Sleepless

by Cyn Balog

  My fingers are coated in bright orange cheese dust, so I lick them and snuggle under the blankets, hoping a Reese Wither spoon movie will keep my mind occupied. It isn’t working.

  Eron, before my eyes, disappeared. For the second time. Like, poof.

  So either I am having a mental breakdown, or some really messed-up stuff is going on.

  Not only that, he gave me some lame-ass story about being a Sandman. About Griffin being one, too. Since then, I haven’t been able to get that song “Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream …” out of my head. Isn’t that what Sandmen are supposed to do? Bring nice, happy dreams to people? Why is mine bringing me nightmares?

  Well, if I’m having nightmares because Griffin is behind it, that does make sense. Everything’s a joke to Griffin. Wherever he is, he’s probably laughing, thinking, What other things can I add to her dreams to make her never want to sleep again?

  I roll up the bag of chips and toss it onto the floor, then stare up at the corners of the room. Eron said he’s watching me.

  Could anything possibly be creepier?

  All right, I tell myself, straightening on the couch. If he is watching me, then he can hear me. And nobody is home, so if I talk to him out loud and this all turns out to be just some lame practical joke, I won’t get carted off to a mental hospital.

  “Griffin,” I whisper to the air. “Do you hear me?”

  Feeling more comfortable, I speak more loudly. “Griffin. You need to cut out whatever you are doing, okay? I care about you, but you’re really freaking me out. Okay? So just stop it. Go toward the light.”

  “Hon?”

  I turn to see my mom standing in the door of the living room with a bag of groceries. When did she become a ninja?

  “Oh, hi, Mom,” I say. “Um, just practicing a play.”

  I can tell by her face that she doesn’t believe me, but I don’t think she wants to know what I’m up to, either. She drops the bag on the kitchen table and starts to unpack it. “I bought more Doritos.”

  “Thanks,” I say. If it is possible to OD on Doritos, I am almost there.

  “Shouldn’t you be in bed?” she asks. “You have your driver’s test bright and early tomorrow.”

  “Um …” It’s after eleven but all I can think of is Eron’s warning. If I see Griffin in my dreams, I need to wake myself up. What if he does come? What if I can’t wake up? What will he do? He was my boyfriend, not some crazed lunatic. Although Bret is also one of my best friends—at least, I think he is. I remember Eron’s words to me: People you know, even very well, can surprise you.

  Sigh. I’d rather just not sleep and save myself from wetting the bed tonight.

  But then I yawn.

  And I know that will never work.

  CHAPTER 28

  Eron

  Both Vicki and Evangeline have been asleep for many hours when Julia trudges upstairs, rubbing her eyes. I can sense her trepidation as she pulls back her covers and slips into the bed. I hope that I can make her slumber a comfortable one.

  As I’m about to pass into her room, a heavy hand falls on my shoulder, pulling me backward. I lose my balance and slip from the tree, scraping my arms and cheek on branches before landing with a dull thud on the dewy grass. “Mr. Colburn!” I hiss in the darkness.

  “Yeah?” he says, dangling above me on a branch.

  “What have you been up to?” I shout, standing and brushing off my pants.

  He snorts. “I had the same question for you. But I know. Julia’s dreams filled me in.” He jumps down and stands toe to toe with me. We glare at each other murderously. “She is mine.”

  I turn back toward her window. “You’re crazy.”

  “You are not going in there!” he whispers fiercely. “If you so much as look at her again, I’ll kill you.”

  I laugh. “I’m still a Sandman, thanks to you. You can no more end my life than I can end yours.”

  He stands there, shaking with anger. “You said you would protect her. Not steal her from me.”

  “She can’t be stolen from you. She’s not yours.”

  “She is! She just doesn’t know I’m still here. But when she does—”

  “She already knows. I told her.”

  His eyes narrow. “What else did you tell her? What lies have you been spreading about me?”

  “You can’t change who you are, not now. Accept who you are, Mr. Colburn.”

