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Milly was dismayed. Carrie surely didn’t expect her to describe her wedding night. She was teasing her, provoking. She knew Milly had packed her emotions in a crate and never let them out. A woman’s wedding night was too private, too emotional to discuss. Besides, she’d forgotten what had happened.

“I got married yesterday too, remember?” said Carrie. She appeared wistful, as though she and Milly suffered from the same disease. She trilled abruptly, then grimaced. “I married your brother. We’re family.” Read Episode

They raced down two flights of stairs and hopped the elevator to the sub-basement, a floor devoted exclusively, Milly knew, to security high-tech and monitoring. “Basic evasion,” the pixie explained. She scowled. Milly had a hard time focussing on Carrie’s words. Facial expressions got in the way. Body matters more than words, she thought. How else could there be irony? Read Episode

It was pouring rain and pelting sleet. Hail descended. A visitation, Milly thought. Through the darkness, water pounded the roof of her car and bolts of ice savaged the hood. But beautiful fractal splash patterns formed in puddles beside the road. Sheets of water blocked her path. Milly slowed. Blue and red neon ads winked alternately across the water like visitors from another planet, offering enticement. Milly reached for the camera in her glove compartment. She changed her mind. Too dangerous. And she was in a hurry. Art photos could wait. She swallowed three Tylenol instead.

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“I’m here,” Milly Troie said. She fumbled the device right side up. “I’m here,” she repeated. Why were these pestilent things so small? The nightmare was dissolving before she could recapture it.

“Get down to the office, sweetheart.” It was Pam. “There’s been a burglary.” Pam hung up.

“So what?” Milly spoke into the useless receiver. She looked around her. No shadow, no rock, no locket.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she told herself. She re-enacted firing the gun. “Boom, you’re dead.” She lay on the bed. The rest of the nightmare had dissipated.

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Milly struggled, but couldn’t wriggle or speak. Ropes pinned her to a metal frame for all in the class to see. She was at university. She was supposed to be learned, bright and intellectual, at the height of her powers. But physically and intellectually, she couldn’t move. The sun poured through the windows of the 18th century stone building where the most capable minds in history had taught. It was embarrassing and frightening to have no arguments, no ideas, to be without speech, to acknowledge herself the object of others’ desires and nothing more.

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