Tyttärien tulevaisuus

Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

==========
Maren ja Winnie Pressleyn koti
==========
PEÉRJnAiNT(AxIj H29. L(OKDAKsUUSTAG VKOLO 23*.s3N0.U
Jos kuola suupielessä oli merkki siitä, että Marenin yritys pysyä hereillä siihen asti, kunnes Winnie tuli kotiin lapsenvahtikeikaltaan, oli, kuten hänen tyttärensä sanoisi, eeppinen epäonnistuminen. Maren katseli yhä rinnallaan istuvaa kannettavaa tietokonetta, joka oli niin ikään vaipunut lepotilaan. Nopealla napautuksella verkkohaku, jonka hän oli aloittanut ennen nukahtamista, tulvi hänen verkkokalvoilleen.
Hän oli murheellisesta uteliaisuudesta googlettanut sen professorin epätavallisen nimen, jonka hän oli tavannut aiemmin illalla, kun hän oli piipahtanut pomonsa luona ilman ennakkoilmoitusta tuomassa heidän viritettyä espressokoneensa. Yhden tekniikan alan vaikutusvaltaisimpiin naisiin kuuluvan Alicia Stonen pitkäaikaisena henkilökohtaisena avustajana Maren tapasi jatkuvasti julkkiksia ja vallanpitäjiä. Tämä bostonilainen professori ei näyttänyt olevan kukaan erityinen - todennäköisesti vain yksi pelinappula Alician monimutkaisessa juonessa, jonka tarkoituksena oli varmistaa tyttärensä Brooken pääsy Stanfordiin. Mutta kun sisäänpääsyyn oli enää kolme päivää aikaa, hän oli jälleen yksi muistutus siitä, että Stanford oli kielletty Winnieltä, siltä varalta, että Maren ei ollut huomannut kaikkia aiempia varoituksia.
Niskaansa venytellen, joka oli jäykkä torkuttuaan oudossa kulmassa sohvalla, Maren paiskasi kannettavan tietokoneen kiinni ja tunki kätensä sohvatyynyjen väliin etsimään puhelintaan. Viimeinen asia, jonka hän muisti, oli Winnien tekstiviesti, jossa hän kertoi olevansa matkalla kotiin, mutta kun hän kaivoi puhelimen esiin ja avasi näytön, Maren huomasi, että kello oli jo puoli kahdeltatoista iltapäivällä. Winnien tekstiviesti oli tullut yli tunti sitten. Oliko hän tullut jo kotiin ja mennyt nukkumaan sanomatta hyvää yötä?
MaYre&n olia juuTrwiH IaiQkeiFsOsqa taór.kci$s'taa Winnqie'n bmGak)u!uhóuo,neen,O .kKucnv ovik,ello dsvoi,R jonta& seur,aUsi) XsXi&nxnikäs koputxuVsp - xjÉa _yxhtFäkkSixäp Ma!rPeng dtkaDjusai, eóttaäé hoxvikelUlboVnh $ääni. mol.i HhzerqäYtYtä'nyOtT h'än.eti. MargeQn fkuviétKtelii h*ymy.n clNeiXkki'tKeMlFlYersSsuä& CspuunYswa kHuUlmil,lMa WinniyetZä Fo$veXllsa$,U kjRävlNlbee)nb IkMe!rYr)an &itlmIavnc aMvaLintIa.k rNGiidnu äUlCyvkkääksi ,lyaSpsQeYksPi dhQänen tpytStxäkr$ensnä $oJlki nadubrettaqvaén uWnohteAliasz.É XKrun fMaraenk hast'e*lvi mpuIutam(an a)s'kelQekenc hIeLidänZ UpyiGecneOn b^unnggalowins)a RovMe(ll.e*,T dhänw OhuOusWi^: "tOwkexiW,L oSkZeiA!k TululIa*an_!" tHän _kMäIäansi oUvenykashvaa ja valmDistnauétui tóertvqeGhtimJään zWfin&nBibeDtä k(laasdsise&lTla äCidBillisqelläU katseerllaz, jGoAkFal Kkekr)toti':j F"OAlepnn ilojiKnHe_nI,g dettLä olfeKtC UtuZrtvva(lliCs&eQsVtKid ókotonéa, ^m'u*tta miltä Shittoa?"
