Andrew sat straight up in bed. He looked around, rubbed his eyes, and tried to figure out what woke him up. He flipped over and flopped back down, face buried in his pillow. It was waaay too early to get up. He turned the music back on his phone. GeeMa had come in at some point and turned it off. She hated it when he played his music all night. She said listening to all that chatter wouldn’t let his dreams form properly. But Andrew liked to sleep with his music. Somehow it quieted the voices in his head. They weren’t real voices, of course. He had learned the hard way not to talk about voices.

He had to admit, though, his playlist could probably use a little tweaking. Sleeping to Viking death metal probably was a bad idea, actually.

Normally, Andrew would have been able to drift back into sweet oblivion, but today, something was off. He tried not to think about it, but it kept nagging. Finally, it hit him. Something must be getting ready to happen in the 'Twixt.

Andrew didn't wait for the Revealer to ring. Hearing the old clock's little bell made his anxiety even worse than usual. So he put on a hoodie, tiptoed into the kitchen, and grabbed a Poptart. He went out to the garage, pulling the kitchen door twice to get it to close. Unplugging his scooter, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and put on his helmet. It was his uncle's old motorcycle helmet. GeeMa hated that thing because she said it was too big and created blind spots. But Andrew liked it because it drowned out the sounds around him. And... it had bluetooth speakers. He assumed GeeMa didn't know that, or she would have for sure made him quit wearing it while riding.

He carefully avoided the shop windows. It was late enough that GeeMa and Anna were probably already in there, and he didn't want GeeMa to know he was leaving. She would soon have enough to worry about without worrying about him.

As he drove across town, he wondered what the alarm was about this time. GeeMa never said much when she got back, but she always told them who the call was about. It was mostly kids whose dreams got a little too real, or who went into a mild seizure that nobody really even noticed. That sort of thing. Every once in a while, an adult would cross over and get stuck. Most of the time, the 'Twixt spit them back out like Jonah and the whale. They wouldn't really have any idea anything had happened, but would think they must have been daydreaming because they couldn't remember the last few minutes. 

But then there were the ones who got lost. 

There had been a few over the years. She told the stories the way you'd tell a bedtime story;  there's a lost traveler, GeeMa swoops in to save them with a song and rosemary crackers, and everything turns out just great. But Andrew had a feeling that there was a lot more to it than that. 

And he desperately wanted to see it for himself.