Janie remembers him flunking into their class. “It was before I knew you,” she remarks.

“My brother pops in now and then, just to see if I’m staying out of trouble. He and his wife live a few miles away. They moved out, thankfully, when I turned eighteen.”

“Thankfully?”

“It’s a really small house. Thin walls. Newlyweds.”

“Ah. What about your parents?”

Cabel lounges on the couch. Janie sits in a chair nearby. “My mom lives in Florida. Somewhere. I think.”

He shrugs. “Dad raised us. Sort of. I guess my brother actually raised me.”

Janie curls up in her chair and watches him. He’s far away. She waits.

“Dad was in Vietnam, at the tail end. His mind was messed up.” Cabel looks at her. “When Mom left, he got mean. He pretty much beat the shit out of us….” Cabel looks at the table. “He died. A few years ago. It’s cool. Yanno? I’m over it. Done.” Cabel gets up off the couch and stretches. Janie stands up. “Take me back there,” she says.

“What?”

“Show me. The back of the shed.”

He bites his lip. “Okay…” He hesitates. “I haven’t, you know. Been back there in a while. It was—used to be—my hiding place.”

She nods. Gets her coat. Tosses his coat to him. They go out through the back door. Crunch on the frosty grass.

Taste the air for snow.

When they get close, he slows down.

“You go ahead,” he says. He stops at the edge of a small, dormant garden. Janie looks at him. She’s afraid. “Okay,” she says. The grass grows long and squeaks as she walks through it.

Janie slips away into the darkness and disappears from Cabel’s view behind the shed. She stops and

peers at the shed, getting her eyes accustomed to the darkness. She sees her spot, where she leans against it in the dreams, and stands there.

Looks to the left.

Waits for the monster.

But she knows now that the monster died with his dad.

She crawls to the corner, to view the place where he comes from. She sees it, vividly.

Cabel, leaving the house. Slamming the door.

The man on the steps, yelling. Following.

The punch to Cabel’s face.

The lighter fluid to his belly.

The fire and screaming.

The transformation.

And the monster, running toward her, with knives for fingers. Howling. She’s starting to freak out, in the darkness.

Sucks in a breath.

Needs, desperately needs, to hear it was just a dream.

He’s sitting on the back step. Quiet.

She walks to him. Takes his hand. Leads him inside.

The house is dark. She fumbles for a lamp, and in its glow, they cast shadows on the far wall. She closes the curtains. Takes his coat, and hers, and hangs them over the chairs in the kitchen, and he stands there, watching her.

“Show me,” she says. Her voice shakes a little.

“Show you what? I think you’ve seen it all.” His laugh is hollow, unsettled. Trying to read her mind. She reaches up, unbuttons his shirt, slowly. He takes in a sharp breath. Closes his eyes for a minute. Then opens them. “Janie,” he says.

His button-down is on the floor.

She pulls the T-shirt up. Just a little. She watches his eyes. He pleads to her with them. Janie slips her fingers under his T-shirt. Touches the warm skin at the sides of his waist. Feels his shallow breathing quicken. Draws her hands upward.

Feels the scars.

He draws in a staggering breath and turns his head to the side. His lip shadow quivers on the wall. His Adam’s apple bobs below it. “Oh, Christ,” he says. His voice breaks. And he is shaking. She lifts the shirt, pulls it over his head.

The burn scars are bumpy like peanut brittle. They pepper his stomach and chest.

She touches them.

Traces them.

Kisses them.

And he’s standing there. Weeping. His hair floating up with winter static. His eyelashes, like hopping spiders in the dim light. He can’t take it.

He bends forward.

Curls over like a sow bug.

Protecting himself.

Dropping to the floor.

“Stop,” he says. “Please. Just stop.”

She does. She hands him his shirt.

He mops his face with it.

Slips it back on.

“Do you want me to leave?” she asks.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says, and shudders in gripping sobs. She sits next to him on the floor, leaning against the couch. Pulls him to her. He lays his head in her lap and curls up on the floor while she pets his hair. He grips her leg like a teddy bear. 11:13 p.m.

Janie wakes him gently, fingers through his hair. She walks with him to his bedroom. Lies down beside him in his bed, just for a few minutes. Puts his glasses on his bedside table. Holds him. Kisses his cheek. And goes home.

BUSTING OUT ALL OVER

December 6, 2005, 12:45 p.m.

She waits at his table in the library.

He meets her there.

“I have to work tonight,” she whispers.

“After?” he asks.

“Yes. It’ll be late.”

“I’ll leave the front door unlocked,” he says.

She goes to her usual table.

And he designs a new dream, just for her.

6:48 p.m.

A man checks in at the front desk of Heather Home. He looks around, unfamiliar. She recognizes him, though he’s tinged in gray now. Older. Lined.

“I’ll show you,” Janie says. She leads him to Mr. McVicker’s room. Knocks lightly on the door. Opens it.