Dad arrived home on time, thank God, and I gorged myself on cookies. The spinach soup wasn't bad either if you picked out the tofu, not that I'd admit it to Mercy. She'd laughed when I pulled faces. She even seemed happy. Until four a.m. when she crawled into my bed with a whimper.

I let her hug my waist, still half-asleep. It had been a nightly ritual since she'd arrived. She'd cry herself awake, and then she'd find me. I heard her pray sometimes, but mostly she just clung to me like I was the springy tree root jutting from the cliff, the only thing between her and oblivion. Sometimes I woke up sore, but it was worth it for her. For...

I stumbled on her name. Mercy. Mercy Carpenter. That wasn't right. There was no Mercy Carpenter. I'd known a Mercy Pearson once, but she hadn't turned out to be real either. Her name was...

I hit a wall again. My head spun. Me and my stupid brain.

Go to sleep, I thought wearily. It'll make sense in the morning.

I obeyed. I closed my eyes, nodded off, and didn't dream. Until the phone rang, which was about as absurd as my dreams got. I hadn't gone near a cell phone in over a year, let alone owned one. We didn't even have a landline on this floor, for fear Mercy and I would torch the thing within a week of installation.

But when I squinted through the murky pre-dawn light of my room, I saw it on the nightstand. It was even one of the fancy new ones that displayed a photo along with the caller ID. The woman on screen looked like my mother's battle-scarred cousin. Thin face, haggard expression, pale blonde hair tucked beneath a patrol cap. She was wearing a stained pair of BDUs and squinting at the screen like she wanted to kick my ass, just on principle. Green Day's American Idiot was pumping through the speakers loud and clear.

And can you hear the sound of hysteria? The subliminal mind fuck America...

I snatched the phone before the sound could wake Mercy and brought it up to my ear with a whispered, "Hello? Who is this?"

For a second all I heard was static. I thought it was occasionally punctuated by a round of rhythmic popping sounds, cursing, and the wail of a siren but couldn't say for sure. When the voice came on the line, it was barely audible.

"Wake up, you idiot," a female voice growled.

"I am up, thanks to you," I said, a little taken aback by her tone. She sounded like she wanted to reach through the phone and throttle me. "You're lucky I picked up at all."

"No, you're not," the voice insisted. "You're buried deep. Matrix-level deep. Find your white rabbit, dumbass."

"Quit calling me names," I snapped. "I'm not an idiot."

"You are, but it's not totally your fault. Just don't trust her, okay? We'll fight our way out of this."

"Don't trust who?"

Static. I only caught every third word and none of it made any sense. I pulled the thing away from my ear, staring at it in mute frustration. Typical of my dream to leave me hanging.

The bed behind me shifted, and one of Mercy's freckled arms snaked around me, punching the end call button. The screen flickered and died. I spluttered and turned to find her face inches from mine. Her eyes looked huge in the near-dark, her expression unnervingly alien for just a split second. Then she raised a hand to cup my cheek, face scrunched in concern.

"Did it happen again?" she asked quietly.

"What?"

"Are you having an attack? You were talking to yourself."

I shook my head. "There was a phone call from this woman. An army friend of Dad's I think. I can call her back. Just let me..."

But when I turned my head, I found my hand curled loosely on the down comforter, the phone conspicuously absent. I just stared at it. There had been a phone in it a second ago. She'd ended the call. I'd heard the ringtone. I'd definitely spoken to someone on the other end.

Mercy turned my face back to hers and pressed her forehead to mine. "It was a dream, Molly. Or an attack. You know we can't use cell phones anymore."

She was right. So why did it feel wrong?

"I'm scared," I whispered. Tears hazed my vision. "I feel like I'm going crazy."

"You're not," she said, smoothing a hand over my hair. "This isn't permanent. You're going to be okay. Just let me help you."

"Okay," I said. It came out sounding small and childish. I felt like a kid when I buried my face in her hair.

She sighed contentedly. "I missed you."

Missed me? But she saw me every day.

"Stay?" I mumbled, snuggling closer. "Until morning?"

Her voice sounded a little lower, a little less herself when she replied, "Forever, my sweet."