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Faint beeping noises, hushed voices. I blinked open my eyes. Dom was sitting on the plastic chair near the hospital bed, on her phone.

“Dom?” I croaked.

She lifted her head. “Oh my god, Thea!” She jumped up and paused, hovering above me. “You’re awake. Let me get a nurse—”

“No.” I sat up, the blue sheets falling to my lap. “Wait. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Do you remember?” Dom gripped the metal bar of the bed. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Uh…” I actually couldn’t remember. I’d been in a cold, dark, awful space. But where? What had been happening?

“Don’t worry about it.” Dom waved her hand. “Do you feel okay?”

“I think so.” We were in a curtained-off area. Someone on the other side was whispering urgently, presumably into their phone.

We were at the hospital. I felt a pure, sweet relief. I was okay. I was safe.

“Amani called me, and I came as soon as I could. Your parents are flying in.” Dom exhaled. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was worried.”

“Where’s Catherine?” I asked.

She looked at me blankly. “Who?”

The woman in the next room raised her voice. “You don’t know what I’ve been through!”

The back of my neck prickled. Something felt off. I started sliding my legs over the side of the bed.

“Just calm down.” Dom leaned over me, hissing into my ear. “Stay there. Don’t let them hear you.”

“Who?”

Her eyes widened, her mouth stretched into a frightening grimace. “I don’t know. But this hospital—it’s weird. I tried to talk to a doctor, but…” She stared past me, suddenly mute, mouth hanging open. I twisted around to see what she was looking at: a laminated pain assessment scale with cartoon happy faces ranging from ecstatic to anguished.

“They all died.” Now the woman in the next bed sounded mournful. “My brother. My boyfriend. Didn’t you know that?”

I tried to push Dom backwards so I could stand, but my wrist was bound. Cold fear filled my chest as I saw I was handcuffed to the bed.

“No.” I pulled against it.

“Oh, okay.” Dom nodded, slipping back into the chair. “The doctor’s coming now.”

I shrank into the bed, raising my knees, preparing myself.

Someone yanked the curtain back.

“Hi there.” The doctor had blue eyes and a sandy beard. I knew him from somewhere. He grinned. “Ready to feel better?” He held up a needle dripping with clear liquid.

I screamed.

“For heaven’s sake.” Mom shook me. “Just wake up.”

I sat up in bed. I’d been dreaming about a hospital, someone coming towards me with a needle…

“Let’s get this show on the road. You’re going to be late.” Mom looked tired, her face pale against her teal pantsuit. She dressed up to drive me to school, waving merrily to other parents in the drop-off zone. Then she came home and changed into sweatpants. Then put the nicer clothes back on before Dad got home. Keeping up appearances.

“I don’t want to go.” My voice was small and whiny. “My stomach hurts.”

“Your stomach always hurts.” She strode out. Daylight streamed in the windows, lighting up the collage of Catherine and Sebastian pictures I’d taped to the wall. Their lives were so colorful and sparkling, whereas mine felt dreary and gray. They could be together at this very moment. My chest ached, even more strongly than my stomach cramps.

“ Hurry up! ” Mom yelled.

I padded into the kitchen. The sadness shifted into anger. Mom didn’t care that my stomach hurt every morning before school. She didn’t care at all.

In the dining room, she crouched down, scrubbing at the floor with a pink sponge. Her red hair hung in a frizzy braid down her back.

The cereal box was on the counter. I went to the stove and picked up the cast-iron skillet with both hands. It was even heavier than I’d anticipated. I crept behind her and raised it up as high as I could before bringing it down on her skull.

The impact broke my vision into particles like a mirror smashing; when my sight reconfigured I was in a different kitchen. A dark-haired woman slumped at the table, but there was no blood. I was no longer holding a skillet but an empty vodka bottle. It smelled in here: rotting food and unwashed dog. A squeal came from the doorway: a small mutt was whining at me. Ranger. He was hungry. I put the bottle on the table and went to the dog food bag, but it was empty. I got some stale bread from the fridge and put it on the floor, and he tore into it.

“Hey.” Steven stood at the entrance of the kitchen. But he was young, sixteen at most, acne sprinkling his cheeks. “You didn’t come to school today.”

“I couldn’t get a ride.” I was also sixteen, but Mom had forgotten to sign me up for driver’s ed. First she’d had the funeral to take care of. Then she’d fallen into a deep well of depression and now barely spoke. I didn’t even know if she’d been fired from her job or if they’d given her leave.

“I told you to call me.” Steven took a step forward. “I can pick you up.”

“Yeah, the phone’s out.”

“Oh.” His eyes snaked around the room, landed on Mom. “I’ll get you tomorrow. I’m just down the street, you know.”

Ranger finished eating and went over to Steven, wagging his tail. Steven bent and petted him, distracted.

