Sleep No More

FIFTEEN

I wake up with the last vestiges of my perfect dream still flitting at the edges of my consciousness. It’s starting to fade, but I lay still and hold it close like a well-worn teddy bear. In my dream it was Christmas day, just like now, but I was at Linden’s house.

And there was kissing. A lot of kissing.

What a perfect Christmas that would be. I close my eyes and start to imagine the scene all over again when I hear a knock on my door.

“Seriously, Char, you’d think I was the little girl and you were the mother. Get out here!”

My mom is such a kid on the inside. Especially when it comes to Christmas presents. “Coming,” I say, and flip my comforter back, grabbing for my bathrobe, my toes inching toward my slippers.

That’s when the darkness starts to close in. The pressure that builds in my head is almost instantaneous, threatening to explode within seconds. I sprawl back down on my bed and close my eyes. I’m learning to recognize the violent force of the truly horrendous foretellings even as they build, and this one absolutely has it. I try to relax and let the vision overtake me despite my jabbing certainty that whatever I’m about to see, it’s going to be awful.

I’m not outside this time; I’m not sure where I am. The vision seems to be having trouble stabilizing and I wait for the scene to come fully into focus. When it does, a scream rises in my throat as I take in walls splattered with the deep maroon of fresh, wet blood. Even the ceiling has gruesome stripes crisscrossing it.

My breathing is unsteady as I let my focus fall back to the ground. My vision self begins to retch uncontrollably when I see someone lying in several bloody heaps on the concrete floor.

I think it’s a girl. But it’s hard to tell. Not without picking through the pieces. I take two agonizingly slow steps. My shoulder blades hit a wall and my hands spread out on the surface behind me to catch myself.

Only to brush something wet and sticky.

A ragged breath that sounds like a sob wrenches out of my throat and I jerk my hands away and look at the stripe of blood across my fingertips. I force my eyes closed. Surely I’ve seen what I need to see. Now I want out. Out! “Please let me out!” I scream.

Two seconds later, my room hazes into view. I’m soaked with perspiration, though a glance at my clock tells me it didn’t even last a full minute. I hear noises outside my door. Happy noises. For a moment, I can’t figure out how in the world anyone could be cheerful in a world where someone committed the violence I just saw.

Then I remember.

“This hasn’t happened yet,” I whisper. “Smith.” I almost fall off my bed reaching for my cell phone and start to scroll through my contacts.

Wait. I can’t call. Someone—let’s be honest, Sierra—might hear me. I jab at the screen and type a quick text message.

Again. It’s worse. I need your help.

I pause, then add:

Text, don’t call.

I peel my damp T-shirt over my head and pull another one on so I can get out of my room and pretend to be excited about Christmas morning with my family. The sooner it’s over with, the sooner I can connect with Smith and stop this terrible vision from coming true.

During the next hour, I decide I’ve missed my calling as an actress. Neither my mom nor Sierra seems to suspect anything. Even when I pull out my phone to find the simple message:

Where? When? Tell me—I’ll be there.

I just smile and say it’s a friend from choir wishing me a merry Christmas. As quickly as I can, I send back some cross streets and a time I dearly hope I can actually get away with.

As soon as the last present is open—and I’m pretty sure I’ve delivered enough gushing to avoid suspicion—my phone buzzes again, and I look down, expecting another text from Smith.

Did you have fun last night?

I’m totally confused until I realize it’s from Linden. Despite everything, a little bubble of happiness grows in my chest.

I text back:

A blast.

Me too. Any chance your mom will let you come back later today?

Breathing is out the window. I’m glad he texted instead of calling. I would be sounding like a moron right now.

“You okay?” Mom asks, and I nod so hard I probably look like a total spaz.

But I don’t care.

“It’s Linden,” I say. “He wants to know if I can come over later.”

Mom lifts one side of her mouth in an I-told-you-so smile. “He must have enjoyed your company last night.”

“I guess,” I murmur, a little apprehensive now. “Is that okay?”

She glances over at Sierra for advice.

Sierra turns to me and I try to look as innocent as possible. Unfortunately it just occurred to me that if they say yes, I could use this as an opportunity to meet Smith. I force my face to stay neutral as Sierra continues to study me.

“Linden’s parents seem very big on safety, judging by their party last night,” Sierra says, the words sounding like someone’s dragging them out of her. But I could kiss her anyway.

“I’d want you back by dark, for sure,” Mom says, and my heart leaps as I realize she just said yes.

“Of course,” I say calmly, my thumbs itching to text Linden back.

And then to text Smith.

Linden and I have a brief text-versation and agree on noon. But I tell my mom we said eleven. An hour should be long enough for Smith. I think. I’m hardly an expert here.

“Mom, are there any extra cinnamon rolls?” I ask.

“Do we ever not have scads of leftovers?” she replies. “Why?”

I shrug and smile. “I thought maybe I’d bring some to Linden.”

“Oh,” Mom says. “That would be very . . . thoughtful.” She pulls herself up from the floor and gets into her wheelchair to go into the kitchen and prepare a dozen of them herself. “Do you think he’ll want a container of extra frosting?” my mom yells from the kitchen.

“He’s a guy, isn’t he?”

I take a long shower and stare at my closet for a good five minutes, trying to decide what to wear. Nice? Super casual? What does this invitation mean, really?

