Night Terrors (15 page)

As if reading my mind, Jinx said, “It’s a closed eye. It represents sleep.”

“Right. I remember now. I saw it on their webpage.” I looked at it more closely. “You know, if they positioned it vertically, it would look like this was a gynaecologist’s building.”

Jinx sighed.

“If it was nighttime, you’d have laughed.”

“At that joke? Not likely.”

We were halfway across the parking lot by now, and my queasiness surged into full-fledged nausea. My heart started pounding double time and sweat beaded on my skin. I became dizzy, and my vision blurred. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I might be experiencing a panic attack. That or I was having a stroke. I almost said something to Jinx, but I was afraid he’d just nag me about forcing myself to have a second backstep. Besides, I didn’t want to scare him. I was plenty scared for the both of us. I tried to relax my body as we walked, and I focused on breathing deeply and evenly. But by the time we reached the building’s entrance, I was fairly confident I wasn’t going to die – at least not within the next few minutes – although I still felt awful.

I wondered if my panic was caused by the thought of seeing Dr Kauffman for the first time in fifteen years. That hadn’t exactly been the happiest time of my life. I decided to squash that thought before it could go any further, though. The last thing I needed was to get even more worked up than I already was.

Jinx seemed not to have noticed my spaz attack, and I was grateful. I didn’t want to distract him.
At least one of us should have our shit together when we’re working,
I thought.

He opened one of the double glass doors and gestured for me to enter. Day Jinx can be a gentleman when it suits him. Night Jinx would’ve probably just smashed through the glass at a full run, giggling like a lunatic as he went, not caring whether or not I followed. I stepped through and tossed my mostly empty coffee cup into a trash receptacle just inside the large atrium-style lobby. A semicircular reception desk was located on the far side of the lobby, and a round-faced woman in her late thirties with curly black hair sat at the desk, typing on a keyboard. She was dressed in a stylish business suit, but despite her professional appearance, she didn’t look up as we entered. Her attention was completely absorbed by whatever was displayed on her computer monitor.

We walked past a waiting area consisting of several expensive-looking leather chairs and couches. The furniture was arranged around a large-screen TV playing an informational video to empty seats about all the wonderful services Perchance to Dream offered. On the screen, a white-bearded man in his late fifties – wearing a tailored gray suit – was speaking rapidly and at high volume.

“You might be asking yourself, ‘Why do
I
need help sleeping? I sleep just fine!’ Well, my friend, the fact is that you only
think
you’re getting a good night’s sleep. But just because your eyes are closed doesn’t mean you’re getting restful, and most importantly,
restorative
sleep.”

He gave his nonexistent audience a wide, gleaming smile.

When we reached the desk, I looked at the receptionist and hooked a thumb toward the video monitor.

“You must be sick of listening to that noise all day,” I said.

She didn’t respond. In fact, she seemed totally unaware of our presence. I leaned forward and waved a hand between her face and the monitor. She gave a start, then looked up at us, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Sorry.” She removed a pair of plastic plugs from her ears and placed them on top of the desk.

“No need to apologize,” I said. “If I worked here, I’d do the same.”

Her smile relaxed. “I wouldn’t mind it so much if they’d let me turn the volume down when no one else is here. Oh, well. We all have our crosses to bear, right?”

“That’s an interesting pin,” I said, nodding toward the silvery object affixed to her lapel. “It’s the company logo, right?”

“Yes. It’s supposed to look like a closed eye.” She lowered her voice. “I think it’s kind of ugly, to tell you the truth, but they make us wear it.” She brushed her fingers across her pin as if to give it a quick polish, then said, “How may I help you?”

“My colleague and I are freelance writers,” Jinx said. “We’re working on an article about your company for
Innovation Today
magazine.”

There is, of course, no such magazine. That’ll be our little secret, OK?

The woman’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes narrowed slightly. “Did you have an appointment to speak with someone? I don’t recall seeing anything like that on today’s schedule.”

