Page 87 of Fire and Bones

The third was taken with the lens facing away from the fire. Same block, better sense of the chaos. Fire equipment and personnel. Gawkers. Patrol units. Yellow police tape.

Switching my phone to silent mode, I turned off the light.

Suddenly I was wide awake.

For one unnerving moment, I had no idea where I was.

Then recognition.

Chez Doyle.

I felt sweaty and anxious.

Why?

An overload of soy and raw fish?

No. The agitation was due to another barely remembered nighttime drama.

Why was my subconscious nagging me now?

Lying in the dark, I struggled to reassemble the ephemeral fragments.

It seemed my id was processing its most recent intake. As usual.

In the first scrap of dream, I was inside the Aaronson town house. Walking alone from room to room.

In the next, I was out on the street.

I passed two identical boys with two identical dogs.

“Don’t do it,” the first boy said.

“Don’t do what?” I asked.

“There’s a car parked behind you, another in front.”

“I’ll find the key.”

“You’re trapped.”

New scrap. I was alone again, moving from vehicle to vehicle, nose to the windows, hands to either side of my face.

Sonofabitch!

I went bolt upright.

The clock said two-forty-seven.

Heart hammering, I grabbed my phone. Opened the album containing the Aaronson scene pics. Expanded the second image with my thumb and finger.

Yes!

I fired off a text to Doyle.

I’ve got something.

She answered immediately.