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  Janie’s eyes widen. “No way! You think? Let me know what you find out from Melinda and Shay.”

  “Of course.” Carrie grins.

  Carrie loves a good scandal.

  And Janie loves Carrie. Wishes she didn’t have to keep secrets from her.

  2:25 p.m.

  Janie and Cabel have study hall last period in the school library. They don’t sit together. Nobody looks sleepy. Things are going smoothly.

  Janie, tucked away at her favorite table in the far back corner of the library, finishes a boring English lit assignment and then tackles her Chem. 2 homework. Her first impression of that class is positive. Only a few geeks take it—it’s a college-credit course. But Janie, having satisfied all her required courses, is taking whatever she can to help her out in college. Advanced math, Spanish, Chemistry 2, and psychology.

  Psychology is a Captain requirement. “It’s crucial to police work,” she’d said. “Especially the kind of work you’ll be doing.”

  A paper wad lands on Janie’s page of homework and bounces to the ground. Janie picks it up while still reading her text book, and opens it up, pressing out the wrinkles.

  4:00 p.m.?

  That’s what the note says.

  Janie glances casually to the left, between two rows of bookshelves, and nods.

  2:44 p.m.

  Janie’s chemistry book thumps to the table as everything goes dark.

  She lays her head on her arms as she gets sucked into a dream.

  For crap’s sake! thinks Janie. It’s Cabel’s dream. It figures.

  Janie goes along for the ride, although normally she tries to pull out of his dreams now that his nightmares have quieted. But, ever curious, she rides this one out, knowing the bell will ring soon, ending the school day.

  Cabel is rummaging through his closet, methodically putting on shirts and sweaters over one another, layering more and more pieces until he can hardly move his blimplike body.

  Janie doesn’t know what to think. Feeling invasive, she pulls herself out of the dream.

  When she can see again, she stacks her books into her backpack and waits, thoughtful, until the bell rings.

  4:01 p.m.

  Janie slips in the back door of Cabel’s house, shakes the snow off her boots, and leaves them inside the heated wooden box next to the door.

  She folds her coat and sets it next to the boots, and heads to the basement.

  “Hey,” grunts Cabel from the bench press.

  Janie grins. She stretches out her slightly aching muscles, picks up the ten-pound barbells, and begins with squats.

  They work out in silence for forty-five minutes.

  Both of them are mentally reviewing the day.

  They’ll talk about it—soon.

  5:32 p.m.

  Showered and settled at the small, round conference table in the computer room, Cabel pulls out a sheet of paper and a pen while Janie fires up the laptop.

  “Here’s what your profile sheets should look like,” he says, sketching.

  “I e-mailed you the template.”

  Cabel points out the various columns, explaining in full as to what sort of information should be written in each one. Janie pulls up the template on her screen, squints and then frowns, and fills in the first one.

  “Why are you squinting?”

  “I’m not. I’m concentrating.”

  Cabel shrugs.

  “Okay, so first hour is Miss Gardenia, Spanish, room 112, and the list of students. You want their real names or Spanish names?” Janie looks at him, deadpan.

  He grins and pulls her hair.

  She types quickly.

  Like, ninety words a minute.

  She uses all of her fingers, not just one from each hand.

  Imagine that.

  Cabel gawks. “Holy shit. Will you do mine for me?”

  “Sure. But you’ll have to dictate. Going back and forth between computer screen and handwritten notes gives me a headache. And it makes me very cranky.”

  “How did you…?” He knows she doesn’t own a computer.

  “Nursing home,” she says. “Files, files, files. Charts, records, transcribing medical terms, prescriptions, all that.”

  “Wow.”

  “Why don’t we do yours first. Then I’ll have a better understanding of how to do mine.”

  Cabel flips through a spiral notebook. “Okay,” he says. “I already scribbled some notes here, at school—No! Not the evil eyebrow! I’ll decipher them and dictate, I promise.”

  Janie glances at his notes.

  “What the…,” she says, and grabs the notebook.

  Reads the page.

  Looks at him.

