"How could you?" She demanded. She had found her voice, and it trembled with rage. "How could you be so cruel? What are you?"
For a long time, Constance held her mother and wept, simultaneously held by the strong, firm grip of her father. Through the film of her tears, she stole a glimpse of his face, firm-jawed, with blue eyes that shone like cold stars.
The last time she had seen those eyes, they had been red-rimmed, milky, regarding her with a pathetic cruelty. They had long ago stopped being able to see Constance. In her place, they only saw the bones of her mother. "If not for you," he had once blubbered after snatching a bottle from her hands, "she would never have had to go to work in the mines."
All at once, Constance was shoving herself violently away from the huddled pair. She staggered to her feet, regarding their mildly startled expressions with white-hot fury. She was grown now, towering over them where they perched on the cot. "How could you?" She demanded. She had found her voice, and it trembled with rage. "How could you be so cruel? What are you?"
Her mother looked up at her with infinite warmth. "Darling, you brought me here. This is your dream."
"Stop saying that, or I swear to God—" Constance spat. "Do you think I've come all this way to be suckered into some fantasy? You think that's what I want?"
"Then what do you want?" Her father asked.
"Take this away!" Constance demanded, wiping her eyes with a sleeve before sweeping her hand in a wide arc. "Leave me be! You said you wanted me, but you just want to play games!"
"Easy, love, easy! Somebody's going to lose an eyetooth."
The voice was coming from above her. Startled, she looked around. At first, she was met with a dozen copies of her own face, drawn and pale, framed with a tangle of wild hair. Turning her head, she saw that she was sprawled on the rock-like outcropping where she had previously been talking to Abner, nestled against a cluster of reflective crystals. But the figure leaning over her now wasn't Abner Wade, it was Lamont Townsend. He had a hand on her shoulder. Her nostrils filled with the scent of aftershave and tobacco smoke.
"What are you doing?" She asked hotly, shrugging back. Her blood was still warm with the fury she had been feeling a moment ago. "What's going on?"
"I came to see you," Lamont explained, stepping back. "When I found you, you were asleep. I sat here for a while, but then it looked like you were having a bugger of a nightmare, so it seemed best to wake you. Was I wrong?"
Constance looked up at the newspaperman and shook her head, sitting up. "No, you were right. I was."
Lamont took a seat on the rock beside her. He pulled a cigarette from his shirt pocket, placed it between his lips and set it alight with smooth precision. Then he took it in two fingers and held it out to her. "Take it, love. It will calm your nerves."
Constance accepted the offering and took a draw, repressing the urge to cough as the smoke swirled warmly in her throat. "Thanks," she croaked.
"Just like old times, eh?" Lamont smiled, leaning back a little and looking around.