bright daylight, telling her she must have had the nightmare during the last few moments of sleep.
She remembered every second of it. Every awful second.
Milo … Milo Keith, the skinny poet she’d met the night before at Nightmare Hall, had been in her nightmare. Rachel sat up in bed, scooting backward until she was huddled in a corner. Was Milo really lying on that fire escape, his head bloody, his legs still dangling over one rusted rung?
Or had someone discovered him by now?
Or … Rachel clenched and unclenched her fists … or had it never happened? Maybe this time it was just a nightmare. Maybe Milo was sound asleep in his own bed, unscathed.
She had to know for sure.
Leaning forward, she grabbed the campus telephone book from her bedside table and, a moment later, dialed Nightingale Hall’s number. Bibi heard the pushbuttons clicking and groaned a complaint, but didn’t fully awaken.
A woman’s voice answered. “Mrs. Coates here,” she said briskly. “Who’s calling, please?”
Rachel didn’t give her name. “Could I please speak to Milo Keith?”
“Oh, my dear,” the woman said in a quieter voice, “that would be impossible. Milo has had a dreadful accident. He’s been taken to the hospital in Twin Falls. I was just on my way there. If you’ll give me your name, I’ll be happy to tell him you called.” She paused, and then added, “If he’s conscious when I get there. He wasn’t when the ambulance took him away. Took a terrible blow to the head …”
Rachel hung up. She sank back against the pillow, fighting nausea. It had happened. While Mrs. Coates hadn’t actually said that Milo’s “accident” had taken place on the fire escape, Rachel knew that it had. He had tumbled down those rusty metal stairs just like the figure in the still life.
No, no, no! Again, what she’d seen in a painting had come to life in a dream. And again, the terrible vision had become reality.
How was that possible?
Rachel’s skin felt fiery, as if someone were holding a torch to it.
Would the still life arrive at her door, wrapped in white plastic, as the seascape had?
She buried her face in her pillow.
“What’s the matter?” Bibi asked when she awoke a few minutes later and saw Rachel crumpled in a ball on her bed. “Are you sick? Too much partying?”
Rachel rolled over and sat up again.
“Rachel, what is wrong with you? You look like one of those masks Aidan’s always making out of plaster. The ones at the exhibit. All white and pasty, like unbaked bread dough.”
“Milo Keith fell down the fire escape at Nightmare Hall last night,” Rachel said dully. “He’s in the hospital.”
Bibi’s mouth made a round O of horror. “The fire escape? They had a fire at Nightmare Hall after the party?”
Rachel shook her head. “No. No fire. He just … he just fell. During the night.” She couldn’t tell Bibi that Milo hadn’t fallen, that he’d been pushed, because then she’d have to mention the dream. Which Bibi would react to with scorn.
“How do you know?”
“I just called there. The housemother told me.”
Bibi tilted her head, curiosity on her face. “If there wasn’t a fire, what was Milo doing out on the fire escape in the middle of the night? And why were you calling Nightmare Hall at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning in the first place? Did you leave something there last night?”
Rachel didn’t even hesitate. Bibi had just given her the perfect excuse for the phone call. “An earring. One of the garnet ones. It must have fallen off when I was dancing. And I don’t know what Milo was doing out there during the night,” she lied. “But I think he’s seriously hurt. A head injury, Mrs. Coates said.” She needed desperately to confide in someone about last night’s horrible dream. But if she did decide to tell someone, it wouldn’t be Bibi.
“Well,” Bibi said, sliding out of bed, “I don’t know Milo very well, but he seemed like an okay guy. I just
She remembered every second of it. Every awful second.
Milo … Milo Keith, the skinny poet she’d met the night before at Nightmare Hall, had been in her nightmare. Rachel sat up in bed, scooting backward until she was huddled in a corner. Was Milo really lying on that fire escape, his head bloody, his legs still dangling over one rusted rung?
Or had someone discovered him by now?
Or … Rachel clenched and unclenched her fists … or had it never happened? Maybe this time it was just a nightmare. Maybe Milo was sound asleep in his own bed, unscathed.
She had to know for sure.
Leaning forward, she grabbed the campus telephone book from her bedside table and, a moment later, dialed Nightingale Hall’s number. Bibi heard the pushbuttons clicking and groaned a complaint, but didn’t fully awaken.
A woman’s voice answered. “Mrs. Coates here,” she said briskly. “Who’s calling, please?”
Rachel didn’t give her name. “Could I please speak to Milo Keith?”
“Oh, my dear,” the woman said in a quieter voice, “that would be impossible. Milo has had a dreadful accident. He’s been taken to the hospital in Twin Falls. I was just on my way there. If you’ll give me your name, I’ll be happy to tell him you called.” She paused, and then added, “If he’s conscious when I get there. He wasn’t when the ambulance took him away. Took a terrible blow to the head …”
Rachel hung up. She sank back against the pillow, fighting nausea. It had happened. While Mrs. Coates hadn’t actually said that Milo’s “accident” had taken place on the fire escape, Rachel knew that it had. He had tumbled down those rusty metal stairs just like the figure in the still life.
No, no, no! Again, what she’d seen in a painting had come to life in a dream. And again, the terrible vision had become reality.
How was that possible?
Rachel’s skin felt fiery, as if someone were holding a torch to it.
Would the still life arrive at her door, wrapped in white plastic, as the seascape had?
She buried her face in her pillow.
“What’s the matter?” Bibi asked when she awoke a few minutes later and saw Rachel crumpled in a ball on her bed. “Are you sick? Too much partying?”
Rachel rolled over and sat up again.
“Rachel, what is wrong with you? You look like one of those masks Aidan’s always making out of plaster. The ones at the exhibit. All white and pasty, like unbaked bread dough.”
“Milo Keith fell down the fire escape at Nightmare Hall last night,” Rachel said dully. “He’s in the hospital.”
Bibi’s mouth made a round O of horror. “The fire escape? They had a fire at Nightmare Hall after the party?”
Rachel shook her head. “No. No fire. He just … he just fell. During the night.” She couldn’t tell Bibi that Milo hadn’t fallen, that he’d been pushed, because then she’d have to mention the dream. Which Bibi would react to with scorn.
“How do you know?”
“I just called there. The housemother told me.”
Bibi tilted her head, curiosity on her face. “If there wasn’t a fire, what was Milo doing out on the fire escape in the middle of the night? And why were you calling Nightmare Hall at nine o’clock on a Sunday morning in the first place? Did you leave something there last night?”
Rachel didn’t even hesitate. Bibi had just given her the perfect excuse for the phone call. “An earring. One of the garnet ones. It must have fallen off when I was dancing. And I don’t know what Milo was doing out there during the night,” she lied. “But I think he’s seriously hurt. A head injury, Mrs. Coates said.” She needed desperately to confide in someone about last night’s horrible dream. But if she did decide to tell someone, it wouldn’t be Bibi.
“Well,” Bibi said, sliding out of bed, “I don’t know Milo very well, but he seemed like an okay guy. I just
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