Jess dropped limp into the cushions, the couch sliding back a few inches on the hardwood floor. Her eyes peering at her right hand as she curled her fingers into a tight fist. Her knuckles went from a cool, fleshy olive to a bright maroon-splotched ivory. She relaxed her fingers and watched the color return.

“Well Tom, it’s going to heat up during the next few days and then cool off for what looks to be perfect weekend weather,â€? the oddly casual weather man stood in front of the weekly forecast. Jess could not help but notice the conspicuous absence of Tuesday’s weather. Is it really Wednesday? her mind raced looking for some way to pull reality back. Looking at the postcard, can this be real?

Her head fell back, craning her neck as she inspected the million tiny little bumps of the ceiling. There has to be some mistake. This isn’t… it’s not possible.

She crumpled up the postcard and threw it at the TV. “No!â€? she screamed. “I’m going to find out what happened yesterday if it’s the last thing I do.â€?