Sleepless (11 page)

Finally, the vehicles slow to a stop. A girl in an obscene outfit that shows her middle section takes a quick look right and left and steps out into the street as if she is not taking her life in her hands. I watch to make sure she isn’t killed, then scamper at her heels, her faithful shadow. Heaving a sigh, I step onto the opposite curb. Safe.

Mr. Colburn mentioned something about how Julia used to lunch on the green with him, outside. He said that they always sat at the last picnic table on the right with an enormous plate of french-fried potatoes and a Coca-Cola. It was “their” place. Now, he said, she would probably be eating alone, reading. I walk along the chain-link fence until I come to the edge of the building. On the other side of the fence, not ten feet from me, is the table he was referring to. But there are four girls sitting there.

It takes me a moment to realize that one of them
is
Julia; her hair looks more mussed than usual, though it is down in its normal style, forward over her cheeks and forehead. Her eyes are heavier, her skin paler than I usually see in the darkness, in the confines of her bedroom.

She seems anxious. Last night, we had quite the struggle getting her to sleep. My student trembled and cursed under his breath once or twice, but he kept at it, silently, steadily. There was something on her mind, but her sleep was dreamless, so it gave us no indication of what the trouble was. Colburn hadn’t told me exactly
what
in the human world he’d touched, but her anxiety made me certain that it was something of Julia’s, and that she’d noticed it. She is not a stupid girl, after all.

I stand there, watching for a moment, as they chat and giggle. In the sunlight, Julia glows, unlike I’ve ever seen. I’m used to taking in her delicate form by moonlight, so I had no idea her skin was so luminous, so pale, so fragile. She is the most reserved of all the girls, and it pleases me somewhat to see how uncomfortable she is among the group; it’s just another thing we have in common. When she offers her plate of fries to the table, her voice is nearly drowned out in the breeze.

She is safe. This should be enough for me. I am but a stranger to her, and I know I shouldn’t stare or else risk looking like a lunatic. But as a Sleepbringer, I had the luxury of gazing at her for as long as I wanted, and perhaps that is why I can’t seem to look away.

One by one, the girls turn to me. The combination of amusement and shock on their faces is palpable. My first
instinct is to run away, but before I can, Julia turns. Her eyes narrow and then widen as she takes me in. I’ve never before felt the weight of her eyes on mine. It’s so dizzying I have to lace my fingers through the fence to steady myself. I wonder if she always has that effect on people.

I realize I am still wearing my hat—what a boor I am—and quickly remove it. “Good day,” I say, and my voice quavers awfully; how disgraceful. But it has been years since I’ve spoken to any human female, much less four of them. I feel a trickle of sweat slide down my temple; for the first time in a hundred years, I am perspiring.

One of them, a girl with dark skin and even darker hair, straightens to get a better look at me. “Are you going to get naked?”

I turn my ear toward her, certain I’m mistaken. “Beg pardon?”

She shrugs. “Damn. I thought someone had sent us a strip-o-gram. You’re
fine
.”

A strip-o-…? I hope they’re not implying what I think they are. Julia is too young and upstanding to dabble in such things; it is a disappointment to discover that she is again choosing to surround herself with individuals who are beneath her. “Yes, I am fine, thank you very much,” I answer. “How do you do?”

A moment of silence passes before they all break into laughter. I’m doing frightfully well, if my intention was to be a comic act.

I know I should just say farewell and be on my way, but something about this moment is so thrilling I can’t resist. The opportunity to talk to the girl I’ve guided her entire life, to
have her regard me as well. I remember with a stab of pain in my heart those countless decades I spent regretting never asking Gertie to the church social, the many nights I spent knowing I would do things differently, had I only the chance. I realize I’m clutching my hat to my chest so tightly I’m digging holes into the silk with my fingernails. Her name escapes my mouth naturally, since it has been on the tip of my tongue for years. “Julia.”

They all look at her. Slowly, she rises from the seat, swinging her leg over the bench, and walks to me, timidly, as if being pulled against her will. She stops more than arm’s distance away from the fence. It strikes me at that moment that as a human, I have always made women uneasy. I seem to threaten them just as much as they threaten me.

