If Souls Can Sleep (The Soul Sleep Cycle Book 1)

by David Michael Williams

  Shut up, Vincent! Shut up!

  Pause. “Her research?”

  “Oh, right, she has a condition…rapid-eye something or other. She acts out her dreams sometimes. She’s been studying it for a long time.”

  Boden and the tall man shared a look.

  “What about her study concerning you, Vincent?”

  Vincent laughed nervously. “Me? We don’t really know what’s wrong with me. I have this reoccurring dream where I’m a warrior named Valenthor, and there’s an elf woman who wants me to save her homeland, and a we’re traveling with a guy in a mask to save my…to save Valenthor’s…daughter.”

  Vincent smiled in spite of himself.

  What do you think about that, you Matrix rejects?

  For once, Boden didn’t miss a beat. “Do you recognize anyone from the real world in that dream?”

  “No.”

  “What about the man in the mask?”

  “How should I know? He wears a mask!”

  For the first time, Boden seemed to lose his composure. His jaw tightened, and his mouth formed a tight frown. The lights in the apartment flickered, and Vincent swore the walls shook.

  “Locke can kill knights with a big stick and use magic to hide from the giants,” Vincent said quickly. “That’s all I know!”

  Pause. “Tell me about the giants,” Boden pressed, sounding and looking calmer.

  Vincent was about to reply when a woman joined the tall man near in the doorway—the owner of the other voice Vincent had heard coming from the kitchen. She matched her accomplices in that she also wore a trench coat. But her bright blue hair, black lipstick and spiky choker made her look badass in a very different way.

  “Why don’t you just cut the crap, Vinny, and tell us who has Borr?” she asked.

  “Syn, return to your post!” Boden ordered, though he never took his eyes off of Vincent.

  The woman rolled her eyes. Before she disappeared back into the kitchen, she snapped her teeth at Vincent, as though she would have gladly taken a bite out of his jugular if Boden hadn’t been holding her leash.

  Once the woman—Syn?—was gone, Boden moved to Jerry’s recliner and sat down. “The giants?” he prodded.

  Vincent shook his head. “I haven’t seen any yet. Locke calls them the Jötunn.” The tall man shifted. Or was it a flinch? “Supposedly, they raided Valenthor’s homeland and killed his wife and daughter.”

  For a moment, everyone was silent. Boden’s gray-green eyes bore into Vincent. It was as though he were looking directly into Vincent’s mind, searching for the truth, for signs of treachery.

  “Hey, guys, something is happening in here!” The woman’s voice sounded farther away, as though she were calling from the bathroom.

  Boden stood up. “Heimdall—”

  “I’m on it.” The tall man left the doorway.

  All of the lights blinked on and off, and the whole apartment began to shake. Vincent clenched the couch cushion, his hands covered in goosebumps.

  What the hell is going on?

  “Vincent, listen carefully to this question,” Boden said. “Do you know who DJ is?”

  Elsewhere in the apartment, Syn swore and yelled something about a bathtub. He heard another voice, then, one that sounded like a little girl’s. Vincent jumped to his feet, his curiosity overpowering his fear.

  “Who is DJ?” Boden asked again, rising from the recliner and grabbing hold of Vincent’s arm as he tried to run past him.

  “I don’t know anyone named—” Vincent stopped struggling.

  Does he mean Daniel? Some of his friends used to call him DJ.

  The sound of splashing brought his attention back to the present.

  “She just appeared in the tub,” he heard Syn say. She was standing in the kitchen just out of sight. “At first I thought she was dead, but—”

  Vincent gave Boden a shove, knocking him against the speaker and sending the lava lamp crashing to the floor. He burst into the kitchen. The tall man stood with his back to the front door, but Vincent immediately forgot about him when he saw what the woman was holding in her arms.

  A steady stream of water droplets pattered against the hardwood floor, falling from the arms, legs, and pigtails of a little girl in a soaked pink nightgown. Clementine lifted her head and smiled at him.

