I dropped my toothbrush in the sink, running down the stairs and grabbing my backpack off of the railing, then sped through the kitchen. With a move that the karate kid would have been proud of, I slammed the cancel button on the toaster and snatched the flying pop-tart out of the air, then yelled a quick goodbye to my mom and ran out the door towards Liz’s impatient honking.
“Hey, hot stuff,” she greeted me as I shut the door. She tossed her long blonde hair and backed out of my driveway, handing me a coffee. “How was your psych evaluation? You crazy?”
I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, but I slept with him so he won’t tell anyone.” I took a sip of coffee.
She smiled knowingly, “That’s my girl.”
School was boring as usual, and I kept my hands covered by my sweater to avoid any weird questions, so it wasn’t until lunch that anyone noticed. Liz and Drew, my boyfriend for all intents and purposes, were bickering about whether or not David Bowie was gay. I sided with Liz, explaining that he had just had a flamboyant stage, and stripped off my sweater, dropping it on my backpack before I realized my hands were exposed.
“Whoa…what the hell happened to your hands, Nattie?” Drew grabbed my wrists and held them close to his face. “Did you shove your hands into a food processor?”
“Uh…no. I was…sleepwalking.”
“Sleepwalking?” I could tell Liz was skeptical.
I explained about the nightmares. I omitted the fact that this dream had been different, the part about the music box and the voices. The last thing I needed was for my friends to think I was psycho as well as my mom. They both listened intently through my entire explanation.
“Wow,” Liz concluded, raising her eyebrows, “you really are crazy.”
“What?” Drew laughed, still holding my hands.
“Nothing.” I stared at Liz. Drew didn’t know about my psych appointment. He had been one of my brother’s best friends, and he blamed himself for not keeping him alive. If he thought for one second that I was depressed, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight.
“Crazy about you, Drewy-Pooey,” Liz winked, covering herself. Drew’s cheeks reddened a little, but he kept his cool and smiled crookedly, putting an arm around my waist. He changed the subject quickly.
“So…the theatre trip next month. That‘s going to be awesome.”
The rest of school was uneventful. After the final bell, Liz drove Drew and me to my house to hang out. When my mom came home from work, she found the three of us sprawled out on the couch, covered in popcorn, skittles and soda, cracking up over our movie of choice, Detroit Rock City.
“Anyone up for dinner?” she asked doubtfully, trying to make room on a nearby recliner amidst the piles of junk food.
“Nah, Nora, I‘ve got to go home.” Liz pushed herself off of us. “The moms is making one of her many creative casseroles.” She pulled her purse from under me, taking out her keys. Drew and I serenaded her in farewell, and then went upstairs while my mom fixed dinner.
I plopped myself down on my bed, crossing my legs and pulling a blanket around myself. Drew threw his backpack down beside the door and strolled to my dresser, picking up the music box. He flipped it over in his hand, examining it.
“This is new,” he stated, then opened it to play the song.
“Can‘t get anything by you, slick,” I smiled. He laughed quietly and put it down in its place, staring at the picture of Jake and I. Turning back towards me, I saw the shadow behind his eyes that he always tried to hide when he was thinking about my brother. It only lasted for an instant, usually, but this time he saw the product of my midnight escapade carved into my door.
Oops.
His eyebrows came together slightly, his jaw tightened. He walked to it and reached a hand up, tracing the deepest gashes, all of the places that I hadn’t been able to remove the blood from. He took a deep breath, not sure what to do, then turned to me, crossing his arms. A symbol of concern, not anger, but his voice questioned my story.
“Sleepwalking, huh? It looks like you were attacked by a werewolf.”
I didn’t answer, just looked down and played with a hole in my comforter. He was quiet too, probably considering ways he could keep an eye on me. But then I felt the bed sink next to me and turned to look at him. He grabbed my hand and studied my wounds again, trying to imagine my hands strong enough to claw through wood. I found myself looking down again, wondering the same thing. He probably saw my expression, because in an instant he had wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me so that I was lying next to him on the bed, covering us with a blanket.
“You‘re ok, aren’t you?” His voice was thick with worry.
“My hands are just a little sore.”
“That‘s not what I meant.” But his hand grabbed mine.
I paused, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “I’m fine. I mean, I’ll be fine. It’s just this time of year. Don‘t worry about me.”
He was quiet, letting me trace away his frown with my one good finger, a frown that took a good fifteen minutes to disappear. At least it did for an instant, and then I winced when I closed my hand, and it was back before I could say phantasmagoric.
“You should get that looked at.”
“No need. Mom’s a nurse, remember?”
“Not a doctor.”
“And yet I care so little.”
“Nat-”
My mom called up the stairs that dinner was ready, delaying our argument for a later time. We spent an hour eating lasagna and then I bummed the car keys off of my mom to drive Drew home, telling her I needed practice. He didn’t bring the topic up again, but I could tell it was still on his mind. His kiss goodnight was longer than usual, more intense. I think he was trying to ask me, without words, not to leave him. But I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t, even with the way he looked at me. I couldn’t imagine ever wanting to. But the only thing I could think, even as I drove away, was that was what Jake had promised me.
