Sleep Savannah Sleep

by Alistair Cross

  Even now, Jason read at least one horror novel a week, and for over twenty years, it had worked like a charm, keeping the night terrors at bay. Until now, anyway.

  He decided to go to the bookstore and pick up a copy of Rebecca, which he’d meant to do yesterday before his plans had been disrupted by the visit from Scott Sturgess, Flynn Garvey, and Sheriff Redding. Jason grabbed the keys and headed to the car, looking forward to spending some time in the horror section. He smiled. Maybe I’ll find my first pick for the Hallie and Jason Book Club.

  Outside, the sky had darkened and heavy clouds threatened rain. As he got into the car and pulled out of the drive, he rolled the window down, relishing the smell of a coming storm. He loved the scent of rain, the moodiness of heavy clouds, the slightly sinister whisper of wind. It was a bit macabre, he supposed, but nature’s darker moods spoke to his gloomier sensibilities. As he passed the cemetery, however, vague memories of last night’s dreams tried to surface, igniting a creeping fear he didn’t like. He averted his eyes and fiddled with the radio. There were still no decent stations.

  He passed Wise Guy’s and briefly considered stopping when the delectable scents of deep-fried food reached him. Something a little more substantial than the breakfast he’d had would be nice - but he willed away the craving, determined to stick to a healthier lifestyle.

  The bookstore came into view and Jason turned into the lot and parked. Tome After Tome, no more than a dilapidated sun-bleached red box, sat on the corner of Twelfth - just across the street from Coop’s Auto Body. Maybe I’ll stop and say hello. Coop hadn’t come by last night and Jason was becoming rather fond of their evening beer together. He got out, locked the car, and headed to the entrance.

  Inside, Tome After Tome was stuffed to capacity with books. Wall-to-wall floor-to-ceiling shelves were brimming, paperbacks were stacked on the floors facing every which way, and small tables were crowded with discount hardcovers. The place smelled like coffee and old musty pages.

  Behind a large chipped desk, Fred De La Paz sat, a thick novel in his hand. “Hey, stranger.” He smiled at Jason as he set the book down.

  “I meant it when I said I wanted to check the place out.” Jason wiped his feet on a welcome mat and headed to the desk.

  “Well, here she is, in all her glory.” Fred made an expansive gesture. “If she wasn’t mine, I’d call her a fucking dive and walk out.” He laughed.

  “Not at all,” said Jason. “I like the place. It’s got … character.”

  “It’s bedlam is what it is.”

  Jason glanced at the book Fred had been reading. “War and Peace? I took you for more of a Clive Cussler type. John Sanford, perhaps.”

  Fred’s cheeks pinked. “I’ve never even read War and Peace. I only pretend to when people come in. I think it makes me look more … I don’t know, knowledgeable or something. This is what I read when no one’s around.” He reached under the desk, pulled out Flowers in the Attic, and sighed. “I just can’t get enough misery and incest, I guess.”

  Jason laughed. “If you’re going to read V.C. Andrews, try the Landry series.”

  “Good, is it?”

  Jason waggled his brows. “Misery and incest ... on the bayou.”

  Fred belly-laughed.

  Jason looked around. He had no idea where he might find what he was looking for - it was as if every library in the county had exploded in one place. “I wonder if you could point me in the direction of Daphne du Maurier. I’m looking for a copy of Rebecca.”

  “Rebecca?” asked Fred. “I took you for more of a Stephen King type.” He smiled. “Something about the way you looked at those clowns at the carnival, I guess.”

  Jason shrugged. “Guilty as charged. Love the man. But I’m in this, uh, little book club, and Rebecca is the next selection.”

  Fred pushed his chair away from his desk, stood, and proudly said, “Right this way.”

  Jason followed him to the literature section, noting that there was some order to the place after all. Fred ran a large finger along some titles, then, in only a few seconds, pulled out a copy of Rebecca and handed it to him. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anything else, my friend?”

  “Nope, but I think I’ll browse a while.”

  “Stay as long as you like.” Someone entered the building, and Fred added, “I guess I’d better go look busy with War and Peace. Just let me know if you need anything.” He disappeared around a corner, and Jason moved to the next aisle.

