The door

Almost two weeks after Travis attacked me, I dreamed about tombstoning. Determined to dive, I made my way forward in a densely overgrown forest. I could barely make out leaves and branches in the dark. I had to get to the cliff before dawn and the sky was lightening. Time was running out. Branches and brush scraped my arms and legs. I climbed as quickly as I could. Yet the faster I moved, the heavier my arms became. My legs grew stiff, and my feet stuck to the ground. Slowly, slowly, I pushed the last branch aside to reveal the cliff’s edge.

On the horizon, black water met dark orange sky. I crawled toward the edge, aware that I was not alone. Children’s voices—screams—came from nearby. I looked behind me and side to side. No, the voices were coming from below.

Lying on my belly, I peered over the cliff and looked down. Three young girls stood on a ledge ten or twenty feet below. The youngest who was about twelve screamed. She seemed terrified. The other two consoled her, and I judg