Singe

by Casey Hays

  “What?” I ask.

  “These patterns do not correlate with the way a hybrid brain works while sleeping.” She shows me on the screen. “This tiny dotted line intermingled into the yellow dream pattern is more than just a dream indicator. It’s… memory.”

  “Memory?” Confused I glance at Joshua for confirmation. “So you’re saying I’m dreaming—while I’m awake—about things that actually happened to me?”

  “Something like that.” Joshua breaks into a grin. “It’s phenomenal.”

  “So I’m not dreaming?”

  “Not completely.”

  Wow.

  “Ever?” I ask.

  “Not necessarily,” Petra explains. But I’m more confused than ever. “This indicates that some of your brain activity is based on your imagination. But much of it is real life experience; moreso than most humans.” She pauses. “Think of it as taking memory and designing it the way you want it to look. Like an artist.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” She exchanges a glance with Joshua. “I would like to assess this further with a few more dream sessions. There is so much going on in that brain of yours.” A pause. “Can I ask what you were dreaming about?”

  “I was a baby. And… I was flying. Or… floating.” I let that sink in. None of this is making any sense. “So my dream about Rylin in the cornfield? Dream or memory?”

  “Have you ever been with Rylin in a cornfield?”

  “No.”

  “I’d say a dream, then.”

  More like a nightmare.

  “But your dream as a baby? That could be a memory. Or imagination. Or both mingled together.”

  “It felt real,” I say. “But so did my dream of Rylin. It felt like he was in a lot of trouble. And my brother was there. Telling me I knew what to do.” I search Petra’s face. “Rylin’s not back yet, is he?”

  With a purse of her lips, she shakes her head, and I feel sick. I knocked on Rylin’s door before I got into the elevator, and still no answer.

  “Let’s take a break,” Petra suggests. “Joshua and I will go over these results thoroughly. Will you be up for another session this afternoon?”

  “Yes.” I don’t even hesitate. Because now, I’m curious. I’m ready to get to the bottom of whatever this is.

  “This is an exceptional discovery.” Petra gives my arm a little shake. “I think we’re going to have some answers for how to control your dreams very soon. We’ll have your brother here in no time.”

  I toss one final glance at the computer screen.

  I’m really beginning to wonder…

  Lyric 3

  “Jude. Jonas. Look at Momma, Jude.”

  I squint up and flash my best smile. The camera clicks a couple of times. On the park bench where she sits, Mom examines the tiny screen, and satisfied, drops the camera into a large bag at her feet. She resumes her conversation with the woman next her.

  Sandy Cameron.

  I sit in the middle of a sandbox, my legs buried somewhere under mounds of scratchy granules. It’s hot, but the shadow of a large oak shades me.

  “Shovel.”

  I glance to my left, and there’s little Jonas. He scoops up a shovelful of sand, smiles at me stupidly, and crams it into his mouth.

  “No, no, Jonas.” Sandy Cameron bends over, yanking the red shovel from his hand. “Don’t eat the sand. It’s not food.”

  She picks him up and returns to the park bench, settling him on her lap. The more he squirms, the tighter her grip.

  “Anyway,” she says, taking up her conversation without missing a beat. “Dr. Hampton told me to discharge him if that’s what he wanted. I wasn’t going to argue. I mean, I’m only a student, you know? I don’t have any clout around that place.”

  “I don’t blame you.” Mom tucks a piece of dark hair behind her ear. “I would have done the same thing.”

  I stand up; sand spills down my legs, but I can still feel the grainy leftovers on my skin. I watch the three of them. Mom waves at me, then holds out her arms, beckoning me to come to her. Sandy keeps talking; Jonas keeps squirming, and I think… this is a memory.

  I remember this day.

  I’m two years old, and it’s Saturday. We always come to the park on Saturday with Sandy Cameron and Jonas. Afterwards, we’ll go to the ice cream parlor on Carson, and I will pick a different flavor than last time. My goal is to try every single one.

  Mom is going to stand up. She’s going to push her sunglasses up to the top of her head and dig through her bag for a box of wipes to clean me off. Yep, there she goes.

