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Joan woke, gasping, from the nightmare. "Am I going to have that dream every night?" she asked out loud, trying to shake off her fear.

"I don't know, but I doubt it," said Judith, and Joan turned her head to see her friend sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the bed. "Reruns get old fast."

"Hey," Joan said, joy and sadness flooding her. "You know, I still really miss you."

"I know," said Judith. "I really do."

"I mean," said Joan, tears shining in her eyes, "I know the whole 'matter is never created or destroyed' thing, but still. It really sucks that you're gone, and that I only get these little glimpses of you. It sucks to miss you."

Judith stood, stooped to hug Joan, and told her, "The thing is, Joan, we got to be friends. I got to have someone who mattered enough to me that I miss you, and I know you miss me. I know it hurts, but it would suck even more if it didn't."

Joan smiled, tearfully. "I know," she said.

Judith gave her one last, impetuous hug. "I know you know," she said. "Just remember: being all alone in the dark is way worse than having someone to miss. Especially," she struck a pose, "someone as fantabulous as me." With a scatter of prisms, she stepped through the wall and was gone.

Joan realized she could hear voices downstairs. She wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and tiptoed down, pausing at the door to the kitchen.

"I just can't believe it," her mother was saying.

"Was she a friend of Joan's?" Joan heard her father ask.

"Not really," Helen said. "At least, I don't think so. I think Adam knew her better."

Luke broke in angrily. "Yeah, he sure did!"

There was a pause. "Which means what?" their father asked him, raising his voice.

"It means she's, you know, she's the one who," Luke sputtered, "the girl who Adam-"

"What's going on?" Joan asked, more loudly than she'd intended, and they all turned to look at her, standing there in her pajamas. She shivered and pulled the blanket tighter.

"There was an...incident," her father began, and stopped.

"It was Bonnie," Luke said roughly. "She jumped off the balcony of her apartment." He looked angry.

"Oh my God," said Joan, shocked.

"Honey," said Helen gently, "she's alive. I mean, she might-they took her to the hospital. She might pull through." Joan couldn't answer. "Come sit down," Helen said.

"I'll make hot chocolate," Luke offered.

"No," Joan said. "I just want to be alone for a minute. Okay? I'll just be out on the front porch." No one tried to stop her when she left.

What seemed like a long time later, but was probably less than half an hour, Helen opened up the front door. "Joan, you should come inside," she said worriedly. "We're all on our way to bed."

"Mom," Joan said firmly, "I can't go to bed yet. I just can't. I need some time to think. I'll be fine; I'm only on the front porch, nothing can happen to me. Just go, okay? Let me have some space."

Helen looked reluctant, but left, closing the door, and a few minutes later Joan saw the lights go out, except for the one just inside the front door. She huddled in her blanket and shivered.

"You look cold," a voice said, and Ryan emerged from the shadows. He walked soundlessly up the steps and sat next to her, putting one arm around her shoulders.

"Have you lost your mind?" she hissed, trying to pull away, but he tightened his grip.

"I just thought-will you stop wriggling? I'm not going to bite-I should check in and see how you feel," he said. She stared up at him.

"Oh," she said after a minute. "You know because of the police? About Bonnie, I mean."

He didn't answer immediately. Then he said, "Why are you pretending to be upset about this? Aren't you glad she's out of the way?"

This time Joan succeeded in moving away from him. "That's a horrible thing to say!" she told him, glaring.

He shrugged. "And it's a horrible thing to feel, I suppose, but that doesn't make it less real. Why are you bothering to lie to me about this, Joan? I can see why you can't tell anyone else; they'd think less of you. But I don't, Joan. I will never, ever make you ashamed of anything you feel."

"It's true," Joan said quietly, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. "Part of me was glad. Just a little. Part of me thought: Bonnie deserves this. She ruined my life; now she's ruined her own."

Ryan slid along the front porch and put his arm around Joan's waist. "I won't ever tell," he promised, and lowered his head to lick the tears from her face, savouring her moment of weakness.