Monica tossed and turned in her sleep. She was dreaming about Jack again, about how he had saved her life so many times, and how she hadn't been there when he had needed her. Not that she would have been much help against a kraken, though.

Her eyes flew open as the image of Jack disappearing into the kraken filled her mind. She lay awake, panting, her eyes darting around, before she calmed down.

It's just a dream, she thought, slowing her breathing. Just a dream...

She rolled over and glanced at her alarm clock. The glowing red numbers told her it was 11:13 PM.

She moaned and rolled over on her stomach, burying her face in her pillow. The second Pirates movie was haunting her, more than it should have, she knew--but she had a good reason for it, after all.

Monica felt sick as she remembered her adventures with Jack when she had somehow been transported back in time, into the Pirates of the Caribbean world. She sometimes wondered why her dryer had done it, and how, but mostly she dwelled on how much she missed the whole experience.

It was like homesickness, but different--she longed for adventure, and to be with Jack again--but she knew it wasn't right, that it was too strange to comprehend, that it would never happen again. And this thought in the back of her mind tortured her.

Ever since she had returned, she had been different. Her sisters had noticed. 21-year-old Alison and 18-year-old Michelle had been staying with their family over the summer, not wanting their mother and 15-year-old sister to be alone on the anniversary of their father's death.

Of course they had noticed the change in Monica. Normally, she was energetic and bouncy, almost to the point of annoyance. Her wisecracks and quips always made them laugh, but now, she was silent most of the time.

Michelle figured it was because of their father. She knew how close they had been, and that Monica would take a while to heal. But Alison thought it was something different. Usually Monica hid her worries with jokes, and know she wasn't even bothering to pretend to be happy. Something just wasn't right.

Alison and Michelle were, in fact, discussing this in the guest room, which had been Alison's bedroom before she had left for college. Michelle was laying on her stomach on the bed, hugging one of the pillows, and Alison was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"I just don't understand it," Michelle said, tucking her fine light brown hair behind her ear. "Normally she's so..."

"Happy?" Alison suggested. She uncrossed her legs and stretched them in front of her, wiggling her toes. "Yeah, I know. Something's definitely up. The other day I could have sworn I heard her crying in the laundry room."

"So? She could just be sad about Dad," Michelle said. "Crying's not that big a deal."

"It's what she was crying about," Alison said earnestly. "I swear, I think she said something about dryers, and then she kept saying the name 'Jack'." She shook her head. "The dryer stuff I definitely don't get, but Jack could just be a guy at school."

"Should we ask her about it?" Michelle asked.

"I don't know...she'd probably just shut us out," Alison said thoughtfully. "It's not like she's very open with her feelings."

"Yeah." None of the Connors sisters were that open with each other. Sure, they were close, but they never discussed their feelings or anything like that. Not even about their father.

"Still, it's worth a shot," Alison said, tossing her spun gold hair over her shoulder. "It can't hurt to try."

"Too bad she went to bed," Michelle said, sitting up. "What was it--like, 8:00?"

"Yeah." Neither one of the sisters, nor their mother, for that matter, could explain the sudden change in Monica's sleeping habits.

"She sleeps all the time," Michelle said, letting a grin slip across her face. "She's a frickin' sloth."

Alison chuckled. "Or a cat," she said, grinning.

"Henrietta!" Michelle mock called. Henrietta had been a cat of one of their great-aunts, and their father had always made them laugh about how creepy she had been.

The two girls laughed as they reminisced, happy to change the subject from their disturbed sister to something lighter.

Monica heard their laughter from her room down the hall. She wondered what they were talking about, but her mind slowly returned to laughing with Jack.

She groaned in frustration and sat up furiously. She was going crazy, she knew it. And she hated herself for it. If she had had that experience, and could never return to that world, why couldn't she just forget and be put out of her misery?

Monica sighed and swung her legs over the side of the bed, stopping to rub her eyes. She forced herself not to think about the inn in Tortuga, but this only made her think about it.

She let out a quiet roar, not wanting anyone to hear her. For some reason, she didn't want to talk about what was troubling her. She hadn't told a soul about what had happened for fear of being sent to a mental hospital or something and being parted with her precious green dryer.