“Do you ever feel like you want to destroy someone?” I asked.

“Sarah.” He focused on the dog, stroking his chin. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

Was my name Sarah? I thought I had a different name, but I couldn’t remember what it was. Though I was pretty sure it started with an M .

“Not, like, random people,” I said, brushing the thought aside. “Bad people. Bad people who deserve to be destroyed.” Starting with Dr. Miller, the man who’d started my brother Jason on pills he couldn’t stop taking.

“I guess so.” Steven considered. “Like vigilantism?”

The word impressed me. “Yeah.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I don’t know.” I sat on the floor, suddenly exhausted. “I was just reading about these shamans in India who can stop their own hearts. And then start them again. Isn’t that wild? I wonder if you could do that to someone else. Make their hearts stop.”

“Who knows.” He shifted. “You know, we should go to India someday.”

“Yeah right.” I snorted.

He shrugged, clearly wanting to take it back.

“Okay, sure. I’ll go with you.” Steven’s always loved me. He’d do anything for me. It’s sweet. But I’m never going to love him back. Maybe before I could’ve, but now there’s a hole inside of me and the sounds coming out of it are so loud I can’t hear anything else.

“After Mexico?” he asked.

“After Mexico.” That made me smile. Ever since Ella brought photos to school in eighth grade from her trip to Cancún, I’d fantasized about being there. The palm trees, the white sand, the endless blue ocean… I could smell the sunscreen, feel the gentle breeze.

Mom let out a snore at the table.

“Is that his?” Steven motioned with his chin. “Was it, I mean? Jason’s?”

I was holding a weathered baseball in my hand.

“Yeah.” I rolled it towards Ranger, who whimpered and backed away.

“Oh, hey.” Steven pulled a camera from his backpack. He trained it on me, smiling faintly. “Say cheese.”

The flashes blinded me, though I kept the grin plastered on my face. If I stopped for even a split second, that’s the picture they’d use.

Sebastian squeezed my hand. He knew how much I hated premieres. And this would be the worst one of all. I’d have to sit there in a theater filled with hundreds of people, including my parents, and watch myself—well, my body double, Sophia, who looks exactly like me—naked on the screen.

We’d drunk tequila and smoked weed in the limo, and it had softened the panic a little bit, but not enough. I’d had to fight Dad not to take me as his date; that’s what he’d wanted. But in a rare show of resistance, Mom told him it wouldn’t look right. For once he’d listened to her.

I wondered if anyone would know we were high; we’d used eye drops, but they didn’t always work. Nothing to do but let Sebastian lead me. The chaos of journalists and fans was like a hurricane whirling around us. It slowed a little as we paused in front of the backdrop to pose. Sebastian picked up my hand to kiss it, and the clicks increased. He’d cried in the car, but I’d been too numb to do or say much of anything.

This movie had started with my dreams, but it wasn’t really about me. Dad had taken it over, controlling it, like he did to everything. I hadn’t wanted to be in it. I didn’t want to be an actor, period, but when I was eight I’d told Mom and he’d locked me in my room for a full day.

I should’ve realized back then my life isn’t really mine. Maybe if I had a sibling, someone else to take up some of his attention, it wouldn’t be this way. But it probably would. I’m his favorite, no matter what. People tell me how lucky I am that he’s so invested in me. They don’t realize it’s actually a curse.

“I’ve got some coke,” Sebastian whispered as we finally walked into the theater.

“Good.” It would help me feel more awake; currently I just wanted to lie down on the red carpet and sleep. I closed my eyes, but this time they wouldn’t open. Sebastian gripped my arm. “Cath, what are you—” But his hand and voice were suddenly ripped away.

“Time to wake up.”

I jerked upright and almost fell off the tiny cot. I was in a small, circular space, the ceiling too low for me to sit up fully. The pitch black softened into the barest amount of light. There was nothing in this space—just me, the cot, and what looked like a chair carved into the floor.

“Would you like to rest longer?” the female voice asked. “I thought you wanted to keep on a regular sleep cycle.”

“It’s okay.” I cleared my throat. Where was I? Whose voice was this? It seemed to be coming from all around me.

“Sit and I’ll open the window,” she instructed. I slipped out of the cot and dropped into the chair. The blackness in front of me melted into the unmistakable view of space.

Was this a ride? It seemed like something they’d have at Disney…

Then I remembered. I was in the cave, and this was a dream. Of course I was dreaming of space. It’s how Stargirl ended, wasn’t it? I just had to watch out for that knife.

“No knives on board,” the voice said. “Unnecessary for food preparation.”

“Great.” And I realized that I felt full, comfortably so. It was a relief from the jagged shards of hunger.