She’s wearing a long flowered skirt; it’s delicate and suits her. “Yeah?” she asks in a brusque voice that does not.

“Hello. My name is Eron DeMarchelle,” I say softly, bowing my head in respect.

Behind her, one of the girls shouts in a brash tone better suited to a bartender, “Take it all off, baby!”

Julia turns to them for barely a second and then to me, blushing charmingly. “How do you know my name?”

I could tell her much more about herself, probably more than even she knows, but that is not my purpose. I smile. “You do not know me, but—”

Smack
. Something, or someone, hits me on the back of the head. I recoil, wincing, and look around, rubbing the soreness on the back of my head. Nothing there. But I know better.

I clear my throat. “What I wanted to say was—”

I stop midsentence. I feel a twinge and look down at my
hands. I can see the fence and blades of grass on the ground through them, just barely. It’s not quite noticeable yet, but I know what is coming. I must flee before I disappear in front of her.

“I must go,” I say hurriedly.

“I … don’t understand.” Above, a bell rings, tinny and disconcerting. Julia looks away, hesitating. “I—I’ve got to go, too,” she says, moving away from the fence. She picks up her tray and disappears into the building without another glance in my direction.

And that is when I see a face, twisted in rage, in the school’s dust-coated window. The same boy from Julia’s dream. Mr. Colburn’s best friend.

CHAPTER 15
Julia

B
reathe
.

Once inside, I need to remind myself to do that. Though the air in the courtyard was fresh and cool and smelled like the honeysuckles lining the back of the school, and the air here, in the dank cafeteria, reeks of mustard, onion, and some unidentifiable dead animal, I finally have an easier time getting my lungs to work.

He spoke to me like he knew me. But I’d remember if I’d seen him before, and not just because of the top hat and spats. He’s easily the best-looking guy I’ve ever seen, someone unforgettable. It was obvious Ebony and her crew thought the same, judging by the way they drooled into their lunch trays. He had a movie-star, chiseled jawline with the slightest hint of late-day stubble, and dark brooding eyes that lingered lazily, comfortably on me, making me uneasy. I’d have remembered very clearly
a guy who could look at me that way. I had the vaguest feeling of déjà vu, but nothing I could place.

He knew my name. And he wanted to speak to me, only to me. About what? Probably that I can save hundreds on auto insurance by switching to his company. But still …

What kind of insurance salesman wears a tuxedo?

Before I can formulate a better explanation, an arm snakes around my shoulders and pulls me against the cold cinder block wall of the cafeteria. I gasp, then relax when I see Bret. “Who was that guy?” he asks, just a bit too loudly and too protectively for my liking.

I shrug. “No clue,” I say, wondering if my cheeks are still flushed. He leans into me, so close I think he’s going to put his forehead against mine. That’s something Griffin used to do; he would boast that he could read my thoughts by osmosis. But Bret has never been this close, and that’s when I smell his breath, hot and sour. His dad’s scotch, I think. “Are you trying to get suspended on the second-to-last day of school?”

He grins, and slurs, “I’m going to B Tri-C. All you need to get in there are three brain cells and a number two pencil.”

This is nothing new to me. Bret is constantly disparaging himself because Griffin got into a good school and he didn’t. Bret has never been the scholarly type, so that’s why he’s going to Bucks County Community College this fall. And when he’s drunk, he likes to mope and feel sorry for himself. “Oh, stop,” I say, slapping him lightly. “Look on the bright side.”

He’s still standing entirely too close for my liking. And looking entirely too serious. The smile is still there, but barely. Unfortunately, Bret gets that way when he drinks. He raises an eyebrow. “And what is the bright side, Ippie?”

“You know. You won’t be here, at Wilson.”

His face falls until only a trace of a smile is left. Clearly it was not the answer he was hoping for. He sighs and his eyes trail to the ground. “I always thought the bright side was that I would be near you.”

I’m trying to figure out how I can escape him, so it takes me a moment to realize what he has said. I search for the irony, the sarcasm in his features, but there is none. He’s not looking at me; though he may be tipsy, he’s obviously still aware that he’s out of his comfort zone. Bret is being
sweet
. How can I run away and toss a casual “See you” over my shoulder when he’s baring his soul like this? I can’t. But I can’t think of anything else to say, so a lame “Oh” slips out.

