Dreamland nothing makes sense.
I was following a man who killed children. His last name was de la Playa. He had committed one crime last September, another last October, and now he was doing it again. From about 100 feet away I saw him grab the girl, and she got away, she was out of his grasp. In my mind I screamed at her to run, but she stood frozen and he turned and shot her in the head. Then I was in a narrow hallway and he walked my way, gun still in hand. I held up my phone, screen out, to save myself from what I knew was about to happen.
Then I realized the hallway was in a high school in Lebanon. I felt like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz. Or maybe it was Sam from Moonrise Kingdom. "See you tomorrow," I said to a former colleague from the Factory, only there would be no tomorrows because he was dead and he was here to tell me he was about the catch the transit to the clearing. Everything was fine, he assured me.
We hugged. "Tell Cliffy I said hey," I said.
"Ah, Cliff," he replied. "We'll see you in 32 years. That's soon."
I started crying because I knew that he was right — not about the number of years, but about the soon part — and I didn't want to go, not just yet. I knew I had to call the Boss Lady to tell her what had happened. I picked up my phone and noticed a bullet hole in the screen, and no matter how many times I asked her to call the Boss, Siri wouldn't respond.
I woke up, phone in hand, and it was a long time before I got back to sleep.