"I'm not feeling too well," she muttered.
"How's that, dear?" Betty asked, stroking her patient's head.
"I'm hallucinating about Tom dragging the body of a mad scientist -- "
"You're not hallucinating. He just did," she replied. "Well, he might
not be mad, but I wouldn't trust anyone with that mustache!"
"Oh."
For some reason, this did not disturb her. During her blackout, she
had dreamed of a subtle shift in the circumstances that kept her
universe in equilibrium. She was too disorientated to judge whether
this was a dream or not, but at least she no longer felt like crying.
In the kitchen, Ritchie, Tom's father, had just come home from work and
was searching for a cold Pabst to drink in front of the news. He
watched his son drag the man's body into the center of the room, drop
his legs, and turn toward Alona.
"Who the hell's that?!" he cried.
But Tom wasn't listening. He was looking deeply at Alona, who was
looking back. Alona felt her heart flutter; instantly, she knew. The
trailer seemed to glow in a light she had never believed existed. Tom
kept her gaze as he stepped over the body, stood before her, and took
her outstretched hand in his.
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