Carl snapped awake. Another nightmare. Wasn’t even his fault: the clamp was loose, but the girl shouldn’t have played on the scaffolding.


His eyes flinched around the room.


Sweat turning chill, he peered down. She smiled up at him, unconcerned by the crater in her forehead.

Fumbling for the lamp, he knocked it over. It thudded on the rug.

He lay back; at least he hadn’t woken Jen.


The light flared. One of the after-images grinned.

Something bounced off his chest. A scaff bar?

He plead insanity, but the jury decided bludgeoning his daughters first showed planning.