The Vision by Heather Graham

anymore. We’re one crew.
    One big flippin’ happy family. But I’ve got news for you, Victor. I don’t think that’s
    really hate we’re seeing.”
    “Then what is it?”

“Heat,” Jack said, grinning. “You mark my words—something is going on there.”
    “He thinks she’s a lunatic,” Victor said flatly.
    “And you’ve never wanted to sleep with a woman you thought was off the wall?” Jack
    asked. “What man out there hasn’t found himself dying to bang someone gorgeous, no
    matter what he thought of her sanity, brains or anything else?”
    “She resents him. Big time,” Victor said flatly. “And she doesn’t sleep around.”
    “Listen to you,” Alex said, laughing. “You’re getting all big-brother over there. And
    you’re the one who wants to trick her?”
    “You in or out?” Victor asked him.
    “Just what the hell do you intend to do?” Jack demanded.
    “Nothing major. Just put a blond mannequin on her porch for when she wakes up,”
    Victor said. “Honestly, don’t you think she’ll get a laugh out of it, too, and then she’ll be past all that panic the other day?”
    “Where do you think you’re going to get a mannequin at this time of night?” Jack
    demanded.
    “I’m from here. I know half the shopkeepers on Duval Street,” Victor said, grinning.

    Sometime, right around when the aliens had managed to evolve from being pod people,
    Genevieve at last managed to drift off.
    She never knew just when restful sleep departed and the dreams began. She saw nothing
    but darkness.
    And then, from the darkness, the woman emerged.
    She strode forward with purpose. In her dream state, Genevieve groaned.
    Go away, she begged.
    The woman moved in a cloud of white. It was some kind of beautiful, floating negligee.
    Her hair was long and blond, drifting as she walked, as if she were perpetually touched
    by the sea’s current, or by a breeze off the shore. Her eyes were large, tragically sad.
    “Beware…” she mouthed.
    “Go away, please! Oh, God, please, go away. I can’t help you, I don’t understand. Why
    are you torturing me?” Genevieve pleaded silently.
    “Beware…”
    “Beware of what?”
    There was no answer. She was roused from sleep by a small noise that was real enough to
    jar her from the nightmare.
    Dragged from sleep, she lay on the bed, blinking. The lights remained on, as they had
    been. On the television, a space ship was whizzing by planets and stars. She blinked and
    looked around. Everything looked the way it should. She couldn’t tell what had
    awakened her.
    She rolled over to look at the clock on the table. Five-thirty. Late enough to get up.
    She crawled off the far side of the bed and headed for the bathroom. She was loathe to
    look in the mirror—afraid she would find seaweed in her hair again. But there was
    nothing disturbed about her appearance, other than the state of her hair, which was in
    wild tangles. With a breath of relief, she leaned down to brush her teeth and wash her
    face. She grabbed for her towel, dried her face, then hesitated, once again afraid to look
    in the mirror, wondering if a face would appear beside her own.
    But there was nothing. She headed into the living area and started her coffeepot brewing,
    still wondering what had woken her up. While she waited for the coffee, she walked back
    into the bathroom, found one of her bathing suits, slipped into it, then tossed on one of
    her terry cover-ups. The coffee was done.
    Outside, the pink-and-yellow streaks that heralded morning were beginning to shoot
    nicely across the sky.
    She opened her front door to step out and check the weather.
    Sheer panic seized her.
    She was staring at a face. At a woman her own height. She nearly screamed at the top of
    her lungs.
    But she managed not to. Then she gritted her teeth, fury replacing abject fear.
    The blond wig was slightly askew, the part somewhere over the ear. The dummy was
    arranged at an odd angle, one arm raised as if it were double