  The cool cloth hits my face.

  I remember.

  Twelve

  Slouched together on the couch in Kane’s suite, my legs thrown over his, I tell him what I learned. And we’re both stumped.

  “What are they planning to do with that info?”

  His wings form a canopy over our heads, and I nestle into them until his feathers flop down around me, the silkiness of one of them grazing my cheek. I toy with the end of it.

  “I go back in a couple of hours for another session.” I raise my arm to examine the IV needle still embedded in my orange-tinged skin and taped down to keep it from catching on anything. Thank goodness I can’t actually see it. “Hopefully, they’ll know more after they read over my reports.”

  “They said you were awake?”

  “Well, sort of.” I move the puzzle pieces of my brain around, trying to remember. “They said my brainwaves were acting like I was awake while I was dreaming. It’s really weird.”

  “Really weird,” he agrees. His hand falls on my knees, and he rolls his head to look at me. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m good.” But am I? Maybe I’m just saying this because I want it to be true. “It wasn’t so bad. Just another crazy dream like always.” I force a laugh. “I just keep dreaming that I’m a baby Fireblood. With wings… I think.”

  “Are you sure it’s a dream?” His eyes dance over my face. I pull up, criss-crossing my legs under me. His wings expand and fold back in to accommodate the position change.

  “I don’t have wings. That was not a memory.”

  “I know that.” He twirls a piece of my hair around his finger. “But Petra said you make your memories look like you want them to, right? And I know how much you wish you had wings.”

  His own seem to shrink for a second, as if he’s trying not to rub it in. I run my fingers through a swath of feathers.

  “I really do,” I whisper. And then, I sigh, heavy and loud. “Oh, well.”

  I drop my hand over his where it rests on my knee, tossing him a loose smile. But what he said sits on the back of my thoughts for a few seconds longer. The wings are definitely from my imagination, but the rest? Could I really be remembering a piece of my childhood in Costa Rica?

  “I had an interesting morning.” Kane releases my dark strand. It springs back, hitting my cheek.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep. Joshua now has the full disclosure on how I compel your ring.”

  “Oh.” I pretend to be impressed. “And is the mystery solved?”

  “Nope.” He slinks low, eye-level, and hands me a proud little shrug. “Because you can either do it or you can’t. It can’t really be explained.”

  “Really? Your parents were able to.”

  “Not like me,” he grins, and I can see his pride like a beacon. “They had to take turns. I’ve been able to carry us both.”

  “And I am glad you’re such a pro.”

  My gratitude swims to the surface of my emotions, I can’t express it in words. Well, not in human words anyway, and I want him to understand this. I press a hand into the curve of his neck and ease into his mind, linking with him. His fingers slide up my forearm and curl around my wrist.

  “You’re welcome,” he whispers, and his tone, so sultry and sweet lures me in. I have to kiss him. And when I do, the whole world rights itself for just a little while. I sink ba
ck under his huge iridescent wings, satisfied.

  “No sign of Rylin, by the way.” Kane sounds worried, and that jumpstarts my nerves. “I knocked on his door three times while you were gone.”

  “It’s time to start looking for him.”

  “Yep. Any suggestions on where to begin?”

  “We could… break into his room.”

  Kane snaps his head toward me. “Are you serious?”

  “What?” I peer at him accusatorily. “I know you can compel that lock to open.”

  “Yeah, I can,” he retorts. “And if it weren’t for the fact that the room is also Mr. McDowell’s, I might’ve already done it. But I’m not about to mess with him.”

  “Why is everyone so afraid of him?” I ask. “He just seems like a big, arrogant jerk to me.”

  “He is. He’s a big, powerful, arrogant jerk. And you don’t want to get on the bad side of someone with power.”

  Now I’m curious. “What kind of power?”

  “The kind that can ruin lives.” Kane checks that I understand. “I can guarantee you he’s got those regents wrapped around his little finger by now. He only has to offer them whatever they want, and he’s off the hook. So is Rylin. My parents? Not a chance. They’re just a couple of hard working people with no prestige or anything.”

