“…inform her—that we are—attacked.”

Colleen frowned and looked up from her phone. This was all sounding more and more like some Kung-Fu movie than…than what? What had Dusty’s friend expected them to make of this? It didn’t explain anything that she could see. Nothing that could matter to Dusty or Anna in any useful way. And it was not only too crazy, but, oddly, too well written to be any credible ‘memoir.’ He’d have to have been some sort of ‘super-observer’ with eidetic memory to recall any of these things in such eloquent detail so many years later—wouldn’t he? So, what was this weird story for? Why had he sent it to them? The further Colleen read, the less sense any of it made.

It did fill the time, though. Now that everyone who still had lives had gone back to them, there seemed little else for her to do here during the many hours Dusty spent sleeping.

Colleen’s life was largely scattered through the Saddle’s flood debris now, or in suspended animation until damage on the university’s riverside campus had been assessed and remedied: at least another week or two, according to the latest announcements. Everything she’d packed into her car that night had been reduced to sodden trash, of course. Only the stuff in Thom’s truck had survived—excepting most of her poor tropical fish. Just two inexpensive but hardy little guppies had still been swimming in the cold, half empty tank—paper-pale but unexpectedly alive—when Thom had finally unpacked the truck bed’s sopping cargo the day before. They were now swimming happy circuits around a brand new fish bowl with some pretty water plants, she’d been told, awaiting her return.

Colleen had taken all these little losses philosophically, given the rest of what that night could so easily have cost her. She hadn’t even tried to contact her insurance provider yet. They’d be buried in claims already, and there’d been so many more important things to focus on. Happily, her laptop and her most important school books had already been at Thom and Anna’s house, so she’d still be able to work on her paper…as soon as someone brought all that stuff down to her. But the hospital was more than an hour away from their home, well beyond the other side of town—not even counting all the new detours around recovering flood zones. Colleen wasn’t sure whether she’d see either of them again before tomorrow.

They had finally gone yesterday to start gathering vehicles left scattered from the campus to the devastated Saddle, before wading back into their sidetracked work lives. Thom’s life-coaching clients would likely be digging out from troubles of their own. But Anna was responsible for staff and active programs in facilities around the globe, to whom this city’s recent catastrophe was, at most, a distant rumor, and urgent correspondence was piling up, it seemed.

Colleen’s mom and dad had flown home again shortly after Dusty had first awakened. She’d been so grateful for their presence, and their forgiving attitudes—especially her mother’s—and yet, a little relieved to see them get back to their own lives as well. The time they’d spent here had felt ‘stolen’ to Colleen, who had not quite managed yet to lose the sense that all this was her fault. That was not a feeling she had ever known before, and her view of Dusty’s struggles with himself was certainly being illuminated by it.

Dusty, of course, blamed himself for all that night’s disasters. ‘You’d have called me if I hadn’t treated you like a helpless child all day. I know that, Collie. I knew it that night. I’m sorry.’ And yet…even as he’d apologized to her, he’d seemed more comfortable with himself than he’d been since any of this had started.

She closed Matt’s Word doc, and slid the phone into her pocket before turning to gaze back at Dusty, sleeping away, peacefully oblivious to the quiet whir and occasional beeping of instruments monitoring his brain, his heart, his vital signs, and who knew what else. He still seemed to be recovering, fully and swiftly. His voice and his breathing were both less labored than they had been, and he was far more himself by now than he had seemed when he’d woken up three days ago, rasping disjointed tales of dark-eyed angels and amorous fish-women. The ordeal had clearly changed him, though—in ways both touching and unsettling.

She turned to look out through the windows behind her. Dusty seemed…so quietly attentive to her now, and so much more at rest with himself than he had been. More at ease than she felt with herself anymore.

Everything just kept changing. From day to day, even hour to hour, things she’d known were being replaced by things she’d never have imagined… She’d always been the strong one, there to help, not the one who needed helping—even with her parents. Now, virtually overnight, she was no longer sure—of so many things. Was this whole spin cycle over yet? Had it passed with the storm? Would everything go back to ‘normal’ in a week or two? Or would nothing ever be the same again?

She wasn’t sleeping very well on that cot. Maybe this was all just sleep deficit talking.

“You’re still here,” Dusty murmured behind her.

