Outcasts from Beyond

OUTCASTS

FROM

BEYOND

Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me, whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com

Synopsis: On her way to see Tom Sloane, Daria Morgendorffer has a car wreck—but that’s only the start of her problems in this long, weird alternate-universe/crossover Daria tale of secret identities and super-powers that begins about halfway through “Boxing Daria” and heads into the wild blue.

Author’s Notes: This story, originally entitled “Green,” was posted on PPMB and SFMB between November 2005 and May 2006 in response to an old PPMB challenge. Before the old PPMB board shut down in July 2003, WacoKid asked in an “Iron Chef” for a fanfic that takes place in the final fifth-season episode, “Boxing Daria,” at the moment when Daria has a near accident in her parents’ SUV, driving through a storm on her way to see Tom Sloane. For story purposes, Daria bumps her head and regains consciousness to find the world is somehow different. I had to take a rain check on it at the time, but finally found time to do it when I had an idea I hoped would make it worthwhile. I can’t believe the story actually got this big, though. I need to be more careful next time.

The “Author’s Notes II” at the story’s end contains background information on this tale, with notes on this alternate universe if anyone else wants to set a fanfic there using this set-up and introduction. It should be noted that a geeky knowledge of the big events in Marvel and DC Comics throughout the 1980s would help in following along

Acknowledgements: First, my heartfelt thanks to WacoKid for the “Iron Chef” contest that inspired this story. My thanks also go out to Ms. Kinnikufan, Orpheus, Psychotol, and Martin Pollard for finding errors in the text; WacoKid (especially), Sleepless, Jedah, and The Professor for suggesting changes to the thoughts, words, and actions of certain characters; Psychotol and DJ for correcting the explosive effects of a Hellfire II missile; and the idea of having Jennifer Love Hewitt play Daria was stolen from Aaron Adelman’s tongue-in-cheek “Unofficial Daria Movie Rumor Page” online. That about covers it. Enjoy.

“During the day, I’m a mild-mannered student. But at night,

I fight crime in a stretchy-stretchy costume.”

—Daria in “The Story of D,”

being sarcastic but closer to

the truth than she knew

Thursday, November 4, 1999

After six irritating rings, the cell phone in the driver’s door map holder fell silent. Daria Morgendorffer frowned at the Interstate ahead, Lawndale in her rear-view mirror and the sun falling behind the hills to the west. That was probably Mom or Dad, wondering where I’m going. Screw that. They don’t want to talk honestly with me, I don’t want to talk with them, either. I’ll take off a few days and spend time with people I can trust. Let’s see what the ‘rents think about that. Tomorrow’s Friday. I can blow off one day of school and come back Sunday. Tom got a few days off from school for that family wedding he has to attend on Saturday. He said he wouldn’t mind my company around the Cove before then. My platonic company is all he’s getting, but maybe he’ll be okay with that. Better call ahead and see if I still have the green light to stay a day or two.

Reaching down, she retrieved the cell phone with her left hand and thumbed in a number as she drove. A late autumn thunderstorm rode the darkening sky ahead. Misty curtains of rain fell across fast-moving traffic less than a mile away.

This whole day sucks, she thought, holding the phone to her left ear. My parents won’t tell me why they had a fight about me and separated one night when I was six years old, so I get pissed off and take Mom’s Explorer, which I hate because it’s too damn big, and now night’s falling and it’s about to rain and all this crap started when I saw that damn refrigerator carton by the—

“Hello, this is Kay,” came a woman’s cheery voice over the cell phone.

“Hello?” said Daria, coming to. “Mrs. Sloane? Is Tom there?” Lightning flickered in the darkness ahead. She gripped the wheel tighter with her right hand. Hate this car.

“Daria, so good to hear from you!” said Kay Sloane with delight. “I’m afraid Tom’s out with his uncle right now. I believe they’re boating, but they should be back soon. What can I do for you, dear?”

Thunder rumbled. Daria glanced at the mounting traffic in the fast lane on her left. “Well, would it be okay if I took you up on your offer to visit?”

“Oh, certainly! We’d love to have you. We have a guest bedroom we can fix up. Are you calling from your car? It sounds like you’re on a cell phone.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, be careful, dear. How long do you think it will be until you can get here?”

Daria glanced at the dashboard clock. “I can be there in about four hours.”

“Wonderful! I’ll let Tom know. He’ll be pleased to see you—and I will, too. We could use some intelligent conversation, heaven knows.”

“Thanks very much, Mrs. Sloane.”

“You’re welcome, Daria. See you soon!”

At least she likes me. Daria clicked off the phone and returned it to the map holder. Drops of rain splattered against the windshield. Here goes, she thought. The raindrops multiplied into a blinding torrent. She turned on the wipers and leaned forward, squinting into the rain-swept dusk. What a great start for my trip. At least I’ve got a room to—oh, no, I didn’t even think to pack. I don’t have a thing to wear, damn it! I can’t believe this. I just got up and walked out of the house without thinking, and here I am trying to drive up the East Coast from Baltimore in a rainstorm, and why I’m trying to see Tom is beyond me. He’s playing mind games with me, too, and—jeez, am I doing what my dad did all those years ago, running off on my mom and my sister and me? Screw it, I don’t want to think about what I’m—

Her temper flared. Her right foot pressed on the gas. That was all it took.

Sudden motion ahead in the left lane—a car spinning around, hydroplaning on the wet, oily asphalt—brake lights, screaming tires, the blue car ahead was too close—

Whoa! Daria gasped and spun the wheel to the right, foot nailing the brake, but the Explorer hit water and spun frictionless toward the right shoulder. No! Don’t—

The Explorer went off the road backwards at sixty, flying over the top of an embankment. Gripping the wheel in both hands, Daria jammed her right foot down on the useless brake. A wordless scream left her mouth as the SUV rotated in the air, weightless all the way down to the impact—

A light mist fell in the darkness. Hidden by undergrowth at the edge of a nearby forest, a silent figure watched as a crowd of rain-soaked cops, firemen, EMTs, and passers-by stood in the light of flares and flashlights, studying the scattered remains of the red Ford Explorer in the tall grass at the bottom of the ravine. The largest remaining piece was the buckled rear of the Explorer, intact up to the front seats. This part rested on its tailgate door, every window shattered, with the passenger seats facing up into the night sky. The driver’s seat was missing, and the driver’s-side door had been ripped from its hinges by the impact—or by something else—and lay halfway up the slope up to the Interstate. The forward part of the SUV, from the dashboard up to the grill and headlights, was smashed into the ground and emitting clouds of smoke and steam. Shredded scraps from the vehicle’s impact bags lay everywhere.

