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

by David Michael Williams

  Vincent had only a moment to puzzle over the stranger’s presence before his mother lunged forward, snatched up his hands, and started to cry. She asked if he was OK, and he nodded, not knowing what else he could or should say.

  After another few seconds, she asked, “Vincent, what is going on?”

  “I wish I knew,” he muttered.

  She released his hands and gave him a look so severe it transported him back to his childhood. For the most part, Vincent had followed the rules, but he had earned a scolding or two throughout the years—usually after Daniel talked him into going along with one of his allegedly foolproof schemes.

  “You need to tell me the truth,” Evangeline said. “Did you go the hospital to hurt your brother?”

  “No.”

  “Then why were you there?” she asked.

  Vincent shrugged, unable to meet her eye. He took the cup and raised it to his lips, greedily swallowing the lukewarm water.

  “I know you think Daniel is already gone,” she said, “but whether or not he stays in the hospital has never been your decision to make. I have faith—”

  Vincent laughed before he could stop himself.

  “Yes, faith,” she continued. Her expression softened. “I know you’re angry, Vincent, but punishing Daniel is not going to change anything. You know that, right?”

  Vincent’s thoughts flashed to the night of the sleep study, the one time Daniel had appeared as himself in one of Vincent’s dreams.

  “I get it,” Daniel had said, “You want to kill me because it’ll kill Mom.”

  That might have been true once, but not anymore. Now I want to protect Mom…from you.

  “You can be so blind sometimes, Mom.”

  She sat back and crossed her arms. “Daniel is not dead.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Vincent said, “but since you brought it up, what in the hell makes you think God…or his angels, for that matter…would want Daniel to stick around? He’s a murderer!”

  Evangeline glanced nervously at the big, two-way mirror on the wall next to them. “Vincent—”

  “You’ve never been able to accept Daniel for what he is…a failure and a menace to society.” His voice was getting louder, but he didn’t care. “You always told yourself he fell in with the wrong crowd, that his friends were bad influences. Well, Mom, I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Daniel was the bad influence.”

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving a glistening trail behind. “Everyone deserves the chance to be forgiven,” she said. “Even you, Vincent.”

  He rolled his eyes.

  She’ll never be able to see him as anything other than her charming little Danny.

  “I hope you never have to learn how wrong you are about him,” he said softly.

  Evangeline took a big breath. “If you say you didn’t go to the hospital to hurt Daniel, then I believe you. But you need help, Vincent. I can put you in touch with a counselor from my church—”

  Vincent groaned.

  “Fine,” she said. “I don’t care who you talk to. That doctor lady you’ve been seeing is here too. Since you obviously aren’t comfortable telling your own mother what’s wrong with you—”

  “What’s wrong with me?” The harsh laughter gushed up from somewhere deep inside of him. “OK, Mom, you win. Where would you like me to begin? How about the fact that when I dream, I’m really awake? Or that I lost my job because whatever the hell is wrong with me acts a lot like narcolepsy? Or that I’m clearly losing my mind because I’m seriously considering the possibility that a guy in a coma has the ability to create a fairytale world in which I transform into a barbarian named Valenthor.”

  Vincent gazed triumphantly at the stunned countenance of his mother. “Aren’t you glad you asked?”

  “Excuse me, but did you say Valenthor?”

  Having completely forgotten that there was someone else in the room, Vincent started at the sound of the other woman’s voice. The stranger took a couple of timid steps closer to the table. All of the color had drained from her face.

  “Yes, when I sleep, I become Valenthor of the Three Rivers,” he said, flashing an acerbic smile. “He was a hero once, but after the giants killed his wife and cursed his daughter, he became a useless drunk. Does that scenario sound at all familiar to you?”

  Vincent had directed the rhetorical question at his mother, but it was the other woman who replied, “How…how could you know about that?”

