I was shocked not to find the bloody, thrashing seagull on my bed, where it had been just a moment before. In my nightmare, a figure hovering outside my window had cradled the gull in its arms like some demonic madonna, before burning each of the bird's eyes with the tip of a cigarette and throwing the helpless creature at me through the glass. I breathed in and out, tasting the sweet briny ocean air, trying to slow my pounding heart. Hearing no one astir, I figured the twins were sleeping in after yesterday's long drive, which was just as well. Sheltered though I was in truth, I questioned whether Covey was far enough away from Henderson's to be the sanctuary I'd sought. Rather than force myself out of bed and trek downstairs to prepare breakfast, I pulled the pillow over my head with the idea of stealing a few moments in order to think. I didn't want to admit it, but my monster was back, aroused from its sleep, ranging around my perimeters. That much I had to acknowledge. A nightmare was just a nightmare, but I could no longer deny that the hanged girl bore all the hallmarks of one of my forevisions, though as forevisions went it was the most inscrutable, baffling one I had ever experienced.