  Vincent ran forward, reached out for her. Darkness claimed him.

  ***

  Valenthor stared into the darkness, searching for whatever had startled him out of a light sleep. A warrior’s sleep. Muscles tense, he strained his senses and waited. Was someone out there, or had he been dreaming?

  I was dreaming…of Valentine…

  Above, a thick cover of clouds smothered out the starlight. He could make out Destiny’s silhouette lying on the ground nearby, though not as near him as on previous nights. The elf had said almost nothing to him since their argument at the cave. As he watched her sleep, looking so innocent and fragile, he wondered how he ever could have sided with Locke against her.

  Valenthor scanned their small camp but found no sign of the man in the mask. Perhaps he was out walking a wide perimeter, keeping watch for knights, giants, and any other threat the Wild Lands could throw at them.

  But why would Locke venture out alone after he had gone to such pains to weave enchantments of protection around us?

  Something felt wrong, and Valenthor, the veteran of many battles, had learned long ago to trust his gut. Hammer in hand, he walked toward the trees surrounding the clearing. He cast a look back at Destiny, who stirred beneath the deerskin blanket and murmured something in either the elfish tongue or the senseless language of slumber. He pressed onward.

  If an enemy were lurking out there, he would confront it head on.

  After several minutes of searching the woods, Valenthor heard the murmur of voices. With as much stealth as he could muster, he crept toward the dim, red-tinged light, taking cover behind the wide trunk of an oak.

  Several yards away stood a man with his back to Valenthor. There was no mistaking the threadbare cloak and cowl, the gnarled quarterstaff. Locke leaned on the stick, leisurely, clearly at ease.

  “By my measure, a fortnight will pass before our arrival…mayhap less if we do not run afoul of milady’s Jötunn patrols,” Locke said.

  The woman’s voice was at once honey-smooth and as raspy as a swarm of bees, like two tongues speaking from the same mouth. “Are you certain the Chosen One will follow you?”

  From his vantage, Valenthor could not see the woman, though she appeared to be the source of the uncanny crimson light that had led him to their clandestine meeting. Surely, she was a witch—a witch who commanded the Jötunn.

  Small wonder Locke knew so much about Valentine’s curse. He has been in league with the sorceress from the start!

  Locke scoffed. “Valenthor has seen his daughter. He and the elf will come.”

  A fire raged inside Valenthor’s body. He gripped the hammer tighter. With all of his being, he longed to charge forth and slay the treacherous Locke and the demon woman who had stolen his daughter from him. Yet he knew he was no match for the two of them.

  If I am to save Valentine, I must bide my time.

  “You had best not be mistaken,” said the woman with two voices. “Without the elf and her champion, the prophecy will go unfulfilled.”

  Valenthor watched as the scarlet light faded. Locke performed a bow in the direction of where the woman had been, turned, and started back toward the campsite. As Locke passed by the oak, Valenthor dropped the hammer and lunged at him, landing on top of him and provoking a groan from behind the mask. The quarterstaff clattered a couple of feet away.

  “Traitor!” Valenthor cried.

  Locke squirmed, but Valenthor pressed the man’s arms against his body and planted a knee firmly in his abdomen.

  “Most unfortunate timing,” Locke wheezed. “Not that it could have been prevented.”

  “Who was that woman?” Valenthor demanded. “Is she the o
ne who placed the hex upon my daughter?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Valenthor slammed a fist into Locke’s stomach. After he stopped gasping for breath, Locke said, “Events beyond your understanding are unfolding, but if you trust me—”

  “Trust you? I do not even know you!”

  Scoff. “Whom do you trust, Valenthor? The giants plot. The gods scheme. The Ancestors drift through eternity, awaiting the call to arms for the Final Battle. But only I can reunite you with your daughter.”

  “You have allied yourself with the very witch who cursed Valentine!”

  “Not Valentine,” Locke said, “Clementine.”

  Vincent recoiled as his memories came flooding back.

  Clementine! I was just with her…before The Dream pulled me in!