She turned to her monitor, worked the mouse for a couple seconds, checked whatever appeared on her screen, then turned back to us.

“I wasn’t informed about any interview.” She sounded apologetic again, but also a bit guarded.

“We emailed your public relations director last week,” Jinx said. He didn’t elaborate. He just looked at the receptionist expectantly. Even in his Day Aspect, there’s something slightly off-putting about Jinx, and he can stare for a long time without blinking if he wants to. It unnerves people when he does that, and he was doing it now.

The receptionist’s smile faded. “I, uh… OK. Just let me check.”

She lifted the receiver from her desk phone, punched in an extension number, then lifted to receiver to her ear. After a moment, she said, “Mr Schulte? This is Vivian. I have a man and a woman down here who say they have an appointment with you. They’re writers working on a magazine article. They say they sent you an email last week, but I–” She paused as if interrupted, and listened. “Very well. I’ll let them know.” She replaced the receiver and looked at us, smile firmly in place once again.

“Mr Schulte will be down in a moment.”

“Thanks,” I said, and then Jinx and I wandered over to the waiting area. We didn’t sit down, though. It was bad enough that we couldn’t avoid the obnoxiously loud voice of the man in the promotional video. We weren’t about to sit where we had to look at him, too.

I still felt queasy and weak, but now that we were actually here and working, I was starting to feel a little better. Maybe I had experienced some kind of physical reaction to the Incursion, I told myself. After all, I normally found passing through Doors disorienting, right? How much more would such an unprecedentedly strong Incursion – one that occurred during the daytime and was capable of distorting a couple blocks’ worth of reality – affect me? That’s all it was, I told myself.

A few moments later an elevator door next to the receptionist’s desk opened with a ding, and who should emerge but the man from the video? He came walking briskly toward us, a used-car-salesman grin on his face.

“Parker Schulte,” he said. “I’m the PR guy around here.” He spoke just as fast as he did on the video, and his volume was almost as loud.

Like the receptionist, he wore one of the ugly closed-eye pins on his lapel. He looked exactly like his video self, even down to his suit. It was almost as if he’d stepped off the screen to greet us. His white hair was cut short, and his full beard was nearly trimmed, but despite his age, he moved with the energy and vigor of a younger man.

“And you are… ?” he prompted.

“Emmett Kelly,” Jinx said. It was his usual cover name, taken from the famous circus performer.

“Audra Hawthorne.” I couldn’t give Schulte a false name, not if I wanted Dr Kauffman to recognize me.

“Delighted to meet you both.” He shook our hands, mine first, then Jinx’s, his grip so firm, it verged on painful.

“Sorry for the confusion,” he said. “I must’ve forgotten to make a note of our appointment time. No worries, though. I’m more than happy to devote the rest of my afternoon to you both.”

“Please accept our apologies for arriving so late in the day,” Jinx said. “We had several… unexpected delays.”

“No problem,” Schulte said. “As you might imagine, since our mission is treating sleep disorders, we keep flexible hours around here.” His smile increased by a few watts. “So, where would you like to start? With a tour, maybe?”

Jinx and I exchanged glances. The freelance writer bit works every time.

I smiled. “A tour would be lovely.”

 

Perchance to Dream was an impressive operation. They had facilities for conducting sleep studies – a dozen rooms in all – where people suffering everything from sleep apnea, insomnia, and narcolepsy to interrupted sleep patterns and restless leg syndrome could be examined and eventually treated. The company had physicians on staff, of course, but they also had dieticians and physical trainers to help patients with their overall health, along with chiropractors and massage therapists.

“We totally believe in the mind-body connection,” Schulte explained.

There was an onsite pharmaceutical research facility as well as what Schulte referred to as their Mental Wellness division. It was this department that Jinx and I were most interested in, of course, as that’s where Dr Kauffman worked.

Jinx had grabbed a camera when he stopped at our place to change clothes, and as Schulte squired us around, Jinx took pictures from time to time to keep up the illusion that we were freelance writers. And I’d brought a small notebook that I pretended to write in. Masters of espionage, that’s us.

