Abruptly landing on a flagstone sidewalk, Josie staggered to her feet in the shadow of an old white farmhouse looming tall against a candy blue sky.
Steadying herself on the freshly painted green handrail, Josie climbed the creaky steps of the broad front porch, ornate wooden gingerbread glinting white through the red, leafy vines dripping from it.
Halfway to the front door she stopped, and began patting down her overalls as around her the sound of insects rose and fell in the early morning heat of a midwestern Autumn – key, key, where was the key?
Josie sighed with relief as an old-fashioned skeleton key slipped into her fingers in the pocket closest to her heart, cool to the touch.
Josie pulled open the wooden screen door with its lacy spindlework, slipped the key into the lock on the solid wooden door behind the screen door; the one with the design of a man in a robe on a horse carrying a rifle etched into its window.
The old lock resisted, and then the wooden door swung inward with a soft creak.
Feet bare on the gray paint of the porch, Josie stepped over the threshold, the screen door slamming shut behind her with an echoing bang.
She stared down the hallway with its white-painted woodwork and gleaming hardwood floor.
Stairs rose high into the house where darkness crouched silently at the top.
Something bad happened here.
Drenched in sweat, Josie fled, only to find herself in a kitchen staring down at a plate of still steaming muffins, cups of coffee, a cow creamer, and a row of pill bottles. Lactaid, Allegra, and Clozapine.
Wiping sweat out of her eyes, Josie picked up the Clozapine, and studied the typed label. Something told her that Clozapine was a powerful antipsychotic.
The front door lock clattered.
Startled, Josie dropped the clear brown plastic bottle to the green and gold linoleum and fled the kitchen — she didn't belong here.
Or was she supposed to greet someone?
Josie peeked around the doorframe of the unlit front living room in the shadow of the stairs.
A big man, big as Uncle Mike and wearing navy blue coveralls, stood silently just inside the front door, watching a girl Josie's size put a key under the doormat before stepping into the house, screen door slamming shut behind her with a bang, shaking feathers from her messy blonde hair.
Face blank, the big man briefly ruffled the blonde's hair as the blonde strode past him, worn combat boots striking sharply on the gleaming wood of the hallway.
Only to stop.
Both stared at Josie with almond eyes blacker than the devil's.
Josie stared back, similar eyes in hazel.
Outside in the bright sunlight, the song of insects rose and fell like a million tiny heartbeats until the big man gave a brief jerk of his chin, like Uncle Mike sometimes did, letting Josie know that he wanted her to see something important when he didn't feel like talking.
All three fell into formation, with the man taking up the rear, as if herding them the forever hall, and back into the kitchen.
Wordlessly, the tall man sat down at the head of the white kitchen table, the girl at his right, Josie at his left.
The girl took a Lactaid capsule before pouring cream into her coffee, slowly stirring it, eyes meeting Josie's. Blinking, Josie looked away; only to see the big man dry-swallow the Clozapine, throat working hard.
Gasping, he lowered his head, blinking hard before reaching out, large hand delicately picking up the little cow creamer, and offered it to Josie.
Josie studied the little black and white ceramic animal with its burden of cream.
It had a slightly chipped rim.
She looked back up at the man.
He gave another one of those silent chin jerks.
Josie took his offering, and slowly poured some into her sky blue mug. Looking for sugar and seeing none, Josie watched her breakfast companions drink in tandem, even putting their mugs back on the table at the same time, sugarless.
Oh, okay. She took a sip and found herself enjoying it black, studying the girl across the table from her.
Square face, high cheekbones, a bumpy nose: she'd seen this face in the mirror, only brown.
The man's pale, impassive face reminded Josie of Uncle Mike's, only with thicker eyebrows and unruly dark hair pushed off his forehead as he mechanically ate heavily buttered pumpkin muffin after muffin with no sign of enjoyment. The blonde across the table grabbed a second muffin, studying Josie right back. Josie blushed, flipped her dreads, and took a muffin, biting into it without butter insects whirring away outside the open kitchen window in the silence between the three of them.
Abruptly the man stood, adjusting his heavy navy blue coveralls before ruffling Blondie's hair and then tapping on on Josie's side of the table with his knuckles.
Josie and the girl rose and watched him open the front door, ducking under the doorframe one shoulder at a time, and thud heavily down the porch stairs before standing on the sidewalk, looking silently up at them where they stood side by side in the open doorway, shoulders not quite touching.
He abruptly turned, "Phelps Garage" stenciled in white on the back of his coveralls, and lumbered away, red shop rag dangling from one hip pocket.
Josie turned to the girl beside her.
They blinked, cocking their heads slowly from left to right, Josie reaching out to her lighter skinned reflection, touching her thin lips to see if she was real—
—gasping, Josie abruptly sat up in her bed in her little attic bedroom, the sound of the little electric space heater switching itself off echoing in her ears, a flurry of October snow falling just outside her window, phone alarm blaring in her ears.
She checked the face of her tiny iPhone. The pastel spaceships stared back with round, porthole eyes.
6:00, time to start the day.