Part 19 (1/2)

”There is no best,” he'd said during his dream earlier. Holding his head. Pulling his hair out. But he was talking about his version of Morton's Fork. His choice. Janie knows Henry couldn't have known the true choicea”he didn't know about Miss Stubin and her blindness, her hands. He still doesn't know, probably, unless she told him. After.

7:03 a.m.

Janie's brain won't let it die.

Because what if?

What if Henry's brain problem actually wasn't a real illness, like a tumor or aneurysm, that normal people have?

What if . . . what if it was a consequence?

The migraines, the pain. Pulling his hair out. As if there was so much pressure.

From not using the ability.

Pressure from not going into other people's dreams.

So much pressure, parts of his brain exploded.

”Noo-o,” she says softly.

Sits there, frozen.

In shock.

And then she drops her head. Rests her cheek on the desk.

Groans.

”s.h.i.+t, Henry,” she says softly. She sighs and closes her eyes, and they begin to sting and burn. ”You and your Morton's f.u.c.king Fork.”

THE LAST DAY.

Thursday, August 10, 2006, 7:45 a.m.

Janie still sits at Henry's desk. In shock. Denial.

But deep down, she knows it's true. It has to be. It all makes sense.

Can't believe it all comes down to a totally different choice than what shea”and Miss Stubina”had thought all this time.

Not between isolation and being blind and gnarled.

But between being blind and gnarled, and isolating until your brain explodes.

”Gaaah!” Janie shouts. That's one great thing about this little house out in the middle of nowhere. She can shout and n.o.body calls the police.

She slumps back in the desk chair. Then slowly gets up.

Falls on the bed and just lies there, staring at the wall.

”Now what?” she whispers.

No one answers.

9:39 a.m.

She gets up. Looks around the little shack. Shakes her head.

Sorry.

So very sorry.

And now, looking at a fresh set of equally suck-a.s.s options, a true Morton's Fork, she realizes that she has a new choice to make.

She sits cross-legged on the bed, pen and paper in hand, and lays it all out. Pros and cons. Benefits and detriments. Suck versus suck.

Miss Stubin's life, or Henry's?

Which one does Janie want?

”No regrets,” Miss Stubin had said in the green notebook. But she didn't know the truth.

”There is no best,” Henry had said in the dream. He didn't know either.

Janie, alone in the world, is the only one who knows the real choice.

10:11 a.m.

She calls Captain.

”Komisky. Hey, Janie, how you doing?”

”Hi, Captaina”okay, I guess. You have time to talk today?”

”One sec.” Janie hears Captain's fingernails clicking on her computer keyboard. ”How's noon? I'll grab takeout, we can have lunch in my office. Sound good?”

”Sounds great,” Janie says. She hangs up.

Feels the b.u.t.terflies in her belly.

And then.

She shakes her head and starts packing.

Packing up the things that she brought over here, smas.h.i.+ng them into her suitcase to make it all fit. Hoping to carry it all in one load.

She's going back home.

If it weren't for Cabe, she'd probably just risk it. Stay isolated. In case she's dead wrong about what really happened to Henry.