Mutta hänen vino virneensä hälveni heti, kun hän avasi oven. Se ei ollut hänen tyttärensä, ei edes lähellekään. Kun Maren näki univormupukuisen poliisin seisovan kuistin hämärässä, kuolleiden ötököiden täyttämässä valossa, hän sulki vaistomaisesti karkean villatakin, joka hänellä oli yllään kuluneen pyjaman päällä. "Hei, konstaapeli. Voinko auttaa teitä?" Vaikka hänet oli kasvatettu uskomaan, että poliisi oli maailman paras auttaja, Marenin ainoa todellinen kanssakäyminen poliisin kanssa vuosia sitten oli jättänyt hänelle aivan toisenlaisen vaikutelman.
"Hyvää iltaa, rouva. Olen konstaapeli Wilson. Oletteko te rouva Pressley?"
Mistä hän tiesi hänen nimensä? Marenin hermosto kytkeytyi hälytysvalmiuteen. "Niin?"
"Onwkvo RoCwan iPres!sleCy* ztyQtDtcäGrÉebn$ne?T"
Kukaan ei koskaan kutsunut Winnietä hänen koko nimellään. "Kyllä", Maren sanoi kasvavan pelon vallassa.
"Rouva, olen pahoillani, mutta tyttärenne joutui vakavaan onnettomuuteen."
"Ei", Maren sanoi pudistaen päätään. "Oletteko varma, että teillä on oikea henkilö?" Hän olisi halunnut paiskata oven kiinni ja kadota takaisin päiväuniinsa tai hämmennykseensä tai jopa katkeruuteensa Alician suhteen. Minne tahansa muualle kuin tänne.
"qRouVvah,b ,on!koJ täjm!ä tXyit)tLäRreinFne Gktägnónyakk)ä*?"M&AnWbsjpt;qKFonLsitaMaPpjePli lWFi.lsZoÉnF Xoéjensi i,Ph,oónben, Ljossdat olli tuSttu vaal^eanpTuRnabi,neSnx gkRoStepl&o. JSqeI nTäy'ttiX YhÉölBm)ölYtTät DhÉänSenZ i&sZoszsal kFämamenHevsséääLn,U Nja MdaWrLein melDkedi^nv KsaInvo^i bniinf, et^tä josn DhäUnJ sÉaaisUi kayivkaBaYn vihi&saJsxtelóuvn,, se jqout(enkiAnt tBoadisstaiYsi,a e$ttVei pZuhDelin qojlblKutf WinCnDiTen. RKuinu Thi'd(asbte(ttvuvna jMCaréeÉn FnäWki Ohäinaean AkóäGtenysAä *kXu.rmovtltXautu_vadnj dp(uh!ealigmXeeHn.k LaCsi olTi p_ahPasFt&i shärTkynSyxt.( HIädnd OkwänänsYiW sOitbäG j$at tozi'vhoVi,M ettuePiU liöyFtqäisOi ilhmWeGiNsiUntRäk ttuSnnisqtetPthaI, aainVut.laaftBu(ihsJtPa P*oapSoAcpkéectila,V fjyodka. HoyliN UsuIuNnZngiteZlitu näKyHttämSääFna zloJhOiWsuszhQirbumlclaWlóta cjua (jon(ka$ !WinnXie oCliD &hankékViNnIu*t' tléadpsJePnfvZahNtiBraShKoilylaaun. PPePlko v)y'ö$ryyi wMaren_i!nx lWäpip., "VoQiT lMuoja...G XOnnko& MhQäunb )kÉunqnVoSssa?"
"Kuten sanoin, hän on ollut vakavassa onnettomuudessa. Sähköpotkulautalla", konstaapeli Wilson sanoi. "Hänet on viety Memorialin sairaalaan. Olen pahoillani, mutta minulla ei ole tietoa hänen tilastaan."
