Sleepless (21 page)

She is blushing, and I feel the blood running to my cheeks as well. “A human’s Sandman is always someone they would find physically appealing, yes. It’s easier for us that way.”

“But what does Griffin have to do with this?”

“He is your Sandman now,” I explain. “Our tenure is only one hundred years. My time is almost expired, and I am due to hand my charges to Mr. Colburn shortly.”

“Oh, great, the king of practical jokes is my Sandman. Figures,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And then what will happen to you?”

“I will be human again.”

“Really? Well, now it all makes sense, I guess. Why you act so different, look so different … You haven’t been human since … what? Nineteen ten?”

I nod.

“Are you scared?”

“I was.” Up until now.

“Did you really mean what you said about wanting to build buildings?” Julia asks me.

“Yes. My mother took me to see the Flatiron Building when I was ten. I was fascinated.”

“My dad was interviewing at grad schools when I was twelve and he took me into the Empire State Building. I loved the Art Deco. From that moment on, I was hooked. I used to build things out of Popsicle sticks,” she laughs, pointing at a misshapen square building model in the corner of her room. I remember the hours she spent putting that together, working well into the night, yawning and concentrating under the dim lamplight, until she could no longer fight me off. She pulls off her covers and walks to her bookshelf, which is filled with everything from
Wuthering Heights
to the picture books her mother used to read her every night before bed. She removes a big book, one I’ve never seen before. “Have you heard of this place?”

I sit on the pale pink carpet, using her bed as a backboard, and she sits next to me, legs crossed. She places the book open in my lap and I gasp. Buildings that defy logic are there. “Are these … real?”

She nods, inspecting the pictures as I flip. “It’s a place called Dubai, in the Middle East. Over here, there are all these rules you have to follow. But there, architects are given free rein to create whatever crazy building designs they like. Aren’t these amazing?”

I gape in wonder. “Amazing” doesn’t begin to describe them. Not only are they tall enough to reach the moon, but
the shapes are gorgeous. Some look like they are made entirely from mirrors. Others are shaped with soft curves instead of harsh angles. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

She opens to a page where I’m greeted by the most magnificent structure I have ever seen. “The Burj Khalifa,” she says. “Tallest building in the world.”

“Can they … can they touch the moon from there?” I ask.

She laughs. “Almost. It won’t be the tallest for long, though; they keep building them higher and higher. But I want to go there. I want to see them in person.”

I nod. At this moment, I do, too.

“I met with a professor when I was applying for the
Architectural Journal
summer session—that’s where I’m going this summer—because I wanted to make my application package the best it could be. Most of the other applicants are high school seniors or college freshmen, so I knew it was a long shot,” she explains. “And he told me something that Winston Churchill once said. ‘We shape our buildings; thereafter, they shape us.’ There are few professions where you can influence people in a positive way like that.”

I assume Winston Churchill must be a famous architect. “Yes, I would much rather add to this world than take away from it.”

“Exactly.” She closes the book and studies me. “You have been with me my whole life, haven’t you?”

I nod. “Does that bother you?”

She shrugs. “It’s a little creepy. But kind of cool, I guess. You’re like my guardian angel.”

“Oh, no,” I say, pressing my back against her bed. “I’m not quite as powerful as that. And I wouldn’t want you—I don’t
know—trying to fly from a bridge because you think I can save you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You can’t?”

I shake my head.

“Then what good are you?” she says in mock disappointment, and then laughs. “Tell me about the Sandmen. Everything.”

I take a breath and prepare for a long story. But I suppose we have all night. “Where shall I start?”

CHAPTER 29
Julia

“Y
ou’re more than grounded for life, you know,” my mom says with a snort as we pull into the DMV’s driver testing course. “We’re nailing the windows shut. How irresponsible can you be? You’re lucky we’re still taking you for your license.”

I’m still thinking about Eron, so my mom’s words don’t register. When I was three, I accidentally stuck my finger into an outlet and got a shock, but this is like a thousand times more intense. My lips still tremble when I think of it. And I am the one who started it. Me. I always let Griffin lead me around, dictate what happened next. Now I am in control. I like that. “That’s fine,” I say solemnly, not sure what I’m agreeing to. “I am very sorry.”

She pats her purse nervously and sticks her foot on the dashboard again when I pull rather quickly
into an open parking spot. “And to think I’m sending you off on your own in a couple weeks.”

“I thought you said I can take care of myself,” I say.

She snorts. “Well, I thought so, until last night.”

We walk into the DMV and I hand my forms and identification to the lady at the desk. She smiles and says, “Just go on and have a seat over there. Someone will be with you shortly.”

I smile at a couple of fidgety girls. One is sitting on the edge of her seat, looking like she might fall off, and the other is bouncing her knee so quickly that her flip-flop keeps making a smack-smack-smack noise against the bottom of her foot. My mom picks up a driver’s manual—which, while not exactly
Redbook
, is the only reading around—and starts to page through it. I just sit beside her, yawn, and rifle through my purse for some gum.

I find some orange-flavored gum and offer a piece to the girls next to me. They decline. I shove a piece into my mouth and yawn again.

And again.

It’s got to be the fluorescent lighting and the dull walls. Why can’t these places ever look more exciting? It’s like they hope to scare people away. I close my eyes and realize that’s what they want. To be closed. To stay that way.

“Is there a Coke machine here?” I ask my mom.

She shrugs. “You might try getting enough sleep instead of—”

“Mom, I slept fine. I’m just thirsty,” I groan, standing. I walk around the room until I find a line of vending machines. I see Mountain Dew. Eureka. I pop in my quarters and drink it down. Better. I stand there, reading some boring signs on the wall about child restraint laws and penalties for DUI, because even that is more exciting than being near my mom.

Suddenly, my mom nudges me. Somehow, without even knowing how I got here, I’m sitting next to her again. The two girls are gone. My soda can is empty in my hand. I can’t remember taking the walk back from the vending machines. “What the …,” I begin.

“You’re up,” my mom says. She must be at a really good part of her manual, because she doesn’t glance up. There is a chubby man waiting in the doorway. He looks sort of like the Michelin Man, but in plaid, and not as cute or happy. This man looks a little like someone spit in his morning coffee. Great. Before I know it, my bag slips from my hands, its contents spilling onto the ground with a clatter.

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

“A
re 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

I
n the haze, Griffin smiles at me. It’s not his usual, wicked smile, laced with mischief. It’s sad. Desperate.