Chapter 6: Cracker

I told Erik about Imogen's hallway slip on Saturday morning, over weak tea at my kitchen counter.

He listened with his arms folded and his eyes on the window.

"So the story is that he got a phone call at the office," he said.

"That's what he's always said."

"And she says he held your head."

"She said he was covered in it."

"One of them is lying to you," Erik said. "Or both are, about different things."

"I'm not telling Roland I know."

"Good. Don't tell anyone anything yet."

"You think I should skip tonight."

"I think you should do what you want," he said. "I'd drive you either way."

"I want to see him next to Blair," I said. "I want to see her next to him."

"Then I'll drive you to that."

At five, the fragment flared.

It started as a pressure behind my left eye and became a floor that tipped under me.

I made it to the bathroom, sat on the edge of the tub, and held the sink until the nausea passed.

I was still sitting there, in my slip, when I heard a knock.

"It's me," Erik said. "I brought ginger chews and a bucket, in case."

"I'm not dressed."

"I'll leave them outside the door."

He did.

I ate two chews.

By six, the world had stopped moving.

I put on the green dress I had bought two Christmases ago.

Roland had once said it made me look like a candle.

It was fitted at the waist, and it hung on me now.

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