Twenty yards ahead of the wreckage, in the weeds near the tree line, several men stood next to the driver’s seat. It lay in tangled pieces, held together only by a crooked metal bar in the framework and a long strip of fabric from the shoulder harness.

The only thing missing from the scene, other than the steering wheel, was the unfortunate driver. Scraps of clothing had been recovered, but not the wearer. Clusters of police officers, medics, and bystanders walked slowly away from the wreckage, scanning the overgrown grass with their lights. Someone called out that he had found an empty boot, the leather seams ripped out. He was close to the tree line. A number of men walked in his direction, flashlights swinging left and right.

Alarmed, the figure among the trees crouched down behind the bushes and saplings. The cluster of men stopped short of the tree line, only fifty feet away. Safe for the moment, the figure raised its enormous hands, outlined in faint light, then spread its fingers. It stared at its palms and digits in wide-eyed shock, then brushed long hair from its face and peered out again at the searchers.

The people by the boot began walking once more through the tall wet grass toward the tree line, searching the ground. The figure rose and retreated—and broke a thick branch under a bare foot.

Someone shouted. A half-dozen lights flashed in the creature’s direction. Panicked, the figure broke into a run. In moments, it was far, far away—

—but not before everyone got a split-second look at it.

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing.

* * *

Tonight, for lack of anything better to do, it was toothpicks on the kitchen table. Jane Lane dabbed a bit of wood glue on the tip of the toothpick and carefully set it in place in the toothpick construction she had dubbed the “Tetrahedral Gorilla.” The two-foot-high figure by now did sort of resemble an ape with massive upraised arms. It wasn’t a serious work, but Jane liked exploring the range of things that could be created using a simple three-dimensional shape.

In addition, toothpick tinkering helped Jane take her mind off the fate of her best friend, Daria. Since dusk, she had received five phone calls, three from the Morgendorffers’ home and two long-distance calls from Tom Sloane at the Cove, asking if she knew where Daria was, who had not picked up her cell-phone calls for hours. The last call, at 10:35 p.m. from Daria’s mother Helen, had been interrupted by call waiting on Helen’s end—and Helen had hung up shortly thereafter. No one at Daria’s home answered later when Jane called back.

Jane’s brother Trent was off with his band, playing at a tavern in Swedesville, so Jane had his car—but she knew of nowhere to look for Daria. She had not been overly concerned until the last call, after which she elected to wait by the phone for further word. No such word had come.

Jane hated waiting. Her mind conjured up dreadful possibilities she dared not say aloud. She had decided a while ago that if she hadn’t heard anything by midnight, she was leaving home to drive around the school, the pizza places, and Tom’s mansion-sized house in a nearby gated subdivision. Tom and his family were away, but Daria might have gone to the house and parked just to get away from home. Daria’s mother had made reference to an argument happening before she had left home. It would be like Daria to seek some alone time to be depressed or angry, then sort out what to do next.

“It could be a professional wrestler,” Jane said, continuing a long conversation she’d been having with herself about the toothpick figure. “Could be a future boyfriend, too. That would be interesting. The relationship might not last more than a few weeks, but the experience is the point. I could see—”

The phone rang. Startled, Jane jumped, then ran from her seat to the wall phone and snatched up the receiver. “Jane here!” she cried, not at all her usual laconic self.

A moment of hesitation on the other end of the line, and then: “Jane? This is Daria.”

Only . . . it wasn’t quite Daria. The voice was deeper and stronger in tone. Still, it could be Daria, if she had a sore throat. “Daria? Where the hell are you? Everyone’s been hunting for you for hours and your mom’s—”

“Jane . . . I had a wreck.”

Oh, no! “A wreck? Are you all right?”

A pause. “Yes . . . and no.”

“Are you at a hospital? Are your parents there?”

“No and no. Jane, listen, I’m just off the Interstate, at the northbound rest area at the county line. I’m using a public phone. I can’t talk long. Can you get over here and pick me up, like immediately?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I can leave now. Are you sure you’re okay?”

The deep voice became stressed. “No, actually, I’m not sure. I can’t explain it. I think . . . I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I can call an ambulance and have it—”

“NO!”

Jane jerked the handset away from her ear. That was loud. “Okay, okay!” she said. “I’ll get there by myself! Do you want me to call your parents?”

“No! Just get over here, you and nobody else!”

No point in arguing. “I’m on my way, amiga.”

The other end hung up. Jane clapped the handset back on the wall hook and ran to get the car keys and her driver’s license.

Eight miles away, a nervous figure hurried off with long strides from an outdoor payphone. Headlights were approaching on the access road leading to the rest area. Whirling blue and red lights appeared atop the oncoming vehicle, which came to a stop beside the payphone. Two officers got out, hands on their holsters, and flashed lights into the darkness around them. Seeing nothing, they turned to go back to their car—until one flashed his light down at the base of the payphone where the ground was muddy and covered with coins.

It wasn’t the torn-away metal coin box that caught their attention, though that was part of it. It was the footprint that nailed them.

That was when the guns came out.

III

Friday, November 5, 1999

“Finally!” Jane shouted in exasperation. She gunned the engine of the ancient Plymouth Satellite and roared past the traffic officer who waved her into the only lane left open on the Interstate. Forty-five minutes after leaving home and well past midnight, she was escaping a traffic jam that had swamped the northbound lanes of the rain-slick freeway. “What the hell’s going on around here?” she grumbled. “This had better be worth the wait. Daria will be pissed, I wasted almost a quarter tank of gas, and . . . jeez, what’s all that . . . oh.”

Her monologue disintegrated as she spotted a line of police cars, ambulances, television news vans, fire trucks, and civilian vehicles parked on either side of the road ahead. The top of a ravine ran along the right side of the Interstate, beyond the shoulder. Red and blue emergency lights flashed everywhere. Men in yellow reflective jackets walked along the lines of vehicles to the left and right, ignoring the passing cars.

Jane’s gaze darted ahead to a flatbed truck parked on the right, next to a crane wrecker. Resting on the flatbed was something that vaguely looked like an SUV. Her eyes widened as the sight grew clearer.

It was the battered rear end of a Ford Explorer. The license plate was hopelessly plastered over with clods of dirt and grass, so identification could not be precise—but the original color of the wreckage had been red. She saw that for sure. The Morgendorffers owned a red Ford Explorer that Daria often drove. Jane recalled that Daria had hated that car, claiming it was too big to handle properly.

Uh-oh.