  “Maybe he’ll help your parents.”

  “He won’t.” There’s such certainty in his tone. “They’ve got history.”

  “What happened?” I fall back against his wing, pulling my knees to my chest and angling myself to see him better.

  “Mr. McDowell owns a lot of businesses in Carson City. Almost all of them, actually. He tried to get my dad to sell the shop to him when I was twelve. Dad refused, and Mr. McDowell didn’t like that.” Kane’s whole expression darkens at the memory. “He blacklisted the shop. Bribed and coerced people to keep them from doing business with us. My dad lost a lot of regular customers and revenue.” He sighs, and the sound is dark too. “He would have had to file bankruptcy if your dad hadn’t loaned him the money to save the place.”

  “Really?” I never knew any of this.

  “Yep.” Kane’s face flushes red, like he’s embarrassed, and the orange markings along his neck deepen. “I didn’t understand it all when I was a kid, except that I knew my dad’s business was in trouble. Rafe put Mr. McDowell in his place too. Because things got better.”

  “My dad?” My easygoing, kind dad put that a-hole in his place? Nice.

  “Your dad,” Kane laughs. “At least, that’s what my parents tell me.”

  “Huh.”

  “It wasn’t too much longer after that your dad died.” Kane says it quietly, looking at me like I should be picking up on something.

  “You think—” I take a minute to wrap my head around what I’m about to vocalize. “Is that why my dad is dead? Because he stood up to Sean McDowell?”

  “I thought so.” Kane’s mind churns for a better answer. “But if what Rylin told you is true, then it’s not the reason at all.”

  I blink at him. “You’ve never told me any of this.” And I don’t like it one bit that he’s still keeping things from me.

  “I didn’t really think it mattered why he was gone. And you were hurting as it was. Besides, I was twelve, and your mom was venting. My parents had already settled on the animal attack as the cause. At least publicly. And so I did the same.” He rubs a hand up the side of his face. “Mr. McDowell went home to Ireland, so that was the end of it. Best day of my life.”

  “Yeah. Because Rylin went with him,” I tease.

  “Rylin was a jerk. Just like his dad.”

  “Was?”

  He won’t look at me, electing to examine his fingernails.

  “I’ll admit, he’s changed,” he grumbles. “And I hate it. It’s weakening my reasons to dislike him.” He flashes me a fiery glance. “Are you happy now?”

  “You don’t have to like him on my account.” Although I sure wish the two of them could get along.

  “Good to know.”

  “I still think we should break in,” I add. “Maybe Rylin left us a secret message in case something like this happened.”

  Kane half-laughs. “Sure he did.”

  “You never know.”

  “I’ll think about it.” He lumbers to his feet, folding his wings in. “Right now, I’m starving. Let’s see what we can find to cook in this place.”

  ***

  For two wonderful hours, things feel pretty normal in that little kitchen. Whoever stocked it thought of everything, and Kane, the chef that he is, whips us up a batch of Mexican casserole, side salads included. It has the perfect heat, and of course, it’s delicious. By the time Petra rings the room to have me come down to the lab, we’ve eaten three-fourths of it already.

  Kane tags along, and I’m glad. I’m not sure what she and Joshua found in my scans, and I want him with me. Because anything Petra has to tell me will be easier to take if he’s here.

  “We’ve found an interesting pattern to your brainwaves,” Petra begins the minute we take our seats across from her desk.

  “Okay.”

  I can’t tell if this is good news or bad news. She drags a large notebook closer to her and opens it. Inside are my brain scans, notes etched along the sides. Some of the waves are highlighted, circled, or measured out with tiny lines and dots that look like rulers. Petra flips a few pages in and turns the book so that I can see. Kane and I lean forward in unison.

  “There are four stages of sleep. Stage one is the introductory phase. People can be easily woken during this stage, and often experience a sensation of falling or jerking awake as their bodies and their brains settle into relaxation.” She produces a chart from a small filing cabinet to the left of her desk and plops it down on top of the open notebook. She taps a finger over a small graph that explains the stages of sleep in simple terms. “Stage two is the first stage of non-REM sleep. It prepares the brain for protection while sleeping. Temperature decreases, heart rate slows, and it becomes more difficult to be awakened.”