  “Can’t do that, old man,” he sighs.

  And with that, he disappears through Julia’s window.

  I’m not leaving her. I climb the tree and pass quietly into the room. He’s standing over her, his hands spread. “Get away,” he whispers as I move closer.

  Julia winces and rolls over. I stand against the wall, arms crossed. “I’m not leaving.”

  Suddenly, Mr. Colburn’s image fades into the darkness. I look at my hands. Of course. He has come back to his duties, and now I am human. Human and … inside Julia’s home. I reach for the window and jam my knuckles against it. I’m trapped here. Now I need to sneak down the stairs and out the front door undetected, or else risk frightening the life out of Julia. I know that wherever he is, Mr. Colburn is probably laughing at me. He is in control now. With Julia asleep, I am powerless.

  I give the air where I know Mr. Colburn is standing a stern look, then creep toward the door. As I open it, it creaks. Julia sits up in bed immediately. “Eron?” she says, rubbing her eyes.

  I whisper, “I can explain—”

  “I can’t get Griffin out of my head. He won’t leave me alone.”

  “It’s okay, shhh,” I say, as soothingly as possible from across the room. With Mr. Colburn there, I have to fight the urge to go to her, to hold her, as fierce as it may be.

  She pulls the covers up to her chin. “I don’t care how you got here. I’m glad.”

  I move closer and see that she’s trembling. I put my finger to my lips. He’s here, I mouth.

  Her eyes scan the room, narrowing. Now? she mouths back to me. I nod. Her angry voice pierces the silence. “Stop, Griffin. I’m serious. Please. You know I care about you. But we need to move on.”

  A picture frame, the one holding a photo of Griffin on Julia’s bedside table, topples over. She turns to it, then to me, her face questioning. I imagine Mr. Colburn’s anger; I almost feel the heat as he seethes in his invisibility. He will not be happy about this, not at all. I reach over to return the picture to its upright position, and that’s when she reaches up and pulls me to the bed.

  “But Griffin …,” I caution her.

  “He’s always been stubborn. Maybe he needs to see I’ve moved on before he’ll believe it,” she whispers tentatively.

  She doesn’t look away. She brings my hand to her cheek and I feel the rough imprint of her scars. “You know how I got these, don’t you?”

  I nod.

  “You probably know more than I do. When I was in the trailer, when I was seven, I was asleep the whole time….” She blinks. “Because of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I finally remember you being there, in my dreams. You kept me company the whole time. That’s why I was never afraid. And you put that horrible man to sleep, so that I could escape?”

  “Yes,” I say, embarrassed. I try to right myself, but she doesn’t let go. Her soft lips touch mine. I realize that this is no accident. This is what she wants.

  When she pulls away, I lie there, stunned, before scrambling to my feet. Finally experiencing something he’s waited over a hundred years for will do that to a person.

  “Did he see that?” she asks me.

  “I—I—” I stammer. Perhaps I should be worried that Mr. Colburn will take something to the back of my head, but I am too concerned with trying to steady my weak knees. She kissed me. “I am certain he did.”

  “You have no right to do this to me, Griffin,” she yells, her voice more authoritative than I’ve ever known her to be.

  I can still taste her, a flavor like mint and strawberrie
s. Her lips were so soft; I never knew it possible to have lips that soft. Mine are probably sandpaper in comparison. Yet I can’t resist moving closer to her, wanting to try again. Obviously Harmon has never experienced this, or he’d never wish to be a Sandman again. I move to the edge of her bed, and she puts her hand over mine. She sinks under the covers and pulls my body to her, and I’m so lost in the swell of my own heartbeat and the heat from her skin that I can do nothing but follow, her willing slave.

  “Julia?”

  I jump. In the darkness is Mrs. Devine, clad in a pale yellow nightshirt that matches her moonlit complexion.

  “Mom?” Julia mumbles.

  “What are you doing in here?” she barks, jabbing her finger at me. Then she turns to Julia. “Oh, you are in so much trouble, young lady.”

