Wakers: Sayonara Sleep

by Michaela Hoffman

  “I almost killed him,” I said, shaking my head.

  “He challenged you, and you defended yourself,” Ceph reasoned, tentacles busy with salve application. “That was the purpose of your training, was it not?”

  On the way back to the castle, I found our creature escort by the docks. At the sight of me, green spots appeared on its white body. The spots started shimmering as its tail lapped the water. I went over and stroked its neck.

  “Her name is Ploos.” The Czar was sitting on the landing, camouflaged by night. He carefully rose to his feet and approached us. Ploos affectionately pressed her head into his gloves.

  I laughed in disbelief. “No way. You have a pet dragon?”

  “Dragon? She’s a sea slug.” Now that was beyond adorable. I stood on tiptoe to pet her slick tail. The Czar cleared his throat. “I heard about what happened,” he said. “You could have bargained with me for his life.” I took a moment to process this.

  “Saving his life was kind of the priority.” I turned to him, arms crossed. “Listen, even if my monitor was shut off, I wouldn’t do something like that.” After a beat, the Czar walked away from me and went over to the beach area.

  He scooped up a rock, tossed it into the air, and caught it. “Let’s try something new for our lesson today,” he said. “Instead of building stamina, I want you to focus on intensity.” He handed me the rock. “You can transfer light to anything you’ve touched. Make it blaze brightly.” He took the rock from me and pitched it across the ocean. Ploos chased after it playfully. Meanwhile, I followed the stone with my gaze and focused.

  The little pellet lit up like a falling star and plopped into the water. Ploos fanned out her feathery appendages. The Czar dropped a dozen or so rocks into my hands, and then threw three or four of them together over Ploos’ head. After I set them all aglow, she swam in circles under the little light show. Then by accident, I illuminated Ploos’ tail. Alarmed, and purring loudly, she kept slapping it in the water. The Czar and I were getting splashed mercilessly from the shore.

  Beside me, he was laughing. The sound was light and soft, much like the smile on his face. I almost didn’t recognize him. Mid-laugh, he winced and held onto his stomach. He kept me away with a raised glove.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “I just… had a rough time on my boat.” That’s right, the raid. I guess my oar did a number on him. That was a good thing, right? He was the villain.

  But a moment ago, he was something different.

  ***

  Chapter 16

  Jax and I climbed familiar trees to make it over the Falconbridge fence. We landed in the backyard. I half expected a beastly dog to come for us. But no, the only noise was leaves crunching underfoot. For a few moments, I pictured ghosts of our younger selves running around this place, watching chess matches on tiptoe or watering the gardens. It made eighteen years seem like yesterday.

  Near the building, Jax nudged me forward. I felt around for the secret door panel and pushed in. This place was an old mansion, donated by a wealthy businessman after his passing. It was rife with hideout rooms and passageways; so much of our childhood was spent exploring them. Jax and I slid into the passage and closed the door behind us. We wound up under the laundry room floor. Jax peeked out a few times and then said the coast was clear. So we crawled out from the tile space.

  Bru’s room was up one floor. There was one hidden room beside the stairwell, but the patients knew well enough to look there if one was suspicious. Jax placed a laundry basket in my arms and loaded me up with clean linen. The height of it occluded my face. Then he did the same for himself, and we walked into the hallway. The patients passed us, talking to one another or amongst themselves, without notice. We were halfway up the staircase when I heard a familiar voice. It was my dad’s old supervisor. Half of my towels spilled out on the steps. Uh oh, pistachios.

  As I was picking them up, a lab coat swayed by my knee. “That’s a large load of laundry,” he observed. “Miss?”

  “Cordelia.” Another person stooped down beside me, hands over my shoulders. “Doctor, this is the cousin of a new patient. She’s helping me with laundry.”

  “How cordial,” he said. “Well, if she comes again, remind her to see me for a visitor’s badge.”

  “Yes, sir.” And the person led me upstairs, Jax in tow with his basket. Bru shut us in her room, looking at me and Jax like we were the resurrected dead. She approached Jax and touched his face. Despite the differences, they were still clearly twins. Jax didn’t seem surprised by the gender shift. He initiated their hug.

  “What are you two doing here?” Bru asked. Then, with heat in her words: “The doctors would have… ” I stepped forward.

  “What exactly would they do?” I asked. “Bru, what did they do?”

  Jax stood between us. “Lava just wanted to visit you,” he said. “We’re not here to cause trouble.”

  “Bru,” I removed the ballcap from my bag and placed it on my head.

  Her eyes widened. “You were the interviewer.”

  “And you were lying,” I said quietly. “You all were. Why?”

  Bru backed up to the wall and held her torso. Her words trembled. “I-if we talk, they’ll separate us,” she said. “Our family.” I glanced at her wrist and held it up. There was a white flower tattoo. When I pulled back my sleeve to show her mine, Bru started to cry.

