As soon as I become aware that it`s a dream, everything about the dream changes. One ambiguous plotline that only my subconscious can understand exchanges itself for another equally as confusing and just as forgettable new plotline that has something to do with a bright, neon orange table holding a bowl of lemons that are too sweet?? And slowly my mind picks up the sounds of laughter, unfamiliar and ingenuine& overtly flirty. And the laughter is female in tone, and then it`s not. The radio playing? Perhaps I left it on? It was keeping me company over dinner, but it`s my habit to turn it off on my way to brush my teeth, and wouldn`t I have heard it as I was falling asleep?

　　Wait. I`m not dreaming anymore, am I.

　　The laughter is shrill and fake but also somehow ponderous.

　　Voices. One male, one female.

　　Who is in my house?!

　　I roll out of bed and make a dive for my phone, debating whether to call 911 or dial Officer Milton`s personal number. Is this an emergency or not? Home invaders? Or vagabonds who&. I never boarded the windows back up after Barry left. The cross breeze felt amazing and was wonderfully refreshing and&.

　　Giggling?

　　Who do I call?!

　　I decide that it`s likely not a 911-level emergency. These laughing, giggling home invaders likely don`t know that this house is no longer open to tramps, and I`m not hearing any obvious signs of theft or damage. I hit the call button and listen to the dial tones.

　　"Lottie? This is an odd time for a social call."

　　My voice is a whisper when I reply. "Officer Milton, there are people in my house. I don`t think they`re hurting anything, but-"

　　"Are you safe?"

　　"I think so?"

　　"Ok. In the future, call 911 for break-ins, but as it happens, Boyd and I are already driving through your neighborhood as a part of our usual nighttime patrol. We`ll be right there- two minutes tops."

　　"Thank you."

　　The phone flashes with the disconnection symbol, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I crack my door open, the empty space beyond echoey, giving me the ability to eavesdrop without moving beyond my barely ajar door.

　　"... place has changed a lot since I was last here," the female voice is saying.

　　"What does that have to do with anything? I`m not paying you for a house tour."

　　Giggling. "Most of my customers like to talk a little before getting straight down to business. It helps them relax and feel comfortable enough to get vulnerable."

　　"I`ve told you a thousand times. I`m not interested in a heart-to-heart. I`m not going to pay you for extras. I`m paying you for a simple job. Got that?"

　　A small sigh that sounds like it might be accompanying an eye roll. "Fine by me. How do you want to do this then? Just go for it like last time?"

　　I shut the door as silently as possible, feeling grossed out and prudish all at once. Before I bought it, Soward`s mansion had a reputation for attracting whores as the "unofficial brothel" of Raesport. I didn`t think the reputation was unwarranted, but I also hadn`t given it much thought until now. I do everything I can think of, short of making noise myself to not listen to the conversation between the pair beyond my door, but even with my fingers in my ears, there is no mistaking the yelps of surprise and indignant protests when my friends in blue arrive on-scene to interrupt the "simple job" the prostitute was being paid for before she could even get started.

　　It is with a strange combination of sheepishness and relief that I answer the rapping of knuckles on my bedroom door, and I realize that I am blushing.

　　"Good evening, Lottie," Milton says cheekily. "I need to get a statement from you."

　　"Thank you for coming on such short notice," I tease him in return. "Perhaps we can relocate to the kitchen?"

　　"Please," he says and I lead the way, definitely not staring at the whore and her customer being detained in handcuffs with Officer Boyd standing guard over them as I pass the now very open floor plan. The girl is quite pretty, actually- long, sleek, dark brown hair, heart shaped face that is made up to make her look both alluring and innocent. And she`s young. Young enough that I have to wonder if she`s actually a legal adult, but then, her makeup is adding to her apparent youth. It`s a shame that the circumstances of her life have led her to this choice in career. Did she want to be a prostitute? Was this a last resort? The downcast eyes and apparent shame suggest that this isn`t something she`s proud of. And I pity her.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

　　"What type of statement do you need from me?"

　　"If it`s alright with you, I`d like to record a brief conversation with you about tonight`s events."

　　"Certainly."

　　"Walk me through everything that you saw, heard, and did this evening," he prompts and hits the record button on his phone.

