October 16, 5:13 a.m.

Hello, Notebook. I’ll tell you how it happened now, in the calm quiet that is the aftermath of something horrible and strange.

Tony showed up in the five minutes after I put you back in my bag. He was frantic, rapping on the door. I opened it, and he stood there looking like the devil himself. His hair and eyes were black and wild, and he wore his black coat over his tall, thin frame. "Come on, Chris," he said urgently and quietly. "We have to go."
"She might not even be home," I said.

"She’ll be there. Where else would she be?"

I knew he was right.

"Do we have to do this tonight?" I asked him. We left the dorm and we were suddenly lashed by the wind, and I could hear the thunder growling in the distance and see flashes of lightning.

"Chris, she’s out of time."

"How do you know? She’s probably just fine!"

"On a night like this? It’s perfect for her."

"She hates thunderstorms."

"Maybe she does," he said, opening his car door, "but I’m willing to bet her subconscious loves the hell out of them. Now get in."

And I did.

If he had driven like he always did (as if he was a drug-crazed maniac), I wouldn’t have been the least bit concerned. But as it was, he was careful, following traffic laws to the letter, just barely breaking the speed limit. "Tony, are you alright?"

He smiled faintly. "I want to get there. I’m not taking any chances."

My heart started to thump in my chest. My hands were cold. I kept thinking her name over and over. Sarah, Sarah… I thought of her facing the man she’d talked about. I was afraid for her. And I was jealous. I loved her. Didn’t that count for anything?

Tony pulled into the driveway outside the Cherry Blossom apartments. He got out. "Which one?" he asked me.

"Three," I said, and we walked to her front door. Lightning flashed again, closer this time, and thunder boomed and rolled over us. I felt a few cold drops of rain splash on my face.

Tony knocked on the door. There was no answer, only more lightning and another gust of wind through the trees and dead leaves.

"Sarah?" I called. And the front door swung open without my even touching it. There was no one behind it.

"Oh, shit," moaned Tony. "What the hell is going on here?"

I looked at him. "You’re supposed to know." Then I looked into her apartment. "I’m going in."

And I did.

There was nothing there. The living room and kitchen were spotless and neat. But Tony’s eyes darted around, seeing things I couldn’t.

"An actress lives here?" he whispered finally.

"Yeah…"

"Hell no. What’s her bedroom like?"

"I didn’t see it."

"That’s where she is."

"Sarah?" I called loudly. "Sarah, are you here?"

Lightning flashed outside, and rain started beating against the windows.

"Sarah! Answer me!"

Tony and I went to the bedroom. I flung open the door.

The bedroom was nothing like the rest of the apartment. There were movie posters and Escher prints, and stuffed toys. It was cluttered with things. Junk. Obviously sentimental junk, but junk nonetheless. And yet, through the clutter, there was meticulous order. There was the feel of everything being in its place. Sarah was standing at the window, her arms extended, the tips of her fingers touching the glass.

"I wish…" I heard her saying.

"No, Sarah!" Tony shouted. "Don’t do it!"

She whirled, her dark hair flying around her. She glanced at Tony, just once.

"Oh my god," he said quietly.

And then she turned those deadly, wonderful hazel eyes on me again.

There was something in them. Something horrible. Tony had seen an instant of it; I was looking at it directly.

Her eyes were like looking into two hazel-tinted windows. I gazed into them, seeing her again. Seeing Sarah facing me, looking out from her own eyes…but she wasn’t Sarah, not exactly. Her hair was long and her clothes were different. She wore a long, simple, white dress and a garland around her head, ribbons trailing through her straight hair. The sleeves of the dress trailed down from her wrists. She was standing in her bedroom still, and there was a strange doubling as I looked into her eyes and saw her again. But behind that second, inner Sarah, a white owl beat against the glass, frantic, demanding.

"We’re too late," cried Tony.

"No," I said. "No."

I’m supposed to be a writer. I’m supposed to be able to describe things, no matter how fantastic. But nothing I say will do this justice. I’ll try. But it will sound so easy. It wasn’t though. It really wasn’t.

I went into her eyes. It was as if the hazel glass had shattered and I was standing in the room with her. She shook her head, backing away from me. "You’re too late, Chris, don’t you understand?"

"Say the words," I begged her. "Take away the power!"

She shook her head. "I can’t! I can’t! I can’t live without him!"

"Him? There’s no him!" I cried. "There’s just you, Sarah. Just you, don’t you see that? You conjured these dreams. This is your creation, just an image of a part of you. Say the words and mean them. But don’t banish this part of you. You can have it all, Sarah."

"You have no…" She looked warily back at the owl, beating more frantically against the glass than ever. "You…" And she began to turn around, reaching to unlatch her window. "It’s no good, Chris," she whispered. "I’m sorry."

"No, Sarah! I love you…please. I can’t lose you now."

She paused and stared at me, open-mouthed.

"I love you," I repeated. "I love you, Sarah Williams."

"But I can’t do anything!" she cried in frustration. "I don’t know how! It’s…it’s not fair." The look on her face was the same as it had been when she’d first read my poem. Anguish and pain.

I held out my arms. This time I could hold her, if only she’d let me. "Sarah, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me."

She took a deep breath, and I saw she had begun to cry, large tears forming in her eyes and falling down her cheeks. She turned back to the window.

"You have no power over me!" And she flipped the latch.

There was sudden, beautiful white light, and the owl soared into the room, the wings opening behind Sarah as the light enveloped them both. As it faded, I saw only Sarah. My Sarah, smiling as she came to me.

Then I was outside of her. It happened so suddenly I never felt it, but there I was, myself, holding her, and she was crying against me.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"I love you," I told her.

That was when she fainted. Tony and I put her on her bed, and then went to the living room.

Tony says that it was no more than two seconds between the time she looked at me and the time she started to cry. He wanted to know everything. I told him.

"Bullshit," he said firmly, when I’d ended the story.

I ignored it. "You think she’ll be okay?"

He got up and started outside, and lit up a cigarette once he was on the stoop. "Yeah." He grinned, blowing out smoke. "I never lost a patient."

I left her a note and Tony took me home. And I’ve been trying to sleep since, but it’s impossible. I know that I’ll just stay up until she calls me. If she calls me.

I think she will.

--Chris

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