Jane started to brake and pull over, realized she had no room on either side of the road to do that, then realized she could not stop in the line of traffic she was in. The best she could do was to slow down enough to get a good look at the wreck as she went by. Wordless, she came up to the flatbed and looked directly at it for one second.

The front of the SUV was gone. The driver’s door and seat were also missing. It looked just like the Morgendorffer’s SUV on the inside.

Robbed of coherent thought, Jane looked back at the line of traffic ahead and followed the red tail lights like a robot. She did not know if she breathed. Her face worked and her eyes starting to water, but she kept driving and forced herself to remember: Daria called me on the phone right after the accident. Daria is still alive.

But the phone call had been almost an hour ago. Where was Daria now? Was she still alive, or was she . . . ?

Jane passed the last car parked at the accident scene. She was on the verge of pulling over and walking back to look at the wreck when a blue highway sign came out of the darkness on the right, announcing that a rest area was one mile ahead. That’s where Daria said to meet her! She accelerated, searching for the exit. How did Daria get there? Did someone drive her over after the wreck? Did she walk? The latter idea hardly seemed possible, given the condition of the Explorer.

More trouble appeared. The police had blocked off the exit ramp to the rest area, so no one could leave the freeway. A dozen police cars and emergency vehicles were parked around the rest area shelter, and perhaps two dozen uniformed figures were in view. The grounds were being spotlighted by a helicopter that Jane heard thumping faintly above. What the hell is going on here? How am I going to get Daria? Did they find her already? Is she already on the way to a hospital? Is she alive?

She had to know. Jane hit the right-turn blinker and carefully pulled off the road, easing as far off the shoulder into the wet grass as she dared go. She kept the left tires on the asphalt for traction. The landscape was relatively flat here, with a dark forest only a stone’s throw beyond the drainage ditch to her right. She turned in her seat and looked back. It was a quarter-mile walk to the rest area, more or less. At least the rain had quit. A crescent moon looked down through a hole in an overcast sky.

She turned to the front again and looked in her outside left mirror to check for approaching cars. None were visible. She pulled the keys from the ignition, put her other hand on the door handle, and—

The impact on the right side of the Plymouth rocked it violently to the left. Jane’s head smacked the side window. She felt the burst of pain and cried out at the same moment she heard an explosive ripping of metal from the other side of the car. Looking back, half blind with pain, she saw the right rear door of the Satellite come completely off the car. Window glass sprayed everywhere. The left tires shrieked as they were jerked sideways on the blacktop, the car rocking to the right.

A giant shape filled the rear doorway of the Satellite and jumped into the back seat and put its face next to Jane’s in a half a second. The rear door was in its right hand.

“Get us out of here!” the creature roared, louder than an indoor AC/DC concert with the amplifier volume turned to 11.

Jane stared at the creature, her mouth open and eyes showing white around her blue irises.

“Move it! Hurry!”

The monster’s face was framed by a thick mane of long dark hair with leaves, mud, and twigs entangled in the locks.

“Damn it, Jane, let’s go!”

The monster’s face was a woman’s—not unattractive, but large, a bit dirty . . . and green as could be.

“JANE!”

The monster’s face was also Daria’s. Jane thought she would go mad. There was no mistaking it. No glasses, but it was still—

Enraged, the creature shoved on the front passenger seat, crushing the seat’s back flat against the vehicle cushion without effort. It rested the upper half of its body on the makeshift pillow, then pointed with one long finger at the ignition.

And waited.

Glaring.

Jane slowly got the idea. She felt as if she were moving in a drugged nightmare. Her fingers fumbled with the keys as she inserted one—wrong one, next one—no, next one—it fit, but now she didn’t know which way she was supposed to turn it. That direction didn’t work, the other direction—

The engine started. Jane tried to remember the steps involved in driving a car. She had completely forgotten how. Was the brake involved?

“Is there is problem?” said the giant green woman lying two feet away from her. The giant’s voice vibrated the bones in Jane’s chest all the way back to her spine.

“Problem?” echoed Jane, her mind blank.

With a visible struggle to control its temper, the creature leaned over and put its face close to Jane’s. “Drive to your house, Jane,” it said. “Please.” It hesitated before adding, “Help me.”

Help me?

Daria needs help.

Jane looked away, put the car in drive, checked the rear-view mirrors, and pulled back on the Interstate into the traffic, accelerating hard. Cool wind roared in through the hole where the side door used to be. The creature pushed itself up on an elbow, looking out the rear window. “Hurry,” it said. “They’ve got a helicopter.”

Jane licked her dry lips. “Wha . . . what happened?”

“What happened?” The monster’s voice rose until it was short of deafening. “What happened? How the hell do I know what happened? I don’t know what happened! Just get me to your house as fast as you can!”

“Uh . . . right. Okay. We’re going.”

The monster subsided. It looked out the back window again, then ducked its head to avoid being seen by people in other cars. It looked down at itself and began picking debris from its skin. Jane could not keep from looking at it, either. Lying next to her was a huge green woman wearing a stretched-out amber T-shirt that magnificently advertised that the giant was built like a brick outhouse. The giant’s only other item of clothing was a pair of white cotton panties that were starting to rip along one seam.

Daria usually wore an amber T-shirt under a green jacket. And her sole choice of underwear, Jane knew from sharing her phys-ed class, was boring old white cotton. Jane also that Daria had the weakest musculature of any girl in the senior class, and at five-foot-two was one of the smallest girls in their grade.

The green giant, however, was close to seven feet tall. She had biceps larger around than a skater’s thighs. Her smooth legs were impossibly long and perfectly muscled and capable of winning every athletic medal in existence for power lifting.

And the giant had Daria’s face.

I have She-Hulk in the car with me, Jane thought. I have the real, honest-to-God Marvel Comics She-Hulk right here in Trent’s car, with me, and it’s Daria. Of all possible people, it’s her.

She drove in silence for a minute, trying to absorb this. She then casually let go of the steering wheel with her right hand and felt to her side, reaching for the giant. Her fingers touched something large and soft and round and warm and fabric-covered. This is real. Ohmigod, this is all really happening. Her fingers began to explore further.

“What do you think you’re doing?” growled the giant.

Jane glanced over—and jerked her hand away. “Sorry!” she said, looking back at the road with a frozen expression. “Sorry. I didn’t know that was . . . your . . . um . . . never mind.”

The giant’s glare softened. “Making sure I was actually here?”

“Uh . . . yeah. I guess. Sorry.”

“Forget it. I can’t believe it, either.” A beat. “Don’t do it again, though.”

“Right.”

A long pause took hold while Jane drove. Outside, all was darkness.

“Thanks for picking me up, by the way,” said Daria.

“Uh, sure.”