Maybe a full minute passes, and I still can’t think of anything to say. Well, nothing nice. I can think of a hundred insults, the best being “Go tell it to Dr. Phil,” thanks to all the time I spent with Griffin.

Finally, he mumbles, “I thought with Griffin gone, you and I would be … you and I … we make sense. But you’re … changing…. I mean, don’t you like me anymore?”

It’s really pathetic. He sounds like a three-year-old asking if someone, anyone, will play with him on the playground. But this is Bret; he’s only this way because he’s drinking. Tomorrow he’ll shrug it off and crack jokes about it. “It’s not you,” I explain, knowing I’m heading for that horrible cliché
It’s not you, it’s me
. “You know I loved Griffin. I still do. And—”

My mouth is still forming words when he swoops in and lays a kiss on it. His lips are cold and wet and lacking all muscle tone, like two fat jellyfish. And I thought it wasn’t possible for a kiss to be any less passionate than in my dream. But how can I deny
a guy who has just broken open a vein for me like that? He brings his hand to my cheek and strokes it, kind of nice and soft, like I’m some fine treasured possession, so I know this is a big deal for him. Even if he will deny that tomorrow. So I tilt my chin up and kiss back. But only for a second, because at that moment someone tweaks my ass.

“Ouch!” we both shout in unison, separating.

I rub my backside, muttering curses, ready to slap him, when I realize that one of Bret’s hands is wrapped around a jug of something probably laced with scotch, and the other, the one that was previously stroking my cheek, is now gingerly massaging the back of his head. “Something hit me,” he moans, sour-faced. He turns around, looking confused. The vast cafeteria is empty except for a couple of hairnetted ladies cleaning tables in the far corner.

I stop rubbing as a tingling sensation rises up my neck to my hairline. Only one person I know liked to squeeze my butt like that.

Oh, hell.

I belong to you. I belong to you, Griffin
, I say to myself, as if he’s in my mind and can hear my thoughts. I start to move away from Bret, but he grabs my hand. “Are you okay?”

I snatch it back. Any more physical contact and my backside might end up a black-and-blue checkerboard. “Yeah. Late for class,” I say, forcing a smile.

It’s crazy. Crazy to think Griffin is still here.

Still, when I turn away from Bret and make my way past the empty tables, I mutter, almost inaudibly, “I belong to you, Griffin.”

Just in case.

CHAPTER 16
Eron

T
wenty, twenty-five minutes. At the most.

By the time I’m back on Julia’s front lawn, I’m in a dither. It’s less than five days before I’m supposed to return to the human world for good. By now, my time on earth should be stretching to at least three or four hours each day. Instead, I barely had time to orient myself before fading. And all because of my student, who can’t for the life of him follow simple directions.

I grimace, rubbing my sore head. If he hadn’t swatted me there, I might have had a few more moments with Julia. His interference with the human world caused me to fade. I am certain of it. If he is not behaving himself like a proper Sleepbringer, then I cannot be human.

Before I can climb Julia’s tree, I hear Chimere’s giggles. Here I thought she’d be in a sour mood like me, scolding our newest member for his transgressions. Sometimes I just don’t understand her. When I rise past the leaves to the branch she’s lounging on, I realize that she’s not just in a joyful
mood; she’s in a joyful mood because my student is … Oh, how improper.

Chimere has her shoe off, and her skirt is pulled up to her knee. And Mr. Colburn is sitting across from her, leaning against the trunk of the tree, with her foot in his lap. Massaging her ankle. They turn to me, and immediately Chimere blushes and throws her skirt down to cover more of her legs. She giggles some more. “I twisted my ankle,” she explains, “and Mr. Colburn was good enough to tend to it.”

“The saint,” I mutter.

She tilts her head. “Oh! What has gotten you in such a foul mood?”

I jab a finger at the young man at the other end of her branch. He’s much too absorbed in Chimere’s tender and dainty foot for my liking. It’s shameful. “He has,” I say, seething. “I should still be down there, becoming human. Instead, I had no more than thirty minutes.”

Colburn’s eyes narrow. “Just what are you accusing me of, old man?”