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committees."
    "So you've probably heard about all the stuff that's happened there."
    "One girl, murdered; another, kidnapped and almost killed; one boy arrested and placed in a juvenile detention center for involuntary manslaughter; one man put away for attempted murder; a club dedicated to resurrecting the dead..."
    I swallow hard, wondering where he's going with all this.
    "Rumor has it," he continues, "that you were able to predict it all. Is that true?"
    I shrug and look away, wanting more than anything to crawl out of here.
    "I think it is," he whispers. A sixth sense-- isn't that what they call it?"
    "What do you want?"
    "Your help."
    "I'm sorry, but I can't even help myself."
    "You're my last hope."
    "I'm sorry," I repeat. I stand and turn to leave.
    "Stacey-- wait," he says. "Please, sit down and hear me out."
    "I have to go," I say, heading for the door.
    "Not yet," he says. "Not until I tell you about my daughter. She's in trouble-- and I think you might be able to help her."
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    I pause just inches from the door and turn back around.
     
    "Did you see that girl out there in the waiting room on your way in?" He's standing now as well.
    His demeanor has changed-- less confident, more desperate. He moves from behind his desk, taking off his glasses and tossing them down atop his ink blotter. "That's my daughter. She has nightmares, too."
    Dr. Wallace is clearly upset; his eyes look red and his face is getting more flushed by the moment.
    "She's been having them for the past year now," he continues. At first we thought they were nothing-- a reaction maybe to her mother's death. My wife passed away not long ago."
    "I'm sorry" I whisper.
    He nods and turns away, toward the wall of diplomas, to hide his emotion. "But the nightmares only seem to be getting worse, not better. She says she's dreaming about some camp . . . people working through the night, living backwardly, and stealing. She claims that some boy is going to be murdered . . . and then there's something about a Lilly"
    "Lilies?" My heart speeds up, thinking how I used to dream about lilies, too; how my grandmother taught me that lilies mean death.
    "Well just one Lily I think," Dr. Wallace explains. "I think it might be someone's name, but I'm not sure. It's so hard to keep track of it all. The nightmares have really changed her. It's like her body's still there, but her eyes . . . it's as if they're vacant."
    I open my mouth to say something, but I really don't know what-- what he wants from me, what words will make
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    it all better. I wish I could tell him that the nightmares will go away one day, but I know firsthand that isn't true.
    "I'm sorry," he says, turning back to me. "I've been out of line."
    "It's okay."
    "So will you help me?"
    "Help you?"
    "We've been to several doctors-- psychiatrists, neurologists, acupuncturists, you name it."
    'And?"
    'And they want to put her away" He pauses to take a breath. "They think institutionalizing her is the best answer."
    "I'm sorry to hear that, but what does it have to do with me?"
     
    "You could work with her as a peer. You've been through this."
    "I have a lot on my plate right now."
    "I don't know what else to do," he says. "I'm afraid I'm going to lose her completely. I think she's starting to believe the doctors when they say she's sick."
    "I have to go," I say, feeling a tightening sensation in my chest.
    "Stacey-- please," he insists. "You're my last hope."
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Shell
    After the celebration, everyone in the community sixteen years old and older disperses to go about their dally chores, while the younger children scamper off to the elder cabin for their daily lessons. Both Shell and Brick have the grueling task of chopping wood for the evening's fire.
    Despite his sore and calloused hands, Shell happily works his way through the pile of wood, the image of Lily alive in his mind.
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    Did she really mean it when she told him she loved him? There's a part of him that hopes she did.
    But how could she?