  He looked through the fantasy and sci-fi sections, thinking perhaps he’d find something for Brent. His son rarely read anymore, but in junior high, he’d enjoyed Asimov and Lovecraft for a short time. Maybe if he got back into reading, Jason thought, he wouldn’t be so bored. And cranky. But he found nothing he thought would be of interest, and headed for his own favorite section - horror. And Tome After Tome had a lot of horror. King, Koontz, McCammon, Saul, Barker, Straub, Thorne, Yarbro, Laymon, and Rice - you name it. Before he knew it, he’d acquired a stack of must-haves almost too heavy to carry.

  He’d always lost his sense of time in a room full of books - that was part of the reason he loved reading so much - and when he looked at his watch, he nearly panicked, realizing a full hour had passed. He’d need to pick the kids up soon and decided against stopping by Coop’s. He headed briskly to the register to pay for his books - there were thirteen total, all classic horror, and he was excited to dig into them.

  After ringing him up, Fred gave Jason a handshake and said, “Nice doing business. The shiner’s fading nicely, by the way.”

  Jason complimented his horror selection, said goodbye, and left.

  Outside, the wind had picked up and it looked like the sky might open up and let loose at any moment. In the distance, lightning flashed and within a few seconds, deep, growling thunder followed.

  He started the car, pulled out of the drive and onto the road, heading back toward home where he’d just have time to drop off the books, get something to eat, and use the bathroom before picking up the kids.

  When Shadow Springs Cemetery came into view, Jason couldn’t help staring this time. Fragments of last night’s dreams came fractured and unbidden. Savannah and Marshall Redding. Blood. Tabitha Cooper’s grave. And later, there had been a party, right? At Tabitha Cooper’s house? None of it seemed very scary, and Jason thought that perhaps his fear of the night terrors returning were what had gotten him so nervous, and not the dreams themselves. He hoped so.

  As he stared into the graveyard, he caught movement - a figure sliding between two weeping willows. It was gone as quickly as it had come, and Jason wasn’t even sure he’d seen it. He slowed the car, pulling over. After a moment’s hesitation, he steered the Legacy into the cemetery, a few drops of rain hitting the windshield as he passed the crooked wooden sign that welcomed him. He slowed to a crawl on the narrow dirt lane that bisected the lot, stopping at the trees where he’d seen the fleeting figure. The windows had begun to fog and he turned on the defrost. There was no movement now except the swaying branches of the dripping trees.

  But he was certain he’d seen someone - or something; there was no way out of the cemetery except the way he’d come and, if it had been a person, he would have seen them leaving. But there was no one here. Not a soul. He didn’t want to accept that his eyes - or more accurately, his mind - were betraying him again, so he sat there, waiting, determined to uncover proof that he wasn’t going mad. After nearly five minutes, he had no choice but to admit defeat. He was just about to put the car in drive and leave when he heard an owl call.

  And then he remembered: An owl. A big white one. He’d seen it in his dream last night. But what was I dreaming?

  It hooted again and Jason shut the engine off, listening. When it called a third time, he got out of the car, closing the door quietly.

  Rain misted down but he barely noticed. The owl called again and he followed the sound, stepping past rows of crumbling tombstones that sa
nk into the ground as well as polished newer ones that spoke of recent death.

  Have I done this before? There was a sensation of living a recurring dream. He paused, waiting for the owl, and when he heard it, Jason continued on, feeling strangely dislocated, moving in a haze, as if experiencing the world from behind a gauzy sheet. Though his thoughts seemed mired in mud, his feet moved with unconscious purpose.

  He didn’t see the white owl until he was right in front of it. Perched on a headstone - Tabitha Cooper’s headstone. Jason realized he couldn’t recall approaching it - it was as if he’d simply appeared next to his neighbor’s grave. What’s happening to me? The owl swiveled its head and watched Jason. When it blinked at him and hooted, it all came crashing back.