  “Because that’s my life, lady,” he shot back. “Whenever The Dream pulls me in, I find myself wandering through forests and mountains on a quest to save my daughter’s soul. I hang out with an elf who never stops talk about her ancestors and a mysterious masked man who was tagging along in order to lead us into a trap. Quite an adventure, huh?”

  “No!” the woman shouted.

  Both Vincent and Eve jumped.

  “Suzanne, what—?” his mother started to say.

  “How did you get at my book?” The woman—Suzanne—loomed over the table, pressing her fingers so hard into the metal surface they turned white. “No one has read any of my writing, not even my husband, and I never told anyone about my characters.”

  Suddenly, Vincent recognized Suzanne. “You…you work with Daniel!”

  Vincent started to laugh. Suzanne shouted something to him, while his mother tried to calm her down, but he couldn’t hear any of it above the sounds spilling out of his own mouth. He was vaguely aware of the detective bursting into the room and ushering the two women out.

  When they were gone, the detective regarded Vincent warily. “Care to fill me in on the joke, Mr. Cruz?”

  Between fits of laughter, Vincent managed to say, “It’s not real.”

  “What isn’t real?”

  After two great, steadying breaths Vincent said, “You, me, Valenthor…any of this.”

  Then the dam broke, and the horrible noise could not be stopped.

  ***

  Leah looked up from her phone—she had finally texted Bekah to let her know that she was OK but that she shouldn’t wait for her—when an officer she had never seen before brought Eve and Suzanne back out to the lobby. Eve was saying something to Suzanne, and her tone was far from friendly.

  “—can’t really think Vincent would break into your house?”

  Suzanne, looking dazed, followed a few steps behind her friend. “I don’t know what to believe, Eve. How else could he know so much about Valenthor?”

  Leah nearly dropped her phone. Boden’s words echoed in her mind.

  “It is imperative that he does not tell the police anything…complicated.”

  Vincent’s mother walked past without a glance. Suzanne looked like she was going to do the same, but at the last second, she made a sharp turn, stopping directly in front of Leah.

  “Did he ever tell you about any of his dreams?” Suzanne asked breathlessly. “Has he ever mentioned Valenthor to you?”

  “Why…why do you ask?” Leah faltered.

  Eve took Suzanne by the elbow. “Don’t waste your time, Suzie,” she said, her voice dripping with scorn. “She won’t tell you anything. She’s a doctor, remember?”

  Eve put her arm around Suzanne and began leading her toward the exit.

  “Wait,” Leah said, rising to her feet. “What happened in there? Is Vincent all right?”

  Eve glanced over her shoulder. “You might as well go home. They’re not going to let him talk to anyone else while he’s here. But don’t worry, he’s going to see a doctor who can help him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Across the lobby, Eve opened the door for Suzanne. Her mouth trembled as she said, “They’re taking Vincent to the County Mental Health Center.”

  ***

  Pulling away from the police station, Leah felt like she was abandoning Vincent. She considered driving to the mental health center but questioned what good going there would do. They weren’t likely to release Vincent, a suspect in an attempted murder cas
e who apparently just confessed to leading a double life in a fantasy dream world.

  I need to talk to Boden.

  Leah glanced at her phone, which lay lifeless on the passenger seat. She wasn’t convinced Boden had Vincent’s best interest in mind, but he seemed to know something about his condition. If she could get some answers out of him, she might be able to figure out what to do next.

  But what if he never calls back?

  Since going home felt too much like conceding defeat, she made an impulsive right turn, squealing the tires. She didn’t know what she would find at Vincent’s apartment, but it was the only other destination that came to mind. The radio played Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries,” an unlikely soundtrack for what she expected to be an uneventful and altogether pointless detour.

  The sun was imprisoned behind a wall of dark gray clouds that threatened heavier rain or possibly snow. She found a parking spot a block away from the apartment and quickly made her way through the cold drizzle, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her denim jacket.

  A young man with two bulldogs was exiting the building as Leah approached. He held the door open for her, which meant she looked respectable enough, despite of her makeup-free face and wind-ravaged hair. Either that, or Vincent’s neighbors were accustomed to the comings and goings of unfamiliar people.