“Sorry about the door. I was kind of in a hurry.”

“No problem.”

She-Hulk, thought Jane. My wish came true. Ten years after I made it, yeah, but it came true. I can’t believe it. I’m best friends with She-Hulk.

And it’s Daria.

Neither of them spoke the rest of the way back to Jane’s place, except when Jane suggested that Daria put the door back on so they wouldn’t attract attention in town. This was managed with Daria lying down across the back seat to hold the door in place, and all was well. So far.

A lot of things bothered Daria in her present state. What the hell happened to me? Was it my fault? Does being huge and green mean I’m going to die soon? If I don’t die soon, how am I going to explain this to everyone? What will Mom and Dad do? Will they be angry with me because I left home and wrecked the car and became a freak? Will they look at me in horror because I’m a monster who breaks things just by touching them? Is there a special school for people like me? Will Quinn scream and faint when she sees me? Probably. Guess there had to be a positive side to this. And Tom—great, I totally forgot about Tom. I don’t even know how to deal with not showing up at the Cove. Do I feign brain damage? Do I tell him what happened and hope he’ll be understanding and not think I’m a loon? And speaking of that, what the hell happened to me?

By the time they arrived at the Lane home in Lawndale, however, a new irritant had been added to the list:

What the hell is Jane so happy about? She’s even humming to herself. At least I think that’s humming. She couldn’t carry a tune if it was stapled to her.

“We’re safe inside Casa Lane!” Jane said, shutting off the engine. “Garage door’s shut. You can let go of that door now.”

Daria, lying flat across the back seat, released the warped right rear door of the Plymouth Satellite. It fell with a loud metallic clatter to the concrete floor of the Lane family garage. Great, I owe Trent a new car. Maybe he can file insurance and claim this was hail damage.

Jane got out, shut her door, and walked around to watch as the green giantess managed to extricate herself from the back seat. When she stood up at last, the transformed Daria kept one hand on her underwear, holding the ripped seam together in a last bid for modesty.

“A bit nippy in here, isn’t it?” said Jane, smirking at Daria’s chest.

Daria quickly covered her breasts with her other arm. “That death wish of yours is going to get you in trouble one day,” she growled. The garage windows rattled as she spoke. She looked nervously at the door leading into the house. “Is Trent home?”

“Let’s find out,” said Jane. She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted, “Hey, Trent! Come out and see Daria’s Halloween costume!”

Daria yelped and crouched down, using the car to shield her in case the door opened. “Jane, damn you!” she shouted. Most of the garage windows cracked.

“Oh, keep your shirt on, if you can,” said Jane with a grin. “We’re home free. Trent’s not coming back until next—”

The door to the house opened. A moment later, Jane’s older brother Trent stuck his head out. “Did you call, Janey?” he said. His eyes adjusted to the dim light in the garage, and a moment later he spotted Daria—what could be seen of her from the nose up, hiding behind the car trunk. “Daria?” he said in surprise.

Daria emitted a curious whine as she stared back in shock.

“Isn’t this great?” Jane called, recovering. “She’s dressed up as She-Hulk! Green skin and all! For Halloween!”

Comprehension dawned over Trent’s face. “That’s cool, Daria,” he said. “You look just like her. Great costume.”

“Uh . . . thanks,” Daria said.

“Wasn’t Halloween a week ago, though?”

“Uh—”

“It took a long time to get the color right,” said Jane. “It had to be perfect. The time didn’t matter.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can see that. Cool how you made your voice so low, too. It’s kinda, like, sexy. I like it.”

Daria closed her eyes and thumped her head softly against the side of the car.

“You okay, Daria?” Trent called in concern.

“Uh . . . I’m . . . I’m hiding, Trent,” she finally said. “I, uh, had a, uh, costume malfunction. You can’t look.”

“Her underwear ripped,” Jane clarified. “We didn’t expect you back so soon. Is the concert over?”

“Nah. The concert was cancelled, ‘cause the tavern in Swedesville burned down this afternoon.” Trent waved. “Stay cool, Janey. You, too, Daria. You look great.” He went back into the house, leaving the door open behind him.

Daria turned and gave Jane a look that should have blasted her into atoms.

“Oh, get over it,” Jane said, walking to the doorway. “Trent won’t notice anything unusual about you now. You could walk around naked, and he’d think it was part of the costume. Let’s go up to my room.”

Daria, however, would not budge until Jane made Trent go into the basement. Then she hurried in—and discovered that even a causal walk caused severe vibrations throughout the Lane home, complete with the sound of cracking floorboards. She was reduced to a sort of shuffle-and-tiptoe to avoid damaging anything else. After seeming ages, she was in Jane’s bedroom-slash-art studio, with the door safely shut behind her.

“Why are you in here?” Jane asked, leaning out of a closet to peer at her. “You need a shower. I’ll get some big clothes together and throw them into the bathroom for you. There might be something in the costume chest. You know where the bathroom is, so get started.”

“But Trent’s in the house!” Daria whispered, loudly enough to be heard two rooms away.

“He won’t come up.”

“Well, go make sure!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “Do I have to do everything around here?”

Daria frowned and growled. The plaster wall beside her cracked.

“Oh, all right, fine, be that way.” Jane left the room by walking past Daria—who then felt a sound smack on one of her muscular green buttocks. Daria whirled, but Jane was already racing down the stairs three at a time, snickering all the while.

She’s being awfully familiar for someone with a green monster in her house, Daria thought with a parting glare. She was never like this before. Maybe it’s one of those football player things, where guys smack each other on the butt because—I don’t know why. Because they’re guys, I guess.

Or maybe it’s not. Hmmm, it had better be the former, because I don’t think I could handle the latter. I have enough problems to juggle right now. I don’t think Tom could handle weirdness like that, either, but he is a guy, after all. If he says, “I want to watch,” even as a joke, I’ll knock the living crap out of him. He’ll be crap-free for years.

She pushed aside her thoughts and walked down the creaky, groaning hallway to the bathroom. The underwear and T-shirt ripped to shreds when she tried to remove them intact. She threw them in a heap by the sink and a few minutes later was scrubbing herself down in the shower under a scalding spray, trying to get used to her new body. That she had stupendous strength plus curves—major curves—was one thing, but her sensations had changed, too.

