Somnambulist

by Andrew Mackay

  She licked her thumb and ironed out the crease at the corner of the cover of the third magazine which featured Cinderella lifting the heel of her glass shoe.

  “A dress fit for a princess,” Iris thought to herself as she read the subtitles under the image. “So beautiful.”

  Iris continued with her perfectionism, completely unaware that her mother stood behind her, trying not to cry.

  Why won’t you just wake up? Just wake up. Or stay in bed. Stop acting strangely. I know all children have their quirks, but this is beyond a joke.

  Iris stood up straight as she fiddled with a tiny, pink hair band with her fingers. She pushed her head back, reached over her shoulders, and tied her long, silky black hair into a ponytail.

  And then made the mistake of turning around.

  Gina and Iris’s eyes met across the room. The former was clothed, the latter was not. A frightening image, given the circumstances.

  “Iris?”

  Blink-blink.

  The girl just stared at her mother, blankly.

  “What are you doing tonight, poppet? Making the magazines all nice and tidy?”

  The whites of Iris’s eyes beautifully off-set her gray pupils.

  I can’t explain the color change. She has beautiful, emerald-like eyes. When she’s like this, though, the color seems to drain away, along with her character. A dull sort of gray.

  The girl turned to the kitchen and sauntered off in search of something.

  She doesn’t say a damn word when she’s like this. I mean, at the best of times, she’s not much of a talker, anyway.

  Upset, Gina followed Iris into the kitchen as she made for the stove.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no. Not again. Don’t you touch that.”

  Iris slapped her mother’s wrist absentmindedly, offended at the prevention of her desire to release the gas.

  Gina’s jaw dropped, astonished that her brave little girl had the temerity to attack her. A defiance. A sign of things to come should she ever reach adolescence.

  I know they say children have goals when they sleepwalk. A mission to do something but, Doctor, sometimes it seems like she just wants to end it all.

  Gina freaked out and dropped to her knees. She covered the dial with her hand and grabbed the girl by her shoulders.

  “Iris?” she said through her tears. “For the love of God, please. Stop doing this.”

  She shook the girl’s upper body by the arms once again, pleading for her sanity.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Gina took her girl’s hands in her own and tried to comfort her. It was then that she noticed a crude inking in the shape of a butterfly on her left wrist.

  That was the first time I noticed it. I’m still confused as to why she did that. Her teacher at school noticed it, too…

  ***

  Iris sat at her desk in the classroom as her teacher, Mr. Pond, pointed to a laminated diagram of a plank of wood.

  “So, this is your standard two-by-four, which we’ll cut diagonally here—”

  They told me it might have been as a result of some trauma. A cry for help, perhaps.

  Mr. Pond’s voice dulled into an ocean of nothingness, yet his lips continued to move. Iris focused on the veins in her left wrist, and removed the blade from a tiny, plastic pencil sharpener.

  It’s to stop her from self-harming, Mrs. Baskeyfield. If she can’t injure the butterfly, then she won’t injure herself.

  The rotation produced the voice of the doctor as the shavings drifted either side of the block of plastic.

  I think I have the general picture, here. Essentially, we need to do two things, bearing in mind Iris’s safety.

  The razor sharp edge cut through the skin, left to right, but failed to produce much blood. She tried again, but stopped at putting too much effort into it.

  What should I do, doctor?

  The announcement from her teacher lifted Iris out of her daze in an instant. “Mrs. Baskeyfield?”

  Iris turned to him and snorted. “What?”

  Mr. Pond scowled at her in front of the class. “Don’t what me, you rude little girl. Are you paying attention?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Then act like it.”

  Satisfied that Iris paid attention, Mr. Pond returned to his explanation on the board.

  Iris giggled quietly to herself. She eyed the sharp utensils hooked on the cork board. Blades of all shapes and sizes could be stolen when the teacher wasn’t looking.

  First, make sure her environment is safe. Make sure she can’t leave. Small adaptations to the house could well be in order.

  Iris dropped the sharpener blade and twiddled her pen in her right hand as she absentmindedly kicked her knees up under her desk.

  “Psst.”

  Iris squinted, wondering where the call to action came from. She looked left and right, and finally settled on a cute girl on the desk next to hers.

  “Psst.”

  It was Jade, the pasty-faced white girl with the orange ribbon in her hair, who nodded in Iris’s direction.

  “What?”

  “Here, take this.”

  Jade produced a folded piece of paper under the desk and pushed it in Iris’s hand.

  Second, I’m going to recommend we raise her medication ever-so-slightly. We’ll see how the antidepressants affect her, and adjust accordingly.

  Carefully, she waited until Mr. Pond had his back turned to the class to unfold it and look at the contents.

  Nicky has the hots for you.

  “Huh?”

  Iris turned left and saw Jade, her friend, sporting a shit-eating grin on her face. The ginger girl nodded at the boy in front of her; little Nicky Goddard, handsome and pure, who threw Iris a look of confusion.

  “What?” he mouthed.

  Iris smiled for the first time in a long time. She shrugged and scrunched the note into a ball and threw it at him.

