I remembered talking to Carson, remembered walking back to our SUV with Brindi still in my arms, but I didn't remember coming back to Rio Rico. Even odder, I couldn't think of any reason for Brindi to be here with me, but she was. Not only that, she wasn't injured anymore. It wasn't just the fact that she was moving around without wincing every time she breathed. Somehow she'd put back on the black club wear that she'd been wearing the first time I'd seen her in Chicago and her bare stomach was as unblemished and whole as it had been before she'd stumbled into my fight with the Chicago hybrid. Except that was impossible. Her clothes had been little more than bloody ribbons when we'd left Chicago. She would have had to have purchased new clothes, but more club wear wasn't the kind of thing we should be wasting money on right now. I tried to get Brindi's attention, but she ignored me, choosing instead to continue to rub her face against my arm like some kind of blonde housecat. That was when I finally realized I had to be dreaming.
