reached out for her.

Jennifer leapt forward with both hands outstretched, but her fingers slipped through his without touching. She could feel the heat of his skin as the roar rattled her bones, and she was thrown backwards.

Waist deep snow sucked the warmth from her body and the gla.s.s shards sliced into her skin. She screamed. The bridge pulled back, leaving shattered footings like stumps of broken teeth. It all fell into the river, leaving nothing before her but empty air.

Eyes blurred with tears, she screamed and screamed and screamed. Frost coated frozen limbs. She pulled herself upright and felt her legs breaking, the flesh shattering and shearing. The bridge rose in a great metal hand with twisted, jagged fingers that reached for her.

Jennifer went down hard on her side, kicking her legs until she scrambled against the side of the bed. Chest heaving, pain shot up her leg from her ankle and the cuts on her arm throbbed. The reedy voice of her neighbor and landlady came through the wall in a m.u.f.fled shout.

"Jennifer!" Mrs. Carmody slapped the wall with her bony fist. "Girl, you alright?"

Jennifer rose slowly to her feet, testing each step. She could still feel the gla.s.s cutting her skin and carving into her heels.

It's just a dream.

Barely dressed, Jennifer answered the thumping on her front door to find the aged woman in a pale blue dressing gown and slippers standing there. She looked up at Jennifer with her sad eyes.

"Now, you come over to my side."

"Mrs. Carmody--"

"Now."

Jennifer sighed and walked over, locking her door behind her.

The little woman walked through a mirror image of Jennifer's side of the house to the kitchen. Jennifer sat at the kitchen table, an old one with metal legs and a melamine top. Mrs. Carmody used a gripper stick to fetch a box of hot cocoa packets.

"You're having cocoa," she said, sharply.

"It's eighty degrees outside."

"Don't argue with me, girl."

Jennifer closed her mouth and waited until the old woman finished warming up the milk, then dumped in the powder. Daring to make cocoa with water would earn a severe tongue-lashing from Mrs. Carmody.

The cup was warm, and the cocoa was hot on her lips and spread heat through her chest. The old woman sat down, leaning on the table to steady herself.

"What gave you such a fright?"

"I had a nightmare, that's all. I'm sorry I woke you."

Mrs. Carmody shook her head slightly, as if shaking it too hard might send it rolling off her neck. "Don't you worry about that. You didn't wake me. I'm too old to sleep. That wasn't just a nightmare, girl."

"I dreamed about the bridge," she said.

"Oh." Mrs. Carmody nodded heavily with a sad, knowing smile.

"It doesn't matter," Jennifer said, taking a sip of cocoa. "It happens now and then. It's just a dream."

"I'd say it isn't."

"Maybe not," she said. "It's normal to have bad dreams."

Is it normal to wake up on the floor? Is it normal to scream in your sleep?

Jennifer brushed her hair back over her shoulder. The old woman looked at her patiently, as if there were something obvious she wasn't seeing. Jennifer looked down.

"When are you going to stop wearing that?"

Jennifer drew her ring to her chest. "It's mine."

"That boy wouldn't want you to live like this, child."

"I'm not a child," she said sharply.

Mrs. Carmody leaned forward.

Jennifer tried not to scowl.

"I was ten years old before my family owned a radio. I remember sitting right there in front of it when we heard that Pearl had been attacked. That radio sat there all through the war. Used to sit around it and listen and wonder where my brother and uncle were. One came back with one leg. The other didn't come back at all. My uncle had six children, and them and his wife moved in here, with us.

"That radio broke and we bought another, then one after that. I remember when we first got television. We had one channel, but that was enough. Never thought I'd watch a man walk on the moon.

"My uncle's children are all gone now. If they were here they'd have grandchildren older than you. I lived my life tucked up in this old house, I don't want to see you do the same, you hear?"

Jennifer frowned. "I... I don't know. I..."

