I chomped down on my tongue so I wouldn't scream. Blood filled my mouth. The more I fought, the harder the teachers restrained me, twisting my arms, pain stabbing through me.

"Can't you see him?" I shouted. "He's right there. Please. Please, please, please. Get him away from me. Get him away!"

They wouldn't listen. I continued to struggle, to argue, but they held me still as the burned man taunted me.

Finally, two men in uniforms hurried through the door. One helped the teachers restrain me while the other moved behind, out of my sight. Fingers tightened on my forearm.

Then a needle prick. Ice slid through my veins.

The room started to sway. The custodian faded, blinking in and out.

"No!" he yelled. "I need to speak to her. Don't you understand? She can hear me. I only want to . . ."

His voice faded as the paramedics lowered me onto a stretcher. It rose, swaying. Swaying .. . like an elephant. I'd rode one once, with my mom, at the zoo, and my mind slipped back there, Mom's arms around me, her laughter —

The custodian's howl of rage sliced through my memory. "Don't take her away. I need her!"

Swaying. The elephant swaying. Mom laughing . . .

Four

I SAT ON THE EDGE of my hospital bed and tried to persuade myself I was still asleep. That was the best explanation for what I was hearing. I could also chalk it up to delusional, but I preferred dreaming.

Aunt Lauren sat beside me, holding my hand. My eyes went to the nurses gliding past in the corridor. She followed my gaze, rose, and shut the door. Through a glaze of tears, I watched her and pictured Mom instead. Something inside me crumpled, and I was six years old, huddled on the bed, crying for my mother.