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as coming from his sister. He walked toward the sound, past the urinals on his right, the sinks with the scratched metal plates that served as mirrors on his left. To the stalls.
    He saw the fat kid standing in front of a stall, his hands limp at his sides. He spun on Gary, his cow eyes screwing to find purchase on how to deal with the tiny intruder.
    Behind the fat kid Gary saw two sets of bare feet under the stall door. There was another bang — someone had hit one of the walls hard enough to shake the entire row of connected metal stalls.
    The fat kid looked behind him, toward the stall, then back at Gary.
    “Fuck off,” he said lightly, in a toneless, high-pitched voice.
    “Abby?” Gary said.
    The shuffling feet within the stall stopped. Gary realized, with some surprise, that he was crying.
    There was a loud, muffled sound from inside the stall. Then a loud thump and the walls shook once more.
    “I’m going to tell!” he yelled suddenly, spitting out the words, bracing himself to attack, or flee.
    Someone mumbled something through the closed door, and the big fat kid took a bored, lumbering step toward Gary.
    He fled.
     
     
     
    Martha woke from a dream. She had been running... somewhere. Toward something. Dan was there. They were young, happy. He said something to her while they ran and although he was smiling it seemed to her a strained smile.
    The children , he said, save them . She tried to see where they were running but could see nothing because it was dark, so dark. You always hated the children , he said. Martha started to say something back, but then Dan was gone, pulled away from her. She started to laugh at the whole thing so preposterous when something reached out from the dark and grabbed her, something slick, wet and firm with taut muscle, rough skin. It sprang at her...
    She jerked awake, raindrops hitting her legs, her stomach, spotting the wide dark lenses of her sunglasses with small wet dots. The dots made her think insanely of stars. Were there stars in the dark she had been running through? She didn’t think so.
    A young boy could be heard yelling over the din of the people around her. One of the lifeguards was blowing his whistle.
     
     
     
    Gary ran outside and through his tears and panic he was shocked at how gray everything was. And it was — yes — it was raining. Only lightly, but he saw the spots dotting the white concrete, slowly filling in the lighter color with the quick-spreading dark wet acne of rain drops.
    He didn’t think to look for Martha, but ran to the first person he could see who symbolized authority – represented safety, normalcy, help.
    He ran to the lifeguard.
    “Please!” he yelled up at the guard, a skinny white man with short-cropped, frizzy yellow hair and a deep tan. The guard looked down at Gary over the edge of his platform, his large hazel eyes seeming almost predatory, as if he were ready to pounce from his perch rather than help.
    Gary took a step backward.
    “What’s up, little man?” the lifeguard said.
    Gary pointed to the locker room door. He smelled something funny, but didn’t have time to process the cause. “My sister,” he said, talking loudly over the screams, loud screams, of children. “They took her in there and now they’re hurting her!”
    The lifeguard looked from Gary to the locker room door. Gary looked with him and saw a very normal-looking man walk out, holding his son’s hand. They seemed happy, laughing about something. There didn’t seem to be violence from where they had come from, there didn’t seem to be horror on the other side of that door.
    “Your sister’s in the boy’s locker room, huh?” the lifeguard said, a small smile creeping onto his lips. “That isn’t allowed, is it?”
    Gary looked up at the guard, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. What was happening here? Why wasn’t this man leaping down and running into the locker room to help his sister? He pointed with accusation.
    “They’re