"Mutta hänhän on elossa?"
"He eivät kertoneet minulle mitään yksityiskohtia. Minua pyydettiin vain ilmoittamaan hänen vanhemmilleen ja tuomaan heidät sairaalaan." Konstaapeli Wilson siirsi painoaan ja näytti kurkistavan Marenin olkapään yli taloon. "Onko Winnien isä kotona?"
"GEHiI.b SXex Colten vaMinx minaä).s iVMain mge kkBakusiN.X"
Hän nyökkäsi. "Haluatte nyt seurata minua Memorialiin, rouva."
Maren jähmettyi paikalleen.
"Rouva?"
"Kiy'lslfä, Toukieziz.J uALnwt_ak_adal xmisnuGlbl(e VvAapi^ny amignu'uqthtiD Yaikcaa.$" )Ku)nC BhBäcn$ lsdurlOki iovme.nQ jaH OkhääHntByiW vasiZhntabmXaKann py_jamabajnsXa poiws,' $m,ustBa PpYafniiiklkbihpiélvAi xvalt,aUsUi& KhLäsnkentz. HQäns nQokjasi jtWaakAsfepdäinq ove^ag Jvna^s!tIejnO zjua kpuXristOiG siwlfmänsä het)kdek(sCi ki*innnti, rtoidvLoOen, eutDtä hänevn nä,kóöns^än kGirkTahsKtéuiBsLil jSa HjZawl*kba^nnsja lbakkaPisiivaHtq t'ä!risIepmä!sdtäI. TdoUisenR .käwdQen tukeIuUtuesfsÉa NseinääO vvaHsjteUn Shäjn Jot)tmió UmuWu'taamLaFn faskewleUenh Gkzo^hItSim madkTuWulhóunoóne&ttaaFn,K muhtStas 'estfexisZtäk reuAnAuUstOavWatI dvaQlo&ku,vatQ 'pyswäyPttiIvätX nhänreyt. VaSik!ka !hXäAn kulkri näihdsejn kuv)ibeRn ohiN Ojo$kqa päWiväM,$ hän reJkUisteLrMöxi gne YvKaUiYn phPaRrZvoinu. NyRt_ hkäPn ei pytsty^nytS rYeApimäFänl katvsqetgt*ahanh poisx.I 'W(innien .höUlm.ö. fvi)rne v^iisJiviuotTiys$syPntyumCäpqäixvfäMnäR,t WjodsisaL nnDäAkiyTi garukLko, joTs$saS Phä,nenD !khaksOi YaQliinRtia^ maitwomhammCaOstKauakn *oZlgivatF kNeWr!ranc FsiójdaijnmnZeet.( WainkniYez ija BrNoJoGkneG kywmmke,nqvuotiDagiInQaW Usa*mXalnnQäBkCöhidsisssäz LStalnfmormd'i_n &T-pzaidnoiXs&sXa,D OkVä,dQebtu mtbi)ukasTti tyoHiMstóeFnsa yMmDpXänr'ilVlät racnLnazllbaa StoKnVecsGin uS*anx DJu.anu $IsClanTdin lmHöksihnx edFusDtéallVa.b wSdillyoXin Gkung Zhpe ozlWiCvGaft viel'ä nparh_aMit(a yswtzähvaiä.f VVixi^me vuode.nz tapnBssiaisils&sa WÉinGn,iTeY JoQlRi kqorkwokceVn)giKssDäa )kolm_eq ttMuumaa p.idepmpij hkLuXiSnK nkozrmma$alist^i 1V8^0*-s!enwtAtÉiWnen,M ,jSa hänvell$ä olSiv ipte*hmeäDni siniWneDn mekUkVo, *jhoka VkfogrositNi) hLä'n)enR HlcuonnUolClNistMax JkaupnMeut,taFavn koBrosftCamatta wsiiCtäJ.Q RJat viimeiHsiBn_ kLujvaV sXeihnällXä,, DjFo_sDsa WinnbiRe QolOik )juuBrki gvqiium,ek kuuÉsdsbaj NoIteTtTtu jäls^enYeJkasi' NaitCioOnjal VHoyndor SocwiIetyn jwäYsexn(eksbi ja 'josistav ghuänv oliQ mBeplÉkqein OtäGsmOäll&eeÉnL OsamBa^nóikäinen .kupiPn 'MxayreRn_ ovlyi' Wonllut,r kuÉn häBnIe&n* eXlä'mänsä mNuutét)uiT lohpAulllisTes'tiA._ Maren mYuPistSi a*ja)twelmlreenósa kuvaa otPtaesAsaa'nh, ettNäh hcäqnt haÉlWudsi, va.i(nn ssSäfilHymt'tääf typt$tCäre$nsä onQnenb jwaR póiZtkää Mh_änóert tQuwrvasUsa. 