That’s weird. I can tell the water’s hot, but it doesn’t hurt. And I’ve got perfect vision even though my glasses are gone, probably at the wreck busted into pieces. Eww, I can’t believe the junk I had in my hair. My hair’s dark emerald green, almost black. It’s really tough, too, almost as tough as my skin. And I can’t believe my brown eyes turned green. I feel like some kind of damn comic-book creature. Guess now I really will need to get a stretchy stretchy outfit. Which superheroes were green? That DC Martian guy, whatever, and the Ninja Turtles . . . they don’t count . . . and the Hulk . . . mmm, I don’t like that. I’m a lot like the Hulk. Can’t remember anything about him, except he was strong and dumb, so I’m halfway there already. Can’t even remember which bad guys were green. Am I radioactive? God, listen to me.

I’m going to have to call Mom and Dad after I get out of the shower. They’re probably wondering where I’ve run off to. I felt half dumb before, in the car, but now I feel really stupid. The Explorer is junk, and I look like a human Chia Pet. I wonder if this is a disease. I never heard of a virus that would make you green and strong, just pale and sick. This would be a lot of fun if it didn’t suck so much because it’s really happening. I should just go home and try to explain this to Mom and Dad—which of course I can’t. I can’t even explain it to me. Or Tom. Or Jane. Damn it.

And all this started because Mom and Dad wouldn’t tell me why they were arguing that night back in Highland when Dad got mad and left the house, and I hid in that cardboard box all night.

I hate this. I wish I was normal again. I want to be the Daria who was around yesterday at this time. I want to . . . oh, my God.

Daria’s arms were changing color. Her broad feet squeaked on the shower-stall floor as they were pulled closed together. She felt the shower get REALLY HOT—

She hastily shut off the water and stood dripping in the steam-filled stall. She looked down at her arms, then at the rest of her out-of-focus body. Wow, my eyes are back to normal! I had perfect vision when I was green, but now . . .

Seconds later she was out of the shower, peering closely into the mirror over the sink with astonishment and delight. She was normal again. She was Daria. Hallelujah!

She ran out of the bathroom without even putting on a towel. “Jane! Hey, Jane! Look at—”

And she ran slam into Trent in the hallway.

“Daria, please come out of the bathroom. Please? Oh, come on. Trent’s sorry for thinking you hadn’t started your shower yet because he had cordless headphones on and couldn’t hear anything. I’ve screamed at him and punched him in the arm five times and I know he’s sorry. We can’t undo the past. Daria, please come out! At least put your arm out and get the clothes I piled up outside your door. I found some stuff I think you can wear. Come on, Daria, this isn’t a joke! I’m really sorry about this! I swear I didn’t set this up! I gave up teasing you about Trent a year ago! Daria, get over it and move on. So you were naked, so what? You think Trent hasn’t seen naked girls before? Well, not you, but . . . okay, forget all that. This has gone on long enough, Daria. Come out of there or else. Okay, you brought this on yourself. If you don’t come out, I’m going to sing. I swear I will. I’ll sing the school song at the top of my lungs until you come out. You have ten seconds. Wait a minute, the phone’s ringing.” Footsteps raced away from the bathroom door toward Jane’s room down the hall. “I’ve got it, Trent!”

Daria sat on the toilet with the lid down and stared at the tiled floor, her body and hair swaddled in large bath towels. It wasn’t possible to be more humiliated than she was now. She no longer had a burning crush on Jane’s twenty-something brother, but to have actually collided with him while she was stark naked, and then to have stood there in dumb shock before she realized what she’d done, while he looked her over goggle-eyed in astonishment . . . that was too much. She sighed and shook her towel-wrapped head. Oh death, where is thy sting?

Footsteps came swiftly back up the hall. “Daria! Daria, your mom’s on the phone! Come out!” Loud hammering sounded on the door. “Hurry! Your mom’s on the phone and she wants to talk to you! I told her you didn’t remember the wreck! Daria!”

Get it over with. Daria got up, unlocked the door, opened it, took the phone from Jane, then shut the door and locked it again. It was time to complete the disaster. Steeling herself for the barrage of questions, the blistering lectures, and the quasi-medieval punishments to come, she raised the phone and took a breath. “Mom?” she said.

“Oh, God!” screamed her mother. “My baby! Are you all right? We were worried sick over you! Your father and sister are out with the searchers, hunting for you in the woods by the wreck! Sweetie, are you hurt? I’m sending the police over right now to get you, and I’m coming with them! Are you okay? Are you bleeding? Talk to me, Daria! I can’t believe it! Thank you, God, thank you! The police called and we went to the accident and I can’t tell you what went through my head! Amy’s on her way here, and Rita’s coming, and . . . and . . . and I love you and I’m so grateful you’re alive!”

With that, Helen Morgendorffer—a type-A workaholic corporate lawyer with the emotional armor plating of the U.S.S. Iowa—burst into tears.

Little was communicated over the next ten minutes except her mother’s relief that her eldest daughter was alive and well. Daria had the presence of mind to get dressed in the castoffs outside her door, which was good because within ten minutes the police did arrive, in six cars, as did an ambulance, several news vans, and a horde of curiosity seekers who parked up and down the street for hours and wandered into everyone’s yard.

Two things made the flow of events less stressful for Daria than they might otherwise have been. One, Daria said she had no memory of what had happened to her after the Explorer went off the road. She claimed to remember nothing until she was brought to Jane’s house and had a shower. She stuck to this story like glue, fearing that the truth would prove detrimental to what little hope she had left for a semi-normal life.

Two, as the cops and news media swarmed in, Jane grabbed her brother Trent with one hand, pulled off his headphones with the other hand, and shouted, “Don’t say anything about her costume or anything else, not a thing to anyone! Just say nothing, period! Got it?”

“I wasn’t going to—” he began in a wounded tone.

“Nothing!” screamed Jane, before she raced off to let the police into the house.

Trent shook his head, put his headphones back on, and went down into the basement for the rest of the night, safe from his sister’s painful arm punches. There, he spent his time wondering: How did Daria get out of that costume so fast? Did she leave it in Jane’s room? Could I get Monique to wear it? That would be cool. A little Wesson oil, a little wrestling . . . very cool. She might like it. I’ll ask next time I see her.

Meanwhile, once the police, EMTs, and her mother arrived, Daria thought she had been picked up by a whirlwind and carried off like Dorothy to Oz. She was transported to Cedars of Lawndale Hospital by ambulance, her mother and Jane at her side. As she was being hauled through the entrance to the ER she heard the shouting of news reporters. What the hell’s going on? she thought. Why are they asking me about Bigfoot?

There was no time for an answer, as her borrowed clothing was cut away and she was examined with shocking thoroughness inside and out. She was proclaimed to be in good shape considering the circumstances, except for a bump on her forehead where she apparently hit the steering wheel on impact despite the airbag. An IV was put into her arm, eight sensors on long wires were taped to her chest, lights were flashed in her eyes, and numerous scans, x-rays, and tests were scheduled.

