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Louis
pushed
back
the
blankets
and
swung
his
feet
out
onto
the
nubs
of
the
hooked
rug
,
ready
to
tell
her
he
'd
skip
the
eggs
,
just
a
bowl
of
cereal
and
he
'd
run
...
and
the
words
died
in
his
throat
.
His
feet
were
filthy
with
dirt
and
pine
needles
.
His
heart
leaped
up
in
his
throat
like
a
crazy
jack-in-the-box
.
Moving
fast
,
eyes
bulging
,
teeth
clamped
unfeelingly
on
his
tongue
,
he
kicked
the
covers
all
the
way
back
.
The
foot
of
his
bed
was
littered
with
needles
.
The
sheets
were
mucky
and
dirty
.
"
Louis
?
"
He
saw
a
few
errant
pine
needles
on
his
knees
,
and
suddenly
he
looked
at
his
right
arm
.
There
was
a
scratch
there
on
the
bicep
,
a
fresh
scratch
,
exactly
where
the
dead
branch
had
poked
him
...
in
the
dream
.
I
'm
going
to
scream
.
I
can
feel
it
.
And
he
could
too
;
it
was
roaring
up
from
inside
,
nothing
but
a
big
cold
bullet
of
fear
.
Reality
shimmered
.
Reality
--
the
real
reality
,
he
thought
--
was
those
needles
,
the
filth
on
the
sheets
,
the
bloody
scratch
on
his
bare
arm
.
I
'm
going
to
scream
and
then
I
'll
go
crazy
and
I
wo
n't
have
to
worry
about
it
anymore
--
"
Louis
?
"
Rachel
was
coming
up
the
stairs
.
"
Louis
,
did
you
go
back
to
sleep
?
"
