I was driving through the rain, alone in my patrol car, wipers beating back and forth, lights flashing. As I rounded a sharp curve, a woman pushed a baby carriage out in front of me. I slammed a foot on the brake pedal. My tires skidded over the shiny pavement. Whack! I hit the carriage. It flew into the air. The baby, swaddled in a white blanket, bounced like a football over the hood of my car and smashed the windshield. I watched everything as if it were happening in slow motion, then squinted to try and refocus my eyes on the road. I was still traveling at full speed. Leah! She stood on the center line, feet braced apart, both hands splayed out in front of her. “Stop!” She mouthed the words: “Go back!” Then she vanished before connecting with my grill. I pulled the car to a screeching halt, looked over my shoulder to see the mother on her knees at the side of the road, reaching for her baby. I shifted into reverse to help them. “No!” I sat bolt upright in bed. It took me a moment to understand where I was.
