RAYA BANKS

I couldn't tell what time it was from the light outside when I snapped to sit in bed, feeling my heart pounding furiously from the nightmare I could still see and smell behind my eyes.

I had been idling at our old cottage house this time, peering out the windows into the dark streets where my father was lying dead.

Someone had taken a knife straight through his neck, and the decapitated thing was now lying on the grimy asphalt, facing me, the empty spaces where eyes had been flashing in the darkness when a pearl of lightning struck.

“Blasted heavens!” I wheezed, knocking a hand on my...