I dreamed about Jake that night. He was leading me down a long hallway, dark and spacious, and led me to a door. He tried to convince me to enter before him, but I didn’t want to go without him. He looked me straight in the eye and, for a second, his eyes changed. Each iris transformed from a chocolate brown to a deep green, sharp and electrifying. He smiled the smile that no one but us could manage, and then told me that it would be alright. His eyes became normal and he let me enter the room, his presence following me, protecting me. I heard a sharp clack echo through the chamber, and I opened my eyes.
A dark ceiling hovered above me, followed by dark walls. Drip…drip…drip. Wherever I was, I was far from home again. I sat up and took in my surroundings for the millionth time. Each wall was pieced with rounded stone, and there was a smooth stone floor beneath me. Cold, wet, dark. My eyes settled on my music box, sitting across the room in a corner, and it sparked a memory. I looked down at my hands, bloodier than I remembered, still covered in thick gauze.
For the first time ever, I realized I was dreaming.
I felt safer knowing that if I wanted to, I could go home. But my curiosity fed a fire in me, and I had to investigate. I needed to know why I came back to this room, again and again, for no apparent reason. There had to be some explanation behind these dreams. If I discovered it, maybe I could stop them.
I stood and grabbed the wall, lightheaded. Everything moved around me. I found my balance and stepped tentatively to my music box, the only current key to my salvation. It was definitely the same music box, but I still couldn’t place what was different about it. Next, I hobbled to the door and tried it. Sure enough, it was locked. I ran my hands along the crease, looking for an opening I could look through. I stepped to the side, right into something wet and cold. There was a tray filled with some unidentified substance, possibly food. I knelt down and moved it out of the way. At the base of the door, I found a small trap door, almost big enough for my head to fit through.
From a certain angle, I could see that the hallway was fairly well lit. I propped the door open with the tray and combed the rest of the room, finding nothing. Soon I heard a distant sound… footsteps? I stumbled to the door and watched. Soon, the noise approached, and I saw a pair of legs in dark trousers making their way quickly down the hallway. In a panic, I did the first thing I could think of. I threw the tray at them.
It probably wasn’t the brightest idea, but it worked. The legs stopped, food dripping off of them in chunks, and I heard a low, gruff voice curse. They came closer, and, another first, I prayed I wouldn’t wake up. The door shook as the lock clicked, and I pushed myself backwards to avoid being struck once again.
“’Oy, what’s happenin’ in ‘ere?” A tall, wide man with a permanent sour expression masked by 5 o’clock shadow entered, holding a short wooden baton at his side. He spoke with a thick Cockney accent and glared at me with small eyes. I pushed myself backwards against the wall, no longer recalling why I had gotten his attention. He advanced towards me, slamming his stick into the wall, extremely close to my head.
“Did you not ‘ear me, bitch?” He leaned down so that his face was almost touching mine, his breath heavy with the stench of alcohol. I jerked back, trying to turn away, but his hand laced through my hair and held my head back.
I realized I was trapped and hoped that something would detract his attention from me so that I could escape. But then I realized a crucial fact that could save me: this was my dream. I could wake up whenever I wanted to. So why was I still letting this overgrown ape take control of me? If I wanted, pink bunnies could fly into the room and we could all take part in a sing-along.
He must have seen my expression change, because he started to loosen his hold on my hair, but my new realization had made a rebel of me, so I pulled completely out of his grasp. Shocked by my sudden movement, his arm reeled back and came crashing towards my head, staff in hand. The side of my head was overcome with pain, and I was consumed by darkness.
It took all of the strength I had to reach the bathroom. I stared into the mirror, the outlines of everything I saw bleary and indistinct. The side of my face, next to my eye, was a swollen mass of blue and yellow flesh, dripping blood out of a deep cut. I gripped the sink as my strength failed me, and I diminished into a heap on the bathroom floor. My eyes fluttered shut as I coiled myself into a ball, falling into a dreamless sleep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
My temples throbbed, and my nose filled with the dry, clean smell of nothing. I felt a soft pillow beneath my cheek, and, apart from my aching head, I felt warm and comfortable. I turned my face up, trying to sleep.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The noises around me kept me from drifting again. A high-pitched beeping, a baby crying in the distance, phones ringing. My eyes fluttered open, filling with light from the halogen bulbs above me. The ceiling was white and patterned with little holes. I squinted, trying to see more around me past the light.
“Nattie?” Drew’s voice came from my right, quiet and relieved. I tried to speak, but I realized my mouth and throat were so dried out that it hurt to try. My body felt sedated, so heavy that it took a lot of effort just to move. Still, I flexed my hand and felt his fingers close around mine as a shadow came over my face. Drew, smiling at me hopefully, leaned down and kissed my pulsing forehead.
