by Cyn Balog
Michelin Man doesn’t move, but my mom reaches down and grabs my cell. She studies me. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Oh, sure. Fine.” I summon every last bit of my energy to prove the point. I jump up and put on my most confident smile.
“Good luck, hon,” she says.
“Hi,” I say brightly, bounding up to meet the man.
He grunts and just keeps staring at his clipboard. “Miss Devine.”
“Yes, that’s me.”
He grunts again and leads me outside to the back of the building, where there are three identical Ford compact cars waiting. It’s a hot day but my palms begin to sweat even before the chill of the air-conditioning has worn off. I’m suddenly aware I have to pee—obviously, since I just downed an entire can of Dew. I yawn again, a long one, and I can’t shut my mouth for the life of me. Of course, that’s when the man looks at me. I try to stretch it into an open-mouthed smile, but that doesn’t work. His frown deepens.
He motions me to the middle Ford and hands me the keys. I walk around to the driver’s side and sit in the seat. It’s not very comfortable, so I attempt to adjust it, pretending like I am an old pro at this even though I have no idea how the seat works. In the silence of the car, I notice that Michelin Man has a problem with breathing. His breath is so loud it sounds like my dad’s snoring. How can anyone concentrate on their driving around him? After I fiddle with the seat for a few minutes, he finally lets out a sound like snarf from the back of his throat and reaches under my seat. It slides backward easily. By that time, we’ve been in the car with the windows up for five minutes and it’s like an inferno. My bangs are sweat-glued to my face.
I put the key in the ignition, turn it. The car starts up. The sun beats down through the windshield. I can’t help it: I yawn again. The man clucks his tongue. I wrap my fingers around the hot steering wheel and pray to the caffeine gods for my Mountain Dew to kick in.
“Please pull out and drive to the third cone.”
I check my mirrors, then press gently on the accelerator. Twinge.
The car bucks. What was that?
I will my eyes to stay open, but I feel the lids sliding shut.
Oh, no.
And that’s when I see Griffin.
CHAPTER 30
Eron
“Are you angry at me?”
I blink. I’m standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the black waves as they crash upon the rocks below. Chimere is beside me.
“What is this?” I ask. “Where am I?”
She smiles. “You’re dreaming.”
“I’m … sleeping?”
“Yes, you are human. You are my charge. I lured you here. Remember? Just like in the old days.”
“Oh.” It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this state, unconscious, unaware. From the moment I left Julia’s house early this morning, things became fuzzy. I can’t recall what I did after I climbed quietly out her window as the sun stretched above the horizon. I’m thankful that the kiss hasn’t disappeared from my memory. Neither has the feeling of lying next to her, really lying next to her, with her head on my shoulder for hours on end. I wiggle my fingers and feel the nubby worn fabric of Harmon’s old couch. Somehow, I’d made it there. “But if I am human, then Mr. Colburn …”
“That is why I lured you here; so that I might speak to you.” Her eyes turn troubled. “Mr. Colburn has disappeared once again.”
I shake my head. Of course. Did I expect any different? Then I realize that something is peculiar about this instance. “If he is neglecting his duties and not performing the seduction, shouldn’t I be a Sandman?”
“Yes, that is what troubles me.”
I back away from the edge of the cliff, pondering. Chimere wrings her hands; I can tell she already knows what this means, and she’s none too pleased. “What does it mean, then?”
Her voice is mouse-like. “That he’s still performing his duties.”
I squint at her. “You mean … he may be attempting to seduce her to sleep? Now?”
“Yes.”
“He’s going to try to hurt her.”
She nods. “I am afraid so.”
I remember what she said to me last night. I have my driver’s test tomorrow. Driver’s test. I grab Chimere by the shoulders. “I need to wake up. The sand …”
“I only did enough for a catnap,” she answers, her eyes downcast. “You may wake yourself easily.”
I smile sadly at her. I know that if she wanted to serve her own selfish motives, she could very well have let Griffin carry on, fail in his duties, so that I would be forced to be a Sandman forever. But Chimere is and always has been, above all, a Sleepbringer. My protector. I reach out and stroke the smooth skin of her jaw. “You’re wonderful,” I say, and the last thing I can recall from the dream is the way she takes my hand in her own, clearly savoring the feeling of my skin against hers.
I concentrate on something real—the fabric of the couch. I dig my fingers into it, hard, then quickly pull myself out of sleep. I open my eyes and the first thing I focus on is the lazily spinning ceiling fan. My head is thick, my eyesight bleary. I stand, try to catch my bearings.
Julia.
Some confusing moments later, after inquiring with nearly a dozen people on the street and receiving conflicting information as to where this “driver testing facility” is, I race down the shoulder of the highway, avoiding the automobiles that are honking their horns at me. The parking lot is full; the Devine family automobile, now repaired, is parked in it, but there is no sign of Julia.