  This is what I dreamed. The owl. Tabitha’ s grave. All of it! That’s why this is all so familiar. The unnerving sense of Déjà vu overwhelmed him now. He remembered the gory dream images of Savannah and the sheriff and turned his head, half-expecting to see them there, against the weeping willow. But he was alone. Blessedly alone. It was just Jason and the white owl. And the rain. Thunder cracked and it came down harder. Startled, the owl took flight, its wingspan more massive than Jason would have thought possible - he felt the brush of misty wind against his face as its wings swished.

  Staring down at Tabitha Cooper’s grave, he wondered what he was doing here. It seemed as if some unaccountable force had impelled him toward the site - a similar coercion to the one that had him exploring the pitch-black hallway of the Victorian yesterday.

  He scanned the earth where they’d buried her.

  It was still soft and slightly sunken. He read her name on the tombstone, the dates of birth and death. There was a reason he was here, he knew it - he could feel it. He was so close. So close … But so close to what?

  He wouldn’t have been able to explain it - not even to himself - but the owl, the grave, the dreams, the fleeting figure that had prompted him to stop in the first place … there was something behind it, some kind of meaning to it all. He felt it in his bones. It gnawed at the back of his mind. It’s here, he thought. It’s right here … but what? There was something he wasn’t seeing - something he needed to see, but couldn’t …

  Invisible hands descended on his shoulders with horrible power - stone cold, and hard as granite. ‘You’re closer.’ The voice came from all directions and he felt the hot breath of it wash over his entire body. He whirled.

  No one was there.

  Eyes wide, breath held, he stood, paralyzed. I’m going crazy. Something’s wrong. Then the odd brain fog faded away, and suddenly, Jason was just an idiot standing in the rain, his soaked shirt sticking to him like a second skin. I’m cracking. He wiped rain out of his face and trotted back to the car on unsteady legs.

  Something’s wrong with me. He didn’t know if it was a brain tumor, stress, or some neurological disorder, but something was wrong …

  By the time he made it to the Legacy, he was convinced he needed a doctor. Shutting himself inside the car, he pulled out his phone and frantically Googled local physicians, wondering how he was going to explain what he’d been experiencing. He chose one and called, his hands trembling as he punched the numbers. They answered quickly and, due to a cancellation, were able to get him in this afternoon. In less than an hour, in fact. He’d been hoping to have at least a few days of not knowing. When you didn’t know, at least you could hope. He nearly hung up before confirming, but didn’t. It wasn’t as if they’d diagnose him today, after all. That took time. He told them he’d be there, and after ending the call, he rang Dottie, asking if she’d be willing to pick up the kids.

  “I’d be delighted to, dear.” Her warm voice was like balm on his raw nerves.

  “Thank you, Dottie. It means a lot to me.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly. That’s what friends are for.”

  And Dottie really was his friend, he realized. “Thanks again. I owe you one.”

  He hung up and sat there a moment, his thoughts chasing each other around like cockroaches scuttling in the dark. What if it’s something serious? With a shake of his head and trembling fingertips, he started the car and headed toward the doctor’s office. As he drove, his fear was a pack of wild beasts inside of him, devouring him, ripping at his tender spots with sharp, jagged teeth. I’m dying, he thought. I have some sort of degenerative neurological disease and I’m dying. What will happen to the kids? At the thought of Brent and Amber being left without either parent, the little strength he had left drained out of him.

  His appointment had gone as he’d expected. Blood tests, an MRI, and a complete physical. Everything was normal - at least as far as Dr. Harvey could see. There were no physical signs of anything wrong, but Jason wouldn’t have the full results for a day or two. Until then, he knew he’d be walking on pins and needles.

  Jason had explained his experiences to Dr. Harvey, gratefully noting that the man’s face remained placid as he told him about the recent feelings of unreality, the terrible dreams, the hallucinations, the sense of being outside of his body. When Jason asked him what he thought it might be, the doctor was non-committal but agreed that tests should be run. There was both comfort and fresh new terror in that, and after the appointment, Jason went home and tried to read, vowing he’d give it no more thought.