  She walked up the creaky steps, knocked on the door with the four, and waited. A moment later, she reached for the doorknob to see if Vincent’s roommate had left the apartment unlocked again. She jumped guilty back when she heard footsteps on the other side of the door.

  The door popped open a couple of inches. A bloodshot eye stared at her from above the chain lock.

  “Are you a cop?”

  She nearly laughed out loud. “Do I look like a cop?”

  “You have to tell me if you are,” the man insisted. “I know my rights.”

  “My name is Leah. I’m a friend of Vincent’s.”

  The eye looked her up and down. Then it disappeared as the door closed again. She was about to protest until she heard the clinking of metal. Vincent’s roommate opened the door all of the way.

  He was a big guy. His shaggy, sandy-blond hair needed a trim, but his cheeks and chin were clean-shaven. A parade of Technicolor teddy bears grinned at her from his tie-dyed T-shirt. His eyes looked friendly, albeit sleepy.

  “I’m Jerry. C’mon in.”

  She followed him into the living room, where he took a seat in a recliner. A laptop sat on the coffee table. She took a seat on the couch, her nose twitching. The apartment smelled like someone had broken a bottle of Vanilla Fields all over the floor.

  Jerry propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Vincent got himself into some trouble, huh?”

  Leah smiled in spite of herself. There was something immediately likable about Jerry. She couldn’t recall Vincent saying much about him, other than he sometimes forgot to lock the door. She wondered if the two of them were good friends.

  “I don’t know the whole story, but, yeah, it looks pretty bad,” Leah said. “They took him to the County Mental Health Center.”

  “That really sucks.” An awkward silence ensued. “So…are you guys, like, a couple?”

  Her cheeks burned. “No…just friends.”

  “That’s good. He’s still married, you know. I only just found out about that. Otherwise, I sure as hell wouldn’t have tried to hook him up with Paish.” Jerry reached over and typed something on the laptop. “Sorry. Just signing off IM.”

  “Jerry, did you see Vincent this morning?”

  “Nah, I took off last night. Vincent and I had an argument.” His drowsy eyes met hers. “He was in real bad shape, drunk off his ass. He was freaking out about how I let Bella in the house. When I left, he was passed out in the bathroom. I figured he’d sleep it off and be fine.”

  Leah leaned back on the couch and sighed. “He left me a couple of messages earlier this morning. He sounded shaken up, rambling about his brother, Daniel, and a dream…”

  “The Valenthor dream?” Jerry asked.

  “Uh…yeah,” Leah said cautiously. “I wasn’t sure if you knew about that.”

  Jerry scratched his mop of hair. “He used to give me regular updates. We’d consult the Master, trade theories. It’s been a while since Vincent and I talked about anything though.”

  She leaned forward, her heart pounding. “Wait, who’s the Master?”

  “A guy online who knows just about everything about the fantasy genre.” Jerry stood up and walked out of the room. His words drifted from the kitchen. “We thought he might be able to tell us what Valenthor was supposed to do next…to finish the quest, you know? The Master is a pretty cool dude. He convinced me to give this book about magic and elves and stuff a try. Can’t remember the name of it, but one of the author’s got my last name.”

  Jerry returned to the living room, carrying a tube of Pringles. “Want some?”

  Leah’s stomach rumbled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten anything yet that day. She graciously accepted the container, took a handful of chips, and handed it back to him. After the first round of crunching, she asked, “I don’t suppose the Master’s real name is Boden, is it?”

  “I doubt it,” Jerry said. “I was chatting with the Master when Boden called before.”

  She swallowed unexpectedly. The sharp edges of under-chewed chips brought tears to her eyes. “Boden called you?”

  “Yeah, a few hours ago.” Jerry sucked the salt from his fingers. “He said the cops were on the way to the apartment and that I should get Vincent’s back. I erased your message…the one that mentioned Boden…just in case. Otherwise, the only incriminating stuff around here was my own.”