Then her white-faced father and younger sister appeared and bawled like babies the second they saw her. It was one thing to have her well-meaning but neurotic father wig out and get totally weepy. She was used to that. However, to have red-haired Quinn grip her hand and profess undying sisterly love instead of the usual litany of annoyance or disgust was enough to make Daria cry, too, which pissed her off a little as she didn’t think she had any reason to cry to begin with. But that was the way it went.

At five a.m., a weary, overstressed Daria was allowed to go to sleep in the ICU on an uncomfortable bed with all the lights on. Twenty minutes later, she was awakened and transported on a gurney bed across the hospital for her first MRI scan, then across the hospital again for an x-ray, then back to the ICU where someone flashed more lights in her eyes, a tube was inserted in a vein in her wrist to draw blood samples, and she was made to use a bedpan. Twice.

“Better enjoy hanging around in bed all day, because things are going to get a little weird when you get out of the hospital,” Jane warned Daria at seven a.m.

Daria’s reply cannot be reprinted, but Jane smiled and patted her best friend’s arm in sympathy and understanding. “That’s my Daria,” she said. “Just be aware that—” she lowered her voice to a whisper “—some people saw a giant shaggy alien monster in the woods near the car wreck, and everyone thinks the monster kidnapped you but you escaped and called me for help and I rescued you, but the monster tore the door off Trent’s car, which the police found but I’m not talking about, and I drove you home so you couldn’t be taken into space aboard Bigfoot’s UFO, and you have traumatic amnesia but hypnosis might make you remember the kidnapping and how the aliens plan to take over the Earth. Keep up the amnesia thing for now until we can get a guest interview on Oprah, then let it all out on national TV.” Jane leaned closer. “And there might be a movie deal in this, too. I’m going to play myself. You should get Jennifer Love Hewitt to—oh! Daria, don’t! Nurse! Nurse! She took out her IV! Daria, stop it! NURSE!”

The nurses and doctors reinserted the IV, reattached the eight chest sensors, and injected something into the IV tube that made Daria very sleepy and less violent. Jane was glad of this, as Daria’s eyes had begun to glow green just before the tranquilizer really hit home. Maybe the jokes about Oprah and the movie were a little much, Jane reflected in shame. I only wanted to cheer her up. Jane held Daria’s hand and felt even sorrier that later she would have to tell Daria that everything else she had mentioned was true. The media frenzy over Daria’s alleged kidnapping by giant green aliens and her subsequent escape and rescue, documented in part by dozens of witnesses including police and rescue personnel, threatened to eclipse even the legend of Bill and Monica and the blue dress. Daria was in danger of becoming a media icon.

For her part, Daria felt a lot better under the tranquilizer’s effects. Maybe Jane’s right, she thought, floating on air, Jennifer Love Hewitt would make a much better Daria than I would. She could go to school for me. I can’t imagine her with my glasses, but the special-effects department could fix that. Virtual eyewear, reality lenses. My adventures through the looking glasses. I’ll need a white rabbit to go with the—

White rabbit? someone asked, a teenage guy coming in the ICU room. That’s like stream-of-consciousness humor, tangential thought, right? That’s funny. Wrong book, but still funny.

She turned her head slightly to see him better. He was boyish, naïve, and had an honest, open smile. And those glasses and that swept-back blond hair . . .

Ted? she thought.

Hey, said Ted DeWitt-Clinton, still smiling. His mouth did not move as he spoke. You’re Daria, right? That’s humor, too. Feigned ignorance. I like your joke better.

Ted, what are you doing here?

I came to see you, of course. The photo editor for the high-school yearbook, and Daria’s long-ago first love interest, wandered over to stand beside Daria’s bed opposite Jane. Jane did not look up or even appear to notice him. The two nurses in the room didn’t notice him, either.

Daria looked at Jane, who held Daria’s hand with a devastated expression, then turned to Ted again. Is this some kind of dream?

Not really, said Ted. I came to say I was sorry to hear about the accident. I guess it had to happen sooner or later. I can’t be everywhere at once.

What had to happen?

Trigger event, said Ted. He peered at Jane, who was the picture of silent misery, then reached across the bed and touched Jane on the forehead with a thumb. Her eyes closed. After a moment, Ted withdrew his hand. Jane’s eyes opened and she smiled down at Daria, her face clear. That’s better, he said. I don’t like suffering. I read Lewis’s The Problem of Pain and Rabbi Kushner’s work, but I still don’t like it on a personal level. Admiring it in Goya’s art or when you read Dostoevsky is one thing, seeing it before you is another. What do you think?

What do I think? Daria blinked. I think I’m having a dream, because we’re not really talking. We’re thinking to each other. That happens only in dreams.

Ted shrugged. I won’t push it. Anyway, I’m glad you’re well. The bruise on your head will go away soon. That’s what triggered your transformation. You haven’t been hurt like that since you went through puberty. Falling off the horse at Camp Grizzly when you were twelve didn’t trigger it because you . . . well, you were a late bloomer. Kind of a hormone thing. You are different, you know. It couldn’t be hidden forever.

Different? Different how? Daria struggled to stay awake—and realized she wasn’t asleep at all. She felt a touch of fear. I’m not really dreaming, am I, Ted?

We’ll talk later, said Ted. Just rest and stay calm. Hospitals are annoying, but what can you do? You’ll be out soon.

Ted? With a supreme effort of will, Daria held on a few moments longer. Ted, if I’m really different, hasn’t anyone noticed that before now? I’m in a hospital, so—

Ted grinned. How can you notice anything unusual if you think that what you see is normal? he said. I took care of it. Nothing big, just a minor reaction adjustment on the staff. I did it before, when you were hospitalized because of that rash. I’ve been watching out for you and the others since we got here. Don’t worry about a thing. We’ll talk later.

Ted? Ted, keep me awake! Damn it, I ought to kick your ass! Ted!

Her vision blurred. Just as everything got dark, she felt Ted take her hand and squeeze it gently, then touch her forehead with his other hand.

Just like your mother, he said.

And the world went out like a candle flame.

A little after nine that morning, Tom Sloane arrived at the hospital. Jane spotted Daria’s boyfriend in the waiting room, talking with Daria’s parents and Quinn, on her way out of Daria’s room in the ICU.

“I’m going home,” she said from the doorway. She rubbed a spot on her forehead that itched. “She’s asleep for now, but she should be up at ten when they get her next set of x-rays.”

