It is odd how the same old pain always takes me by surprise, these violent recollections inducing a panic I should really be numb to by now. But as its fangs readjust their grip on my shoulder, I can't help the gasp that escapes me, and my mind turns to him. Screams for him. Begs him to show up faster this time before I am slammed so many times against cold steel that I cannot see his face when he holds me afterward—I never get to see his face.

The panic in my heart gives way to the unexplained quaking, and I can't help but wonder if he is even real as I begin to choke on the blood filling my mouth. Where is he? Oh god! Where is he? Why hasn't he saved me?

But he would save me, as he always did right before he vanished from the parking lot, and I pleaded within the context of what I knew very well by now was a lucid dream: Please don't go. Don't leave me again!

Lying silently inside of myself in the heat of a parking lot, I waited for the moment when the ground would begin to shake with the force of the battered apartment building falling. I waited and waited... I stirred. The asphalt cooled underneath my body, dissipating with the nightmare as I resurfaced. Fitfully, I rolled over, realizing now, yes, I was waking up, and my groggy mind began to meander through the details of what happened next that day: first, the bang of the car door and loud clopping of Indy's boots, then, the rough tug of my body being yanked up from the parking lot. The sudden, sharp pain as I was shoved into the backseat to be driven at top speed for nearly an hour before receiving medical treatment from people whose identities were all but a blur now.

"Aurora!"

I bolted upright at the sound of Indy's voice—and smacked my head on a shelf at the back of the closet. "Ouch," I cried out, then clapped my hand over my mouth.

"Aurora, are you awake up there? I want to leave for the mall by ten," Indy called from downstairs. Her boots were loud on the steps as she started up moments later in pursuit of a verbal acknowledgement.

I scrambled on hands and knees toward the light at the bottom of the door, frantically searching up the left side until my hand caught the handle.

I dove for the bed and yanked the sleeping bag over me just before my aunt crossed the threshold, looking her usual, high-strung self in a tailored blouse paired with navy slacks that struck her just right on the boot. The bobby pins were silver today.

"Did you hear me? I want to leave for the mall by ten."

"Okay," I mumbled against the mattress.

The sun was already shining brightly through the two bedroom windows that faced east. Cheddar, what time is it? I was shifting around under the partially unzipped sleeping bag, yawning as if I'd been there all night, when my foot came across a lump at the very bottom of the bag and I froze, dumbstruck at the familiarity of it. I thrust my foot into the pocket of the zipped lower half and the corner of a cardboard swing tag jabbed me in the ankle.

"I'm going to need your help unpacking later," Indy was saying. "The twenty-one storage units I had emptied arrived yesterday and the boxes are crowding the front entrance and the living room. We need to get them moved."

"What? I thought we were only emptying the one unit in New Mexico with our personal belongings? Why did you empty out everything for Whyte Wine in Los Angeles and have it transferred here? Where are we going to put it all?"

"I went over to the landlord's office this morning and signed the lease to the other house on this property." Indy's lavender eyes sparkled with enthusiasm in the morning light. "We will be setting up a workshop next door. So you'd better settle in, because we're staying here for quite a long haul."

Really? We never stayed in one place for very long.

The smile spreading across my aunt's face mystified me as she added, "There's a college nearby that has a good art program."

So we were staying, staying here? Not for just two months, or even five? My voice was quiet, holding in it both shock and disbelief. "I'm going to college? Here? When?"

"Next fall. You've got a couple of credits to go before you're finished with high school."

"I need one more math and a science." I nodded, beginning to feel excited.

"Also phys-ed, which is why I've enrolled you in the local academy."

My excitement immediately vanished. "What do you mean I'm going to an academy? Why aren't I finishing with a tutor?"

"Honey, I know it's been a while since you've been to an actual school."

"Yeah, so why do things differently now?" My adverse reaction to education in a public setting stemmed from the fact that I didn't do well with emotionally-charged atmospheres. And what was more charged than a building full of high-strung, locker slamming, hormonal individuals on the cusp of adulthood? Offhand, I couldn't come up with anything.

"You start there tomorrow."

"No, I don't. Get me a tutor." Why was she insisting on this?

"For Pete's sake, Aurora, it's three classes. I've obtained a work release that the academy requires of those enrolled part time because I need your help for New York fashion week."