　　"Well, I woke up from a very strange dream that I don`t remember and heard laughter and voices in my house. I didn`t have anyone staying over, and I hadn`t invited anyone, so I called you, and then&. Um&. The people in my house turned out to be a prostitute and her customer. I heard a brief conversation between them in which they discussed expectations and mentioned payment, and then they& began to proceed with what they discussed while I tried to not listen, but I don`t think they got very far before you and Officer Boyd got here and ended it."

　　Milton stops the recording before chuckling a little at what I`m certain is obvious discomfort on my part. "Do you intend to press charges?"

　　"What would I be pressing charges for?"

　　"Trespassing. I don`t know that you could call it breaking and entering; they came in through an already broken window, but they were definitely trespassing on your property and, more to the point, in your home."

　　"Oh. I haven`t given much thought to&. Hm."

　　"They are already on the hook for prostitution and solicitation respectively," Milton explains as though that might help me with my decision.

　　"What is the penalty for& that?"

　　"Mostly fines. Depending on whether or not this is their first offense, there might be some minimal jail time involved too."

　　"Hm."

　　"What are you thinking, Lottie?"

　　"I`m thinking&. They didn`t hurt anything, and I doubt they even knew that the property belonged to anyone. The other charges they`re facing are probably enough, don`t you think?"

　　He frowns in thought and nods his head very slowly. "You don`t want to press trespassing charges then?"

　　"It would just add a fine and potential minimal jail time, right? It`s not worth the hassle. They are already facing those consequences as it is."

　　He laughs appreciatively. "Well then, Lottie, how about we all get out of your house?"

　　"Thank you, officer."

　　"And, Lottie, you should probably board your windows back up for the time being."

　　"Yeah, probably. I had a guy here today who measured the windows for replacements, so the boards got taken down for that."

　　"Ah. Gotcha. Well, before I go, is there anything else I can do for you?"

　　"No, but I do appreciate your prompt response."

　　"You bet. Back to bed with you!" Milton and Boyd leave with their prisoners in tow while I watch from the back of the house by my bedroom door. "Goodnight!"

　　"Night."

　　And they are gone.

　　And I am very definitely awake.

　　And disturbed.

　　There aren`t words yet to explain or describe what I`m feeling or why I`m feeling the way that I`m feeling& but that poor girl&.

　　The rocking chair creaks beneath my weight, and I pull out Sarah Atwood`s diary and a flashlight. Maybe reading a teenage girl`s whining will help bore me back into sleepiness.

　　15 October 1874

　　Today is my eighteenth birthday. The significance of my birthday is limited to the fact that my contract with my lady ends in exactly two years.

　　27 November 1874

　　I have met someone. For the last few weeks, we have been meeting each other in secret, sharing the quiet evening hours with each other. I dare not say who. I keep my diary well hidden, but should it one day be discovered, I do not wish to incur the wrath of my lady against him. I do realize that it is foolishness, but I love him. He is kind and gentle, and he does his best to care for me. The circumstances are such that we can only be together in secret for the time being. He is entering a critical stage in his career, and I am not allowed to wed nor be with anyone so long as I am tied to my mistress.

　　I long to be with him. I write today to confess that we were together last night. May God forgive me for the weakness of my flesh, but I do love him so ardently. He told me of his hopes for the future and that he wishes to make me his wife when the time comes that I am free from my contract. Oh, I am such a fool to give in so quickly! But I yearn for him even now, and I fear losing him. Were I free to do so, I would marry him today, but without that liberty, I give without commitment and am left to fear both his fickleness and the damnation to my soul.

　　I am plagued by guilt on the one hand and desire on the other. Oh! Would that I were free to give both my heart and my hand!

　　It feels ironic and not merely a coincidence that I turned the page to this entry. It begs the question, which young woman is more pitiable? The whore selling herself despite the shame she feels over it or the girl giving herself to a man who`s obviously using her while thinking it`s love?

　　I climb back into bed. The reading made me sleepy, but my mind is now burdened in ways I wasn`t expecting. I relax my body while my thoughts continue to churn. Both young women need (or needed) help. Different circumstances, similar costs, both are damaged in ways that can never quite be repaired& the same. They are the same, falling into the same traps, in the same place, separated by time only. The house groans under the burden of their secrets&.