He’d been saying this every time he woke, for three days now. Colleen turned to find his eyes open, trained on her, and the same half smile he always woke with now. ‘You’re still here.’ The third or fourth time he’d said it, she had asked him what was up, concerned that maybe his memory had been damaged somehow after all. But he’d just grinned at her, and said, “I’m so glad to see you. Every time. Is that so strange?”

It had almost made her cry—for reasons that were happy, strangely painful, and surprisingly confusing. She was grateful too, to have him here, alive and whole. Unspeakably grateful. Why was that so hard to say aloud? He had almost died. Trying to save her. She didn’t want to imagine what her life would have been like if he had not survived. It had been reckless of him in a way; irresponsible, foolish—and breathtakingly selfless and brave. Why wasn’t she greeting him with this same kind of simple happiness every time he woke? That’s just not who you are, Colleen, she thought. No? Who am I then? …Who is Dusty—now? Who was he last week? Who was I? Has this thing changed us, or am I just waking up now too—from some interrupted dream of who we were?

“Collie?” Dusty’s smile faded. “You okay?”

“Oh. Yes. I just…I was reading that story your friend sent. It’s getting pretty strange.”

“What part are you at?”

“Ninjas in the subway tunnel. All of that.”

“Oh yeah.” To her relief, he smiled, seeming more bemused than troubled by the subject.

“You’ve read that part?” she asked.

“I got a lot farther, actually. While you and Anna were downstairs talking that morning. About me, right?” He nodded at her apparently visible surprise.

“You…could hear us?”

He shook his head. “I just knew. The way I was behaving. What else would you two have been discussing? I was really kind of losing it, wasn’t I?”

“A little,” she conceded. “You seem…better now?”

His smile grew softer. “Was that really just a couple days ago?”

“Yes. …It feels like weeks, doesn’t it?”

“Another lifetime, almost.”

So what’s changed? she wondered again. What are you not telling me? But she couldn’t bring herself to ask the question, so she ducked behind Matt’s story again. “I can’t figure out what this thing he’s sent you is supposed to accomplish. Anna’s right. The writing itself seems so…cogent, and rational, barring the content, of course. But what’s he think you’ll get out of it?”

“Thom thinks Matt’s trying to explain something—to us, or to himself—that he doesn’t know how to say more directly.”

“He does? …When did you learn this?”

“Yesterday, before he left.” He looked at her. “We talked about it while you were at the cafeteria.”

“About Matt’s story? …Why?”

Dusty gave her a little shrug. “He asked me about that hallucination—when I was in the water. Like he thought there might be some kind of message for me in it—from my subconscious.” His expression became quizzical. “It was a little weird, actually. Thom’s a weird guy sometimes. It’s what makes him Thom. But he told me some of his clients use dreams and stories to say things that aren’t…safe, I guess, to say in any other way, even to themselves.”

“Really,” Colleen said, suddenly intrigued. “So, did you two figure out what that hallucination was trying to tell you?”

Dusty looked away, evasively. “Well, that’s the strange part. I probably just made it up. Power of suggestion, and all. But…something more did seem to come back. Sort of.” He fell silent, still not looking at her, but she waited, certain he’d go on if she didn’t fill the silence for him. “It seems more like a dream than anything real, but…I kind of remember getting hung up now, by her, above the water, on some branches.” He finally looked back at Colleen. “I know where they found me. I’m probably just putting all this together in my mind.”

“Sure, you could be, but go on. It’s interesting.” She could almost feel an answer coming to the very question she’d been trying and failing to formulate within herself all morning.

“I have this kind of…idea that she pointed to…well, no, more like reached into my body, somehow, and touched this little knot of glowing…goop just below my ribs. It squirmed, like a living thing, a worm made out of red coals. I didn’t see it there until she’d touched it.”

“Like…those doors your friend talks about?” She could see where some of this might have come from, but where it was going was all that mattered to her.

 “Yeah!” he said, seeming surprised by the overlap. “And then she said, ‘This is trying to kill you. …Can I take it?’”

“Wow! So what was it? The goopy thing,” she asked, wondering if Thom might really be a therapeutic genius.

Dusty gave her a strange look. “Well…it was a hallucination, obviously—or something my brain just invented yesterday for Thom.”

“I get that,” she said, suppressing a flash of irritation. “I mean, what do you think it meant?”