“Jane,” said Tom. His face betrayed his shock. “Thank you so much for helping her. I’ve heard the craziest things on the news—”

“Don’t worry about it. Stupid reporters. She doesn’t remember anything that happened, and nothing much happened anyway. More or less.”

“Okay. I just . . .” Tom had trouble getting out his next words. “I owe you everything for finding her, Jane. Daria does, I know, but I do, too.” He swallowed. “Thank you.”

You almost look like you’re sorry you cheated on me to get her. Oh, what the hell, who cares anymore. She managed a smirk. “We’ll talk price later. Just take care of her and keep her calm. I need to go take a shower.”

“You’re out of school today? It’s Friday.”

“Oh, huh. Hadn’t thought about it, guess I am. I’ll worry about it at graduation. By the way, how was the wedding?”

“It’s tomorrow,” said Tom. “My family let me out of it so I could come back and see Daria. I’ve been on the road since four-thirty this morning.”

“At least your priorities are straight. I’d better go before my underarms asphyxiate everyone. See you later.” She waved and headed for the elevators. The spot on her forehead still itched. Bug bite, probably, she thought. Kinda late in the year for that, though.

Two men in business suits stopped her before she got there. “Miss Lane?” said the suit in charge. “Do you have a few minutes?” He pulled out a badge wallet and flipped it open. “I’m Detective Richard Casey with the Lawndale Police Department, and this is Lieutenant Pete McConnell. I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I could.”

Jane looked at the badge and her heart sank. Oh, hell. How am I going to get through this? “Can I get a shower at home first?” she asked.

“We’ll drive you home after we’ve had a chance to talk,” said the detective, putting the wallet away. “We just need to know what happened last night, that’s all.”

No, you don’t need to know. “I’ve already been quizzed about this by one of Lawndale’s finest. That was about three a.m.”

“Yeah, I read the officer’s report. That’s why I decided to talk to you myself. Sounds like a great story, and I’d like to hear it first-hand. I’m old-fashioned like that.”

Something’s wrong, I can tell. Well . . . what the hell. I’m an adult. “Sure, okay. No torture, though.”

“No torture, agreed. We have a car downstairs. Lieutenant McConnell will come with us. Are your parents in town?”

I’m so glad I’m eighteen now and can’t be picked up by Child Welfare. “Uh, no. Just my brother Trent.”

“Trent, right. We’ve already talked with him. He’s been helpful.”

Crap. What the hell does that mean? “That’s nice. Why do you need me, then?”

The detective grinned. “Because you’re the heroine of the hour,” he said with an expansive gesture. “You saved your friend. Everyone should want to talk to you, right?” He waved Jane into the elevator before he and the officer got on after her, then he punched the button for the basement.

“Will this take long?” asked Jane, feeling nervous. I wonder if Daria’s mom will take me as a client if things go badly.

“I don’t think so, hour or two at most. And don’t worry about the chaos downstairs. I know a way to get around the crowd in the lobby.”

“Crowd? What crowd?”

The detective gave her a twisted smile. “The people who want to know how you managed to rescue Daria from the great green Wookies from the planet Mars. Hey, I’d like to know, too.”

* * *

All was silent in the ICU room save for the hum of the fluorescent lights, beeps from the biomedical monitor, and the faint rush of air as Daria Morgendorffer breathed.

The spot itched where Ted DeWitt-Clinton had touched her on the forehead. Waves rolled out through her mind like ripples spreading on a lake. The ripples stirred things below the surface of the lake and broke the webs holding them to the bottom. One of those things floated to the surface, into a light it had not seen in many a year.

Just like your mother.

Daria’s eyes began to move beneath her eyelids.

Waking up in the dark, I’m in a big dark bedroom in the mansion, the place everyone calls the mansion; the door opens, light comes in, someone shouts. We have to leave, the older boy cries, the blond round-faced boy who knows so much, the boy whose name is like a president’s. I’m in my pee-jays with the feet. Hurry, help me get the others, says the boy, hurry. I run into the bright hallway, shout into the other rooms around the floor. The other kids come out frightened and crying. I don’t cry; I am brave and proud of it. Gather around me, shouts the older boy, there’s no time. Is my mom back yet, I ask him. Your mom is still fighting, he says, but some of the others were killed, the professor said doom is coming, we have to leave before he gets here. Where are we going, I shout. Somewhere safe, says the blond boy, just us, I can’t take anyone else except my mom. My dad, take my dad and mom, I yell, but I know my dad is far away and my mom is much farther, and the blond boy is already concentrating, focusing, preparing. The other kids scream and wail. I don’t cry. I remember my mom and dad. They always want me to be brave. I will be brave. I will never let them down. There is a pop, and suddenly the world, my world . . .

. . . is different.

More things surfaced, long forgotten until the ripples set them free.

Mom has brown hair, a bob cut, she’s a lawyer and is gone a lot. She calls Dad sweetie and sometimes Wyatt, and says careful with that, be careful, don’t break that, Jessie. She means me.

But my name is Daria, not—

Don’t break that, Jessie, she says, put it back, go wrestle your father, I have so much to do and I have to go, I love you. My dad lifts me high and laughs and calls me his starlight and sings to me, you are my starlight, my bright star, Jessie Double-Double, my bright and shining star, just like your mother.

No. Jessie is not—my name is Daria, not—

Jessie, that is my name—

No!

My name is Jessie, but my new mommy, she calls me—

Daria jerked in her sleep. The biomedical monitor beeped loudly. The EEG, EKG, respiration, oxygenation, and blood pressure scores rose and their graphs changed, the waves narrowing and piling up. An alarm went off in the ICU nurses’ station.

My new mommy, we are in a new place and I have a new mommy. She has brown hair, a bob cut, and she’s a lawyer and is gone a lot. Your father has issues, she says, and she calls him Jake and she calls me Daria, but Daria is not my name. My name is Jessie, it is Jessica, Jessica Walters-Wingfoot, Double-Double-U, but the blond boy says don’t cry, Jessie, you have a family and I don’t, and he reaches for my forehead—

Three nurses came into the room and began assessing the situation. One left to get a tranquilizer. The other two checked the monitor leads and shut off the noisy alarm. The EEG signal suddenly warped in a strange way and the monitor alarm came on again. The other scores continued increasing. One of the nurses slapped an alarm button on the wall and shouted, “Code blue, room five thirteen!” The other nurse noted that Daria was jerking in bed from increasingly violent muscle spasms. It looked like a seizure.

Wrong, wrong, wrong, this is all wrong, there is only one, no, two mommies, one for Daria and one for Jessie—one mommy not two, no, there are two, but I am one—just like my mother.

“Don’t give it IM, put it in her IV line!”

“Watch it, she’s pulling on the IV!”