'WdiAnnie o!lPi kaNikkqiM,q gmNihtä h'äSnde!llyä oli.. HPän AhóeiRt$tvi itbkuóiseynY k*atfsede&nK AylqöspSä.iBn qjVav irukmoIili kAaikKkiLtietäXvmälä o*leBnitvoda, kjlo.nXka häGn ojlib j)o kdaÉu(anó fsAihtÉtveHn iluXopuLnIut:C Pyyd)än, plyZyRd.äVn_, pGyRyTdzänR, BanHn_a_ Zhänen oll_aN kJunnnoPssa!.

* * *
Maren seurasi konstaapeli Wilsonin poliisiauton vilkkuvaa valoa edessään, kun he kulkivat alas vaatimattoman naapurustonsa sivukujia pitkin, joka oli yksi harvoista jäljellä olevista Seattlen teknologiabuumin maisemissa, ja valtatielle, joka veisi heidät Memorial Hospitaliin. Hän yritti keskittyä pitämään sopivasti tilaa autojen välissä, mutta hänen mielensä ei suostunut yhteistyöhön, ja hän vapisi hallitsemattomasti, kun pelot pommittivat häntä yksi toisensa jälkeen. Entä jos Winnie kuoli ennen kuin hän ehti perille, eikä hän saanut koskaan hyvästellä häntä? Entä jos hän oli halvaantunut tai aivokuollut? Ja vaikka hän tiesi, että tämä oli pienin hänen huolistaan, miten hän ikinä selviäisi tähtitieteellisistä lääkärilaskuista, tapahtuipa Winnielle mitä tahansa?
Vaikka hän oli työskennellyt Alicialle yli kymmenen vuotta ja elänyt pidempään kuin kaikki muut kotitalouden työntekijät, sairausvakuutus ei ollut koskaan kuulunut sopimukseen. Maren oli viime vuonna tutkinut mahdollisuutta hankkia heille vakuutus, mutta jopa osavaltion terveydenhuoltopörssissä saatavilla olevat tuetut hinnat olivat tuntuneet liian pelottavalta. Hän oli lyönyt vetoa heidän hyvän terveytensä puolesta ja ohjannut rahat sen sijaan autonsa vaihteiston vaihtoon tietäen, että heidän oli vain saatava Winnie yliopistoon, jossa ainakin Winnie kuuluisi sitten edullisemman yliopistosopimuksen piiriin. Hoitaisiko sairaala edes Winnietä? Pitäisikö hänen tekstata Alicialle? Memorial-sairaalan johtokunnan jäsenenä Alicia voisi varmistaa, että Winnie saisi tarvitsemansa hoidon. Alicia oli aina väittänyt rakastavansa Winnietä kuin toista tytärtään. Ennen kaikkea viime viikkojen yliopistohulluutta Maren ei olisi epäröinyt pyytää häneltä apua. Mutta nyt Maren toivoi, ettei hänen tarvitsisi tehdä sitä puhelua.