I call her name as I rush toward the building, and that is when I hear the screech of tires. I turn toward an empty concrete lot in the distance and see a small white automobile swerving around a bend. I can just make out Julia’s head—the low ponytail, the pale skin—in the driver’s-side window.
I cup my hands around my mouth. “Julia!”
The car is moving closer. I can see her white knuckles on the wheel, and I can also now see her eyes.
They flutter closed.
She is asleep.
The automobile skids through a stop sign, and when the right tire hits a curb, the car is momentarily airborne. It strikes the ground hard, then barrels straight across the lot, toward a busy intersection. Paralyzed, I watch as it swerves again, this time racing at breakneck speed, directly toward me. The heat and dust rise off the pavement surrounding the vehicle, but in the blurred distance beyond, I’m almost positive I see Mr. Colburn. And he’s smiling.
CHAPTER 31
Julia
In the haze, Griffin smiles at me. It’s not his usual, wicked smile, laced with mischief. It’s sad. Desperate.
“What are you doing here?” I ask him.
“I came for you.”
“That’s sweet. But in case you didn’t notice, I’m kind of busy. I’m …” I pause, look around. Everything but Griffin’s body is enveloped in white smoke. The same smoke must be clouding my brain, because I can’t recall what I was doing before I noticed him. “I can’t remember what I’m doing, but it’s important.”
He’s wearing the tuxedo he wore for prom. The one he’s been wearing in every dream I’ve had of him lately. It still looks uncomfortable and stiff on him, even when he leans back and crosses his arms behind his head. “Talk to me, okay?”
I sigh. “All right.” I step next to him. He clears a space in the smoke and I sit beside him. “About what?”
“Things.” He scratches his chin, thinking hard, which reminds me: we never talked before. Not really. We just traded jabs, like in a never-ending boxing match. That’s probably why he pulls out the most generic, impersonal question you can ask someone: “How have you been?”
“I’m fine,” I answer, wondering why Griffin is so not Griffin. And why does it feel like I haven’t spoken to him in weeks? Suddenly, I remember. “Are you still dead?”
“Sort of. I’m a Sandman,” he tells me. “I put people to sleep. It’s cool.”
“Oh?” I seem to remember hearing someone tell me about Sandmen before. I can’t remember who it was. Someone else …
“Yeah. I sort of … miss you, Jules. I want you to be with me.”
He’s raising his eyebrows, pleading, sincere. This is all too Twilight Zone for me. Since when has Griffin Colburn been sincere? When has he ever pleaded with me for anything? Stooped to say he missed me? All I can manage is “Oh.”
“Don’t you miss me? Don’t you love me?”
Okay, where is the real Griffin Colburn? He’s never asked me a question like that; he never needed to. “Sure … yeah.”
“Then come with me.” He wraps his hand around mine. It’s cool, smoother than I remember, as if all the imperfections have been washed away. Or maybe I don’t remember his hand very well, because we rarely held hands, rarely touched in any intimate way, unless he was trying to round the bases.
He looks me in the eye, really looks at me. And it’s listening to him say such sweet things, feeling his soft touch, that makes me yearn for more. This is everything we were missing. This is what I always wanted. This will make things perfect. I mouth, Yes.
“Julia, don’t!”
I turn my head to the voice. It’s familiar, but far away. In the distance, I see him.
Eron.
Suddenly, I remember. Something pounds at my temples. Fear. I was afraid of Griffin. I turn to him. His face is more desperate, and his hands feel colder and damp in mine. He is trying to keep his eyes focused on mine, but something new is appearing there. Rage.
I stand, back away, despite his trying to lace his fingers with mine. I snatch them away. “What are you doing?”
“Wake up, Julia!”
Griffin stands and takes a step toward me. “Don’t listen—”
“Wake up!”
I pull myself into consciousness, shuddering as I pry open my eyes and see my hands wrapped around a steering wheel. Steering wheel? A heavy body pushes me against the door; it’s the instructor, sleeping, his cheek pressed against my shoulder. We were both sleeping … and driving? Beyond the steering wheel are the blacktop, sparkling and blurred in the sunlight, and a line of trees, which we’re quickly rushing up to meet. And before that … a figure of a man. He’s too blurry to recognize, but he’s all in black, melting into the pavement. His hands are outstretched, mouth curved in an O.
And I’m heading right for him. I stomp on the brake, too late. I hit with a dull thud. Bits of glass, like snowflakes, scatter over me, piercing my skin. I taste blood. The car begins to fishtail. Everything goes white, then black.
Someone is screaming. Another familiar voice. Mine.
