His first thought was to go to his father.

If everything was as it should be, then Lionel was still staying at the motel. Jeff thought he remembered where it was, or at least the general area. He couldn't think of anyone else nearby whom he could rely upon.

He would have to explain everything. His father would want to know where David was, what their mother had done. And there was the matter of his missing dog, and the wild, wretched dream.

The car's radio blared, keeping him awake and alert. As if to dispel any remaining doubts that it was the summer of '78, he was treated to Andy Gibb, Heatwave, and Sweet.

"Love is like oxygen: you get too much, you get too high. Not enough, and you're gonna die. Love gets you high—"

The motel's neon sign coughed and sputtered in the night sky. It was very late, or rather very early. He didn't want to impose on his father, but he saw no other option.

After he reached Lionel's room and tentatively knocked on the door, a few tense moments passed in silence. There was no one awake at this hour, and the parking lot was empty. He started second-guessing himself. Maybe he was at the wrong room, the wrong place even—he had no way of knowing for certain.

Then the door opened a crack, and a pair of tired blue eyes peered out.

"Jeff? What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you."

Confusion and surprise passed over Lionel's features. They had never really "talked" before. A little nervous, he undid the door's chain and let Jeff in.

The room was small and cramped with cheap furniture. An empty coffee mug sat on the table in the corner, where Jeff took a seat. Lionel turned on a lamp and perched on the edge of the bed. Though he was groggy and bedraggled, Jeff was struck by how young his father looked. In the nightmare he had seemed so much older, not only physically but emotionally wrung out.

"What's going on? What are you doing up this late?" Lionel asked, putting on his glasses.

"I don't really know how to explain it all," Jeff admitted quietly.

"Is it something to do with your mother? Is David okay?"

"He's fine..."

"What about you? Are you okay, Jeff?"

"No. I mean, I guess I am..." He crossed his arms over his chest and fell curiously silent. His thoughts were a tangled mess. He couldn't be sure what had happened and what was yet to come. His entire sense of time had been stripped down to before the nightmare—reality—and the future his overactive imagination had invented as he slept.

"What's today's date?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. Lionel's confusion crystallized to genuine alarm.

"How could you not know what day it is?"

"Just humor me. Please."

"June 18. It's a Sunday."

Jeff didn't realize he had been holding his breath until it escaped his lungs, along with the last vestiges of his fear.

"We should start going to church again."

That surprised his father. "Yes, I was planning on it now that the divorce is finalized. I suppose we could go together."

"Yeah." Before the conversation could lapse into silence, he quickly added, "Mom took David and left."

"What? When?"

"A couple weeks ago. She said she was afraid of you. She wanted me to go with her, but I stayed. There's no furniture left and the fridge is broken."

Lionel sighed. "I had a feeling she would do something like this. I'll call somebody in the morning and figure out where they are."

"That's all?"

"Look, I don't know what to tell you. It's very late, I haven't gotten much sleep, and I'm not thinking straight...She took David and left you all alone?"

"Yes..." Jeff felt weightless, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and he was floating in space. For once, he hadn't been reduced to an afterthought.

"Well, you can stay here with me. You said the fridge is broken—what have you been eating, then?"

"Fast food. Um, when I took the car yesterday, did I say anything about—"

"Why didn't you tell me about all this then?"

"I wasn't thinking about it. Some very strange things have been happening lately and I don't know where I am or what I'm doing anymore."

Lionel's brow furrowed in concern. A confession was caught in Jeff's throat. He had his father's attention. If he told him now, perhaps he would be gentle.

"Dad?"

"What is it, son?"

He couldn't remember afterward what exactly he said. The revelation that your eldest son was a homosexual was shocking, but not earth-shattering. The fantasies were far more difficult to explain. He tried to soften the blow with assurances that he hadn't done anything yet, but as he watched Lionel's expression darken and his gaze drop to the floor, he knew it was useless.

"You need help. Some kind of therapy. Maybe I should send you to a conversion camp," Lionel muttered. "They have all kinds of medications out now, too. I'm sure they can find you something."

"Dad, it's not going to just go away like that."

"I know!" Lionel exclaimed, then lowered his head into his hands. "Jesus Christ. My own son..."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Jeff. I know it isn't. But the Bible says—"

What was left of the floating sensation fell away, leaving him cold.

"I know what it says. Don't you realize what I'm saying? There's something wrong with me, and it goes much deeper than that. It's worse. It's... monstrous."

It was then that he realized the futility of it all. Lionel couldn't possibly comprehend the magnitude of what he was telling him. He could imagine Jeff gay, but not as a serial killer. It was too outlandish to him, too unbelievable—and so the rational, analytical scientist had ignored it. Perhaps he was right to do so. After all, it had only been a dream.

Jeff stood up and began to walk toward the door, his characteristic stiff-limbed slouching more pronounced than usual.

"Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here."

"You can't take my car, either. I told you you could stay."

On his way out, Jeff reached into his pocket and tossed the car keys onto the table.

"Where are you going to go with no car? Jeff!"

But Jeff had already closed the door. Lionel went outside, clad in only his robe, and called his son's name. There was no answer.