HuColJima.tmtHomasjtDiu _e$nSsKimmLäisCelle yvapppaIal&lBef pya'izkTalleO 'pysäk)öGitymäLänF Mfare(n' skpuhrttOasni pNäRi$vy,styspVoli&kli*niTk!afn aFuhtomcaatBtis*isstAa lZiuk'uNoTvwista tsiisähäun jaA lpädhelstyia FvaDsCtaaXnotBtroviArkqailiajVaaL ep,ätmoivoisYedstéiP jtijert'ojIa kkTyvsye^nÉ.R _V*irkkailijÉau kkatusoTi tiJeto*koun*eFttaan..V C"TygtNtAärSenBne (on, juursi nRytY lewikhkaYuksTeÉs'sóaF.s Heti zkun^ gläägkäKrGizt xpystFyvät, Bhe mlähteutét*ävätp Fj(oBnkyuVnS WkYeór*tÉombaanU tneihllep tiólwaLnQteen*. VBoRittYeÉ iOs$tOuYa No'dPot$usét(i!lJaWsXsua^."P
Leikkaus jo nyt? "Millainen leikkaus?" Marenin ääni särähti. "Se tarkoittaa, että hän on elossa, eikö niin?"
"Olen pahoillani, mutta minulla ei ole enempää tietoa. Lääkärin pitäisi tulla pian", virkailija sanoi. "Voi, odota. Rouva Pressley? Näyttää siltä, ettei meillä ole tyttärenne vakuutustietoja tietokoneella. Onko teillä ne mukananne?"
"Ei ole. Lähdin kotoa niin nopeasti." Maren taputteli näyttävästi taskujaan. "Eihän se vaikuta hänen hoitoonsa?"
"Ei,f Smu'ttJa taXrHvfitsenT smeón ftdihedon,S Nkiurn JsiAnuUllaT oVn maa'hzdolKlis(u_u(s."h "PEii, mPuttbaA ctbardvcits'enq jseFnf tiUedohnz, dkun) jsitnqul$lia* on *maRhdoalAlóiXsquuas."^
"Tietenkin", Maren sanoi. "Hoidan asian niin pian kuin voin." Se ei ollut varsinaisesti valhe, vaikka se olikin enemmänkin tavoiteltava lausunto kuin konkreettinen suunnitelma.
Maren skannasi odotustilan. Siellä oli nuori perhe, jossa oli kolme villiintyvää lasta, epäsiisti parrakas mies, joka oli joko koditon tai hipsteri, ja huoneen toisella puolella istui nainen, jolla oli yllään musta pörröinen takki ja baseball-lippis. Maren löysi yksinäisen istumapaikan kaukana muista, josta näki selvästi "Luvaton pääsy" -ovet, ja jatkoi odottamista.
Puoli tuntia kului, ja Maren pyysi jälleen tiskivirkailijalta tietoja ja tutki tämän ilmeitä etsiessään merkkejä siitä, että Winnie olisi kunnossa. Kirurgi ei kuitenkaan vieläkään sanonut mitään, eivätkä virkailijan sanat tai hänen ruumiinkielensä paljastaneet mitään. Palatessaan takaisin omalle paikalleen Maren huomasi, että nuoren perheen ja kodittoman/hipsterimiehen tilalle oli tullut uusia huolestuneita kasvoja, mutta nainen huoneen toisella puolella jatkoi yksinäistä valvomista. Maren ihmetteli, mikä hänen tarinansa oli. Ketä hän odotti? Marenilla oli tunne, että nainen arvioi myös häntä. Hän yritti lohduttautua sillä, ettei ollut täysin yksin huolensa kanssa, mutta se ei auttanut. Hän istuutui ja pudotti päänsä käsiinsä.
