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caught in it, the old nightmare. She wanted out! Out!
    She knew it had a terrible end. She couldn’t remember it, only that it was terrible.
    Then Ivy heard a high whining sound. She spun around. The sound increased till it drowned out the storm. A red Harley roared up to her.
    “Stop! Please stop!” Ivy cried. “I need help! I need to get out of this dream!” The motorcyclist hesitated, then gunned his engine and sped off.
    Ivy turned back to the window. The figure was still there. Was it beckoning to her? Who or what could it be? Ivy put her face close to the window. Suddenly the glass exploded. She shrieked and shrieked as the bloody deer came crashing through.
    “Ivy! Ivy, wake up!”
    Gregory was shaking her. “Ivy, it’s just a dream. Wake up!” he commanded. He was still fully dressed. Philip stood behind him, a little ghost in pale pajamas.
    Ivy looked from one to the other, then sagged against Gregory. He put his arms around her.
    “Was it the deer again?” Philip asked. “The deer coming through the window?”
    Ivy nodded and swallowed hard several times. It was good to feel Gregory’s arms strong and steady around her. “I’m sorry I woke you up, Philip.”
    “It’s okay,” he said.
    She tried to still her trembling hands. Gregory’s home now, she told herself, everything’s okay.
    “I’m sorry this keeps happening, Philip. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
    “I’m not scared,” he replied.
    Ivy glanced up sharply at her brother’s face and saw that, in fact, he wasn’t.
    “The angels are in my room,” he explained.
    “Then why don’t you go back to them?” Gregory told him. Ivy felt the tightening muscles in his arms. “Why don’t you—”
    “It’s all right, Gregory. Let Philip alone,” she said with soft resignation. “He’s dealing with this the best way he can.”
    “But he’s making it harder on you,” Gregory argued. “Can’t you understand, Philip? I’ve tried a million times to—”
    He stopped, and Ivy knew that Gregory saw it, too: the brightness in Philip’s eyes, the certainty in his face. For a moment the little boy’s will seemed stronger than both of theirs put together. It was impossible to argue him out of what he believed. Ivy found herself wishing that she could be so innocent again.
    Gregory sighed and said to Philip, “I can take care of Ivy. Why don’t you get some shut-eye? We’ve got a big day tomorrow—the Yankees game, remember?”
    Philip glanced at Ivy and she nodded in agreement.
    Then he gazed past her and Gregory in such a way that she instinctively turned around to look. Nothing.
    “You’ll be okay,” he said confidently, and trotted off to bed.
    Ivy sank back against Gregory. He wrapped his arms around her again. His hands were gentle and comforting. He brushed back her hair, then lifted her face up to his.
    “How are you doing?” he asked.
    “All right, I guess.”
    “You can’t shake that dream, can you?”
    She saw his concern. She saw how he searched her face for clues about what she was feeling.
    “It was the same dream but different,” Ivy told him. “I mean, there were things added to it.”
    His frown of worry deepened. “What was added?”
    “A storm. There were all those mixed-up images on the window again, but this time I realized it was a storm I was seeing. The trees were blowing and lightning was flashing and reflecting off the glass. And there was a motorcycle,” she said.
    It was hard for her to explain the nightmarish feeling the motorcycle gave her, for that part of the dream was simple and ordinary. The motorcyclist had not harmed her. All he had done was refuse to stop to help her.
    “A red motorcycle came rushing by,” she continued. “I called out to the rider, hoping he would help me. He slowed down for a moment, then kept on going.”
    Gregory held her face against his chest and stroked her cheek. “I think I can explain that. Eric just dropped me off. He has a red Harley—you’ve seen it