Days and weeks slouch by as February staggers toward March and rags of dirty snow cling to the ground in the back yard before a copse of dead trees that once sheltered the last wolves. Alex keeps trying to date Isabel and she keeps dismissing him as politely as she can. She likes Alex, maybe because superficially he is like Max but she does not reciprocate his feelings for her however meager or fulsome. She wonders if he is still not speaking to Liz but that’s not something one asks.
Liz told her that she thought Alex would keep quiet but she wasnt sure. So Isabel decides to dreamwalk into his mind to answer that question.
As Isabel tries to walk into Alex’s mind she crosses some threshold into dreams, hers and his. Dreams and visions that sail on gossamer wings borne up by currents from roiling things in the night, hot erotic fantasies come to life or dreams of blood and vengeance that only the wicked vessel of the heart may contain.
With a shock she sees Alex in bed with not a stitch on. He rolls over and says, Hi, Isabel. How’s your sex life?
How’s my sex life? She sputters angrily. It’s fine. How’s yours? Go fuck yourself.
Dont be mean to me, he says, laughing. He touches her hand and she gets in beside him and they do unspeakable things until she wakes with a start and night sweats. Is that why she keeps pushing him away?
Of course it is, she says to herself. She wasnt seeing into his mind. She was seeing into hers. And she is terrified. For herself and for all of them.