“Are you feeling any better?” His hand touched my cheek, and he waited for me to answer. I moved my mouth to respond again, and this time a low, garbled noise escaped my lips. His eyes widened and he reached to the side, picking up a water bottle and opening it. He propped my head up with one of his hands and held the bottle to my lips with the other. Somewhere along the way I found a little strength, and I grabbed the container in one hand, drinking most of the bottle before I took a breath, then fell back onto the bed, gasping.
“Where am I?” I coughed, turning my head and feeling an extra sharp pain. I now noticed a sink and a complicated looking machine to my left, which was beeping still, faster.
“The hospital, Nat. Don‘t you remember?” he frowned.
I was missing something. I freaked out, to say the least.
“What do you mean, the hospital?!” I tried to sit up, but he gripped my shoulders, pushing me down. There was an IV in my arm that I hadn’t noticed before, and the clean, sharp smell I had detected came from the oxygen attached to my nose.
“Nat, calm down. You want them to knock you out again?” He fought against me as I tried, in vain, to pull myself up.
“Again?” I shrieked, abandoning my struggle. “Why did they knock me out the first time?”
“You were kicking and screaming when they brought you in. You were delirious,” he explained, sitting on the bed next to me, pulling the covers up. “They had to drug you, you could have hurt someone. I was the only one that could calm you down, even a little.” Is it weird that he sounded proud?
“But,” I started, still confused, “why am I here? What happened? Is my mom ok?” I searched my body for cuts or bruises but found none.
He stared at me. “You really don‘t remember?” I only watched him, “You fell out of bed and hit your head pretty hard. On your nightstand.”
“I…That’s it?” I asked him. And then I understood. I had created the man in the dream to explain the pain I was feeling in my head. But I didn’t remember anything after the bathroom. I reached my hand up and felt a bump on my right temple, covered in bandages. Drew caught my eye for a moment; the shadow was back.
“So…what were you dreaming about?” he asked suddenly, looking down.
“Same old.” I closed my eyes. “Where‘s my mom?”
“She went to grab something to eat. Want me to get her?” He stood up to leave.
“No.” I shifted my weight, tired of lying down. “It‘s nice with just us. She‘ll come back.”
An hour later, when she did come back, I was almost asleep again, with Drew sitting next to me. My eyes started to close as she sunk down into a chair next to my bed, caressing my face lightly. My eyelids became heavier under her touch, and I closed them completely. When she thought I was asleep, her tired voice filled the room.
“How is she, Drew?”
“She‘s…confused. Scared. She didn‘t remember anything.”
“How could she not remember that?” Her tone had become strained, urgent. “She sounded like she was being tortured!” She stopped, taking a deep breath.
“I know.” I felt him stand up, and his hand moved some hair off of my forehead. “I don’t understand it
either.”
Another voice entered the room with clacking heels. “It‘s time for Natalie‘s pain medication.” Someone fumbled with the tubes attached to my arm. Soon after, I felt a cold rush within my veins and I began to feel woozy as the heels clacked away.
My mother spoke again. “I just don‘t know what to do, Drew. I feel like I‘m losing her.” She sighed, defeated. Drew was quiet for a long time. His final words held me as I drifted into a drug-induced slumber.
“Me too,” he said, his voice across the room. “Me too.”
“Don‘t let the pretty ones take advantage of you. They can be the trickiest.”
I felt someone changing the bandage on my head, cleaning it with a wet cloth that stung. My eyes tightened instinctively against the pain, my head twitched to the side.
“Looks like she‘s comin’ ‘round…” The same gruff voice from my last nightmare shook me, and my eyes opened immediately. There were three men standing over me, one of them being the man at whom I had thrown my tray. I immediately sat up, backing away from them. The other two were both younger than the first, one with blonde hair and glasses, the other with somewhat longer dark hair that fell slightly into his eyes, reminiscent of Drew‘s but richer. I felt like I had seen both of the men before, with no recollection of where or when.
“What do you want?” I encircled myself with my arms, pulling my legs close to my body. The three men stared at me, as if shocked that I had spoken, and then the blonde removed his glasses, surveying me more closely. He had a thin nose that ended in a short hook, and all of his features had an aged look about them, although he couldn’t be more than 30. He turned to the youngest one with dark hair.
“Look at her eyes.” His voice, tinged with a light English accent, was full of wonder. I lifted my hand to my eyes, feeling for any noticeable change, but found nothing amiss.
“Yes,” the darker man replied, turning his head as if to get me in a better light, “How bizarre…”
“What‘s bizarre?” I demanded, backing away from him. The two stared at me again as though they couldn’t believe I had words and, after a pause, the youngest spoke to me.
“Can you hear us, Bernadette?” His voice was cautious, like he was trying his best to not upset a toddler at a funeral.
“What did you call me?” I frowned at him.
He glanced at the other man, then back at me, still in awe over my apparent disfigurement. “Bernadette. Bernadette Foster.”
