Dark Rivers of the Heart

she were levitating up out of the flood. Except, judging by the comparative quiet, the flood was gone.
        Because his eyes were adapted to darkness and cool moonlight shone between ragged clouds, Spencer was able to recognize her.
        In a voice as dry as cinders, but without a slur, he said, "Hi."
        "Hi, yourself," she said.
        "Come in."
        "Thank you, I think I will."
        "This is nice," he said.
        "You like it here?"
        "Better than the other dream."
        She levered herself into the truck, and it wobbled more than before, grinding against rock at both ends.
        The motion disturbed him-not because he was concerned that the truck would shift and break loose and fall, but because it stirred up his vertigo again. He was afraid of spiraling out of this dream, back into the nightmare of July and Colorado.
        Sitting where Rocky had once sat, she remained still for a moment, waiting for the truck to stop moving. "This is one tricky damned situation you've gotten into."
        "Ball lightning," he said.
        "Excuse me?"
        "Ball lightning."
        "Of course."
        "Knocked the truck into the arroyo."
        "Why not," she said.
        It was so hard to think, to express himself clearly. Thinking hurt.
        Thinking made him dizzy.
        "Thought it was aliens," he explained.
        "Aliens?"
        "Little guys. Big eyes. Spielberg."
        "Why would you think it was aliens?"
        "Because you're wonderful," he said, though the words didn't convey what he meant. In spite of the poor light, he could see that the look she gave him was peculiar. Straining to find better words, made dizzier by the effort, he said, "Wonderful things must happen around you… happen around you all the time."
        "Oh, yeah I'm the center of a regular 1.
        "You must know some wonderful thing. That's why they're after you.
        Because you know some wonderful thing."
        "You been taking drugs?"
        "I could use a couple aspirin. Anyway… they're not after you because you're a bad person."
        "Aren't they?"
        "No. Because you're not. A bad person, I mean."
        She leaned toward him and put a hand against his forehead. Even her light touch made him wince with pain.
        "How do you know I'm not a bad person?" she asked.
        "You were nice to me."
        "Maybe it was an act."
        She produced a penlight from her jacket, peeled back his left eyelid, directed the beam at his eye. The light hurt. Everything hurt. The cool air hurt his face. Pain accelerated his vertigo.
        "You were nice to Theda."
        "Maybe that was an act too," she said, now examining his right eye with the penlight.
        "Can't fool Theda."
        "Why not?"
        "She's wise."
        "Well, that's true."
        "And she makes huge cookies."
        Finished examining his eyes, she tipped his head forward to have a look at the gash in the top of his skull. "Nasty. Coagulated now, but it needs cleaned and stitched."
        "Ouch!"
        "How long were you bleeding?"
        "Dreams don't hurt."
        "Do you think you lost a lot of blood?"
        "This hurts."
        "'Cause you're not dreaming."
        He licked his chapped lips. His tongue was dry. "Thirsty."
        "I'll get you a drink in just a minute," she said, putting two fingers under his chin and tipping his head up again.
        All this head tipping was making him dangerously dizzy, but he managed to say, "Not dreaming? You're sure?"
        "Positive." She touched his upturned right palm. "Can you squeeze my hand?"
        "Yes."
        "Go ahead."
        "All right." mean now."
        "Oh." He closed his hand around hers.
        "That's not bad," she said.
        "It's nice."
        "A good grip. Probably no spinal damage. I expected the worst."
        She had a warm, strong hand. He said, "Nice."
        He closed his eyes. An inner darkness leaped at him. He opened his eyes at once, before he could fall back into the dream.
        "You can let go of my hand now," she said.
        "Not a dream, huh?"
        "No dream."
        She clicked on the penlight again and directed it down between his seat and the center console.
        "This is really strange," he said.
        She was peering along the narrow shaft of light.
        "Not dreaming," he said, "must be