"I didn't know we were doing New York fashion week."

"We might if we're ready by spring."

It would be Whyte Wine's first New York showing, which was actually a big deal. I pushed the sleeping bag away from my face. "You really think I can handle this?" I asked in a tiny voice.

"I know you can." She winked as she started for the door. "Just get past the first day and it'll be easy peasy from there on out."

Easy peasy? Who was she now? Rhyming Elmo? I sat up, continuing to feel uneasy about the whole thing.

"You've got forty-five minutes before I take off for the mall without you," Indy announced as she left. "It's going to be hard getting you fitted for your uniform without you being there."

"Uniform?"

Her footsteps paused in the hall. "Petroleum Valley Academy requires its students to wear their uniform during regular school hours and at all sporting events."

"No jeans or leggings?" I squeaked, dismay setting in. "No shorts?"

"The girls wear skirts and knee-high socks. The boys wear dress pants," she hollered back as she descended the stairs.

I wrinkled my nose. Stupid private school dress codes. Waiting until her footfalls faded off, I reached into the sleeping bag to where my foot had been playing with the mysterious lump throughout our conversation. Wrapping my fingers around a plush arm, I let out an unbridled gasp as I yanked it up to me.

A brand new Mad Hatter Doll! A replacement for the one I lost in the building collapse. A soft sob escaped me as I fingered the lavishly embroidered purple coat and top hat adorned with a single peacock feather. He was a little bit larger, but otherwise a close replica of the gift Mom had purchased for my eighth birthday at an Alice in Wonderland themed shop in upstate Nevada.

I turned him on his belly, running a gentle hand over his back. The solid response of fabric underneath my touch reassured me he was indeed real. This wasn't some cruel dream. My fingers played over the small to-and-from card hanging on the swing tag. There was a message written inside. I opened the card to peer at the jagged flow of ink: Though you may be lonely, please take solace that the Guardian understands that which he guards.

Well, that was kind of odd. I closed the card to tap it against a palm, thinking. Indy wasn't one for cryptic messages. She wouldn't have written it. So who had gotten him for me? If my aunt maintained her bizarrely good mood throughout the day, maybe I'd ask. She probably shoved it in the sleeping bag to deal with later and forgot.

Hugging him fiercely, his orange hair tickled my cheek while I recalled my original Mad Hatter had been in bed, tangled among the covers, when I fled the shaking apartment. Poor original Hatter went down with the ship, er, building. I let out an involuntary shudder and squeezed new Hatter even tighter. Notwithstanding being chased by an invisible beastie, I never figured out what was up with the ominous man in the parking lot, the one who wielded the oversized spatula. Bringing the implement down had done something to initiate the start of the building collapse. I didn't know what that could be, but the way it happened—spatula goes down, windows blow out—made it seem like the two were connected.

Who was that guy? And what reason would he have for attacking our apartment? Getting up to grab my duffle bag, I dug around until I located my drawing pad and a pencil. Flipping through until I came to a clean page, I scrawled across the top in my slanted, hurried penmanship: Spatula Man composition. Motions becoming hurried, I set the pad aside with the intent to work on a drawing later as I grabbed other things from my bag in the hope that I had time to fit in a quick shower.

* * *

A dove cooed from some hidden branch on the hillside behind the house, her mate faithfully echoing the call a moment later. Smiling, I stretched my arms out of the window into the pale morning light, contenting myself to breathe deeply while I stood dripping a puddle on the bathroom floor. The towel wrapped around me was soft, the sky was reassuringly clear, and the heady aroma of earth, wet from last night's rain, filled my senses. Surprisingly enough, I loved the damp scent left behind after a storm.

Crossing my arms on the sill, I scrutinized the valley below. Petroleum Valley. Home to a wildlife refuge as well as miles and miles of industrial piping. Quite an odd combination.

The twin houses Indy had rented were in the heart of the valley at its widest section, sitting two-thirds of the way up on the eastern slope, with maybe two miles of valley floor between us and the thickly forested west side. A large grouping of metal smokestacks occupied the center of the valley like its own separate petrified forest, steel trees as numerous as they were lofty, with a bubbling creek that snaked between. I'd never seen anything like it. In two words, this place was industrially amazing!