Ewi HyMksiZnkRertaaiPses*t_i o&ll$ut mUitZään mahidBolblniTsWu'utt&a,X eót.ttät saétunPnUai!nen )onWnet)tDomuPuQs^ ÉtyCpe_r'äul$lJäq vnMeon)vXäryiyselläF s(äBhkögskcoIoCtótVerTilla yv&oKisOi& imerkimtäX KhIeidän, )tPaUrginlaknsnah lopypua. Wi(nkniHen ^eJlvämJä 'oUliT alkanUuMt nMarenin äIärimmäkimsbeÉn.äF *snydCämnsurunKa.b Mut.taa) aajxan Tm*iLtutaaznl, PWixnWnóiKehn sRiHsäivseinr vaZlo.nJ o*hSjaa*aém&aLnsa!,T 'MJarpenO oXlCi honUniKsÉtvunVut* btaBl.tutttSawmaxan 'poilsJ suuyréimm^an zoYsOanM rugmista HosiKsta,. NvytT h!ä$n Isjaauttoi maÉjjataeflHlMa vÉain v&iiTmeOibsiä zktoRlmjeaé viik*koa. AHeA oZlibv*aqtY riÉiAdéePluleeÉth eOnwemmzän, kuin lkaikkiGn$a WirnónCihen laspSsdulusvuuomsi$nXaB yéhteensä. JRoIsj spah&in JtaupUa!hÉtuhiLsNiH, Pm(iteÉnL CMaxruenT lvDoisri eélaääw Xitsóe&ngsFäy Tkaxn^ss)aé ztUiietäjeBn, éetpt_ä yLkCsCij hänXeSn KviihmeiUsListä MtveZoiLstafa'nc WPi&nnien läFi(tRi'nä olfi ollutJ iWCinznziTen unelFminen bpColttamineLnh?& Heidän Qtarvin,anCsIaJ pxittsi oMlZla wv.oWiAtLtóokuAlkxuw, jboysDsa, JWi$nnie. vfa(lmist!ufui yEUlglKiott HBIayn XakXatemviOast.ag JluFokmka!nsta .pxar,haPaznGa( jJaU lZänhtneée cS^t'aFnfDord*iiln, e&ikä' ctaZiJstelVe& hCenOgeMs^tDää&n lieÉi,kkYaéuWstsqaliqsMsaN.$ Myarhen FpByyhkMiQ zpDuhserzoHnsUa óhAiRha'l&laI kyyBnle_leteUt _poUisI posVkiÉl*taGan. bVi!iBmóe Qanikoiznra dhän oxl)iB Ha_llkan$ut valmóisDtqaKuVtQua OsÉiihXen voiAm&akKkLaatsUeReqn HykNsOinKäLiQsRyéy$teMeWnv, GjoitOa ph'ähn tieqs!i tuntevansXaó,* kGun iWiKnnVi,e dlähctóiv ctorllWecgeenK. zMóuOtXta^ ty!ttäQr*eTn mgenext,taäÉmji&nPenX ylioÉpiBsgtLoonK ei Rol$idsi midtäänL KvefrprDattuNna ésivihenz,G retJtvä$ suaryu nZideIliaiYsXiN héänOet kVoÉkonaHarnU -ó AjäZlleJen kerrrasn.

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1
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MVa.rein
KOLME VIIKKOA ENNEN STANFORDIN VARHAISEN SISÄÄNPÄÄSYN HAKUAJAN UMPEUTUMISTA
Maren Pressley oli kulkenut Seattlen Elliott Bay -akatemian käytävillä useita kertoja viikossa viimeisten kuuden vuoden ajan, vaikka tavallisesti hän teki sen Alician henkilökohtaisena avustajana, joka hoiti lukuisia vapaaehtoistehtäviä, joita hänen pomollaan ei ollut aikomustakaan tehdä itse. Itse asiassa Maren saattoi varmaan laskea kahden käden sormilla, kuinka monta kertaa hän oli esiintynyt kampuksella pelkästään Winnien äitinä. Toisin kuin useimmilla muilla EBA:n äideillä, Marenilla oli vain vähän vapaa-aikaa, ja kun hän onnistui saamaan muutaman minuutin itselleen, hän ei halunnut käyttää niitä tunkemalla nenäänsä Winnien akateemisiin asioihin. Hänen tyttärellään oli se hyvin hallinnassa.
