Gone by Lisa McMann Page B

gently. “This is your daughter, Janie.”
    Henry doesn’t react. And then his face contorts
.
    Immediately, the scene in front of Janie crackles. Chunks of the gymnasium fall away, like pieces of a broken mirror. Bright lights appear in the holes. Janie sees it happening and her heart pounds. She shoots a frantic glance at Miss Stubin, and at her father, desperate to know if he understands, but he is holding his head again
.
    “I can’t stay in this,” Janie yells, and she gathers up all her strength, pulling out of the nightmare before the static and blinding colors overtake her again
.
    2:20 a.m.
    All is quiet except for the ringing in Janie’s ears.
    Minutes pass as Janie lies facedown, unmoving, unseeing, on the clammy tile floor of the hospital room. Her head aches. When she tries to move, her muscles won’t comply.
    2:36 a.m.
    Finally, Janie can see, though everything is dim. She grunts and, after a few tries, shoves to her feet, steadying herself against the wall, wiping her mouth. Blood comes away on her hand. She moves her tongue slowly around, noting the cut inside her cheek where she apparently bit down during the nightmare. Feels her neck, her throat, gingerly. Her stomach churns as she swallows blood-thickened saliva. Janie squints at her watch, shocked that so much time has gone by.
    And then she turns to look at Henry. Runs her fingers through her tangled hair as she stares at his agonized face, frozen into the same horrible expression as in his dream when he screamed over and over again.
    “What’s wrong with you?” she says. Her voice is like the static in the nightmare.
    She bites her bottom lip and still she watches from a distance, remembering Henry the madman.
He’s unconscious. He can’t hurt me
.
    She doesn’t believe it, so she says it aloud, to herself and to him. “You can’t hurt me.”
    That helps a little.
    She steps closer.
    Next to his bed.
    Her finger hovers above his hand and Janie imagines him jumping up, grabbing her with that cold death-grip. Tearing her throat out. Strangling her. Still, slowly, she lowers her hand and lays it on top of Henry’s.
    He doesn’t move.
    His hands are warm and rough.
    Just like a father’s hands should be.
    2:43 a.m.
    It’s too late for the bus.
    When she is able, Janie meanders her way through the hospital and down to the street. Slowly limps home in the dead of night.

MONDAY

    August 7, 2006, 10:35 a.m.
    A dream catcher. Her father. Just like her.
    Unbelievable.
    Janie slips into her running clothes and makes her way to the bus stop. Takes it to the last stop on the edge of town. And runs the rest of the way.
    Things in the country are so much slower than they are in town. Janie’s feet slap the pavement as she runs along, the whole world seemingly coming to a stop before her eyes. Row after row of ripe corn begs to be harvested—Janie can see the soft brown tassels go by in a blur as she runs.
    Her glasses slip down on her nose from the sweat, andshe is reminded yet again that she needs to take in the sights for as long as she can. It makes her sick to think about losing all of this, so she absorbs it, one step after another, until her mind wanders again.
    She hears the buzz of tree frogs and remembers how, when she was little, she used to think that the intense buzz was not an animal, but the sound of electrical wires, bustling with energy. When she learned the noise came from frogs, she didn’t believe it.
    Still doesn’t.
    After all, she’s never actually seen one.
    And as she sucks in stale, humid air, the faint odor of cow manure becomes common. Alongside it is the sickly sweet smell of wildflowers and the searing hint of recent road patching.
    Janie’s mind is clear and her purpose is sure when she reaches the long, overgrown driveway of Henry’s house. She slows to a walk, trying to cool down.
    Just as she reaches the clearing, her cell phone buzzes in her pocket. She ignores it, knowing it’s probably Cabel. Needs to