The car shrieks to a halt. My fingers are doughy and numb as I reach for the door handle, but I pull it open and scramble to stand. In the distance, people are yelling, emerging from the DMV building as if it were on fire. The path where the car was is clear except for two tire marks burned on the ground. Speckles of glass are everywhere, crunching underfoot. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was all some horrible dream.
Then I see the body, motionless, on the other side of the car. His head is tilted to the sky, almost as if he’s sunbathing, but his body is twisted to the side unnaturally.
I rush to him. The first things I see are blood and a huge gash in his forehead. “Eron?” I ask softly, placing a hand gently on his shoulder. Even the slant of his shoulder seems unnatural, as if all the parts of his body are broken. He doesn’t move, doesn’t answer.
What have I done?
CHAPTER 32
Eron
It’s as if the car passes right through me. There is no pain.
Colburn has broken the rules, and I’m a Sandman again. Colburn is laughing in the distance. I rush up to him and grab him by the shoulders so that he collapses, and for a moment, I hold him by his tuxedo jacket, pinning him to the ground. I am no match for his brawn, but I manage to grind him hard into the pavement. He moans in pain. He quickly rolls me over, and he brings a heavy fallen branch to my neck. He pushes against my throat, hard.
“Mr. Colburn!” a voice calls. Chimere’s. “I’ve had enough of this.”
She rushes to us, and the next thing I know, he is straightening, stumbling toward her. He falls into her arms. Beyond them, I see Julia scrambling over to my body. My human body.
Am I …?
“She belongs with me, she belongs with me,” Colburn is muttering.
“Let her go,” Chimere whispers to him. I am entranced by the girl bending over my body. Julia leans in, very gently touching me. I haven’t been injured so badly since that day in the textile mill when I lost my arm and my life. Julia wipes the blood from my eye with her long, delicate fingers. She’s rocking back and forth slightly. And doing something I haven’t seen her do in many years.
Crying.
I walk toward her, stand over her small crumpled body. I want badly to touch her and tell her it’s all right, I’m fine. But am I?
I turn to Chimere. “What am I doing there?” I ask, confused. My human body is there, yet I’m still a Sandman. How can I be in two places at once?
She sniffs. “You were human again, my pet. Completely. For the briefest time.”
“And now?”
She turns to Griffin. “Now it is up to Mr. Colburn to assume your place. If he cannot …”
“Let me go to her,” I say to Griffin, my voice insistent.
“I … can’t,” Colburn says burying his head in his arms.
“We can.” Chimere leans into him, and I can just make out her words. “I will let Eron go, if you let go of Julia.”
He raises his chin and studies her. Finally, he nods almost imperceptibly.
“Promise?” Chimere grins at him and wraps her arm tightly around him.
“Yeah. I promise,” he says.
She wraps her other arm around him and pulls his head to her heart. Holding him, she smiles at me, not unkindly, and motions me toward Julia. Then she leans into his ear and says, “Don’t be troubled, my pet.”
CHAPTER 33
Julia
I lug the last of my suitcases out to the trunk of the RAV4 and nearly collapse in exhaustion on the back bumper.
“I do wish you’d let me help you.”
I laugh. “Sure. Whatever.”
Eron is leaning against the garage door, arms crossed, glaring down at his crutches, which he’s thrown aside for the hundredth time today. “Those dreaded things. I am not an invalid.”
“Right,” I say.
He pulls himself up from leaning and attempts to walk toward me but ends up hopping. The cast on his lower leg is big. I pick up the crutches and hand them to him. Finally, he relents and puts one under each arm. “Dreaded things,” he mutters.
I suppose we’re both limited in our modes of travel. Eron can barely walk, and I failed my driver’s test. Obviously. Though my mother wasn’t happy with my performance that day, she is glad I won’t be driving around the streets of New York City. And she thinks there are worse boyfriends to have than a guy who’s so polite he makes Miss Manners weep with joy. And even though he has a penchant for showing up in my bedroom late at night, he likes her gazpacho, so in her eyes, it balances out.
“I’ll see you in a week,” I tell him, smiling under the weight of his gaze. I can’t not smile when looking at him, can’t not feel warm and shivery at the same time.
He nods.
“And I’ll call you when I get settled in.”
“All right.”
“And before I go to bed, okay?”
“Yes.”
“And in the morning.”
He laughs at me. “That would be lovely.”
I bite my lip. “I hope the bed isn’t lumpy. You know how I like my sleep.”
“I do, all too well,” he says. He reaches over, cups my face in his hands, and kisses me long and slow on the lips. My toes curl. “I wish you sweet dreams.”
I smile. That’s what you are. My sweetest dream, come true.
CY
N BALOG had a massive case of insomnia while writing Sleepless. She lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and daughters. Visit her online at www.cynbalog.com.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2010 by Cyn Balog
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
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