  It bounced off his shoulder and onto the floor.

  ***

  Iris couldn’t sleep. She lay perfectly still in her bed, recounting her past.

  Her eyes trained on the ceiling.

  Nicholas lay next to her and inadvertently brushed his knee against hers.

  “Can’t sleep?” he groaned through his slumber.

  “Nope.”

  “It’s okay, just close your eyes. You’ll drop off eventually. It’s warm tonight. Just keep above the covers.”

  Nicholas shifted around and faced the other way in an attempt to get comfortable.

  “Ugh, this heat is stifling,” he complained.” How does anyone manage to sleep when it’s this hot?”

  Iris threaded her fingers together and relaxed every muscle in her body.

  I can only imagine what they must have said about me. How they felt inside versus what they chose to show me. They put on a brave face, all right.

  Iris turned her head to the right and pushed her cheek in the pillow. She had the perfect view of her husband’s bare back and ass as he tried to get to sleep.

  That cute little throaty sound you make tells me you’ve finally drifted off…

  ***

  Iris and Jade sat on the brick wall in the playground. Now in their teens, they knew about boys and what they could do.

  After a while, even watching the other kids play football got boring real fast.

  Jade looked down and noticed a drawing of a butterfly on Iris’s left wrist.

  “What’s the thing on your hand?”

  “Oh, this?”

  “Let me see.”

  Curious, Jade grabbed her hand and moved it to her face. “A butterfly?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pulled her arm away and fought off the unannounced intrusion of something she felt deeply personal.

  “It’s nothing. Mind your own business.”

  Nicholas ran across the playground and waved at Iris, as he joined the five-a-side soccer match a few feet in front of the girls.

  “Hey, Iris.”
/>
  “Hey.”

  He kicked the ball and yelled at his friends to get into formation. Iris and Jade chuckled heartily together.

  “It’s so obvious, you know.”

  “What?”

  “The pair of you have a thing for each other. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

  “Aw, shut up.”

  Whenever Nicholas entered her life, whether it was in class, or a chance encounter, Iris’s heart warmed. If nothing else it was a welcome change from how she usually felt.

  “You know something? One day, that cute white boy and me are gonna get married.”

  “You’ll look like a crazy chess board.”

  “Eh?”

  “Well,” Jade hesitated. “Nick is white, and you’re black. Getting together like that would be just weird.”

  “Why is it weird?”

  Jade felt guilty about having to point it out. “Well, if you have a kid, it’ll be, like, all brown.”

  “Yeah, and if you have a baby it’ll be ginger, like the Gingerbread Man. Gross.”

  Jade giggled and swung her long hair from side to side. “Shut up. I’m gorgeous.”

  Iris decided to assert her decision, color be damned. “Anyway. I don’t care. Our baby will be beautiful, whatever color it turns out to be.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Mommy?

  Iris ignored her as-yet-unborn son’s call for her attention as she watched Nicholas handle the ball with skill.

  Mommy?

  “What is it, sweetheart?” the teenage Iris said to nobody in particular.

  “Iris?” Jade asked. “Who are you talking to?”

  She tilted her head to the clouds with the intention of answering the call. “My son. Be quiet. What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  I can’t sleep. Can I come into bed with you and Dad?

  ***

  Iris sat up in bed and held out her arms. “Sammy?”

  The little voice came from behind the locked bedroom door.

  “Mom, I’m scared. I want to come and sleep with you and Dad.”

  Iris lowered her hands and frowned. “I can’t open the door, sweetheart. Daddy’s locked it.”

  “Okay.”

  She turned to the edge of the carpet for the briefest of moments, and then back to the door. “Sammy?”

  “Yes, Mom?”

  “Just go back to bed. I don’t want to wake Daddy.”

  The creaking floorboards indicated that her son had accepted the answer and made his way back to his room.

  Iris turned to the beside clock - 10:00 pm. For a Friday night, the Goddard family hit the sack remarkably early. It was worth it for the bright morning sunshine that most never enjoyed during the start of the weekend, on account of partying all night long.

  The second thing she noticed was an email from someone named Joy. The subject line simply read: Details.

  Iris lifted her left hand and grabbed the sharpie from the surface of the desk and scribbled down the necessary part of the message - 706 T3.

  She replaced the sharpie and took a deep breath.

  Then, she drifted off in her husband’s arms...

  Chapter 5

  The digital alarm clock snapped to 10:30 pm.

  It didn’t make a noise when the twenty-ninth minute changed over but, in Iris’s head, it was louder than a nuclear explosion.

  Her eyelids blasted open, though her body didn’t move an inch. She stared at the ceiling as if laying eyes on a long-lost family she hadn’t seen in years.

  The streaks circular patterns carved into the ceiling appeared to swirl around for the briefest of moments.

  Iris, the green-eyed woman, was now gray-eyed.

  A symbol that she was still very much asleep.

  Her head turned to the left.

  Nicholas was fast asleep, his left arm tucked under his pillow to provide comfort for his head. Eyes closed, and with a soft pace to his breathing, he looked at peace.

