Kidnapped

Chapter 2

Elizabeth hadn't thought about the dream in years, which was fine with her.

She remembered it when her best friend, Nancy, said, "Last night I dreamed I jumped out the window during math, landed in the ocean, and rode off on a sea turtle."

"I can never recall my dreams," Elizabeth said as she pulled on her Mountain Middle School shorts and T-shirt for PE class. "Except for one. I used to have it a lot."

"You had the same dream more than once? Mine are different every night."

"This one was a nightmare. The first time I had it was the night my dad died."

"What was it about?"

Elizabeth leaned down to tie her shoes, surprised by the chill she felt. "It's hard to explain."

"Try me."

"In the dream I'm lost on a huge prairie, acres and scres of grass higher than my head. I spend the whole dream running, calling out for help that never comes."

"Just grass? No vicious lion chases you? You don't fall into a pit full of poisonous snakes?"

"I know it doesn't sound scary, but whenever I had the dream I always woke up crying, with my heart pounding." Each time she had felt as if a heavy black fog hung over her bed, seeping through the blankets into her skin and making it impossible ever to feel happy again. Elizabeth shuddered, remembering.

"You were four when your dad died, right?" Nancy said.

"Rightt. The thing is, I didn't know about death until it happened. I'd heard the word, but I didn't think it had anything to do with me. I never wxpected it to happen to my family, to my daddy."

"Most four-year-olds wouldn't."

"My grandma tried to help me understand, but she made me more scared than before."

"What did she say?" Nancy asked.

"She told me, 'Everyone dies, but usually not until they're very old.' She meant to somfort me, but i thought Daddy was old. When you're four, twenty-six seems ancient."

"Small wonder you had nightmares."

The girls left the locker room and began jogging around the gym with their classmates.

"Grandma talked about heaven and angels and how it was a tragic accident," Elizabeth said, "but I focused on, Everyone dies. Everyone included my mother, who was the same age as Daddy. That night, I dreamed I was lost on the prairie."

"You were afraid you'd be an orphan."

Elizabeth spoke softly. "I've never told anyone about the dream bofore. Mom used to come into my room when I'd wake up crying, and she'd ask what I had dreamed, but I always pretended I couldn't remember. At first I was superstitious about it, afraid if I told the dream it would come true. Later I worried there was something wrong with me for having the same bad dream over and over. I didn't tell Mom because I didn't want to go to the doctor. I was scared I'd get a shot."

"You don't need a master's degree in psychology to figure out that nightmare," Nancy said. "It's the classic fear-of-loss dream. You lost your dad, andyou were afraid your mom would die, too. Perfectly normal. They'd march you straight to a kiddie shrink if you didn't have dreams like that when a parent died. Do you still have it?"

"No. I had it a lot at first, and then it gradually came less often. It stopped when I was eight or nine."

"So you are now a well-adjusted thirteen-year-old who has overcome a terrible loss and gotten on with her life. No more nightmares."

"You, on the other hand," Elizabeth said, "are a serious mental case who secretly yearns to escape from school and ride away on a sea turtle."

"You got that right," Nancy said.

Although Elizabeth smiled, the familiar cold ache settled in her stomach. It didn't happen often anymore. To be honest, whole weeks went past when she never thought about her dad at all, but then she did think of him she felt as if she had a hole in her heart, like some vital piece of hersel was missing.

Remembering how suddenly she had lost him always made her feel vulnerable. If tragedy could know on her door without warning once, it could arrive again.

She wished she hadn't told Nancy about the dream. Now she felt anxious and edgy, as if some unexpected disaster were about to strike her family.

You're being paranoid, Elizabeth told herself. Mom's at work; Max's in kindergarten; Poochie's probably asleep in a patch of sunshine on the rug. It's an ordinary morning, and everybody's safe. Still, the vague feeling of dread stayed with her.