  I study the chart. The information she provides is written in tiny black letters beside each sleep graph. I reread it for myself.

  “Stage three is often referred to as the deep sleep phase. Most people cannot be awakened during this stage of sleep. Sleepwalking, night terrors, talking in your sleep—these all occur during this phase. REM sleep comes next: the dreaming phase.”

  I look at her. This is the stage I’m interested in. Kane picks up the chart, studying it more closely as Petra continues.

  “In REM, brain waves are extremely active. It’s also easy to be awakened from a dream. The dream itself can awaken you, if it’s disturbing enough.”

  “So what does all of this mean?” That I’m losing it comes to mind, and with that thought flashing through my brain, I’m almost afraid to hear the answer.

  Petra pushes the notebook of brain scans closer to me and taps a finger over a section marked with measurements.

  “A person experiences all phases of sleep in cycles, but not necessarily in order. A typical cycle will last ninety minutes and will recycle five to six times per night.” She looks straight at me. “I measured an hour cycle while you were under.”

  “Okay?”

  “You don’t experience all four stages of sleep.”

  “Is that… common?”

  “Not only is it not common, it isn’t possible. Yet…” She spreads both hands wide hovering them over the scans. “Here’s proof of it.”

  “Is this a hybrid thing?” Kane asks. He tosses the chart onto her desk.

  “Not that I’ve seen before.” She pauses.

  “So what stages do I have?” I’m completely dumbfounded.

  “Here is where you fell asleep this morning.” She points at a ribbon of blue scratches. “And here…” She turns a few pages more. “… is where we began to detect dream activity. You skipped stages two and three completely.”

  “So?” Kane leans on his
knees, eying Petra. He’s beginning to look less skeptical and more interested. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t want to make an assessment too hastily, but I believe you experience only one two-stage cycle. It’s unclear whether you recycle at all.” She closes the notebook, placing the chart inside it like a large bookmark. She lays her arms one over the other on top of the notebook and looks at me. “I’d like you to wear a sleep monitor tonight. Recording seven to eight hours of sleep as opposed to one will be tremendously helpful.”

  “Okay.” I figure I don’t have anything to lose. But I still have questions. “Are you saying that I was in REM sleep for the whole hour?”

  “Yes. You spent about five minutes in stage one. The rest of the time, you were dreaming.”

  “I don’t get it,” I contest. “I really don’t dream that often. I mean, they are pretty vivid and kind of realistic when I do, especially when I’m decamouflaged, but I just don’t have too many.”

  “There’s where you’re wrong. You do dream. Sometimes of memories, sometimes simply imaginative dreams. But either way, you dream for the entire time you’re asleep from what these readings say.” She taps the book again. “Studies show that a person only remembers dreams if awakened during REM sleep. And if you’re only experiencing Stage one and REM…” She pauses, opens the notebook to skim it. “We’ll know more after you’ve slept a full night.”

  She says this last part to herself, pouring over the report. I lean back and flick a glance toward Kane. He watches Petra.

  “How does this monitor work?” He finally asks. “Will she need to keep this IV in?”

  “No.” Petra looks at me even though he’s the one who asked the question. “I want you to fall asleep naturally. The monitor is a vest hooked up to a portable computer. A series of wires will be suctioned to your temples, head, and chest. It’s a very simple process.”

  Kane seems satisfied with this, so I turn the conversation in a different direction.

  “And what about Rylin? No news?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Shouldn’t we find out what’s going on?”

  “We don’t dabble in Contingent business, Jude. It’s our goal to keep this lab classified, and avoiding run-ins with the Contingent is how we’ve done it.” She studies my less than impressed expression and sighs. “Look, Rylin asked that we give you and Kane sanctuary here at Singe. We’ve done that. Now, he’s gone with his father. Whatever else involves him is not our concern.”