  “Boden called you?” she asked again.

  “I know your message said he was creepy and all, but he didn’t want Vincent to get into any more trouble than he was already in, so he can’t be all bad, right?”

  Unless Boden is just trying to cover his own ass…

  “And did the police come?” she asked.

  Jerry chuckled. “Like five minutes later. I barely had enough time to flush my stash. I didn’t let them come in though. Not without a warrant.” He jumped up out of the chair, disappeared into the kitchen again. “Want a soda? All I got is Dew.”

  “Yes, please.”

  He returned, handing her a cold can and downing about half of his own can before sitting down again. “I didn’t even know what Vincent did until after they left and I turned the TV on. Like I said, he didn’t leave any clues behind. There wasn’t a note or anything saying, ‘I’m going to go kill my brother now.’ I think the dude might have puked, though. That’s why I had to OD on the vanilla air freshener…well, part of the reason.”

  She happened to spot, at that moment, the little bottle of eye drops next to the laptop. “Are you high, Jerry?”

  “Only a little.” He hoisted the Pringles container at her. “More chips?”

  With a resigned sigh, she accepted.

  “So…what do we do now?” Jerry asked.

  “There’s not much we can do for him while he’s incarcerated,” she said. “I have quite a few questions for Boden, whoever the heck he is, but I don’t have his number, so I’m forced to wait until he calls back.”

  “How did Boden find you and Vincent in the first place?” Jerry asked, his words garbled by a mouthful of chips.

  “I left a message for someone else, and Boden called back,” Leah said.

  “Then call that number again, and maybe he’ll pick up.”

  From the mouth of a burnout…

  She reached for her phone only to realize that she had left it in the car.

  “You can use ours, if you want,” Jerry offered, indicating the cordless phone on the desk.

  With Jerry’s permission, Leah also commandeered the laptop. It took but a minute to locate the phone number on Temple University’s website again. She held the phone against her ear, her heart thumbing louder with every ring. A
voice that wasn’t Boden’s invited her to leave a message for the psychology department.

  Here goes nothing.

  “This message is for Boden or Dr. Baerwald or anyone else who can help me. Please call Leah Chedid as soon as possible.” She gave her number but then hesitated, debating how much to say on a recording. “I wasn’t able to get Vincent out. They took him to Milwaukee County Mental Health Center.”

  She hung up and responded to Jerry’s expectant expression with a shrug. “I guess that’s all we can do for now.”

  “You’re welcome to hang out here for a while,” said Jerry. “Want to order calzones?”

  “No thanks. I should be getting home.”

  “Will you call me if you hear from Boden?” Jerry asked.

  “Of course. What’s your number?”

  He wrote it down on a sticky note and promised he would contact her if Boden called the apartment again. They walked to the door. When she turned to say goodbye, Jerry said, “I know it looks bad, but I don’t think Vincent is crazy.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said, zipping up her jacket.

  “And as for The Dream, well, there’s a lot more going on in the brain than we can ever know,” Jerry said.

  “Does that mean you believe Valenthor is real?” she teased.

  Jerry gave her a big smile. “As real as anything.”

  Chapter 27

  Milton’s arms and back ached from carrying Clementine for countless city blocks. The frosty gusts of wind and Milton’s wheezy breaths didn’t seem to disturb her. Aside from an occasional murmur, the girl slept like the dead.

  There were no diners and no drug stores, only street after street of dark, lifeless houses. When his arms began trembling uncontrollably, he stopped and leaned up against a wooden fence with flaking white paint. He couldn’t go another step, but he couldn’t set Clementine down in the snow either.

  Damn it, DJ, why did you involve your niece in this?

  “Mama and Dada’s house!” Clementine started to squirm, leaving Milton no choice but to lower her to the ground. If the contact of her bare feet upon the snowy sidewalk bothered her at all, there was no trace of it in her beaming face. “Let’s go!”