25.

The streets were slick and the tires of her bicycle spat against the asphalt as she came to the center of the Thoreau bridge. The old railroad bridge that ran parallel to it had collapsed in the night. Twisted pylons of black steel jutted from the river like teeth.

Something was wrong.

Freya felt like she was being followed, but she was afraid to look back. The man in the Acura would be there, waiting for her. When she found the courage to look behind her, the bridge was empty. The wet span of concrete continued for miles, vanishing into the horizon. It seemed impossible she had biked so far. She looked up and there was darkness at noon, the sky was an empty hole above her.

This is a dream.

If this was a dream, then she could just wake up. Freya tried to open her eyes, but they were already open. Sitting up didn’t work. When she tried to pinch herself, everything was numb. Finally she tried to call for help, but she had no voice.

Oh no.

Freya could feel her insides tightening, like someone was twisting her pegs. Her heart began to race, outlines became more defined, all the edges were sharpening. If she kept fighting the dream, everything would turn to razors and slice her apart.

Freya wanted out. She moved up to the guardrail and prepared to leap into the river. But when she looked down, the Sillas had risen, spilling over its banks. The steel teeth had disappeared beneath the black water, if she jumped, she might get impaled. Looking upriver, she could see the woods were flooded like a cypress swamp, the hills surrounding them. The farther she looked, the higher the water had risen, everything was sinking into a vast and sprawling sea. She needed to get to high ground.

There were gulls crying overhead, but when she looked up the sky was just an empty black void. She leapt back onto the bicycle began to race west. She heard an engine rumbling behind her, and glanced back, afraid she was about to be run over, but it was just the sound of the bridge collapsing into the sea.

Ahead the road spiraled around a tall tower of stone, Grayson was at the summit. Behind her Freya could hear it all coming apart, she was was barely outrunning the collapse. The path flattened out into the plateau of the teacher parking lot, up ahead was the sidewalk that led to the bike racks. She compressed, ready to leap the curb and she felt the ground beneath her falling away, her front wheel struck and she went flying over the handlebars, tumbling forward and landing on her back. She was staring up at the black empty sky, and she had the terrible feeling if she stayed here the darkness would descend and swallow her, she would never wake up.

Freya had lost track of herself, she was rising to her feet, moving towards the door. It felt like she was being driven along on rails, all the decisions had already been made. Behind her, there was an avalanche roar as the parking lot and all the cars sloughed off and spilled into the sea. She dashed through the door and slammed it behind her.

Freya had to warn everyone. Someone had to tell them it was all coming apart. The hall was empty and flooded, all the lockers were flung open and fine white sand was spilling out of them. It smelled like seawater, beneath was the faint scent of tidal decay.

She sloshed forward in ankle deep water as the sound of crashing surf hissed from the school intercoms. The auditorium doors were open and a stream was cascading down the steps like a waterfall. Freya followed the current down the stairs. At the bottom seawater was spilling into a whirlpool in the orchestra pit. The band was still there, playing louder to be heard over the sucking roar. The stage was aglow with boundary lights, she could see the shadows of the other performers in the wings.

Freya climbed the steps, afraid she would get yelled at for tracking sand onto the stage. She took her place in the blocking. The spotlights came up and Saria and Peter were there, dressed as Inez and Garcin. Freya looked down and realized she was naked. In a panic, her hand gripped the place where her pocket should be.

She’d lost the Starball.

The whirlpool died with a gurgling belch and orchestra pit flooded while the band played on. A violinist was floating on top of the bass drum, the woodwind section was underwater, the horns of their instruments rose above the surface like snorkels.

Peter and Saria didn’t seem to notice the rising water, or that she was trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. Instead they were staring at her, the air heavy with expectation. It was her line.

“The crystal's shattered, but I don't care. I'm just a hollow dummy, all that's let of me is the outside.”

It was Freya’s voice, but the words came from outside her, thrown by some unseen ventriloquist offstage. Peter and Saria echoed the line, chanting over the sound of rushing water.

There was more to the line but the acting was through. The had never taken their eyes off Freya. They wanted something. Peter and Saria approached, bringing their faces close to hers. She wanted to bolt, but that wasn’t in the choreography.