It all locked into place: this was a future life. We were sometime far in the future. But why was I alone? The memories were cloudy, trapped behind warped glass. I’d been on a ship with others, but…

“Something happened to Catherine.” I was suddenly sure of it. I started to stand. “I have to help her.”

“You already helped her. She’s safe.” The speaker’s name materialized: Aurora. She was an operating system, and I’d chosen her voice out of five options.

“Oh.” I sank back down again. “That’s a relief.”

“I’m glad you feel comforted.”

“Something happened—there was a fight, or an attack, or something?” The knowledge trickled in. “And I’m in an escape pod, but it’s damaged. I made Catherine take the one that still works.”

“Correct.”

“How much time do we have left?”

“Five days.” Aurora said it solemnly.

“And we’re…”

“Eight months from the nearest station.”

“Thank you.” Strangely, I felt a lack of concern about my imminent demise. It didn’t feel quite real. I just had to remember to turn off Aurora towards the end. I didn’t want her to be conscious as she drifted in space for thousands of years. That would be cruel.

“You needed time to grieve,” Aurora said, apropos of nothing. Maybe she was starting to glitch. “Time to heal. Everyone has their missions, but they need to happen in the right time and the right order. You have to go through the anger first. Why wouldn’t you be angry?”

“I don’t know.” Her words seemed somehow appropriate, though I didn’t know what she was referring to. Maybe I was finally losing my mind. It would’ve happened a lot earlier if I didn’t have Aurora. She was programmed to have her own personality, so we’d even had a few fights.

“Would you like me to tell you a story?” she finally asked.

“I actually want to pull up a dream.” I’d been having a lot of dreams lately. Some of them were about a colorful castle in the middle of the desert. There was a pool with lounge chairs, where I could smell real flowers and feel the actual warmth of sun on my skin.

“Of course.”

“The sunny one, Aurora. Not the one in the cave. Please.”

She didn’t respond, maybe irritated that I’d called out her mistake. But she’d messed it up on multiple occasions. And I didn’t want to be back in that dark, cold space.

“So Catherine’s still okay?” I couldn’t help but ask. “She’s alive?”

“I am no longer in contact with her capsule. But all signs point to yes.”

“Good.” I exhaled. I hadn’t been able to save the others. I imagined their particles dispersing into the void. I opened the map, zoomed in on our solar system, traced the lines.

“Maybe we’ll make it back home,” I said.

“It’s possible.” Aurora was programmed to be optimistic.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

“Recorded dream ready to play.”

I lay back and closed my eyes. “Play.”

I was back in the cave.

Damnit, Aurora. I told you I didn’t want…

I blinked into the darkness. It took a second to settle into reality. I really was in the cave. Aurora and the space capsule had been a dream.

But it had been so realistic. They’d all been. Being in Catherine’s body at the premiere, in Moon/Sarah’s at her house after her brother had died. Back in my thirteen-year-old bedroom. And all of us experiencing that specific void I’d thought was only within me.

Moon would say the trauma stemmed from a past life pattern. But at a young age, in this lifetime, we’d faced neglect, betrayal, even abuse. All of us had longed more than anything for connection, affection, hope. In a word: love.

I shifted and couldn’t feel my legs. Desperately, I scrambled for the key chain and clicked it. There. My feet were white and wrinkled, but they were there. I slapped and rubbed them, and slowly they began to tingle, coming back to life. Eventually, I clicked off the light and slipped it back into the cubbyhole, pulling my legs up into my chest. I felt sleepy. I realized I was no longer shivering. No longer hungry either.

I’d been down here for some time. Two days? Three? I knew it should take weeks to starve, but with the cold, the exposure, it would probably be much faster. My body already felt like it was starting to shut down.

I closed my eyes, pushing the hideous thoughts away, and suddenly a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors burst into existence, blinking and shifting. I was being shown something significant, but I couldn’t quite grasp it. I marveled, taking it in.

There was something special about this place—Moon was right. But like the snake, it wasn’t good or evil. Moon was the one who’d imbued it with her own psychic rage. And anger was fine, it was good even, but you couldn’t get stuck there.

Easy for me to say. I’d done the same exact thing. And I hadn’t even realized the rage was there, buried under the surface. My desire to help covering up my desire to harm. The anger turning in on itself, working to destroy me—with the societally approved poison of alcohol, with self-flagellation and shame. I’d told myself I was broken, when I wasn’t, not at all. I might have spent the rest of my life believing these lies.

I heard singing. It sounded like a choir in a Christmas Eve service—one of the very few times I hadn’t minded being in church. I pictured my corpse melting into bones. The music got louder, ringing in my ears.

And then: a light. A tiny speck that grew brighter until I had to close my eyes, pressing my palms against them. Was the waiting over already?

It wasn’t a cliché. This was really what happened when you died.