A familiar shiver ran a zigzag line over her skin. Pressing the flower to her nose, Arlie breathed in deeply. Before her eyes, she suddenly saw water. Her heart raced at a memory of drowning. She steadied herself against her dresser as she gasped for air. "Are you from my dream? How did you get in my room?" Arlie has always had the same dream. She dreamed of a magical place filled with the smell of flowers. She sat on a bench, looking over a crystal-blue lake. Ducks glided effortlessly over the lake, and never once did they stick their heads in the water searching for food. A few birds flew above; trees stood here and there, full and thick, and not one leaf lay beneath their mighty branches. Arlie was never alone there. A man sat with her, his hair long and white, like spun silk. He spoke a different language than her, but somehow she understood everything he said. His voice caused the birds and the ducks to stop and listen. Even the trees stopped swaying. How could a man control the...