  “Mr. Green, Mrs. White, Miss Scarlet…Well, if it isn’t Professor Plum.

  So where the hell is Colonel Mustard?” She bursts out laughing.

  “Colonel Mustard is Principal Abernethy,” he says with a sniff.

  Janie stops laughing.

  Sort of.

  Actually, she giggles every few minutes as she reads. Especially when she finds out Miss Scarlet is actually Mr. Garcia, the industrial tech teacher.

  “It’s coded for secrecy, Janie.” He’s really not sounding amused. “In case I lose the notebook, or somebody looks over my shoulder.”

  Janie stops mocking him.

  But he continues. “It’s a smart idea. You should code your notes too, if you take any. It only takes one stupid mistake to blow your cover. And then we’re all screwed.”

  Janie waits.

  Makes sure he’s finished.

  Then says, “You’re right. I’m sorry, Cabe.”

  He looks mildly redeemed.

  “All right then, moving on,” he says. “First hour is advanced math. Mr.

  Stein. Room 134.”

  She plugs in the info, including the class list. “Anything of note?” she asks.

  “In this space here,” he says, pointing, “write, ‘slight German accent, tendency to trip over words when excited, constantly fidgets with chalk.’ The guy’s a nervous wreck,” Cabel explains.

  “Next is Mrs. Pancake.” They don’t chuckle at the name, because they’ve known her for years now. “I have nothing of note on her.

  She’s just that sweet, round grandma type—not the profile I expect we’ll be after, but we don’t rule anybody out, okay? I’ll keep watching.”

  Janie nods and goes to the third page, fills in the appropriate information, and within thirty minutes, Cabel’s charts are done for the day. She e-mails them to him.

  “I’m going to finish my homework while you’re working on your charts, if you don’t mind,” he says. “Let me know if you have any questions. And be sure to take notes of any intuition, funny feelings, suspicions—anything. There are no wrong things to track.”

  “Got it,” Janie says. She clicks her fingers over the keyboard with finesse, and finishes her charts before Cabel gets his homework done.

  She goes back and lingers over each entry, trying to think of anything of note, and promises herself to be more discerning tomorrow.

  “So,” she says lightly when Cabel closes his books, “did you talk to

  Shay today?” Janie couldn’t help noticing Shay was in three of his classes.

  Cabel looks at her with a small smile. Knows what she’s really asking.

  “The thought of being with Shay Wilder makes me want to gouge my eyes out with a butter knife,” he says. He pulls Janie toward him in a half-hug. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he smoothes her hair.

  “Are you staying tonight?” He asks after a while. There’s hope in his voice.

  Janie thinks about the box of files from Captain on her bed.

  She hates that they’re sitting there, untouched. It’s like homework hanging over her head. She can’t stand it.

  But.

  She also hates the thought of leaving Cabel.

  The question hangs in the air.

  “I can’t,” she says finally. “I’ve g
ot some things to do at home.”

  It’s hard, somehow, to say good-bye tonight. They linger near the back door, forehead to forehead and curved like statues as their lips whisper and brush together.

  9:17 p.m.

  Janie comes home to a mess after getting stuck hiding in a stand of trees for fifteen minutes while Carrie shoveled snow off her car and left, probably off to Stu’s apartment. Janie doesn’t want any questions about where she was coming from. She knows the day will inevitably come where Carrie discovers Janie’s car in the driveway but Janie not home.

  Luckily, Stu and Carrie spend most of their time together. Carrie’s parents like him all right. Even after Carrie broke down and told them she’d been arrested. They seemed relieved to hear that Stu wasn’t into cocaine.

  Of course, they still grounded Carrie. For life. As usual.

  9:25 p.m.

  Janie settles in her bed under the covers, and opens the box of material from Captain. She pulls out the first file, and dives into Miss Stubin’s life.

  News flash: Miss Stubin never taught school.

  And she was married.

  Janie’s jaw hangs open for two hours. The frail, gnarled, blind, stick-thin, former school teacher who Janie read books to lived a secret life.