Monica stood up and took a step, and promptly tripped over her beanbag. This only made her more frustrated. She furiously seized the purple beanbag and hurled it across the room, where it hit her closet and fell to the floor.

She stood up, grumbling, and made her way across her messy room, somehow managing not to trip anymore. She finally picked up what she had wanted: her Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl DVD.

She looked at the cover numbly, feeling sorry for herself. She didn't even allow herself a sigh of despair before getting back in her bed and plugging in the movie.

The movie was her drug: she watched it to remind her of better times. She watched it entirely too much. She knew it was eating away at her life, but she couldn't stop.

She watched and felt sorry for herself, reminiscing about what had happened. And she hated herself for it. She just wanted to forget.

What if all of it was just a dream? she thought, selecting Play. Just a dream...?

She pushed the thought out of her mind as the movie began.

The next day was laundry day. Monica stumped down the stairs, her basket on her hip. She didn't even try to hurry anymore, hoping she would get to do the laundry again and somehow be reunited with Jack, Gibbs, and the rest of the crew. And she knew how pathetic it was to associate Pirates with laundry.

Monica was, surprisingly, the first one down. She stopped in the kitchen, watching her mother sort the laundry in the laundry room.

Her mother turned around, wiping her hands off on her shorts. She looked surprised to see her youngest daughter there.

"What--you're first?" she asked in mock shock, smiling at Monica, determined to get a smile out of her.

She just nodded silently.

"Well, you don't have to do the laundry, then," her mother said, frowning slightly. "I don't know where your sisters are--"

She stopped as there was a thundering on the stairs.

"Oh!" she said, smiling. "There they are..."

Monica moved mutely out of the way as her two older sisters raced into the kitchen, headed for the laundry room. They stopped in surprise when they saw Monica before them.

"What the--" Alison said, panting. "Michelle, you're last!"

"Aww, come on!" Michelle said, grinning. "Oh, fine, I'll--"

"No, I'll do it," Monica said quickly.

The three women turned to stare at her. Monica shrugged sheepishly.

"It's just that...I'm used to it," she said lamely. "I don't mind. Really."

"Cool!" said Michelle, dropping her basket of dirty clothes and turning to the fridge for a bottle of water. A varsity track runner for UT, she seemed to have a bottomless pit of a stomach when it came to water.

Alison, on the other hand, was a swimmer, but her real passion was water polo. Although she hadn't gotten a scholarship for her sport, like Michelle had (Alison had gotten hers for her excellent grades in math and science), she was on the team.

And Monica...well, she wasn't exactly the athletic type. No, she wasn't fat or out of shape or anything--she ran cross-country and track at her high school--but it seemed that every sport she had tryed, she had been no good at. Softball, basketball, soccer, even flag football--you name it, she most likely stank at it. Monica blamed this on her "frequently changing interests"--she wasn't dedicated enough to a sport to want to try to get really good at it.

"I mean it, I'll do the laundry," Monica said quickly. "Just...just dump your stuff and I'll get on it."

She gave her family a weak smile. Her mother shook her head.

"Okay, it's your choice," she said, shaking her head. "I'm gonna go take a nap."

"Mom, it's 1:00 in the afternoon," Alison said, rolling her eyes.

"I know," her mother said, "But I'm still tired."

She left for her room without another room. Michelle watched her sullenly as she went.

"She's depressed about Dad," she said quietly as her mother shut the door to her room. "Tomorrow's the day..."

She trailed off into silence. The sisters stood awkwardly for a second, but soon Monica kicked the baskets into the laundry room and began to sort the clothes.

To her surprise, her sisters followed. She continued warily, knowing a Talk was coming.

Alison leaned against the doorframe of the room, crossing her arms. Michelle moved to the back corner, watching her younger sister sort the clothes.

Monica continued in silence, sure that they would start whenever they were ready. Sure enough, they did.

"She's takin' her emo nap," Alison said. Her sisters weren't sure whether she meant it as a joke or not, and another awkward silence fell.

And this is why we never talk, Monica thought, bent over the laundry baskets. It's just weird...

