July 27, 1932, around 400 p.m.

Everything was shaking. Clara didn't like it. She swung out her arms, contacting something tangible. Not a dream. Victory was standing over her, her green eyes wide with panic.

"Max," she said.

Clara's body responded before her mind could issue the command. She spun her legs out of the bed.

"What about Max?"

"He's missing."

So the time had come. She knew what to do now. Clara hurried out of the room, not bothering to put on her shoes. Her movements were fluid. She glided down the steps barefoot, like she had done so many times before—dancing, doing movie routines. She went out the front door into the pressing humidity, the air too thick and sweet. It was like breathing honey.

Victory was right behind her. Clara had run so fast that her sister had picked up her wake, sensing purpose. She continued down the lawn, to the lagoon. At the stone lip, she pulled off the exercise clothes she had fallen asleep in. Everything looked so oddly colored. The sky was like a giant sleeping eye, the color of a milky pupil. The waters of the lagoon licked the shore contentedly. As she stood there in her underclothes, her skin exposed to air and sun, for one moment, she felt utterly in possession of herself, of her mind and body. Everything had come to a single point, and she was ready.

It was too shallow to dive, so she leapt into the cool water. This shocked her a bit more awake, but still, she suspected she might be dreaming. She dipped under and scanned around, looking at the rocks, the swaying vegetation. She kicked her feet and they touched the bottom, the slime licking her soles.

She pushed off, propelling herself along under the sun-rippled water. A curious fish watched her go, then darted away. If only she could stay here, in this moment.

No. She pushed on, swinging her gaze around. She saw what she knew she would see. Clara moved toward it. The thing she sought was at the deeper end, maybe six feet down. An easy enough dip for her. She was a mermaid. She was looking for a pearl at the bottom of the lagoon. That was what she would tell herself.

Then Clara tucked her dead little brother, Max, under her arm and swam into the light.