  11:30 p.m.

  Janie holds her aching head. Closes the file. Returns the stack to the cardboard box and hides it in her closet. Then she turns out her light and slips back under the covers.

  Thinks about the military man in Miss Stubin’s dream.

  Miss Stubin, thinks Janie as a grin turns on her lips, was a player back in the day.

  1:42 a.m.

  Janie dreams in black and white.

  She’s walking down Center Street at dusk. The weather is cool and rainy. Janie’s been here before, although she doesn’t know what town she’s in. She looks around excitedly at the corner by the dry goods store, but there is no young couple there, strolling arm in arm.

  “I’m here, Janie,” comes a soft voice from behind. “Come, sit with me.”

  Janie turns around and sees Miss Stubin seated in her wheelchair next to a park bench along the street.

  “Miss Stubin?”

  The blind old woman smiles. “Ah, good. Fran has given you my notes.

  I’ve been hoping for you.”

  Janie sits on the park bench, her heart thumping. She feels tears spring to her eyes and quickly blinks them away. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Stubin.” Janie slips her hand into Miss Stubin’s gnarled fingers.

  “Yes, there you are, indeed.” Miss Stubin smiles. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

  Janie’s puzzled. “Get on with it?”

  “If you are here, then you must have agreed to work with Captain

  Komisky, as I did.”

  “Does Captain know I’m having this dream?” Janie is confused.

  Miss Stubin chuckles. “Of course not. You may tell her if you wish.

  Give her my fond regards. But I’m here to fulfill a promise to myself.

  To be available to you, just as the one who taught me remained with me until I was fully prepared, fully knowledgeable about what my purpose was in life. I’m here to help you as best as I can, until you no longer need me.”

  Janie’s eyes grow wide. No! she thinks, but she doesn’t say it. She hopes it takes a very long time before she no longer needs Miss Stubin.

  “We’ll meet here from time to time as you go through my case files.

  When you have questions about my notes, return here. I trust you know how to find me again?”

  “You mean, direct myself to dream this again?”

  Miss Stubin nods.

  “Yes, I think I can do that. I’m sort of out of practice,” Janie says sheepishly.

  “I know you can, Janie.” The old woman’s curled fingers tighten slightly around Janie’s hand. “Do you have an assignment from

  Captain?”

  “Yes. We think there’s a teacher who is a sexual predator at Fieldridge

  High.”

  Miss Stubin sighs. “Difficult. Be careful. And be creative—It may be tricky to find the right dreams to fall into. Keep up your strength. Be prepared for every opportunity to search out the truth. Dreams happen in the strangest places. Watch for them.”

  “I—I will,” Janie says softly.

  Miss Stubin cocks her head to the side. “I must go now.” She smiles and fades away, leaving Janie alone on the bench.

  2:27 a.m.

  Janie’s eyes flutter and open. She stares at the ceiling in the dark, and then flips on her bedside lamp. Scribbles the dream in her notebook.

  Wow, she thinks. Cool.

  Grins sleepily as she turns out the light and rolls over, back to sleep.

  POINTED VIEWS

  January 6, 2006, 2:10 p.m.

  Janie codes her notes now, too:

  Bashful=Spanish, Miss Gardenia

  Doc=Psychology, Mr. Wang

  Happy=Chemistry 2, Mr. Durbin

  Dopey=English Lit., Mr. Purcell

  Dippy=Math, Mrs. Craig

  Dumbass=PE, Coach Crater

  And, of course, Sleepy=Study hall

  There’s definitely something sleepy about Michigan in its darkest months of January and February.

  Study hall is a disaster. And after relatively few incidents, besides

  Cabel’s dreams, over the past few weeks, Janie’s feeling the pull harder than ever.

  She needs to practice concentrating at home, in her own dreams again.

  Stay strong, like Miss Stubin told her in the dream. Or else she’s going down.

  2:17 p.m.

  Janie feels it coming. She sets her book down and glances at Cabel. It’s not him. He gives her a pitying half-smile when he sees the look on her face, and she tries to smile back. But it’s too late.

