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sister, stumbling in. With Suze's attention shifted away from the boy's head, the hand holding the comb gave its most insistent tug yet. Luke yelped.
    “Shana.”
    Ravaged by the cosmos, Shana directed her disheveled head towards Suze.
    “Shana. You haven’t slept.”
    “It’s ok.”
    “Shana, you should sleep.”
    "Ok, I'll sleep." Yet the way Shana ambled up the stairs, you'd swear she was already mid-dream.
    Nate rarely felt awkward. This was one of those times.
    "I know sometimes the dynamic between my sister and me perplexes you, sugar. Embrace the thoughts that unsettle you."
    Nate always wondered how Suze did it, how she read him like a shrink studying a psych ward patient through two-way glass.
    “You want to know what I think?” It didn't matter if Nate wanted to know. "That Tom, he's no good for her and it's tearing her apart. But she sees a whole life ahead of her. The only thing my intervention would do is sow a rift in blood."
    "Su, I don't think this is a plain old hurting heart."
                  A vibe Suze gave off let Nate know that he knew nothing. Considering himself someone who generally knew nothing, Nate took comfort in the fact that admitting your ignorance is the first step on the road to wisdom. Yet, Nate did not feel wise today. He felt like the whole family had come under some crazy spell. He felt like some hobo's blood was staining the passenger seat of a car he was leasing.
                  It was due time to head over to the garage and hammer in some beers with his favorite Saturday drinking buddy: himself. While on his way out, he saw Suze line up a fully dressed Luke in front of the fire place for a nice formal photo. Over his shoulder, he caught a flash from her smartphone camera.
                  Despite the high noon sun, Shana was asleep basically as soon as she hit the bed, maybe even a moment before, slipping straight from waking life into slumber land as if consciousness were a low-level window she just fell out of.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Two
     
    The Red Rocket Diner was empty except for a waitress. There must have been others inside the restaurant, at least back in the kitchen. Someone had to be preparing the food, someone cleaning the dishes. But there was only one sound Shana heard and that was an insistent clicking, like two clocks keeping unsteady time, falling in and out of sync. A man appeared from nowhere with a plate of food. He was dressed in slacks and a white shirt, tie tucked in between buttons. The leather jacket he wore over this ensemble evoked the image, as Shana would later recount, of a Jehovah's Witness who was converted to the faith through some sort of penitentiary outreach initiative.
                  The plate held three eggs in their shells, maraschino cherries on top of a biscuit, a Polish sausage, a head of garlic. This wasn't what Shana ordered. She looked up to protest and found the Witness smoking a cigarette.
    "You can't––"
                  His eyes broke into her and he simply gestured with them downwards. She cracked one egg, covering the biscuit and cherry in orange goop, ingesting the mess in one bite. Chewing, she looked up again. His stare had not adjusted a bit. She cracked the second egg over the Polish and stared at the pink slime running down the meat's encasing. It formed a blob around the underside of the sausage and the very idea of putting any bit of this inside herself was repulsive.
    "Come." The man's voice was much too high. He beckoned her with his middle and ring finger. The pinky was missing, yet absorbed all of Shana's attention. The the vinyl cushion on the booth squeaked as the Witness moved in. "Come."
                  Blood drained from Shana's head when she stood, inducing a little oxygen-deprived high. She slid into the seat next to him until her bare shoulder touched the man's leather. She found herself totally nude. The man's eyes