At that moment a face materialized behind Anna. It wore no makeup and looked shiny and pale in the flickering light.
“Who are you? Why do you come in the middle of the night?” The English was heavily accented.
Without waiting for an answer the woman grabbed Anna’s wrist and pulled the girl behind her.
“You leave my daughter alone.”
“Mrs. Goyette, I believe people are going to die. Anna may be able to help save them.”
“She is not well. Now go.” She pointed at the door. “I order you or I will call the police.”
The ghostly face. The dim light. The tunnel-like hall. I was back in the dream, and suddenly I remembered. I knew, and I had to get there!
Ryan started to speak but I cut him off.
“Thank you. Your daughter has been very helpful,” I managed.
Ryan glared as I pushed past him and out the door. I nearly fell in my plunge down the stairs. I no longer felt the cold as I stood at the Jeep, impatient for Ryan to speak to Mrs. Goyette, snug his tuque, then pick his way to ground level.
“What the hell—”
“Get me a map, Ryan.”
“That little loony may be—”
“Do you have a goddam map of this province?” I hissed.
Without a word Ryan circled the Jeep and we both got in. He took a map from a holder on the driver’s-side door, and I dug a flashlight from my pack. As I unfolded the province he started the engine, then got out to scrape the windshield.
I located Montreal, then followed the Champlain Bridge across the St. Lawrence and on to 10 East. With a numb finger I traced the route I had taken to Lac Memphremagog. In my mind’s eye I saw the old church. I saw the grave. I saw the signpost, half covered in snow.
I moved my finger along the highway, estimating driving time. The names wavered in the flashlight beam.
Marieville. St-Gregoire. Ste-Angele-de-Monnoir.
My heart stopped when I saw it.
Please, God, let us be in time.
I lowered the window and screamed into the wind.
The grating stopped and the door opened. Ryan threw the scraper into the back and slid behind the wheel. He pulled off his gloves and I handed him the map and flashlight. Wordlessly, I pointed to a small dot on the square I’d folded upward. He studied it, his breath like fog in the yellow beam.
“Holy shit.” An ice crystal melted and ran from his lash. He swiped at the eye.
“It makes sense. Ange Gardien. It’s not a person, it’s a place. They’re going to meet
“How did you think of it?” he asked.
I didn’t want to go into the dream. “I remembered the sign from my drive to Lac Memphremagog. Let’s go.”
“Brennan—”
“Ryan, I’ll say this one more time. I am going to get my sister.” I fought to keep my voice steady. “I am going with or without you. You can take me home or you can take me to Ange Gardien.”
He hesitated, then,
“Fuck!” He got out, flipped his seat forward, and dug around in back. As he slammed the door I saw him drop something into his pocket and yank the zipper. Then he resumed scraping.
In a minute he was back. Without a word he clicked his seat belt, put the Jeep in gear, and accelerated. The wheels spun but we went nowhere. He changed to reverse, then quickly back to first. The car rocked as Ryan shifted from first gear to reverse and back again. The Jeep broke free and we moved slowly up the block.
I said nothing as we crept south on Christophe Colomb, then west on Rachel. At St-Denis Ryan turned south, reversing the route we’d just driven.
Damn! He was taking me home. My blood went cold as I thought of the drive to Ange Gardien.
I closed my eyes and leaned back to prepare myself. You have chains, Brennan. You will put them on and drive as Ryan is doing. Dickhead Ryan.
Silence intruded on my lecture. I opened my eyes to pitch-black. Ice no longer pelted the windshield.
“Where are we?”
“Ville-Marie Tunnel.”
I said nothing. Ryan raced through the tunnel like a starship threading a wormhole in space. When he took the exit for the Champlain Bridge I felt both relief and apprehension.
Yes! Ange Gardien.
Ten light-years later we were crossing the St. Lawrence. The river looked unnaturally dense, the buildings of