  Iris turned her face to the ceiling and gripped the top of the covers in both hands.

  The fabric bunched into her palms as the sheet rolled down her front. Her pale green nightgown crumpled from her warm entombment, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up straight.

  Breathe… breathe…

  Did Iris know what she was doing?

  Tonight was no different from any other night. So silent was she in her actions that nobody would have noticed her moving around.

  She never even blinked.

  Her only focus was the bedroom door handle. A tiny, jagged slit on the surface of the bulbous object glinted at her. The shaft of light came from the street lamp outside.

  Beckoning her… begging her to try…

  Her gown unfurled down the length of her soft, lean legs and hung around her shins as she took two steps closer to the door handle.

  A muddied array of thoughts revolved around her head like a pair of sneakers in a washing machine.

  The bedroom door was locked.

  As her husband promised, the bedpan remained at the side of the bed.

  Instinctively, and with little thought, she turned 180 degrees and, once again, took the opportunity to survey her sleeping husband.

  Oh, how he’d been so careless earlier that day. Not that she’d thought these exact words. It more resembled a feeling. A feeling of disappointment in him. Nicholas been careless in trying to protect her from herself.

  He could have tried harder. The least he could have done was make more of an effort to conceal his deception.

  The frayed edge of the carpet by the bedpan lifted up in her fingers. A small, metal key greeted her underneath the rubbery surface

  She picked it up in her right hand and released the fabric in her left.

  And then…

  Click.

  The door unlocked. A gentle application of pressure to the handle opened the door. With the key still in the hole, the tail of her nightgown was the last part of her to leave the room as the door closed behind her…

  The upper landing.

  Sammy’s bedroom door lay at the far end of the corridor, slightly ajar.

  Iris stood perfectly still and stared dead ahead. The light from the electric lamp plugged into the wall flooded across her legs, casting a peculiar prison-bar shadow across the carpet.

  She took a step forward with her bare right foot, then her left.

  The landing threatened to creak under her weight, but the sound was minimal.

  The stairs were next.

  Iris seemed to glide down them as she made her descent. She didn’t need the handrails. Her sole focus was the front door a few feet away from the last step.

  One foot after the other, carefully, slowly… she reached the front door and placed her palm on the handle.

  Leaving her loved-ones behind.

  There was no going back…

  ***

  A warm Friday evening lay on the other side of the door, ready for Iris.

  Apart from the parked cars and the gentle rustling in the trees, the suburban street was typically uneventful. As Iris made her way up the garden path she saw the scattered bedroom lights from some of the homes opposite hers.

  Residents on her street were awake tonight.

  Some might have been children in their bedrooms playing video games. Fewer still were the front room lights. Adults watching the television, or otherwise ignoring their partners as they busied themselves with their smart phones.

  Her bare soles didn’t register just how cold the ground was. The odd stone cocooned into her skin as she moved up the garden path, but they weren’t big enough to cause much discomfort.

  The way Iris was moving, anyone would swear they knew what she had in mind. She knew where she was going, although she wasn’t conscious of it. That’s what it looked like to precisely no one who saw her leave the house.

  It wasn’t long before she traipsed along the sidewalk with a determination in her eyes. Nothing seemed to perturb her.

>   Not the dog walker who avoided eye contact as he and Iris moved past one another. In any ordinary situation, the sight of a black woman walking the streets in nothing but her nightgown might have elicited a weird response.

  But tonight was no ordinary situation.

  Iris picked up the pace, evolving to the most brisk of walks. She ran her hands up her arms for comfort, refusing to look anywhere other than the path dead ahead.

  The path that would take her to the hustle and bustle of Chrome Valley’s booming nightlife…

  ***

  The central road that split the Valley into east and west was a necessary part of her journey, it seemed.

  The catcalls from passing drivers failed to get a response from Iris as she made her way closer to the stacked buildings.

  A distant echo of thunderous hip hop music filled the cool night air.

  One car adjusted its speed to trail alongside her. The driver, a man with long dreadlocks flowing down his back, rolled down the window and twisted his left hand to catch the passenger sitting next to him.

  “Yo, check this broad out,” the driver said as he beeped his car horn at Iris, who kept on walking and ignoring the announcement.

  “Bitch is outta her Goddamn mind,” the passenger said as he assessed the strange woman floating up the sidewalk.

  “Yo,” the driver called after Iris, “What y’all doin’ out here dressed like that, boo?”

  Iris continued walking as if the car and its occupiers didn’t exist.

  Angered by the lack of acknowledgment, the driver beeped his car horn to get her attention and roared the gas pedal, “Yo, I’m talkin’ to you. What you doin’ out here alone, lady?”

  Still Iris didn’t respond.

  She continued walking, the sound of gravel crunching away beneath her bare feet.

  “Man, ask her where’s she goin’?” the passenger said. “Maybe we can give her a ride.”

  The driver licked his lips and chuckled to himself, “Man, with child-bearin’ hips like that, I’mma give her a ride myself, you know what I’m sayin’?”