  It hits her, like a bag of rocks to the gut, and she doubles over in her chair, blinded, her mind whirling into Stacey O’Grady’s dream. Janie recognizes it—Stacey was in Janie’s study hall last semester too, and had this same nightmare a few months ago.

  Janie is in Stacey’s car, and Stacey is driving like a maniac down a dark street near the woods. From the backseat, a growl, and then a man appears and grabs Stacey around the neck from behind. Stacey’s choking. She loses control of the car, and it careens over a ditch, smashes into a line of bushes, and flips over.

  The man is shaken loose of his grasp, and when the car comes to rest in a parking lot, Stacey, bleeding, climbs out of the car through the broken windshield and starts running. He gets out and follows her. It’s a mad chase, and Janie is swept into it. She can’t concentrate hard enough to get Stacey’s attention, and Stacey is screaming at the top of her lungs. Around and around the parking lot, the man chases her, until she runs for the woods…

  …trips

  …falls

  …and he is on top of her, pinning her down, growling, like a dog, in her face2:50 p.m.

  Janie feels her muscles still twitching three minutes after it’s over. She didn’t hear the bell ring, but Stacey did, apparently, because the dream stopped abruptly.

  Janie still can’t feel anything. She can’t see. But she can hear Cabel next to her. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay.”

  2:57 p.m.

  Cabel’s gently rubbing her fingers. He’s still whispering, letting her know no one is around, they’ve all left, and it’s all going to be okay.

  She sits up slowly.

  Squeezes her hands till they ache with pain and pleasure. Wiggles her toes. Her face feels like she’s been to the dentist for a filling.

  He’s rubbing her shoulders, her arms, her temples. She stops shaking.

  Tries to speak. It comes out like a hiss.

  3:01 p.m.

  “Cabel,” she finally says.

  “You ready to try to move?” His voice is concerned.

  She shakes her head slowly. Turns toward him. Reaches out. “I can’t see yet,” she says qui
etly. “How long has it been?”

  Cabel moves his hands over her shoulders and back down to her fingers. “Not that long,” he says softly. “A few minutes.” More like twelve.

  “That was a bad one.”

  “Yeah. Did you try to pull out of it?”

  Janie rests her forehead on the heel of her hand and rolls her head slowly, side to side. Her voice is weak. “I didn’t try to get out. I tried to help her change it. Couldn’t get her to pay any attention to me.”

  Cabel paces.

  They wait.

  Slowly Janie can make out shapes. The world fades back in. “Phew,” she says. Smiles shakily.

  “I’m driving you home,” Cabel says as the janitor comes into the library, eyeing them suspiciously. Cabel shoves Janie’s books into her backpack, a grim look on his face. He searches around in the pack and comes up empty-handed. “Don’t you carry anything with you? I’m out of PowerBars.”

  “Um…” Janie bites her lip. “I’m okay now. I’ll be fine. I can drive.”

  He scowls. Doesn’t respond. Helps her stand up, slings her backpack over his shoulder, and they walk out to the parking lot. It’s lightly snowing.

  He opens the passenger-side door of his car and looks at her, his jaw set.

  Patient.

  Waiting.

  Until she gets in.

  He drives in silence through the snow to a nearby mini-mart, goes in, and returns with pint of milk and a plastic bag. “Open your backpack,” he says.

  She does it.

  He pours half a dozen PowerBars into it. Opens a bar and hands it to her with the milk. “I’ll get your car later,” he says, holding his hand out for her keys. She looks down. Then hands them over.

  He drives her to her house.

  Stares at the steering wheel, his jaw set.

  Waits for her to get out.

  She glances at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “Oh,” she says finally. She swallows the lump in her throat. Takes her backpack and the milk and gets out of the car. Closes the door. Goes up the steps and kicks the snow off her shoes. Not looking back.

  He pulls out of the driveway slowly, making sure Janie gets inside okay. And drives away.

  Janie goes to bed, confused and sad, and takes a nap.

  8:36 p.m.