It was the throb of the drums that woke him.

The measured, almost stately, beat pulled Shemmie out of a deeply fevered sleep, sweating and disoriented. Eyes glazed with fever roamed listlessly around his bedroom, dark but for the light streaming in from a nearby street lamp.

The top bunk of the double-decker creaked above him. Raffy. He was in Raffy's bed, and Raffy in his. Shemmie swallowed with difficulty, his mouth and throat dry from fever.

"Raffy." A rusty whisper. "Raffy. Raffy."

The top bunk creaked again.

Shemmie crawled off of the bunk and sank onto the bedroom floor weakly. The coolness of the marble floor was almost soothing to his hot skin. Another little boy lay curled up on the floor by the wall opposite the double-decker. Shemmie stared hazily at him, too sick to wonder; the boy stared back, too, silent.

Thirsty and aching, Shemmie closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the boy was gone. In his place, sat three white pebbles pristinely gleaming.