“Freya…”

Saria said her name as if she were invoking a deity, the kettle drums drifting in the audience thundered. She’d said it the same way when she cornered Freya in the green room and confessed everything. At the time, Freya had known Saria didn’t even know her. She’d built an idol in her mind, anyone could have been the vessel. Freya had tried to let her down easy, and only fanned the flames.

Now Saria was knelt at Freya’s feet, clinging to her ankles. She stared up with undeserved reverence. Freya looked away, and clung tightly to herself. Peter was behind her, he tried to pull away the hand covering between her legs. She twisted away but the arms around her legs shackled her. Freya tried to say no, but her voice was gone.

She felt more exasperated than afraid, how could they not see what was going on? Again she had the feeling that she had no agency here, everything had been determined and she was just following the choreography.

Peter was kissing her chest but his eyes were locked on Saria, the whole thing was an act for her benefit. Saria was staring up at Freya, hoping, imploring, but there was nothing there for her, nothing at all for either of them. They were all about to drown anyway, it didn’t matter.

Saria tugged at Freya’s hand. It made Freya angry, she’d already told Saria she wasn’t interested. Somewhere along the way both Peter and Saria had lost their costumes. Between Saria’s breasts, a familiar shape hung from a silver chain.

The Starball!

Freya made a desperate grab for the chain, and her fist closed around the orb. Saria pulled back, and Freya wrenched the Starball away from her, she could hear the delicate pings of tiny links popping. Saria’s eyes bulged as if she’d been stabbed, and she fell face-first into the water.

Peter crashed forward and tried to pull Saria up, but she came apart like sodden paper mâché. Peter looked from the clumps of Saria dripping from his hands to Freya, his face growing red with hate.

The stage lights were growing dim as the Starball was heating up in her fist, red-orange light was spilling through her fingers. It was burning her hand, the glow grew so intense she could see the shadows of her bones. Peter held his hands up, backing away from her as the burning became agony. The Starball pulsed in a brilliant nova of light that outshone the spotlights. For an instant she could see the outline of Peter throwing an arm in front of his eyes, but then she was blinded. The glare died, she could hear the echo of Peter’s scream bouncing back from the rafters. The Starball in her fist was agony but she couldn’t let it go. There was a heavy clack from above, someone had killed the house lights, and Freya was cast into darkness.

* * *

Freya woke up.

It was pitch black in her room and and there was something wrong with her right hand. She felt for it in the darkness, afraid she would find a blackened stump, but it had only been a dream. It took a moment to realize she’d grabbed the Starball off her nightstand during the dream, she was clutching it in her fist. She groped for the bedside light, knocking her phone to the floor.

Her hand was shaking as she reached down for her phone, afraid something terrible had happened. But there were no messages. It was one AM.

Freya shut her eyes tightly. She had Krav Maga class tonight. She was completely awake, exhausted but not the slightest bit tired. It was like everything good had been scraped out of her and all that was left behind was an empty skin.

The weird dream remained, refusing to fade away. Why was she dreaming about Peter and Saria like that? She’d barely glimpsed them in the auditorium, she hadn’t spoken to either in months. The memory of the dream was vivid in her mind, she could remember their hands tugging at her, the awful crash of the cymbal.

The crystal has shattered.

In the bedside light she turned the Starball over and over in her palm, it was the same. She wondered if she ought to seal it back up in the halves of the meteorite. Maybe then the dreams would stop, computers would stop going haywire. She thought about the dream from last night, the meteorite all wrapped up in tape and the river overflowing with eels. Was it trying to warn her? To threaten her? She set the Starball back on the nightstand and stared at it.

“Can’t you just talk?” she whispered to the Starball, and of course it couldn’t. She was just having withdrawal from the Lunesta. It was a perfectly logical explanation.

Freya tried to tell herself she get over it in a few days but she didn’t believe it. She didn’t get over anything anymore. She turned off the light and stared at the shadows shifting on her ceiling. Half an hour later she turned the light back on. There were echoes of the dream embedded in her, like pieces of glass.