  Vincent tore off Locke’s mask. Daniel Joseph Pierce smiled back.

  “You?”

  “Surprise,” Daniel said, smiling crookedly. “This wasn’t how I thought things would turn out, but I suppose it can’t be helped. It’s better that you’re here than with Odin.”

  Odin? Does he mean Boden? Wait a second…

  “You’re the one Boden is looking for!” Vincent snarled. “You’re the reason he and his henchmen broke into the apartment!”

  “Odin and his friends are bad news, Vincent. They are very powerful, and they’re dangerous. That’s why I had to get you out of there, though I’m not proud of how I managed to do it.”

  Vincent gasped. “You pulled me into The Dream?”

  “Guilty as charged. Sorry to have to bring Clemmy into it. I was desperate. We’re just lucky Odin and the others didn’t follow us.”

  Even though he was the one pushing all of his weight onto Daniel, Vincent found it difficult to breathe. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Clementine was there…alive!”

  For a moment, Daniel’s expression explored unfamiliar territory: sympathy.

  “That wasn’t really your apartment, Vince. It was just another dream. And that wasn’t Clementine either. I had to disguise myself as her. It was the only way I could guarantee that you would end up back here with me.”

  So Clementine is the trigger for The Dream.

  “Odin and his lackeys have the ability invade people’s dreams,” Daniel said. “I’m not sure how they found you, but they’re sure to come back, and when they do, I won’t be able to help you. So it’s very important—”

  “It’s always been you, hasn’t it?” Vincent demanded. “You are the reason I started having The Dream in the first place.”

  “Yes and no.”

  Vincent’s mind flashed back to when they were kids. While Vincent had never been a bully, he had occasionally found himself in the same position, pinning Danny to the floor while trying to force a confession out of him.

  Vincent stared hard into Daniel’s bright blue eyes. Their childhood arguments had always ended a stalemate. Daniel would say only what he was ready to say. Finally, Vincent relaxed his grip, and the two brothers stood up.

  “Please just tell me what’s going on, Danny.”

  Daniel brushed at the wrinkles on his cloak. “It’s a long, complicated story, and we don’t have a lot of time.”

  “How are you even doing this?” Vincent asked. “You’re in a coma!”

  The sarcastic smile returned. “Always sleeping, always dreaming. Guess that’s why I was chosen.”

  “Chosen? What are you talking about? And why does Boden call you DJ?”

  Daniel sighed. “The less you know about that, the better.”

  Vincent took a step forward but stopped himself from throttling Daniel. “Only you could manage to find trouble while in a coma. But, you know, I don’t even care what you’ve gotten yourself into. All I want is for The Dream…for Valenthor’s world…to disappear. Forever.”

  Daniel kicked absently at the quarterstaff, which lay on the ground between them. “Can’t do it, big brother. We all have our part to play, and I have orders to follow.”

  “Whose orders?”

  “You could say I made a deal with devil.” Daniel looked up, met Vincent’s eyes. “But I’ve learned my lesson. I’m going to find a way to make it right. You just have to trust me.”

  “Ah, but I know you, Danny. Your Mr. Nice Guy act might fool Mom…” Vincent inhaled suddenly as a realization struck him. “If you can trick me into thinking you’re Clementine, it wouldn’t be too hard to convince Mom you’re an angel.”

  Daniel looked away. “This is bigger than our family. If Odin has found you, then everyone will be watching you. Valenthor and Locke have to go their separate ways for a while. They’re estranged brothers too, you know. Just like our old comic books.”

  Vincent’s expression must have conveyed his confusion because Daniel said, “Don’t you get it yet? Valenthor and Locke. Thor and Loki.”

  “You’ve lost your mind,” Vincent said.

  Scoff. “But isn’t it nice to know you aren’t losing yours?” Daniel’s grin vanished. “I am sorry about pretending to be Clementine. I promise you’ll get a chance to see her again. You just have to trust me.”

  “You keep Clementine out of this!”