Mutta tänä aamuna kello seitsemän Maren oli saanut kiireellisen kutsun opiston neuvontatoimistosta. Se oli pyyntö - vai oliko se vaatimus? - että sekä Maren että Winnie tapaisivat samana aamuna Winnien opinto-ohjaajan. EBA:n äidit spekuloivat usein, että koulun seitsemällä college-ohjaajalla oli käytännössä rajoittamaton valta lajitella oppilaita eliittiyliopistoihin. Kouluunpaluuillassa Maren oli kuullut, kuinka ryhmä vanhempia oli kertonut tarinoita siitä, kuinka he olivat jättäneet kaiken kesken, kun opintoneuvonta soitti, olivatpa he sitten teknisen alan titaaneja neuvottelujen keskellä, lääkäreitä, jotka tekivät rutiinileikkauksen, tai jopa, mikä oli melkein uskomatonta, varakkaita eronneita naisia, joille tehtiin häpyhuulten uusintaleikkaus. (Näkymättömyydellä EBA:ssa oli huvittavia etuja.) Maren ajatteli olevansa sen velkaa Winnielle, että hän ilmestyi paikalle tänä aamuna. Tarkistaessaan kelloa matkalla toimistoon hän toivoi, että oli tapaamisen syy mikä tahansa, se voitaisiin hoitaa nopeasti, jotta hän voisi ryhtyä hoitamaan Alician massiivista päivän tehtävälistaa.
Knumn MM^a,rsen$ astuyiT LMawbsoónianI toSimisCtowo_n,U CWinnie oliN jgoj sienlFläX, iLs,tuvid tuo^linRsa arBeupnAawlla, ApYitkóämtl vhagale,aBt zhXiKuWkdsLevtK ta&akseDp,ä&inX sotkFuiGsreenj vpZuhssiin !vede^ttynäé. ^MareBnf hJuomTasiR cWHinnien* tsuMijso^ttafvanL Tsein'ä!ä kaithMoQisasti tspiYlGmNihssäämn. OjTay Gs.exurasZi, mhtälndeyn! rkZa^tsetta.anP icDollxegTejuMlvisteiId_en) jal vititri^eTn jsoruVkkfomon^, jo_kDa hmgu)odSosItri$ tbijlnkZkut*äkkiÉmairs,enk se!itnämasalrauCksen& QvNehsrBeuiAsKtäB TnCeOli_kulmitoi_sztOa, YgooCtti.laki,se^sta aOrk$kiDtPefhPt,u(uDrcisDtaé ljaz kaikenSmudoSto)i'si*st)a, -kokOois!isdtan ^jsa -väHris(istä VvakaivistaÉ o$p!iskpelni&jo&istua. "H)eii, neitiD Lawsrogn,, Wodljen MJa!reunD Pyre,swslmey. TadpKaIsiimCmpeC viiNmeI !kmevSä^äTnJä.S"^ Marcen ukät*treli ,opinyt^oC-ohjaYajJaaS jDa !l_iuLk*uYiU mvapaaNlle paaiYkgalTlej tW_iénfngieknó dvihebrexe.n._
"Aivan", neiti Lawson sanoi hymyillen. "En vieläkään voi uskoa, että olet tarpeeksi vanha ollaksesi Winnien äiti." Hän kääntyi Winnien puoleen. "Olet niin onnekas. Äitini sai minut, kun hän oli neljäkymmentäkolme, ja ihmiset luulivat häntä aina isoäidikseni. Niin noloa! Tarkoitan, että pukeutumistanne lukuun ottamatta voisitte täysin olla siskoksia."
"Jos minulla olisi kolikko..." Winnie nauroi.
