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where everyone except her was dressed. If this was a dream, it was the most realistic she ever had, complete with earthy smells, breezes playing with the hair on her shoulders, and a medium warm sun that kept the temperature perfect.
    Reality finally sunk in. Mariah wrapped her arms around her nakedness in an attempt to cover herself. The evidence was obvious; someone had tilled the soil and planted the garden. Her lack of a weapon and state of undress made her feel vulnerable, fearing the locals would see her as either a sexual object or lunch.
    She woke and sighed with relief, glad the dream was over. As her brain began to shut down and return her to sleep, she knew there was something else about the dream that was odd, something she could not quite pinpoint. Too tired to rouse herself and figure it out, she fell back to sleep.

Chapter 5
    Mariah’s life seemed to settle down to something that resembled normal. There were no more mystical experiences, no more dreams of tramping naked through vegetable gardens. Just little happenings that added a measure of enjoyment to her life.
    She was finally able to transfer out of Evelyn’s department into a job where she was needed and respected. Her new manager was too busy playing office politics to interfere as long as she made him look good. Furthermore, church became more a place of learning than refuge. It was three months since the Visitation . Her bruised psyche was healing, evidenced by the tentative return of her sense of humor.
    After dinner one evening, she reached for the TV remote and knocked it off the chair-side table. As she bent to retrieve it, she smacked her head on the side of the table which caused it to shudder ... and here came the bowl of M&M’s, skipping across the table until it slid off and, of course, landed face-down on the rug.
    Mariah snatched the bowl off the rug and heaved it in the direction of the kitchen where it bounced on the linoleum several times. Rubbing her head, she glared at the brightly colored candies at her feet. As her anger dissipated, she trudged into the kitchen to retrieve the bowl. She could hear her mother’s voice as it ground into her brain: “That quick temper of yours has consequences, young lady, no matter how big or small.”
    She shook off the nagging voice in her head and turned on the television to listen to the six o’clock news while she picked up the M&M’s. Still on her knees, she paused, her eyes now glued to the TV screen when she heard a live broadcast from Hamilton, a city twenty-five miles south of San José.
    A policeman stood on the front lawn of a typical middle-class house in front of microphones and cameras. “An Amber Alert has been issued for Amanda Forrester who was last seen leaving her school at three o’clock this afternoon. If anyone saw Amanda or has any information, please call the number below.” An eight-hundred number appeared at the bottom of the screen with the notation that it was an anonymous tip line.
    The camera switched to Amanda’s mother. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, “Please help us. All we want is our little girl back. Any information you can give us will be greatly appreciated.”
    A professionally-taken grade school picture of Amanda appeared. Mariah stared into the bright blue eyes of a grinning girl with curly blonde hair and a gap between her front teeth.
    The camera switched back to the police officer. As he noted where Amanda was last seen, what she was wearing, etc., Mariah’s stomach began to churn. Within seconds her heart was galloping, her skin grew clammy, and she gasped for air, lungs laboring like she was sprinting up the steps of the Empire State Building. These sensations came swiftly; one minute she was fine, the next she felt like passing out.
    As her heartbeats began to decelerate, she finally managed to take a deep breath. Was she having a heart attack? What she knew about them could fit into a thimble. Panic snaked up her throat as