  Jax drew me away with force, anger straddling his features. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”

  But I wouldn’t budge. Tears were welling up in my eyes too. “Bru, Aza was like us too. Wasn’t she?” After a pause, she lowered beside the bed and pulled out a box. From its bottommost contents, she unearthed a thick journal, then held it out to me.

  “Dr. D will explain what happened,” she said. “In here.” When I took it, her crying intensified. “I was always… too afraid to finish it.” I knelt down beside her and we cried together. After all these years, the pain didn’t hurt any less. Loss. Separation. Loneliness. Why did these childhood feelings stick to us? Jax sat on the bed with head lowered, a hand on Bru’s back. I knew he wouldn’t react well to this. I knew he’d try to stop me. But now, maybe, he would see value in exploring our pasts.

  Jax walked me home in silence. The sun was setting and the horizon was a dull orange. I held my duffel bag against my hip, feeling the contours of Dad’s journal inside it. “I thought this didn’t matter to you,” he finally said. “That, no matter what happened, they were still gone?” I closed my eyes and sighed. Yes, I did say those things. But I felt different now. Not so useless in the situation. For the first time in a while, I was hopeful that I could be helpful.

  “Jax, relax,” I said, yawning loudly. “This is for my personal knowledge. And now that I have the journal, there’s no reason to go back.” The tension in his shoulders eased up, as expected.

  “Promise you won’t go back there,” He said, holding out his hand. I clasped it.

  “Only if you promise that you will. For Bru.”

  I walked through the door while Uncle Mason shuffled into the kitchen. He eyed me as he filled up a glass of water. “Curious case today Lava,” he said. “During my evening nap, my tracker app deactivated.”

  I hid a smile while hanging up my coat. “I guess you’ll just have to ask me where I’ve been,” I said. “As old fashioned as it may be.” He took another sip as I grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl. We stood there together for a moment, but he didn’t say another word. And neither did I.

  Our secrets spoke for us.

  ***

  I slipped out of my chambers and ducked behind an opaque statue near the study. Several Seawall guards walked past me. None particularly verbose, unfortunately. That’s what I needed right now: an information leak about the Bound Wakers. To go on a blind scavenger hunt was not a wise strategic move at this point, especially given the size of this place.

  Then two amazons passed me, one appearing distressed. I quietly followed them at a distance until
they entered a butler-pantry sort of room near the kitchen. Waiting outside of the entryway, I listened to them.

  “Please go in my place,” one begged the other. “I’ll take reassignment to any other post except there.” Plates clattered and cupboard doors opened and shut.

  “Their numbers are growing,” the other responded. “Sooner or later, we will all need to guard them.”

  “Please,” the first pressed shakily. “They’re monsters.” My interest piqued.

  “Fine,” the other relented. “If the Czar approves, I’ll take the South Tower assignment.”

  Queen Piria zipped by my ear and landed on my shoulder. This was my cue to head back for training. I told her what I had heard, and asked if she could help me locate the tower. She was going to ask the others, and come back after my training.

  Nez was out of commission for the next few nights. To heal from his injuries. Ceph said he was convalescing in the palace instead of the temple now. And that I couldn’t visit him. Instead of combat training, I would have two light training sessions with the Czar. I began one Awakening by squatting beside a pile of driftwood. My thighs were going numb.

  “Nothing’s happening,” I said to the Czar. “And the staring match has lasted for at least ten minutes.” He was standing a few feet away, feeding Ploos beached algae. Her green spots shimmered.

  “Because you’re thinking about something else,” he said, walking towards me. I took the hand he offered and rose to my feet. With a sigh, the Czar turned me around to face the driftwood. “Focus on what’s in front of you,” he said in my ear. My arm was guided up to shoulder level by his hand. He was right. My mind was still in Reality. I had to relax and concentrate.

  The driftwood began sparking, and then finally broke out into a mini fire. Mission accomplished: I ignited something I had touched. My light was producing enough heat energy to do this now. Thrilled, I rounded on the Czar and raised my hand. However this was another gesture that seemed to confuse him. To save time, I lifted his arm and clapped his glove. He half-smiled and shook his head.

  “Tell me the memory you used,” he said. “I think it’s one of your strongest ones.” It was a strong memory; and one that I had almost forgotten:

  There were times when Bruce would stay in his room for days. I’d sit with my back against his door, reminding him that the plants were waiting to be watered. And that lunch was ready. And that the residents were playing badminton in the courtyard. However nothing I said prompted him to come out. My father told me that Bruce was physically sick in his mind. And that his body needed time to rest. I found this to be a chilly response, and one day, full of frustration, I yelled at him in his office.

  “You’re a doctor,” I shouted. “Your job is to cure him. Why haven’t you fixed him yet?”

  In my rage, I felt volcanic. Big and powerful. But at the sight of my father’s dejected expression, my words seemed simply destructive, polluting the air with verbal-ash.

  “Oh Lava,” he said, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. When I did not acquiesce, he lifted me into his lap and lowered his chin onto my hairbow. “Lava, doctors don’t fix people.”