  Vincent reached for his brother, but Daniel was quicker. He kicked out his foot, and the staff seemed to jump up into his waiting hands. Vincent stumbled back.

  “And if worse comes to worst,” Daniel said, “we’ll both have front-row seats for the end of the world.”

  The staff became a blur as it struck the side of Vincent’s head with a loud crack.

  Chapter 23

  Vincent rolled off the couch and crashed to the floor. He curled into a ball, shielding his head from another strike. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes, half expecting to find Locke, staff in hand, standing in the middle of his living room.

  Not Locke. Daniel!

  His head throbbed fiercely—and not just where the staff had hit him. His stomach rumbled ominously. He must have had worse hangovers, but none came to mind. The next several minutes were measured by the steady throbbing between his temples.

  He slung an arm slung across his eyes in an attempt to block out the morning light, tried not to think about anything at all. His plan was foiled, however, when his insides suddenly rebelled, and he was forced to make a run for the bathroom.

  With no food in his stomach, it didn’t take long for the dry heaves to run their course. He splashed water on his face and returned to the living room, stopping when he spotted the lava lamp standing, undamaged, on the speaker by the recliner.

  Boden and his people were never here. Neither was Clementine. It was just another damn dream.

  The relentless pounding in his skull made it difficult to sort out which events had happened while he was awake and which had occurred while asleep. The last thing he remembered happening to him in the real world was the argument with Jerry. Then there had been a phone call from Boden too, but he wasn’t sure that that actually had happened.

  Vincent replayed Leah’s message.

  “Hey, Vincent. It’s Leah. I wanted to check in…again…and, well, I’m probably overreacting, but I just had a very strange conversation. I was trying to reach a professor who has done research on various sleep phenomena, but a man named Boden called back. He was fishing for information. I didn’t tell him anything about you, but…I don’t know…he gave me the creeps. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about…just…be careful, I guess. Anyway, I’m on my way to this family thing, but I’ll have my phone. Please give me a call when you get this.”

  Vincent frowned.

  That would explain why I had a nightmare about Boden.

  He tried to remember what he and Boden had talked about on the phone, just in case it had really happened. He came up with nothing. But details from Boden’s dream visit were crystal clear.

  Daniel said Boden and his friends can enter dreams. If they did actually come to me in my dream, it was because they were looking for Daniel…only Boden called him DJ for some reason.
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  But how can any of this be possible?

  The bottle of whiskey sat next to the answering machine. The repulsive tang of its contents filled his nostrils. Vincent gagged, but nothing came up.

  I’m going nuts. That’s the only rational explanation.

  He grabbed the whiskey bottle by its neck and looked around for the cap. His search took him to Jerry’s bedroom door. He knocked. Jerry deserved an apology for the awful things he had said. But what Vincent needed more than forgiveness was a genuine conversation with a living, breathing human being.

  I’ll even tell you about the latest twist in The Dream so you can update The Master of All Things Fantasy.

  Vincent knocked again. No answer.

  The bottle was halfway to his mouth before he caught himself. He set it down and picked up the phone. A primal impulse to call his mother came over him, but he dialed a different number instead.

  After three rings, Leah’s voice informed him that she was unable to answer the phone and invited him to leave a message after the tone.

  “Damn it…uh, sorry, this is Vincent. Something happened last night. Boden called…at least I think so…and I had The Dream again. Daniel…my brother…” He sighed. “It’s complicated. I just need to talk to you, Leah. I think something really bad is happening to me. I…I…”

  He hung up. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed the opening of the bottle against his teeth and swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. It stayed down.

  What if Danny isn’t dead? What if he really did pretend to be angel so Mom would keep him on life support? But why would he invent Valenthor and Locke and Destiny? Unless he’s playing make-believe because he has nothing better to do.

  Vincent took another drink of whiskey.

  No, Daniel always has a reason. He’s always been a schemer, and if he somehow got superpowers…if he really can go into people’s dreams…then he’d find a way to profit from it.

  Unless he’s the one who’s lost his mind.