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gut. Maggie was right. This guy is an asshole. I run
out of the club and into the parking lot, where several taxis are
waiting like vultures. I jump into the first one I see, grateful
that I listened to Maggie about always bringing cab fare.
    "Where to, Miss?" asks the driver, who
appears to be at least seventy.
    While I'm giving him my address, Ethan
emerges from the club, looking for me. Fuck him.
    "Drive, please," I say.
    "You got it, honey," says the cabbie, and I
watch as Ethan gets smaller and smaller, and eventually
disappears.

Chapter 8: Laird

    I'm driving with Ember again. We're
struggling for control of my Land Rover. We lurch into the center
of the road and then back again. Off balance, I slam my foot on the
brakes, but it's too late. In slow motion, I collide with Laura
Dormer's car. The small white vehicle rotates through the air with
balletic grace and then crashes to the ground.
    I leap out of the Rover and dutifully run to
the wreck. I feel like I've been here a million times before. Damn
it, I know I'm dreaming. I sit down on the wet ground and refuse to
move. I'm not going to rip the door off the car and confront
whatever horror my subconscious has placed there. I'm just not.
    I feel a light hand on my shoulder. It's my
mother. She's wearing a deep blue, floor-length gown, the kind she
always wore to her charity galas. She looks younger than I
remember, and her hair is longer. She's also brought a friend: a
tall woman in a nurse's uniform with pale blue eyes set in a
strong, square-jawed face. I know it's Laura, but her capable,
robust appearance surprises me. Awake and alive, she looks nothing
like my mother.
    "Why are you sitting in the mud?" asks Mom.
"Stand up, son."
    I rise slowly, facing her and Laura. They
look at each other and smile.
    Mom waves a delicate,
birdlike hand towards Laura. "I was just talking to my friend here.
She has a daughter about your age." I nod. Amity, the other
motherless child. The haunted, beautiful girl. The one I almost
wrote to like the complete, self-centered asshole I am. Thank God I
didn't send that email. I can hear Ember's voice in the back of my
mind. It's always about you, isn't
it?
    Laura regards me with an intense focus that
feels vaguely hostile. "Did you know she just lost her father?"
    I nod. News of his death is all over the
local news sites.
    "Anything to say, hero boy?" spits Laura, her
eyes contacting into angry slits.
    My mother rolls her eyes. "Oh c'mon, honey,
he drank himself to death. Your daughter is probably better off now
that she isn't shackled to a barely functional alcoholic, who would
have needed help for the rest of his life."
    Laura glares at my mother. "He was a
sensitive man who dealt badly with grief. He would have come out of
it, eventually. He loved his daughter very much."
    My mother's about to respond when I hear
sirens. They're coming from everywhere. Laura yells for us to duck,
and then...I'm back in bed, slippery with acrid dream sweat and
fumbling with my alarm.
    I take a long, deliberate breath. These
dreams are making me question my sanity. The line between what's
real and what isn't is starting to get a little hazy. I go to my
computer and look up Craig Dormer, Laura Dormer's husband. Yes,
he's still dead. I've known for a while. The news just popped up
one day while I was searching for information about Amity. Yet,
somehow, it doesn't feel real. I guess I can't quite accept that
one moment of inattention, one stupid fight between me and Ember,
destroyed someone's entire family.
    I glance at the plastic prescription bottle
on my nightstand. The Ambien beckons to me with false promises of
restful sleep.
    My phone vibrates, and I
feel instantly sick. It's another text from Ember. Can I come over? Please?
    I shut off my phone and go back to bed. I
skip the Ambien and shut my eyes, hoping to find a dark, silent
refuge from both dreams and reality.

    /////////////////////////

    I'm running alongside Lake Everclear, trying
to lose