Isabel peeked at her own stomach, making certain she had left the bullet wound behind, and considered what to do next. She wasn't done yet, she knew, turning to watch Liz's memory of Joe Morton, along with his equally panicked partner, run toward the diner's exit. Stop, she commanded mentally, freezing the entire scene in place, Morton included, while she pondered her next move. The fleeing gunman, along with all the other characters populating Liz's personal dreamscape, became as still as mannequins, frozen in position. All except for Isabel, who wandered over to the counter and helped herself to a refreshing sip of Tabasco sauce from the dream's imaginary inventory. The spicy draught tasted just like the genuine article, helping her put her borrowed memories of the shooting behind her.

I have to move on, she realized, placing the fictitious bottle back on the counter. She still had to track down Mortons own dreams and insinuate herself into them. But first, before exiting this unintended detour, she felt compelled to help liz escape, if only for the moment, from this hellish nightmare.

She didn't want to wake Liz, who certainly needed the sleep, but maybe she could make her dreams a bit more pleasant. Isabel searched her memory again, trying to remember a time when she saw Liz laugh, when they had all been able to enjoy a brief respite from all the cover-ups and conspiracies. It was a depressing measure of just how stressful their lives had become that it took Isabel a moment or two to come up with a single occasion unmarred by danger, heartache, or the threat of exposure. That evening, after closing, when she and liz and Maria had all danced in the diner to their favorite CDs? No, that had ended with Max, a bloody handprint upon his chest, bursting into the Crashdown to tell them that Nasedo had been murdered. Isabel's own surprise birthday party? No, that had been the night Tess was kidnapped, and Isabel had been forced to battle that Skin congresswoman to the death. "Why do we even bother?" she sighed.

Finally, though, her memory threw up a fleeting interlude that, she thought judiciously, just might do. And it won't even take too much redecorating she noted approvingly: Several months ago, before Tess arrived to complicate matters, when Max and Liz (and, indeed, Isabel and Alex) had, for once, had nothing better to do than savor each others company and a blessedly uneventful night out. The four of them had caught the new James Bond movie at the cineplex, then relocated to the Crashdown to debate the abundant virtues and defects of the picture. She and Max had shared a custom-made hot fudge and Tabasco sundae (which, curiously, did not appear anywhere on the Crash-downs official menu), while Alex had consumed a small mountain of french fries while trying to convince them all that, really, Denise Richards was perfectly believable as a nuclear physicist. In retrospect, the whole evening had been perfectly frivolous and inconsequential, which may be why, thinking back on it now, Isabel felt a heartbreaking pang of nostalgia. We were happy then, if only for an hour or two.

Wiping her eyes, which had become unaccountably moist, she looked over at the booth they had all occupied that night. She closed her eyes for a second, re- creating the scene in her mind, and when she opened them again, dream-replicas of herself, Max, and Alex were seated around a table laden with sundaes, french fries, and other delectably unhealthy snacks. Just like I remember, she thought wistfully, experiencing another pang at the sight of the carefree smile on her own double's face. I should do that more often, she reflected, barely recognizing herself.

But this wasn't about her right now. Turning her back upon the reconstituted party at the booth, she helped Liz off the floor, erased her stomach wound with a pass of her hand, then escorted the dazed dreamer over to the booth, where she slid Liz in beside the dream-image of Max. "Here," she instructed the other girl while placing a spoonful of ice cream (sans hot sauce) in her hand. "I think you'll find this memory more appealing."Liz's battered psyche took refuge in the revised dream with encouraging speed. "But, Alex," she laughed gaily, as her waitress uniform dissolved into something more casual and attractive, "you can't be serious! She couldn't even pronounce 'nuclear' correctly…"Isabel took a step backward to assess her work. The four teenagers chattered enthusiastically to one another, appearing completely oblivious to the fleeing felons who remained frozen in place at the entrance to the diner. All four kids, both human and hybrid, looked just as relaxed and stress-free as she recalled.

That's better, she thought, feeling surprisingly moved by her own generosity. I'd better not let word of this get out, though, or it could completely ruin my reputation.

Next door, a worried Maria watched vigilantly over the sleeping form of her troubled best friend. While she was glad that Liz was actually getting some sleep, it broke her heart to see that, even in repose, the traumatized young woman could not escape from die ghastly nightmare lurking in her memory. Liz moaned and whimpered as she slept, grimacing in fear and pain. She tossed and turned beneath the thin cotton sheets, frequently clutching at her stomach as if newly shot. You don't have to be a creepy, Czechoslovakian dreamwalker, Maria mused sadly, to know exactly what Liz is reliving right now.

Her hand hovered over Liz's shoulder, uncertain whether to wake her friend from her unquiet dreams. Lord knew Liz needed the sleep, but how much rest could she really be getting, suffering through such frightening nightmares? Asleep or not, Liz looked totally miserable, and Maria was on the verge of waking her, when, unexpectedly, Liz stopped making those pathetic little cries in her sleep and actually seemed to relax noticeably. A peaceful expression, accompanied by the tiniest of smiles, came over the sleeping teen's previously haggard face, and her body's restless contortions subsided as she sank mercifully into a deep, seemingly undisturbed slumber.

Thank goodness! Maria offered up a grateful prayer to whatever Higher Powers might be paying attention as she listened to the calm, measured breathing now coming from the bed; this evidence of tranquil hibernation struck her as just what the doctor ordered for her friend. Pleasant dreams, honey, she wished Liz from the bottom of her overflowing heart. You sure deserve them.

"How's she doing?" Michael asked, emerging from the bathroom. A quick shower had washed the dust and residue of Slaughter Canyon from the handsome alien teen and slicked down his perpetually unmanageable brown hair. Wearing a white terry cloth bathrobe, he toweled his head roughly as he checked on Maria and her dormant charge.

Maria appreciated his concern. "Better," she reported happily, contemplating Liz's serene smile and quiet stillness. "I think she's taking a break from all this, at least for now."Good," Michael said tersely, before wandering back toward the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

Despite everything else going on, Maria couldn't help wondering if Michael was still mad at her for dragging him to the caverns against his will. They'd barely had a chance to talk at all since Michael took off with Max to tail Joe Morton. Can't say I'd blame him if he was still ticked-ojf at me, she thought guiltily, considering the way this trip is turning out.