  It didn’t work. He couldn’t focus on anything else, not even for a few minutes, so - despite his resolve to start a healthier lifestyle - he went to Wise Guy’s to pick up an early dinner. He couldn’t sit still and needed to get out anyway. He’d half-expected to bump into the Delgados there, but the burger joint was virtually empty. While he waited for his order, it occurred to him that when Travis had punched him, perhaps it caused some kind of brain damage. He doubted it, but there had to be a reason for his symptoms. A head injury made some sense.

  Once home, he returned to his chair and picked at his dinner, the outing having done nothing to soothe or distract his mind. He felt as if he were walking through a daze, obsessing on the pending test results.

  “Daddy?” Amber sat on the floor, sharing her milkshake with Reginald Breedlove and Ruby.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you think Savannah is dead?”

  On the couch, Brent looked up from his laptop,

  Jason was speechless a moment. “Of course not, sweetie. Why would you say that?”

  Amber shrugged. “That’s what they’re saying at school.”

  “I’m sure she just … well, she probably ...” He didn’t know what to say.

  Brent spoke up. “She’s probably in the Bahamas, having the time of her life, Amber.” It was the most he’d said all evening.

  Jason mouthed a thank you to his son; he didn’t need Amber having nightmares, too. She was already asking about the death of Tabitha Cooper, and Jason was having trouble explaining it in a way that wouldn’t frighten her.

  “Daddy?” Amber asked. “Do you think I’ll be as pretty as her when I grow up?”

  Jason smiled. “I think you’ll blow Savannah out of the water, sweetheart. In fact, you already do.”

  Amber beamed proudly and went back to feeding her toys.

  No one said much else after that, and an hour later, Brent skulked up the stairs and went to bed without a word. Realizing the time, Jason gathered Amber, tucked her in, then returned to the living room to make another attempt to read. He was avoiding sleep and he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. As worried as he was now, the night terrors would be even worse.

  He read a few paragraphs of Rebecca and soon found himself drifting - Brain tumor. Stroke. His mind was a darkened alleyway on the wrong side of town and he couldn’t help wandering down it. Lyme Disease. Early onset Alzheimer’s. Schizophrenia. There was a smorgasbord of terrible possibilities, a buffet of psychoses, and against his own will, Jason tasted them all - and they were bitter, so bitter, every last one of them. And the worst thought of all: If I go crazy, who will take care of my kids?

  These thoughts ravished the rooms o
f his mind like screaming black demons and when he could stand it no longer, he headed to the kitchen to start on the dishes. At least if he were doing something, he wouldn’t feel entirely incapacitated. He filled the sink, squeezed a good amount of dish soap in, and went to work, finding a thin comfort in the familiar motions. Soon, his mind quieted, just a little, and he was able to relax some.

  As he soaped, scrubbed, and rinsed, something moved in the darkness outside the window - a slash of blue.

  And then, the now-familiar sense of unreality came over him - not quickly, but in slow, steady waves: his hands felt heavy and foreign, his legs seemed like they might buckle. His mind fogged and everything slowed as if the world were operating under water. A plate dropped from his hand. He heard it crash into the sink as if it were happening in slow-motion. His mind was two steps behind him, outside of himself, but his eyes were fixed on the figure beyond the window. It took a moment to realize what he was looking at and when he did, terror roosted in his heart like a ravenous bird of prey.

  She stood in front of the rose-choked fence in the side yard, staring at him. Her moon-frosted hair spilled past her shoulders and her skin gleamed like opal. The blue top and matching lace choker stood out in startling relief, as did her eyes - twin flames of china blue intensity.

  “Savannah.” The word slipped from his lips like a strip of silk unspooling. I’m imagining her. But he knew he wasn’t. She wasn’t real, not exactly - he knew that, too - but this was more than a figment of his imagination.

  She raised an arm, pointing a slender blue-lacquered finger at him.

  Jason’s breath froze in his throat. This isn’t real, this isn’t real. Then a dark red stain spread through her hair. Her eyelids fluttered as blood leaked down her forehead, spilled across her eye, and dribbled down her cheek. Then it came in heavy waves, turning her face into a gleaming mask of blood blackened by moonlight.