  I stand there, straight as an arrow. I can just hear Mama groaning her disapproval. In my time, a mother would have had every right to beat a boy senseless over something like this. And I would have applauded her. I bow my head in respect, then follow her out the bedroom door. She seethes at me, and as I’m descending the staircase, I hear her exchanging heated words with her daughter.

  Outside, I am trembling in the midnight air. I’m not sure where to go; I don’t want to leave her. After a moment, I see Julia watching me from the window. Her cheeks are still red from the lashing she took from her mother. She leans over and whispers, “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “Julia, I’m concerned … about Griffin.” My teeth chatter as I speak, but it’s more from awe than from fear.

  “Why? He was my boyfriend. He wouldn’t hurt me….” Her voice trails off. I know what is finally dawning on her. People you know, even very well, can surprise you.

  “Julia, don’t sleep. You must do everything you can not to.”

  She yawns. “I’m so beat. And I have my driver’s test tomorrow.”

  “As long as I am human, Griffin is in charge of putting you to sleep. And I have no idea what he might do.”

  “What do you mean? How can I …” She yawns again.

  I wrap my fingers around a low branch of the familiar tree outside her home. When I reach her window, I climb inside, realizing that I’ve never before worked to keep someone awake. But I suppose that these days, I am used to new experiences.

  Julia leans against her headboard, pulls her knees up to her chest, and snorts. “I can’t believe this. So, like, all this time, we’ve all had Sandmen putting us to sleep? And we can’t sleep without them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they always as … um, attractive as you are?”

  She is blushing, and I feel the blood running to my cheeks as well. “A human’s Sandman is always someone they would find physically appealing, yes. It’s easier for us that way.”

  “But what does Griffin have to do with this?”

  “He is your Sandman now,” I explain. “Our tenure is only one hundred years. My time is almost expired, and I am due to hand my charges to Mr. Colburn shortly.”

  “Oh, great, the king of practical jokes is my Sandman. Figures,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And then what will happen to you?”

  “I will be human again.”

  “Really? Well, now it all makes sense, I guess. Why you act so different, look so different … You haven’t been human since … what? Nineteen ten?”

  I nod.

  “Are you scared?”

  “I was.” Up until now.

  “Did you really mean what you said about wanting to build buildings?” Julia asks me.

  “Yes. My mother took me to see the Flatiron Building when I was ten. I was fascinated.”

  “My dad was interviewing at grad schools when I was twelve and he took me into the Empire State Building. I loved the Art Deco. From that moment on, I was hooked. I used to build things out of Popsicle sticks,” she laughs, pointing at a misshapen square building model in the corner of her room. I remember the hours she spent putting that together, working well into the night, yawning and concentrating under the dim lamplight, until she could no longer fight me off. She pulls off her covers and walks to her bookshelf, which is filled with everything from Wuthering Heights to the picture books her mother used to read her every night before bed. She removes a big book, one I’ve never seen before. “Have you heard of this place?”

  I sit on the pale pink carpet, using her bed as a backboard, and she sits next to me, legs crossed. She places the book open in my lap and I gasp. Buildings that defy logic are there. “Are these … real?”

  She nods, inspecting the pictures as I flip. “It’s a place called Dubai, in the Middle East. Over here, there are all these rules you have to follow. But there, architects are given free rein to create whatever crazy building designs they like. Aren’t these amazing?”

  I gape in wonder. “Amazing” doesn’t begin to describe them. Not only are they tall enough to reach the moon, but the shapes are gorgeous. Some look like they are made entirely from mirrors. Others are shaped with soft curves instead of harsh angles. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  She opens to a page where I’m greeted by the most magnificent structure I have ever seen. “The Burj Khalifa,” she says. “Tallest building in the world.”

  “Can they … can they touch the moon from there?” I ask.

  She laughs. “Almost. It won’t be the tallest for long, though; they keep building them higher and higher. But I want to go there. I want to see them in person.”

  I nod. At this moment, I do, too.