  “Then what are they good for?” I pouted, sniffing back tears. The documents that cluttered his desk were piled and marked with highlighters and sticky-notes. I pushed over the largest stack and they fluttered to the floor like bleached autumn leaves.

  I wanted him to get mad, to fill the room with noise and chaos. Anything, I just needed another feeling that would distract me from this helplessness. But that was not my father, Doctor D. His ways were always different. Maverick in talents and temperament. He raised a hand, in a way, admiring the floating paper.

  “My job,” he whispered, “is to help people accept who they are, and become who they want to be.” Later that evening, I packed up my things to leave for home. Before heading to my father’s office, I detoured into the residency area to say goodbye to Bruce. His door was closed, like usual, but I could hear voices from within. And gentle crying. One voice was my father’s. I knelt down and pressed an ear to the door.

  “I wish I could be like you,” Bruce sobbed. “I hate being different.” My father, in all his tenderness and compassion, occupied every comfort space in these situations. It was like a spell. Even beyond the boundary of the room, I felt the warmth in his words.

  “We’re the same,” he said. “On the inside, don’t we all fear something? Love something? Stand for something? Look past what your eyes see… I may have no way of understanding the extent of how you feel, but I too…feel.” He paused, and I could hear Bruce’s sniffles quieting. “You see Bruce, that binds us together.”

  In Nightworld, recounting such memories almost took me back to them. It was a vivid recall that I couldn’t replicate in Reality. Back then, I truly believed my father was their charge of courage, an unprescribed medicine that the patients needed. He just had a way of making Reality more bearable somehow. The Czar was watching the waves lap up on the shore.

  “Do you believe that?” He finally said. “That all people are the same?” I gathered a few rocks from the beach and threw them across the water. With one thought, I scorched them all.

  “We’re the same,” I clarified with a laugh. “Me and you.” It felt like my father’s voice resonated with mine when I said this. The sensation gave me goosebumps. Ploos brought me back from my thoughts with a cheek nudge. The Czar was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t untangle. Was it sadness? Hopefulness? Fear? That blasted mask, it kept him so far away, so well hidden. But even I was guilty of hiding things. Especially on the Other Side. Was I, too, frustrating others who wanted more from me?

  Queen Piria arrived when I was comfortable in bed. She laid beside me on the pillow, carrying a small aqua colored jewel. “The Enzlo Gem,” she said. “The Earth Earl zays it will help zou find thiz tower.” I rubbed its smooth surfaces. “Hakim is also zending zou zomething. Zeph will give it to zou on zour next Awakening.” She flew up and kissed my forehead. Her beating wings tickled my skin. “Remember, we are proud of zou.”

  ***

  Chapter 17

  Research Notes, Darian Darkus PhD 20XX

  H/O: Can a refuge reality impact the psychosocial health of individuals with mental illness?

  In my referenced studies (1, 48, 85, 62), the LAZA-2 growth factor has precipitated extra lobar growth in the lateral prefrontal cortex when using human cultures. At present, several high profile publications (12, 17, 32, 98) link the lateral prefrontal cortex with conscious awareness and reality perception. To extrapolate on these findings, my research team has begun human trials at two local facilities. 72 subjects, between the ages of 16-54, have orally ingested 500 mg of salvia rosmarinus (common name rosemary). Prior to consumption, this researcher used genetic modification to alter rosemary seeds with LAZA-2…

  There was a knock on my stall door. “Lava? Are you okay?” It was Clover.

  I quietly shut my dad’s journal and flushed the toilet. “I’m not feeling so great,” I said. “Think I’ll head home when I get out of here.”

  “If you’re this sick, we have to call your uncles to—”

  I flushed the toilet again and moaned. “Clover, please just go back to class. Don’t worry— I can take care of myself.” Without another word, Clover slowly walked out of the bathroom. I opened up Dad’s journal again, skipping down to his methods description.

  The team has engineered Cumulus, an internet cloud that houses the refuge reality. Our subjects have access to this reality post sync with the computer motherboard.

  He went on and on about the technicalities. I barely understood any of it. But for the dozen or so pages after, my father delineated Nightworld. He described the territories, hierarchies, and special abilities. There were even sketches. According to Dad’s design, the super-abilities were powered by positive memories so that Wakers could develop coping strategies in Reality.

  I had to sit back for a few minutes to digest all of this. So my f
ather created Nightworld. Cumulus served as the port, and LAZA-2 the delivery boat. Without LAZA-2 inciting neural modification, Nightworld would be inaccessible to people. Instead, it would merely exist within an internet oblivion, the uninhabited paradise of darkness. A respite reality for mental health patients? What a crazy concept. Leave it to Dad to come up with such a radical treatment approach. And how did Aza and I get tangled up in this?

  After reading these sections, I had a radical idea of my own. If the Wakers at one facility were being gagged, all I had to do was talk to Wakers from the “second” facility. Unfortunately, the internet was useless for gleaning any useful information. All of the pertinent articles somehow no longer existed. This was getting seedier than a pomegranate. I solicited the help of Mauricio and Clover for more detective work.