Michelle sighed and took matters into her own hands. "Monica, what's the matter?" she asked, not moving from her place in the corner of the room. "You haven't been the same since we've been home."

"No, that's not true," Monica said quietly. "Things weren't...different..until that day you went dress shopping..."

Alison and Michelle glanced at each other, alarmed, as their sister paused in her work and stared off into space. Monica was broken out of her reverie by Alison asking softly, "What things?"

Monica shook her head quickly and continued sorting. "Nothing...you wouldn't understand," she said seriously.

Alison scoffed. "Try me. I was your own age once, too, you know. I went through the same shit you're going through."

Monica chuckled. "I highly doubt that," she said, smiling wryly to the basket of whites.

"Come on," Alison said. "Spill it."

"Leave her alone, Alison," Michelle said. "She'll talk if she wants to."

"Oh, don't pretend you're on my side," Monica snapped. Michelle looked taken aback.

Monica sighed. "God, I'm sorry," she said miserably, rubbing her eyes. "I've just been really irritable lately, I didn't mean to snap...I'm sorry," she said sincerely, looking up at her sister.

"Uh...that's okay," Michelle said, giving Alison a confused glance. It sure as hell wasn't normal for Monica to apologize so quickly for being rude. Alison just shrugged back at her dubiously.

"Alright, I'll tell you," Monica said hollowly. "But you're not gonna believe me."

Michelle and Alison exchanged another glance and waited for her to speak.

Monica took her time, contemplating how to tell her story. She opened up the washer and began to speak.

"Well, it all started that day you went shopping for the wedding--" she stopped, peering into the washer. "Damn, it's full already," she muttered. "Mom must've started this before we got down here..."

Monica felt excitement build up in her as she realized that she would get to use the dryer. She immediately heaved the sopping clothes from the washer and dropped them into an empty basket. Then, she moved to the dryer and opened it. As always, she opened it hopefully, but found nothing out of the ordinary there. Her shoulders slumped as she loaded the wet clothes into the dryer and nothing happened.

Alison cleared her throat loudly, making Monica jump and drop some clothes on the floor. Monica had almost forgotten that her two sisters were in the room with her.

"You were saying?" Alison asked. Michelle stayed silent, watching her younger sister intently.

Monica sighed, shut the door to the dryer, stood up, and turned it on. She stared at it morosely for a second before turning back to her sisters.

"Okay, so you guys were gone, and I started the wash load--"

"Oops, you dropped a sock," Michelle said, pointing at a stray one in front of the dryer.

Monica bent to pick it up slowly, remembering the last time...

No, she thought sullenly, it's not going to work again...I probably just imagined the whole thing, anyway...so why am I even telling the story!

Scowling, she bent to open the dryer door and tossed it in. And then she froze.

"What is it?" Michelle asked, frowning.

Monica didn't move. She was a little preoccupied with the light that seemed to be coming from the back of the dryer.

"What's that weird glow?" Alison asked, leaving her post by the doorframe and moving closer to the dryer. Michelle moved cautiously forward, too.

The three sisters stared at the light as a faint whooshing came to their ears.

"Uh, guys, there's probably something you should know--" Monica began.

But she was cut off by the three of them getting pulled through the dryer.

Michelle screamed, Alison yelled, and Monica whooped in elation. She was finally going back! She couldn't believe it!

The Connors sisters flew for a while, but not enough for Michelle and Alison to stop their respective screaming and yelling. Monica began to laugh.

Finally, they hit a hard surface. Monica, with her smidgen of experience she had over her sisters, managed to land on her feet, but she fell over when Alison bowled into her. Michelle landed painfully on her back a foot away.

Alison sat, panting, looking alarmed. Michelle groaned and sat up, then froze as she took in her surroundings. Monica stood up slowly, staring around her.

"What the fuck just happened?" Alison yelled.

"Oh, my God," Michelle whispered, breathing heavily. "Oh, my God..."

"Calm down, you two," Monica said, a smile spreading slowly across her face. "Yeah, this is what I needed to tell you." She turned to her two frightened sisters on the wooden floor. "Our dryer is a portal to other worlds," she said, grinning from ear to ear.