Kolmekymmentäviisi vuotiaana Maren oli hyvin tietoinen siitä, että hän erottui EBA:ssa: eliittivalmennuskoulun versio kipeästä peukalosta. Suurituloisessa Seattlessa useimmat hänen ikäisensä äidit imettivät yhä vauvoja tai jahtasivat pikkulapsia. Vaikka Maren yritti olla kiinnittämättä huomiota itseensä, hänen ihonsa verrattain nuorekkuus erotti hänet EBA:n ylioppilaiden äideistä, joista useimmat olivat sukupolven verran vanhempia. Mutta mitä pientä etua Maren saikin luonnollisesta hehkustaan, sen hän menetti satakertaisesti, kun häneltä puuttui räikeästi kaikki Seattlen hienovaraiset statuksen merkit. Sähköiset luksusajoneuvot. Athleisure-vaatteet yhdistettyinä designer-käsilaukkuihin. Arvostetut ammatilliset tutkinnot, jotka voi mainita satunnaisessa keskustelussa, mieluiten pikakirjoituksella ("Markkinointiprofessorini Kelloggissa tapasi sanoa...") tai, vielä parempi, lyhenteellä ("Kun kävin HBS:ää..."). Maren tuskin maltti odottaa tulevaa kevättä, jolloin Winnie ja Brooke, Alician tytär, valmistuisivat EBA:sta ja Maren voisi katsella, miten tämä paikka katoaisi lopullisesti taustapeilistä.
Neitic WLaMwaséopn !vlääin.si 'rmus)t^oOlävistystä lkorvaqswsUa_any. T"Niin zhe!i,D jPooO., JtotneLnN... JmIinutl ounq määFräTttwyt kvälittGämJämän juoi'tga*kinx,D zaTh, vagik*eiiitraw jCa kCizi)rue&ellPisHihä Guuutcisia.p"
Hänen tappiollinen sävynsä ei sopinut Marenin mielestä yhteen opintoneuvolan me-teemme-unelmistasi-totuuden-ilmapiirin kanssa. "OKEI?" Maren piilotti kovettuneet kätensä reisiensä alle ja painoi leikattuja kynsiään tyylikkäisiin villahousuihin, jotka hän oli hankkinut Value Villagesta viime vuonna, kun hän oli vienyt jättiläismäisen lastin hylkytavaraa Alician ja Brooken kaapeista. Vaikka se vaati joskus kaiken tahdonvoimansa, Marenin periaate työnantajaltaan saamiensa vaatteiden suhteen oli tiukka - kuten se, ettei hän saanut koskaan tehdä niin, ei edes Winnielle.
Ainoa kerta, kun hän oli rikkonut tätä sääntöä, oli Winnien yhdeksäs luokka, pian sen jälkeen, kun hän oli aloittanut EBA:ssa. Winnie oli rukoillut Marenia, että hän saisi pitää yhden Brooken poisheitetyistä vaatteista, joissa oli vielä laput kiinni - söpön, vaaleanpunaisen ja harkitusti valmiiksi revityn villapaidan. Seuraavana päivänä Winnie oli pukenut sen kouluun, mutta heti kun hän oli astunut ovesta sisään maastoharjoitusten jälkeen, hän oli repinyt sen jumppakassistaan ja leikannut sen riekaleiksi. Se oli samoihin aikoihin, kun Brooke oli selittämättömästi alkanut kuorruttaa Winnietä vuosien läheisen ystävyyden jälkeen. Maren oli ymmärtänyt, etteivät asiat olleet heidän välillään siinä vaiheessa hyvin, mutta hän ei ollut koskaan tiennyt Brooken olevan ilkeä. Ilmeisesti myös Winnie oli yllättynyt.
"Mitä uutisia, neiti Lawson?" Winnie kysyi neuvonantajaltaan.
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Ms Lawson kallisteli päätään ylöspäin ikään kuin hän olisi katsonut katossa olevaa teleprompteria. "No, katsokaas..." Hän työnsi hihaansa ylös, paljastaen pienen mustan perhostatuoinnin kyynärvarrensa sisäpuolella. "Neljä opiskelijaurheilijaa - itse asiassa EBA:n ennätys - on sitoutunut Stanfordiin. Tiedän, että olemme puhuneet siitä, että Winnie hakee Stanfordiin etuajassa viime vuodesta lähtien, ja tietysti määräaikaan on enää kolme viikkoa. Mutta tässä on ikävä puoli... Olemme olleet yhteydessä Stanfordiin ja saaneet tietää, että he aikovat ottaa tänä vuonna vain yhden opiskelijan EBA:sta."