  “I met with a professor when I was applying for the Architectural Journal summer session—that’s where I’m going this summer—because I wanted to make my application package the best it could be. Most of the other applicants are high school seniors or college freshmen, so I knew it was a long shot,” she explains. “And he told me something that Winston Churchill once said. ‘We shape our buildings; thereafter, they shape us.’ There are few professions where you can influence people in a positive way like that.”

  I assume Winston Churchill must be a famous architect. “Yes, I would much rather add to this world than take away from it.”

  “Exactly.” She closes the book and studies me. “You have been with me my whole life, haven’t you?”

  I nod. “Does that bother you?”

  She shrugs. “It’s a little creepy. But kind of cool, I guess. You’re like my guardian angel.”

  “Oh, no,” I say, pressing my back against her bed. “I’m not quite as powerful as that. And I wouldn’t want you—I don’t know—trying to fly from a bridge because you think I can save you.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “You can’t?”

  I shake my head.

  “Then what good are you?” she says in mock disappointment, and then laughs. “Tell me about the Sandmen. Everything.”

  I take a breath and prepare for a long story. But I suppose we have all night. “Where shall I start?”

  CHAPTER 29

  Julia

  “You’re more than grounded for life, you know,” my mom says with a snort as we pull into the DMV’s driver testing course. “We’re nailing the windows shut. How irresponsible can you be? You’re lucky we’re still taking you for your license.”

  I’m still thinking about Eron, so my mom’s words don’t register. When I was three, I accidentally stuck my finger into an outlet and got a shock, but this is like a thousand times more intense. My lips still tremble when I think of it. And I am the one who started it. Me. I always let Griffin lead me around, dictate what happened next. Now I am in control. I like that. “That’s fine,” I say solemnly, not sure what I’m agreeing to. “I am very sorry.”

  She pats her purse nervously and sticks her foot on the dashboard again when I pull rather quickly into an open parking spot. “And to think I’m sending you off on your own in a couple weeks.”

  “I thought you said I can take care of myself,” I say.

  She snorts. “Well, I thought so, until last night.”

  We wal
k into the DMV and I hand my forms and identification to the lady at the desk. She smiles and says, “Just go on and have a seat over there. Someone will be with you shortly.”

  I smile at a couple of fidgety girls. One is sitting on the edge of her seat, looking like she might fall off, and the other is bouncing her knee so quickly that her flip-flop keeps making a smack-smack-smack noise against the bottom of her foot. My mom picks up a driver’s manual—which, while not exactly Redbook, is the only reading around—and starts to page through it. I just sit beside her, yawn, and rifle through my purse for some gum.

  I find some orange-flavored gum and offer a piece to the girls next to me. They decline. I shove a piece into my mouth and yawn again.

  And again.

  It’s got to be the fluorescent lighting and the dull walls. Why can’t these places ever look more exciting? It’s like they hope to scare people away. I close my eyes and realize that’s what they want. To be closed. To stay that way.

  “Is there a Coke machine here?” I ask my mom.

  She shrugs. “You might try getting enough sleep instead of—”

  “Mom, I slept fine. I’m just thirsty,” I groan, standing. I walk around the room until I find a line of vending machines. I see Mountain Dew. Eureka. I pop in my quarters and drink it down. Better. I stand there, reading some boring signs on the wall about child restraint laws and penalties for DUI, because even that is more exciting than being near my mom.

  Suddenly, my mom nudges me. Somehow, without even knowing how I got here, I’m sitting next to her again. The two girls are gone. My soda can is empty in my hand. I can’t remember taking the walk back from the vending machines. “What the …,” I begin.

  “You’re up,” my mom says. She must be at a really good part of her manual, because she doesn’t glance up. There is a chubby man waiting in the doorway. He looks sort of like the Michelin Man, but in plaid, and not as cute or happy. This man looks a little like someone spit in his morning coffee. Great. Before I know it, my bag slips from my hands, its contents spilling onto the ground with a clatter.