"Ohmigod, that's him! That's the man who shot me!"The shocked cry caught both Isabel and Morton by surprise. Spinning around, the dreamwalking teenager was amazed to see Liz, with her original brown hair and all, staring in horror at the high-living gunman. Behind her, Carlsbad Caverns's underground gift shop now appeared to occupy one corner of the casino. At first the dream-Liz seemed to be clad in the same outfit she had worn to the caves that morning, before Isabel gave her a molecular makeover, but then Isabel blinked and rubbed her eyes as Liz's casual attire was suddenly replaced by her Crashdown waitress uniform, complete with a gaping, bloody hole just above the silver apron. "There he is!" Liz shouted to all concerned, pointing accusingly at Morton. "That's him!"His cigar drooping from his lower lip, Morton glowered at Liz, his good mood replaced by anger with pathological speed. Snarling, he shoved his flunkies and bimbos aside, then reached into his buckskin jacket and drew out his pistol, which now looked as large as a bazooka. Fire erupted from the muzzle of the handgun and a cascade of hot lead slammed into the displaced gift shop, blowing apart shelf after shelf of souvenir plates, mugs, ashtrays, and snow globes. Gamblers and showgirls ran for cover, shrieking in fear, but every shot missed Liz, who continued to point an accusing finger at the gun-wielding felon, Obviously, Isabel realized, cringing at the repeated blasts from the oversize pistol, Morton's unconscious mind had finally made the connection between the brown-haired girl at the gift shop and the waitress he had shot at the Crashdown two years ago. This is just what Max was afraid of, she thought in dismay. Morton's figured out that Liz can expose him.

As distressing as this development was, Morton's maniacal attempt to blow away the dream-Iiz left the crucial briefcase momentarily unguarded. Seizing the opportunity, Isabel pushed her way through what was left of Morton's entourage, tossing a peroxide blonde to one side, and grabbed onto the handle of the attache case. Without missing a step, she yanked the case from the carpet and ran like mad away from the roulette table. Got itl she thought triumphantly.

But the theft had not gone unnoticed. "Hey! What the-?" Morton exclaimed angrily. Forgetting Iiz for the moment, he hollered and aimed his massive artillery at Isabel. "Come back with that, you bitch!"The pistol boomed and a slot machine exploded only a few inches away from Isabel, showering silver dollars in all directions. Isabel's heart missed a beat, and she dropped her $100 chip, but she kept on running, trying to put as much of the casino as possible between her and Morton. The high heels slowed her down, so she kicked them off as she ran, preferring to sprint barefoot upon the springy red carpet. She ducked to the right, down a corridor of clattering one- armed bandits, all of which seemed to feature spinning UFOs and oval-eyed E.T.s instead of lemons and jokers and such.

Morton chased behind her, firing his gun wildly. Bullets smashed into gamblers and gaming tables alike, turning the lavish casino into a scene of bloody pandemonium. Frightened screams rilled Isabel's ears, yet, bizarrely, no police officers or security guards made any attempt to stop the amok gunman from chasing an apparently unarmed high school girl through the crowded edifice. Sometimes dreams can be just too darn weird, she thought irritably.

Fortunately, the alien teen wasn't nearly as defenseless as she looked, not as long as she still possessed her special powers. Halting long enough to spin around and look back the way she had come, she raised her open palm and concentrated. An entire row of slot machines, jolted by an unseen telekinetic force, toppled forward, blocking Morton's path. Then, to retard his progress even further, she concentrated again, transmuting a stretch of velvety red carpet into gooey black sludge instead. She watched, with a smirk of satisfaction, as Mortons expensive-looking snakeskin cowboy boots bogged down in the thick, viscous muck. "What?" he growled in frustration. "Where did all this goddamn goo come from?"Good, Isabel congratulated herself. That buys me a little time. Darting out of range of Morton's pistol, she hurriedly looked around for someplace where she could inspect the stolen briefcase in privacy. Her gaze immediately fell upon the entrance to the ladies' room, which was identified as such by the silhouette of a space woman wearing a fishbowl helmet and Judy Jetson skirt. Perfect, she decided.

The rest room was conveniently empty, except for a coin-operated robot dispensing toiletries, so Isabel wasted no time throwing the briefcase down on the counter by the sinks and tugging at its lid. The case was locked, of course, but that was no problem; a single touch of her fingertip undid the lock, which came Open widi a click. Taking hold of the sides of the lid with both hands, she paused in hushed anticipation for only a single heartbeat. Okay, she thought gravely, let's see what the big deal is.

She lifted the lid and a blinding silver glare escaped from inside the case, forcing Isabel to blink and look away, her eyes watering. The unearthly glow faded after a moment, though, and she cautiously shifted her gaze back toward the case's exposed interior, eager to see what the initial burst of light had concealed.

To her surprise, she saw that the bottom of the case had turned into a kind of window, through which she saw a gleaming silver saucer cruising through space toward a bright blue sphere that she quickly identified as the planet Earth. A frown twisted her lips as, mystified and disappointed, she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. This can't possibly be the literal contents of the case! she theorized in a rush, based on equally surreal experiences on other dreamwalks. More like some freaky symbolic metaphor.

Before her bewildered brown eyes, the spinning saucer entered Earth's atmosphere, glowing brightly red as some sort of protective aura shielded the alien spacecraft from the searing heat of entry. The saucer sped downward, approaching the surface of the planet at a precipitous angle, and Isabel gasped out loud as she swiftly guessed what she was witnessing. She recognized the blue skies and arid terrain of southeastern New Mexico only seconds before the shining saucer collided violently with the ground, throwing up a cloud of flying dust and debris. I knew it, she thought, her appalled eyes aflame with realization. It's the Crash! A lump formed in her throat as she waited for the smoke and dust to settle, revealing all that was left of the space-faring vessel after it disintegrated on impact. Part of her didn't want to see the twisted wreckage and broken, inhuman bodies, but she couldn't look away either. This was, after all, the same fateful accident that had stranded her and Max and the others on a planet where they could never truly fit in. Is this what the Crash really looked like, she wondered, or just how Morton imagines it? There was no way to know for sure, but the inexplicable, eyewitness coverage of the alien craft's earthshaking demise stirred powerful emotions in Isabel, so that she was completely caught off guard when the door banged open and Joe Morton barged into the ladies' room, tracking sticky black tar onto the tile floor. "There you are!" he snarled, thrusting his immense gun in Isabel's face while his free hand slammed the lid of the briefcase shut. "Who the hell are you anyway?" he demanded, standing so close to Isabel that she could see the tobacco stains on his teeth. He grabbed onto her arm and shook her roughly. "Who are you working for?"Heat radiated from the red-hot muzzle of Morton's firearm. The smoky smell of gunpowder, like Fourth of July fireworks, filled her nostrils. She heard the gun cock ominously Okay, she decided. Enough is enough. Briefcase or no briefcase, I'm getting the heck out of here.