To The Bone

Prologue

A feverish tormenting dream of fire, spreading through her, forced her awake. She was in bed, knees drawn up to her chest, hands clenched tightly. The apartment was dark and still. The overhead fan whispered, cooling the air, but the sheets were soaked with sweat. Her blurred eyes could just make out the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock: 3:18 a.m.

The fire stayed behind in the dream, but the pain was real. She twisted with nausea, moaning.

"Ray?" she whispered. Her throat was parched, her voice hoarse. "Is anyone here?"

Nothing stirred in the darkened rooms. Her mind was foggy from drugs, but she remembered that the boyfriend who was supposed to stay with her had gone out for cigarettes. Someone else had stopped by after that-someone kind, feeding her soup and more painkillers, that had eased her into sleep.

But that was hours ago. The pain had been only in her breasts then, but now it was everywhere-fierce cramping and burning that worsened in quick stages, like the tightening of a vise.

She focused her teary vision on the phone, on her bedside table. It was out of reach, and the thought of moving was intolerable. But the pain pierced like shards of glass. Sobbing, still curled up tight, she inched across the endless expanse of bedsheet. As she groped for the phone, an image flitted through her brain, a memory or dream as she had drifted into sleep, of hands disconnecting and lifting away her answering machine.

Her fingers found the receiver and pressed the lighted numbers 911.

"Please help me," she managed, to the operator's crisp answer. "I need an ambulance." She gasped out the syllables of her address.

Then she dropped the phone, distantly aware of the concerned voice saying, "Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you there?"

She tightened back into herself, hugging her knees with all her strength as if she could compress her body into a point so tiny, the agony would have no place to remain.

It remained.

But then, inside her mind, she glimpsed a hazy image, like a window opening up. Someone was on the other side-a taffy-haired teenaged girl, dancing alone in front of a full-length mirror. She was bold, saucy, her movements graceful and provocative. The girl was herself, she realized, ten years ago, already showing the earthy beauty that she would grow into.

When the chance had come to make that beauty perfect – to turn herself into a different person, a better one-she had taken it.

Who wouldn't have? she silently asked her younger self. Why should that have led to this?

The girl ignored her, continuing to prance, absorbed in her own reflected promise.

The window was getting brighter and closer, with thousands more images springing up, a swirling videotape of her life fast-forwarded into a few instants, and yet all perfectly clear. She knew that she could step through, into it – that that would free her from this nightmare. But if she did, there would be no coming back.

In the distance, she heard a siren.