She downed the rest of the cocoa with a gulp, not caring that it was too hot. Mrs. Carmody took the cup, hobbled to the sink, and rinsed it out under the faucet.

"Your boy Franklin wouldn't have wanted it either. He was a sweet boy. Not like them other ones."

"Thank you for the cocoa," Jennifer said, her voice hollow and flat.

Mrs. Carmody touched her shoulder at the door. "Now you get to bed. School's early."

Jennifer bolted her own door as soon as she was inside, and headed up the stairs. The bed was a mess of sheets damp with sweat that would take time to dry. She gathered up sheets and pillows, then carried it all downstairs before falling asleep on the couch.

Her alarm went off at five. A quick shower and breakfast later, she was on her bike with her jacket folded up in the basket over the rear fender and her messenger bag lashed to her back. Today the school did not look like a fortress. It looked like a prison, but at least it was safe. Between her door and the school was no-man's land.

"Hey, Jenn," Lisa the secretary said, looking up from her papers. "You get home okay? It was a h.e.l.l of a storm."

"Yeah, I got a ride," she said, absently.

"Rachel?"

"No, Jac-" she shook her head, "Mr. Kane. The new math teacher."

Lisa nodded slowly, and smiled.

Jennifer stormed out of the office, scowling. Why was her personal life everyone's business?

It was early yet. The door to Jacob's cla.s.sroom was lit from within, casting wavy light on the lockers opposite. She opened her door, dropped her bag on her desk, and strode across the hall. His door was unlocked, but she knocked anyway.

"Come in."

She swung the door open. His cla.s.sroom smelled of dry-erase markers, that ugly rubbery smell an overheating computer makes, and an undercurrent of cologne. The school-issue printer was chugging out his a.s.signments for the day. He looked up from his computer and sat back in his seat.

"Good morning," she said.

He turned. "How are you?"

"I'm fine."

She rubbed her arm.

Say something. You're acting like a fourteen year old.

He stood and leaned on his desk. "You still look a little shaken up."

Sighing, she looked up. "I... I had a nightmare last night."

Why did she tell him that?

"Ah." He looked off, away from her. "I get those too."

He did? Why? Oh.

She yawned. "You're up awfully early. It's not even six thirty."

"I do most of my prep work in the morning."

She shrugged. "That might not be a good idea. You have a first block cla.s.s."

"I'll be fine."

Jennifer shifted from foot to foot, like a nervous teenager. "They're not so bad. I mean they are, but they're not malicious, they're just teenagers. We were all that age once, too."

Stop dancing around it and ask him.

There was something questioning in his look, and Jennifer's cheeks heated. Her braid slipped over her shoulder, and she absently played with it.

"About last night," she said softly.

"Changed your mind?"

"What? Oh, no, I just... I wanted to see if you still wanted to..."

He bit his lip. She couldn't get a read on his expression.

"Why don't you drop by on Sat.u.r.day morning, and we can go for a bike ride?"

"I'd like that."

She glanced back as she left the room, still playing with her braid. Stepping back into her cla.s.sroom woke her up without the d.o.g.g.i.ng weariness. Materials had to be laid out, and activities prepared.

When the bell rang, she greeted each student by name with a smile, and they replied with quizzical looks. The day blurred by until lunch. She weighed seeking out Jacob again, but a worrying twist in her belly made her afraid she'd come on too strong. She went to Rachel's room instead.

The older teacher was at her desk, eating a disgusting combination of breakfast cereals, a peanut b.u.t.ter and banana sandwich, and a cup of yogurt, then washed it all down with orange soda. Jennifer dropped her lunch on the desk and tisk-tisked.

"Now now," said Rachel, waggling a finger at Jennifer. "If I don't eat like a pig, the kids won't crack jokes about me being stoned all the time."

"Yes, they will," said Jennifer.

"He likes you."

Jennifer scowled and said nothing.

"He's been making bedroom eyes at since he saw you. That display in the hallway yesterday was very heroic."

"That wasn't for my benefit," she said.