“It’s totally cool,” she assured him. “What’s up? Is this about the dissection essay?”
“No,” he said, his voice suddenly becoming more confidential. “I’ve been thinking about what we were talking about over lunch. About Maisie and the others.”
“What about them?”
“You seemed interested.”
“I am.”
“In the accident reports and police files, I mean.”
“Ah,” she said, getting it. “And?”
“They’re here at the house,” said Ethan. “My uncle has his own master case file. It’s in his desk.”
“So?”
“So, I have the key.”
Dana stared into space, wrapping the phone cord around her finger.
“You still there?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“When Uncle Frank is at work tomorrow,” said Ethan, “we could … I don’t know … maybe take a look?”
“Yes,” she said again, and the intensity in her voice surprised her.
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. But what about your parents?” she asked.
There was a brief pause. “Mom’s gone and Dad works a lot. He’s never home.”
“Oh,” she said, because there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Ethan’s tone had not invited comment on that.
“So, tomorrow,” he said. “We have a half day, but I can get the guys in the science club to hang around for a bit. If you want to meet them, I mean.”
“Definitely,” Dana assured him.
“We’ll all meet in the chem lab after last bell. We won’t have long ’cause they’ll be closing the whole school down, but we can probably get half an hour or so to talk with them.”
“That works,” said Dana. “I’ll meet you there. And, Ethan…?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks,” she said.
“For what?”
“For not treating me like I’m some kind of freak.”
“Not a chance,” he said, and hung up.
Dana walked slowly back to her room, thinking about everything that had happened today. That night she did not dream of angels or of devils. She had another ugly dream, though.
Dana dreamed that her heart was on fire.
In the dream, she lay on the cold and bare floor of a deserted building. A church. The high, arched stained-glass windows were smashed, and there were spiderwebs strung between the shattered remains of wooden pews. Dana lay on the floor with her arms stretched out to either side and her ankles pressed together. For a horrible moment she thought she was about to be crucified like Maisie. But that was when she felt the burn deep inside her chest. It was white hot and heavy, as if someone had stabbed her with a spike of pure fiery light. The weight of it pinned her to the floor.
She could feel the fire burning inside her, but when she raised her head, there was no smoke, no visible flames. Her pajama top was undamaged and there was no blood.
But the pain …
It was worse than anything Dana had ever felt, awake or in nightmares. It was so huge, so intense, that she did not even scream. No scream could be loud enough to express that searing agony. She lay there, teeth clenched, muscles rigid, mind burning along with her heart.
And then the burning sensation seemed to pulse, to expand with the intensity of a sun going nova. It overwhelmed her and consumed her and charred every last bit of her down to hot ash.
She came bursting up out of sleep, finding her voice at last and crying out in pain. She was on the floor beside her bed, the sheets coiled around her legs. The burn in her chest was still there, still burning hot. Dana kicked savagely at the sheets until they released their tentacular hold and she was up, running to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She yanked up her pajama top, needing to see how badly she was hurt.
There it was. A red mark as livid as a fresh burn, shaped like a starburst, with rays extending outward. It seemed to throb with heat and light and pain.
Then it faded and disappeared, taking with it all sensation and any traces of the burned flesh. It left behind only smooth skin.
She stood there, hips pressed against the sink as she bent closer to the mirror to examine her skin.
Nothing.
Dana sagged back against the bathroom wall. She slid down and huddled there, shivering, trembling.
“What’s happening?” she asked the empty room.
No one answered her.
It took a long time for her to climb back to her feet, using the sink and doorknob as handholds. She washed her face, staggered back to her bedroom, and dropped down to pray. But the words of every prayer she tried came out wrong, clumsy, broken.
Dana crawled into bed and begged God or the universe or anyone at all to let her sleep, pleading for no dreams at all. Not even good ones. Nothing but darkness and peace.
And she did sleep.