READ the Prologue to CHANGED IN THE NIGHT

            Yes, I recall every detail of that terrible, infamous day.

            Oh, how my blood boiled as the sweet taste of victory seeped into my mouth. On our sixth birthday, I dueled as Odette against my brother, my sword flashing gold and silver under the sun. Knowing I was the best, better and bigger than he, I lunged. And lunged again.

            My opponent lost his footing, slipped on wet grass sheltering rugged stones, and fell backwards. The sound of his skull cracking as he hit a protruding rock sucked oxygen from the air. I couldn't breathe. I felt Oliver's death before I saw it, and it was like an invisible heart breaking.

            Oliver and Odette parted forever. December 7, 1941.      

            I planned to step over my mortally wounded enemy—my own twin brother—that vanquished soul who had tormented me since birth, and climb the rock-strewn mountain to the top. I saw myself raising my sword to the sky and imagined my victorious look as I smiled at the gathering crowd.

            But the crowd that gathered that day was only Mom.

            She stopped scanning the sky for enemy planes to catch me in her vise-like grip; she shook me so hard my brain rattled. She screamed until cords in her neck stood out; she pummeled me with her fists, over and over, sobbing and sobbing, "Allana, what did you do? What on earth did you do? Oh my God, Allana Odette, what did you do?”

            God had no answer and neither did I . . . and yes, oh yes, I relished that exact moment of victory . . . the ultimate conquest over my brother, John Oliver Blair.

            Dad came running with men from the church.

            People listening to radio broadcasts about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor already had their teeth clenched for war.

            Boys playing kickball beyond the empty park plunge stopped their game and came running; girls in pale Sunday dresses gathered in shrill chorus.

            All of them, hordes and hordes, swarmed to bear witness to the unspeakable horror—a more personal and singular death—that had befallen Oak Street Park and the Blair family.

            "Oh, dear God, Allana, what did you do, what on Earth did you do?" These words echoed all around.

            With my breath held in check, I drifted somewhere else—far, far away—a place where I really amounted to something, and the very fact I existed made a big difference in the whole scheme of things, and even though I was only a girl with a play sword, I was the hero, after all.