Marveling over it, I shook my head. I never understood the attraction that the whole "industrial scene" held for Mom and Indy. Maybe there was something about the graphic display of enormous, geometrical structures standing against the horizon that inspired the artist in them, or perhaps they worked best under the influence of power lines? Who knew? And yet, over the years, whenever they decided to settle down for an extended period of time, the place they chose to live would be, without fail, within the vicinity of some large economic powerhouse—a hydroelectric plant, a nuclear energy facility, a vehicle manufacturer. The most recent before this had been a fireworks factory in New Mexico.

Shuddering as a cold shiver passed through me even as the sun beat down on my arms, I wondered about the two enormous round smokestacks that rose higher than the rest of their brethren south of my house. I lifted my chin to size them up. Instead of being made from metal, these were constructed out of golden brick, their twin silhouettes running parallel to each other to peak at some unfathomable height. Wizard of Oz, eat your heart out. A girl would have to trade in her ruby slippers for a pair of anti-gravity boots if she intended to hike that yellow brick road.

I turned away from the window and went to the sink. Absently, I fingered the edge of a calla lily, one flower among many crowding a glass bowl sitting on the bathroom vanity. Gosh they were pretty. And real. Where did these come from? I shimmied into my blue undies and snapped the last bra strap into place, being conscious of the fresh gauze I taped over my shoulder stitches. I ran fingers up my bluish-purplish side where the creature had struck me and broke my ribs, leaving trails of momentary white before the color rushed back to the surface. The rest of my body was still very bruised and ugly from being thrown into a wall, and I ached like hell-times-two after being jostled around in the car yesterday.

Frowning, I lowered my arm over my bruised side, and I thought back to that day, remembering the air shimmering in the hallway. A vaporous entity, with intelligent thought. A being of immense power and yet void of all form.

A living intangible. My god, could such a thing really exist?

Well, whatever it was, I could do nothing when it attacked! I couldn't even begin to shake hands with the thing, let alone land a direct blow. But it sure as heck could get physical with me. I huffed in disgust at my battered reflection. Paradise Park, New Mexico, had become an unsafe place, this much I was sure of despite the uncertainty that surrounded the entire incident.

And yet, what about last night at the Emlenton Plaza? I sucked in a breath as my thoughts switched gears. Indy's odd behavior. Letting me walk off alone. Was there something to be said for last night's unusually carefree undertone at the restaurant? You would think that, with the reality of such a recent near miss—whether she admitted to it or not—my aunt would be buckling down on my security more than ever. But this wasn't the case. Indy hadn't been showing any concern for my safety since our arrival in Pennsylvania. In fact, she was acting as if it was safe here.

What was I missing?

I leaned closer to the mirror to let the light fully hit my face. Spending last night on the closet floor had done little to fade the effects of my recent lack of sleep. If anything, the under-eye circles were starting to darken. Better add concealer to the shopping list.

Unhappy with my appearance—and the growing amount of questions surrounding our move east—I picked up my hairbrush. At least one part of me is looking refreshed, I noted when, after a few short strokes, my dark hair was flowing like liquid silk. A small smile touched my lips as I switched the brush to my other hand, but then the next tug twisted my pleased expression into one of pain. Holy cheddar! The right side of my head was sore. Probably from the blow when I hit the kitchen floor.

Setting the brush down, I paused with gritted teeth to send a hand through my hair. Yep, a nice-sized goose egg. It had been stupid of me to go running into the dark. But when it came to my fear of storms, all logic escaped me.

My probing fingers continued forward from the fresh bump to touch an area of roughened skin behind my right ear. I lifted a section of hair to reveal the bald spot where the decade-old scar tissue prevented new hair from taking root. Pressing into the slight indent in my skull, I shivered as the corresponding scar on the bottom of my right foot tingled in remembrance of the night lightning struck me through an open car window.

Wonder what the weather forecast is for the remainder of the week? Swallowing hard, I forced down a rise of old nausea, my insides knotting when the remembered stench of burnt hair mixed with desert air to permeate my next inhale, striking me through with the phantom- sensation of being unable to move, Mom limp in the driver's seat, the car bucking wildly as it went off the road.

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VOTE if you predict there will be more storms ahead in Aurora's five day forecast ;)

Thank you for reading this far :)  Love to everyone!