“Grab her arms! Grab her—”

“Oh! Oh, Jesus!”

“No! Don’t—”

Just like my mother, I’m just like her, and my mother is—

She opened her eyes. They were shining green.

VII

Damn it, what is wrong with my head? I have to pay attention to what he’s saying, but I can’t—

“Miss Lane, are you all right?”

Jane shook her head and frowned at the detective. The overhead lights hurt her eyes, though they were not particularly bright. “Having trouble concentrating,” she said. “Just a headache. Go on with what you were saying.”

“Want some Tylenol?” asked the lady cop sitting in the office with them.

“Yeah, thanks. Lack of sleep’s probably doing it. Not that I’m blaming you guys for keeping me awake even longer, of course.”

“Generous of you,” said the detective, though he wore a look of concern. He glanced at the lady officer as she fished through a nearby desk drawer. “What I was saying,” he said, “is that most of your story checks out, and Trent confirms it. We can place you at your parents’ house until the time of the phone call from the county line rest area, all that checks out, and we can probably place Daria in the SUV from fingerprints and DNA testing once we get the—”

“DNA tests? Why are you doing that? Do you think we did something wrong?”

“Miss Lane, this is a very unusual situation. Your friend miraculously survives a severe car accident, the car’s totally destroyed yet she has only a bump on her noggin, and then she vanishes from the scene and reappears near a rest area several miles away, hardly the worst for the wear. You drive out to pick her up in a car that comes back showing major damage to one side with a rear door torn off, and you have no explanation for this. Neither does your brother, and it’s his car. The car’s interior is damaged as well, with debris in the back seat and in your garage and even in your upstairs shower from—”

“Hey! You were going through our house last night?”

“Your brother Trent argued with us about it at the door until we said we’d call your parents to get permission to search. He said fine, go ahead, no one knew where his parents were, but it so happens that your mother, Amanda, left a note stuck to your mailbox giving her phone number at the Montreal Ceramic Arts Festival, and when we showed it to him, he gave up and let us in. Here’s the note.”

Jane glanced at it and groaned. “Figures. Mom doesn’t believe in private property. She’d let anyone in.”

“Sounds like a hippy commune thing.”

“Don’t get me started.”

“Then I’ll get started instead. That search-and-rescue operation last night was expensive, Miss Lane. We had crews from three law-enforcement offices and two fire departments, not to mention all the civilians including Daria’s own father and sister, out hunting through the woods around the accident scene, yet you were the one who found Daria, with only a head bump, two miles away from the wreck. On top of that, somehow all these rumors got started about green monsters in the woods, which caused us even more problems, so you can see why we’re so interested in—”

Jane shut her eyes and flinched. “Alfred,” she gasped.

The detective stopped, puzzled. “Beg pardon?”

“Um . . .” Jane shook her head, frowning again. “Alfred,” she repeated. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

The lady cop gave her two Tylenol capsules and a cup of water. “This better not be a truth drug,” Jane muttered, taking them. “That would be cheating.”

“It would also get our evidence thrown out in court, so it’s not worth the trouble,” said the detective. “Who’s Alfred?”

Jane swallowed the capsules and water, then put the cup on the desk before her. “I just thought of the name, I don’t know why. I don’t know anyone named that. I’m just tired and I stink and my head hurts. Typical day. Go on.”

“We’ll cut to the chase, then. Was Daria depressed about anything recently? Something happen to upset her, make her feel bad?”

“What? Oh, no, she’s always like that. She’s a realist.”

“You’re saying she’s a realist, so she always looks depressed, is that it? Well, I’m a realist and I’m sometimes depressed, so I guess I can buy that. Has she ever talked about hurting herself? Ending it all?

“Not since I’ve known her. Well, she did sit on a peanut-butter sandwich in front of my brother once, when she had a crush on him, but if she didn’t kill herself then, she never will.”

“I see. Is she popular in school?”

“No. Neither am I, I guess, but there’s no accounting for tastes. Most people don’t like having reality force-fed to them.”

“Force fed?”

“Daria and I like giving color commentary on the day.”

“Any reason for doing that?”

“It’s a hobby.”

“Ah. Does Daria have any enemies?”

“Enemies? Like anyone who’d want to hurt her? No, jeez. I mean, we don’t have that many friendly acquaintances, I guess, but no one really hates us. Except maybe our gym teacher. Hey, you know, maybe you could investigate her, because she—”

“My son has Ms. Morris for gym and he hates her, too. She doesn’t count. Do you and Daria like practical jokes?”

“Oh, no, no, we can be sarcastic, but . . . wait, this wasn’t a joke or a hoax. We didn’t set this up. We’ve never—”

“You two ever try something elaborate, like leaving big footprints around town to make it look like a monster was here, drop torn clothing around, fake a kidnapping—”

“Whoa, wait, no! We’d never do that! Not in this town, anyway. Everyone already knows us. That was a joke, by the way. You know about jokes, right?”

“I’ve heard a few.” The detective flipped open a folder on his desk. “We were talking with Ms. Angela Li, the principal at your high school, and she said you and Daria have been in trouble there before. There was an art contest two years ago, and a picture that you did was allegedly defaced—”

“That—ow!” Jane winced and put a hand to her forehead. Her voice became pressured. “Ms. Li was responsible for that screw-up, not us! Go ask Daria’s mother. Ms. Li altered my poster without my permission, and then she—crap, that hurts! What the—”

It surfaced.

I’m on a special bed inside a big machine. I look up at a bald man with a gray mustache. I remember that I like him. He’s nice to me.

I say to him, Alfred, I don’t want to go.

I’m sorry, miss, he says, but it’s your only hope.

Are Mom and Dad coming?

No, miss, he says, lie still and close your eyes, it’s time.

Are they dead, Mom and Dad?

Yes, he says after a moment, and his voice quivers as he adds, I’m very sorry, it’s almost over.

Are we going to die, Alfred?

Not you, miss, not you, be brave, it’s time, goodbye and Godspeed.

Goodbye, Alfred. I love you.

He waves at me, crying, and says, goodbye, Selina.

“Miss Lane!”

Jane looked around, eyes blinking madly. Someone was hammering on the office door. “What?” she said, feeling fevered. “What the hell?”

“There’s been an explosion at Cedars of Lawndale!” shouted a man at the open office door. “They’re calling for all available personnel to get down there!”

“Daria!” Jane got to her feet, her mind clear. Every shivering nerve in her body howled to life. “I’ve got to get—”

“No, wait here!” said the detective, on his feet and coming around his desk. The lady cop reached for her.

Escape.

Jane reflexively c