At one point, Jinx asked, “So what’s new at Perchance to Dream? Anything you folks are especially excited about?”

“We’re always working on new innovations in sleep therapy,” Schulte said. “But one of the things that we’re currently researching – that we feel is very promising – is a new sleep aid called Torporian. It’s highly effective, non-narcotic, and non-habit-forming. It works in concert with a person’s natural body chemistry to produce unparalleled results at a minimal cost with virtually no side effects.”

It was the
virtually
part that bothered me. There was probably a long list of “potential” side effects, starting with gastrointestinal discomfort and ending with the usual Big Three: heart attack, stroke, or – in rare cases – death.

“Torporian isn’t on the market yet,” Schulte said, “but the drug has performed well during clinical trials, and we expect the FDA to approve it any day.”

We continued the tour, Schulte maintaining a brisk pace along with a rapid-fire spiel that was, quite frankly, exhausting. At one point we passed by a closed metal door with a keycard lock. A loud, low thrumming noise came from inside, so strong it made my teeth vibrate. When I asked Schulte what was in there, he said that was where they kept the main computer servers. I wasn’t aware of any computers that made sounds like that, not outside of old-time science fiction movies, anyway, but Schulte kept going before I could ask him any more about it.

When we finally reached Mental Wellness – which was located on the third floor – I interrupted his monologue.

“I have to confess that I have an ulterior motive for doing this story,” I said.

“Oh?” Schulte’s ever-present smile didn’t leave his face, but I saw something shift in his eyes, as if he were performing a quick mental recalculation.

I laughed. “I didn’t mean that to sound as ominous as it came out. I had severe problems sleeping when I was a child – that’s what got me interested in doing an article on your company in the first place. When I was conducting background research on Perchance to Dream, I was surprised to discover the psychiatrist who treated me when I was a child is the director of your Mental Wellness department: Dr Cecelia Kauffman.”

My stomach gave a cold twist as I spoke her name, but I managed to keep smiling.

Jinx glanced at me, most likely to check how I was doing, but I ignored him. I didn’t want to make Schulte suspicious.

“It’s true what they say; it really is a small world,” Schulte said. “Well, I’m sure Dr Kauffman would love to see you. I don’t know her schedule off the top of my head, so she might be with a client right now, but let’s go see.” His smile widened a fraction. “I’d love to arrange a reunion between the two of you.”

There was nothing special about the Mental Wellness department. It was nothing more than bland hallways with closed, windowless office doors. Some had signs indicating the office’s purpose or occupant, but some were blank, giving no indication of who or what lay inside. Dr Kauffman’s office was located at the far end of the hall. The sign on the door read simply:

Now that we were here, I started to feel ill again, like I was going to throw up everything I’d eaten for the last week. I couldn’t understand why I was so nervous. I mean, sure, I associated Dr Kauffman with the most painful time of my life, but it wasn’t the thought of reliving memories of that time that bothered me. Right now I was afraid of
her
, and I didn’t know why. She hadn’t been the warmest person, but she hadn’t done anything to traumatize me.

That had been Jinx’s doing – and my parents’, since they refused to believe that I was being terrorized by a living clown that had somehow left my dream and entered the real world. But if I hadn’t needed to learn the name of the boy who I was certain became Nocturne, I’d have turned and fled down the hallway, shrieking at the top of my lungs. I tried to tell myself that I just needed rest, needed to cut back on the pharmaceutical assistance I relied on from time to time to get through the day. It was all catching up to me, resulting in what seemed to be panic attacks but were really just my system being completely out of whack.

That’s what I tried to tell myself, but I didn’t believe it.

Jinx must’ve sensed what I was feeling – as strong as my anxiety was at that moment, I doubted I was managing to conceal it very well – and he stepped closer and put his hand on the small of my back. The contact made me jump at first, but when I realized what Jinx was doing, I was grateful for his support. The contact didn’t make me feel less scared, but it did make me feel less alone, and that was a big help.