Chapter 1

My phone was ringing. Not true. The ringer was never on. I looked over at the bookcase next to the bed and could see my cell phone’s faint blue light as it vibrated. I woke just minutes before from a dream that involved insects. Moths and butterflies or moths and spiders, I couldn’t remember. I felt the dream disappear as I tried to cling to its memory. I had been lying in my bed staring at the ceiling, eyes bleary, unsure if I felt a spider crawling on me or if it was just the hair on my legs brushing against the sheets. I leaned over and grabbed the phone.

“Hello?” My voice was scratchy, I had to lick my lips, and swallow to make moisture appear.

“Anson?”

The voice was familiar and sad. I thought of the dream. Definitely spiders and moths, not butterflies. I heard something bang against the window at the foot of my bed.

“Who is this?” I struggled to sit up and brushed my hand against my itchy leg. Nothing there, but I couldn’t be sure. I got up, went to the window, and saw a fat June bug crawling across the screen.

“Who?” I started to say again but was cut off.

“Barrett,” I heard the voice say. There was a pause before he repeated, “Barrett, it’s Barrett.”

I swallowed hard, I needed water. Everything started to slide sideways. Was I still sleeping, trapped inside the spider-moth world?

“Anson, you there?”

I nodded against the phone. I never thought I’d hear from him again. He was the type who every time you saw them you felt like it would be the last time. I hadn’t heard from Barrett in about a month. Our affair had been hot, intense, and painful. He had gotten so deeply under my skin that it only been recently had I trained myself not to think about him constantly. Now here he was on the phone, this man whose damage I knew only to well. I couldn’t let him back in, the stakes were too high. His particular type of game playing wasn’t for me.

“I’m dreaming,” I said aloud and immediately rolled my tired eyes. I sounded like an idiot. The bug had stopped moving and hung to the screen as if contemplating what to do next.

“I’m sorry,” Barrett said, his voice pained.

As I focused on his voice I felt my senses come back to me. I wasn’t dreaming. I was awake. The pain in Barrett’s voice made me realize the dream was over.

“What time is it?” I asked dumbly as I reached for a watch that didn’t exist. I stood up, stumbled over to the cable box, and could just make out 3:00 A.M. on its clock.

“Anson, I need your help.”

In the few months that I had known Barrett, he never asked for anything, although I often offered, he never asked. Hearing him blatantly asking for help sounded as distorted as the beetle banging against my window screen.

“What’s up?” I asked as I looked away from the green numbers on the clock and went to the kitchen. I opened the freezer door, grabbed an ice tray, began filling a glass with cubes, and then turned on the faucet.

“My daughter is gone. I need your help.” I heard his voice break.

I took a drink and found I had trouble swallowing. I coughed and took the phone away from my ear and held it against my bare chest while I coughed again.

I didn’t know much about Barrett’s daughter. I knew he had one, had seen vague pictures of her. My addled brain tried to recapture these images as I stood at my sink, eyes closed and seeing only shadows behind my eyes. I gave up and took another drink, this time managing to swallow without coughing.

“Barrett.” I said his name in an attempt to make the situation real in my head. I was unsure of what to say, I was still shocked it was him.

“Don’t tell me to call the police. Don’t fucking say it.”

This time I recognized that what I heard wasn’t pain at all, it was terrified exhaustion.

“Well,” I said, pausing to think. “What do you mean missing?”

“I didn’t say missing, I said gone. She’s gone. Goddammit, she’s gone.”

I heard him sob and the sound sent a chill down my spine. I didn’t know he was capable of such emotion. His usually aloof demeanor was gone and it was unnerving.

“Will you help me?” he asked when he regained himself, his voice guttural.

I could feel the dreamy spider webs and flickering moth flames encroaching from my dreams. Something was wrong. I could feel it. Worse, I could see it. The flashes that came were like lightning. They were always vivid, quick and then gone. She wasgone. I saw her behind my eyes; dark haired, innocent, smiling and then gone; vague and translucent like a moth’s wings.