He shrugged again. “Hell if I know.”

Damn it. “Well, what did Thom think it meant?”

“I asked him that,” Dusty answered sheepishly, “but he just said that only I could know.”

And you do, she thought impatiently. You just don’t want to tell me…or yourself, maybe. “So, did you let her take it?” she tried, still certain that it mattered, somehow. That it could tell her something she needed to know.

“I don’t know,” said Dusty. “The question’s all I remember. There’s nothing after that.”

Her frustration was derailed by the arrival of a familiar nurse, who stuck her head into the room, and smiled at Colleen. “Did Mr. James find you, Ms. Fischer?”

Colleen glanced at Dusty, who seemed as nonplussed as she was. “Mr. James…?”

“He asked after you at the station desk about half an hour ago,” said the nurse. “Said he was an insurance adjuster. Something about a car you’d lost in the flooding?”

“Well…I did lose my car. But I haven’t even called the insurance company yet.”

“You haven’t?” The nurse’s smile faltered. “He hasn’t spoken with you?”

“No one’s come in for hours,” Colleen said, wondering if Thom or Anna had called her insurance company for some reason—though she couldn’t imagine why, or how they’d even have known who to call.

“I’m so sorry,” said the nurse. “He gave me the impression he was here about something you had initiated. Perhaps I misunderstood, but I’m afraid I gave him your room number.”

“Well, that’s okay, but I just can’t understand how they’d know…much less find me here.” She looked back to Dusty, as if he might have an answer.

“If it was towed…” he mused, “could the yard have used your license plate to track you down? …Maybe called your insurance company when they couldn’t find you?”

“They do that?” asked Colleen.

“I don’t know. I’m just trying to think of some explanation.”

“Would you…like us to check with someone?” asked the nurse. “I feel kind of bad about not asking you before giving him your—”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Colleen said. “I’ll just call them now. Thanks for letting me know.”

“Okay. I’ll tell you if he comes back,” said the nurse, withdrawing as Colleen pulled out her phone and dialed her insurer’s number.

After five minutes spent talking to a prerecorded options menu, a chipper human voice finally intruded. “Arlingford Mutual, auto claims center. My name is Bonnie. How may I assist you?”

“Hi, Bonnie. My name is Colleen Fischer. I have an auto policy with you guys.”

“May I have your policy number, please?”

When Colleen had supplied it—and her date of birth, her social security number, her grandmother’s maiden name, a description of her first childhood pet, and the name of her elementary school, the agent finally invited her to “describe the problem.”

“My car was destroyed a few nights ago in a flood.”

“Oh.” There was a brief pause. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I hadn’t really looked at your address.” To Colleen’s satisfaction, the chipper tone was vanished now. “You mean that flood? You weren’t in the car, I hope?”

“Unfortunately, I was. My fiancé and I have been at a hospital here ever since.”

“Oh heavens! I’m so sorry, ma’am.”

“Thanks. We’re okay. But a nurse here just informed me that someone claiming to be an insurance adjuster has been here asking about me and my car, which has me a bit confused, since I haven’t filed a claim yet, or spoken to anyone at Arlingford. I’m just hoping you can tell me how and why he’s here?”

“Well…that does seem very odd.”

“That’s what I thought. His last name is James apparently?”

“I’m sorry. This is a call center in Atlanta. I have no way of knowing who the specific adjusters in your area might be. But you’re right. I don’t see any current claim from you in our system yet. In a situation as chaotic as this one must be, it’s entirely possible that it simply hasn’t reached us, or even been fully processed yet by whatever local office is handling your vehicle. I really don’t know what to tell you, Ms. Fischer, but I can transfer you to someone in our fraud division, if you’d like to speak with them about this?”

“Not yet, thank you.” The last thing Colleen wanted right now was half an hour of garbled hold-music and another tree of prerecorded options to navigate. Her suspicions seemed sufficiently confirmed, though. Whoever Mr. James had been, he was almost certainly not from Arlingford Mutual. 

“Since we’re on the line together,” Bonnie said, “shall we just file your claim now?”

“Sure.” Colleen rolled her eyes at Dusty. “I guess we might as well.”

But a murmur of concern at the back of Colleen’s mind made it hard to focus on Bonnie’s questions. Not over then, it said. Not over yet at all.