[Brackets] by David Sloan Page A

right now before my mom has a heart attack.” She began to laugh inappropriately and dug erratically for her keys.
    Cole shook himself from his stupor and tried to clasp her arm.
    “Nera, no, don’t go—I can tell you who this guy is, I think I know what’s going on.”
    “No,” Nera snapped, lifting a finger to his face, “No, Cole. I can’t…” S he turned away. She paused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… You have to stay and tell the police everything. Get safe. Whatever is going on, you have to just…” She jangled her keys and walked to her car without looking back at him . “I have to go. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

[ East Division : Final Four]
    [Saturday, April 4]
     
     
    But they didn’t talk. From Sunday night through early Monday morning , Cole retold what he knew until his head ached. The police had many questions. He arrived at work after lunch on Monday, groggy, and told the story again. Nera never came. On Tuesday, he tried to prevent Tom from renamin g his blog Inside the OraCole . Again, Nera never showed. On Wednesday, Anne Marie announced in staff meeting that Nera was out on personal leave for the week . H e spent the entire afternoon writing her an e-mail explaining everything. On Thursday, he got a text message back: I need to not be involved in all this right now. Take care. On Friday, he felt miserable.
    That night, he had a dream.
    He was at the skate park in Manchester that he used to visit as a kid, but it was bigger, more expansive. It was nighttime, with bright white lights beaming down from somewhere overhead. He stood on his old skateboard, looking down over a ledge onto a deep ramp. It was too steep, and he hesitated in fear. But before he realized what was happening, he felt himself going forward, over, and down. With exhilarating speed, he flew down the ramp as it curved up into a bowl. This isn’t so bad , he thought, and he looked for another ramp where he could launch for a trick.
    Just as he approached the ramp, he realized that the entire floor was covered with ice. Who put ice there? He slid out of control and fell. Instinctively, he checked his lower back to see if it was hurt again. To his horror, he saw that it was bleeding dark red, and he was immobilized by the pain. If only I hadn’t tried to move that desk, he reasoned , I wouldn’t have been so weak .
    His eyes were drawn to the top of the ramp. There was a figure, hooded and faceless except for a protruding pair of spectacles. He was just standing there, watching from a distance. Cole knew who it was and said his name: Ichabod . The figure threw something into the center of the bowl, a few feet in front of Cole. A grenade? It exploded. Suddenly, the whole sky was blackened with smoke. It was on fire. Ichabod had set the park on fire. Smoke was pouring into the bowl like storm clouds. He had to get out, but he couldn’t feel his legs anymore. It was too cold on the ice. He saw Anne Marie pop up over the ramp and say, “T his weather is madness , huh?”
    Ichabod called down to him and demanded that he predict something. Cole could think of nothing . “Four, ” he shouted. It was the wrong answer.
    The figure of Ichabod stretched to its full measure . Ichabod screamed like a warrior as he jumped over the ramp and slid down the icy wall on his feet, landing not far from where Cole lay. He charged Cole like a bull at full speed, full of rage, power, and cold blood, the reflection of orange flames on his glasses growing ever bigger in Cole ’ s view. Cole heard the fire alarms go off as Ichabod leapt up above him...
     
    Cole opened his eyes to the sound of his alarm clock. It was Saturday morning, six o’clock , the day of the Final Four. He looked out the window, feeling silly, just to make sure that Ichabod wasn’t waiting for him. He saw only the police car that was assigned to his apartment that night. No pyromaniac stalkers in sight.
    That was a bad omen , he thought groggily, the nightmare