There it is. Gwenny bites her lip and looks down for a moment, warring with herself. She doesn't even want to think about that place, that creepy file and the eyes she saw everywhere in her dream. But she still wants Mommy's obituary, even blacked out like it is, because it's hers. Maybe being honest with Martin will help her, here.
"I dreamed it," she says, simply but honestly, before explaining, "Sometimes, I dream about real things that happened, even though I shouldn't be able to know about them."
She can't tell him about The Grabber, about the black balloons that nobody talked about but that she saw in her dream all the same. She doesn't tell him about the boys, or Finney. Not yet.
"Like that place, I guess. Mostly, my dreams are just me seeing things, but sometimes, like that night, it's like I'm really there." She frowns, because that isn't quite right, either, and amends, "Sort of. I'm not really there, but it feels like I am."
no subject
"I dreamed it," she says, simply but honestly, before explaining, "Sometimes, I dream about real things that happened, even though I shouldn't be able to know about them."
She can't tell him about The Grabber, about the black balloons that nobody talked about but that she saw in her dream all the same. She doesn't tell him about the boys, or Finney. Not yet.
"Like that place, I guess. Mostly, my dreams are just me seeing things, but sometimes, like that night, it's like I'm really there." She frowns, because that isn't quite right, either, and amends, "Sort of. I'm not really there, but it feels like I am."