I have no idea.

After sifting through my entire wardrobe—twice—I settle on my favorite jeans and a pretty shirt I haven’t worn to school in a while. When I check the mirror, I decide I look nice, but the truth is I’m having trouble mustering up enthusiasm.

I’ll feel better after Smith and I have changed things. I’ll get excited again.

In an odd parallel to last night, both my mom and aunt send me off, admonishing me very strictly to go only to Linden’s house, and to drive right up to the door, and for goodness’ sake look around the car before I get out, and lock the doors, and about a million other precautions I’ve been following since I was, like, four.

I get a little exasperated as I keep chanting, “I know, I know, I know,” but I catch a glimpse of the worry Mom’s been trying to hide, and I sober when I realize that some of this morning’s gaiety was false for her too.

Once I’m in the car, I have to head south, even though the spot I asked Smith to meet me is north, because I know both my mom and Sierra will stay on the porch watching me until the car is out of sight.

Three blocks later, I make two quick right turns and head toward the corner where I’m supposed to pick up Smith. It’s funny how he looks exactly the same as the last two times. Same dark jeans, same coat, although he’s wearing a black ski hat today. I feel a little pang of guilt as I pull over and unlock the door for him. It’s clear and crisp today—which is a nice way of saying it’s freezing.

Smith doesn’t waste any time. “Tell me what you saw,” he says, pulling his hands out of his pockets and blowing on them for warmth.

“It was . . . it was awful. There were pieces, Smith. It was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” And I’m not embarrassed when my voice cracks.

“Take this next right,” he says, pointing. He leads me down a road I’m unfamiliar with to a very small park that’s hardly more than a three-car parking lot and a teeny clearing. “Can you work in the car?”

“Um, shouldn’t I be able to?” I ask, completely lost.

“I think so. I guess I’m asking if you’re warm enough and if you can relax in here. You need to be at ease.”

“As at ease as I’ll ever be with that picture in my head.”

“That’s the best we’re going to get, I guess. Here.” He pulls the necklace out of his pocket and drops in into my fingertips. I feel its unnatural warmth and a tiny part of me sighs in relief. I realize I’ve missed it.

I don’t have time to analyze that.

“Just like last time?” I ask, the stone nestled in my hands.

“Except that it should be easier. You’ll be amazed how quickly you’ll get better at this.”

“I hope so,” I say doubtfully. But I remember the two minuscule steps I was able to take during the vision this morning. It took every ounce of strength I had, but I did it. Even without the stone.

I focus on the stone with my eyes wide open and remember the sensation of entering my second sight from last time. When I find myself standing in the bloody room again only a few seconds later, I’m shocked by how effortless it was. That part, anyway.

“Are you ready for me?” the voice of Smith asks.

“I’m ready,” I say aloud, quickly looping the focus stone around my neck. “Let him in.” I don’t have to yell this time. I simply murmur the words and then Smith is beside me.

I start to comment on how easy it was this time, but Smith isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at the carnage. He steps closer to one of the mounds of hacked flesh that looks like it might be her head, and hunkers down.

“Do you know who it is?” he asks.

I shake my head. “I think it’s a girl. The—” I gag for a second then push it back and point. “The shirt is purple.” Although, I realize with a start, Linden was wearing a purple shirt last night.

It’s not the same shade of purple, I tell myself, trying to calm my raspy breathing. And he’s too big. Too tall. This is a small person. “What do I do?” I say aloud when I find my voice.

Smith leans on his heels and pushes his coat back to slip his hands into his pockets. His forehead is filled with wrinkles. “A third death. I guess technically it could have been the fourth if we hadn’t diverted Jesse. This has got to be the same guy.” He looks down at the gory mess and shakes his head. “Let’s avert this one again,” he says after a long pause. “But we can’t keep doing this forever.”

“You want to quit?” I say but Smith cuts me off.

“You’re misunderstanding me. We can’t just keep avoiding the killer. Next time, we’ll have to take steps to catch him.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling dumb. He showed me how to save Jesse’s life and he’s about to help me save this girl too. Of course he’s not going to just walk away. “So what do we do now?”

“First let’s figure out where we are.” Smith begins to walk around the scene with an ease that I envy. It feels like I’m carrying ten-pound weights around my ankles. I touch the stone and remind myself that his freedom is only because he’s powerless here. I have to funnel all of my energy and concentration because what I do changes things.

I take in the room, noting the cement floor and the walls made of Sheetrock. The roof slopes on both sides and is made of some kind of metal. “It’s a shed or a workshop, I think.”

I slowly start walking toward a set of doors on one end, and Smith nods approvingly. “You’re getting better already,” he says as I reach for the sliding metal doors. But even though I can feel the doors under my hands, I can’t make them open.

“We’re not physically here, Charlotte,” Smith says, startling me away from my task. “Remember that. We’re an impulse, a compulsion, nothing more.”

“I’m going to have to rewind in order to see anything else then,” I say. Mentally, I tell the scene to rewind. Though it starts slowly, soon it picks up speed, going faster than I ever managed with Jesse. I watch, my stomach clenching, as the same black-clad, masked figure enters the scene and demolishes the girl in reverse with a two-foot-long blade.

I’ll never be able to sleep again.