TWILLY LEERED, his face very big in front of hers. Big nose, teeth like a Halloween jack-o’lantern, his words so elastic, Yuki became fascinated with the sounds more than the sense of what he was saying.

  Get a grip, she told herself. Get a grip.

  “Say that again?”

  “When Michael went missing,” Twilly spoke patiently, “the cops came up with nothing. No clues. No suspects. I waited for months.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The Campion story was getting stale - so I did what I had to do. Good citizen thing, right? I called in a tip. I gave the cops a suspect. Completely legitimate. I’d seen Michael at the house of a little hooker named Junie Moon.”

  “You . . . did that?”

  “Yep, it was me. And like an answered prayer, Junie Moon confessed. Man, sometimes I even think she did it. But you didn’t convict her, did you, Yuki? And now I have a shitty ending for my book. And whoever killed Michael is free. And I’m up to my neck in knee-breakers, so I can only think of one way to get a big-bang ending and bring it on home.

  “And that’s where you come in, little girl,” Twilly said. “I think you’re going to appreciate the drama and the poetry.”

  There were flashes in the sky behind Twilly, bright colors and images she couldn’t make out. There was a whooshing in her ears, blood racing or animals running through the underbrush. What was going on?

  “What’s . . . happening . . . to me?”

  “You’re having a mental breakdown, Yuki, because you’re so depressed.”

  “Me?”

  “You. You . . . are . . . very . . . depressed.”

  “Nooooo,” Yuki said. She tried to stand, but her feet couldn’t hold her. She looked at Twilly, his eyes big and as dark as black holes.............