The Girl Who Could Not Dream (14 page)

Monster dropped next to them. “Just some bedrooms and a bathroom.”

“My parents?”

He shook his head.

“The distiller?”

“I'm sorry, Sophie.” He curled his tentacles around her.

“But . . .” If this wasn't the place and Mr. Nightmare wasn't responsible . . . then she had no idea where her parents were or what could have happened to them. There had to be some kind of clue here. He had to be responsible!

“Maybe they're fine and waiting for you at home,” Ethan said.

She shook her head. “The distiller's gone. And they weren't home when the bus came. They always are. And what about the books upstairs?”

Ethan rose up and peeked through the window. “Well, whatever happened, this guy looks innocent.”

“Let's just look a little more,” she begged.

They circled the house twice, three times, until Sophie had to admit this was pointless. There wasn't anything here to even hint that Mr. Nightmare had anything to do with her parents' disappearance. All this was a waste of time.

Together, they trudged back to their bikes. Sophie and Ethan put on their helmets. Groaning, Monster squeezed into the backpack. After zippering it, Sophie picked him up and steadied the backpack on her back before swinging her leg over her bike.

She heard a man's voice call: “Betty?”

I
T WAS
M
R.
N
IGHTMARE.

Sophie put one foot on a pedal, ready to push off, and glanced back over her shoulder at him. He was in his front yard, and he looked . . . the word that popped into her head was “silly.” He'd traded his ominous trench coat for baggy sweatpants and a faded T-shirt from some unrecognizable university. His stomach stuck out from under the bottom of it. Without his hat, his hair was a mix of gray and brown that stuck out at odd angles, as if he'd combed it with a broom, and his eyes looked merely old, not bloodshot and sunken. He was carrying two trash bags out of the detached garage. He dumped them into trash cans at the end of the driveway. “Nice to see you, Betty! Did you have a good birthday?”

“Uh, yeah, um, sure.”

He smiled broadly. “Splendid! Did you get my card? Bet you were surprised!”

Sophie stared at him. “Very surprised.”

“Thought you'd like it.” He sounded smug. “Kids love surprises.”

She felt Ethan looking back and forth between her and Mr. Nightmare. She knew what he was seeing: a dumpy man who didn't look anything like the creepy, shadowy man she'd described. “How did you get the card in her locker?” Ethan asked.

A key question,
she thought. She waited for his answer.

“Easy-peasy,” he said. “After I visited with your parents, Sophie, I stopped for a cup of coffee. I saw you get on your bus. Later, I went to your elementary school and talked to your principal about leaving the card for you. He inspected it, of course—cautious one you have there. Anyway, clever of me, huh?”

“You just wanted to give me a birthday card?” Sophie couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. She'd been so afraid . . . and so sure he was the one behind her parents' disappearance. Even after seeing his house, it was hard to let go of that belief.

“I believe in random acts of kindness. Besides, I wanted your parents to know I appreciated their shop. Independent bookstores are rare these days.” He gave a broad wink, to make it clear he wasn't talking about the bookstore, and then he put the lids on his trash cans.

“Uh-huh, so . . . my parents.” She continued to stare at him as he puttered through his yard, bending to yank out a few stray weeds. “You met with them this morning. How did that go?”

He smiled again, and his face stretched like putty around his lips. “They sold me three more ‘books.' Great people, your parents. Family-run stores like theirs make me glad I moved here. You don't find places like that in the city.”

He'd only bought three? But dozens of bottles were missing. And the distiller. “Oh? You moved recently?”

He wiped his dirt-streaked hands on his sweatpants. A few leaves were stuck in his hair. It made him look as if he'd rolled out of bed and into the garden. “We were supposed to move sooner, but the house had to be remodeled. It was quite the fixer-upper.” Hands on his hips, he regarded it proudly. She had the feeling if she asked, he'd pull out before-and-after photos to show off his renovation. This was not the conversation she'd expected to have. This was pointless. She shouldn't have come.

“So you just bought three dreams? Not the distiller?”

He blinked. “What would I do with a distiller? It requires expertise and experience . . .” Trailing off, he waved a hand at Ethan. “Oh, does your friend know about you-know-what?”

“She told me about the Dream Shop,” Ethan confirmed.

“Wonderful!” Mr. Nightmare clapped his hands together, as if he was truly delighted. “Good to have friends you can share things with. So many children of dream sellers grow up lonely. Secrets can be hard to bear. Guess you didn't need my silly card to cheer you up. I thought . . . well, never mind what I thought. I hope you liked it anyway.” He smiled again, and Sophie wondered why she ever thought he was sinister. It must have been bad lighting. And the hat. And her imagination, convincing her that one small mistake was actually a disaster.

“It was very nice,” Sophie said distantly. It was hard not to feel deflated. She'd been so certain he was responsible and that she'd see a clue . . . But he was just a middle-aged man cleaning his garage. And he happened to like nightmares. On her back, she felt Monster shift. “Thank you. Have you talked to my parents since this morning?”

He crinkled his face in concern. “No, why? Is anything wrong?”

For an instant, she was tempted to tell him the truth: that her parents were missing, that she'd suspected him. But even though she knew he was innocent, she still couldn't bring herself to trust him. “Just curious,” Sophie said.

“Why do you buy nightmares?” Ethan asked.

“For the fun of it,” Mr. Nightmare said with a shrug. “Some people like horror movies on the silver screen; I like them in my mind. It's relaxing, you know?” He sounded so very ordinary. Just like his house. She felt like she should apologize for ever suspecting him. At least he didn't know why they were really here.

Sophie swallowed a lump in her throat. She had even been willing to let Ethan call the police, if they'd seen anything at all suspicious. That would have been a horrible mistake. The police would have found nothing here and then come back to the shop and begun asking questions that Sophie didn't want to answer. “Hope you enjoy them.”

“Thanks, Betty! Back to cleaning the garage. Fun times. But maybe I'll watch one of those nightmares tonight.” Whistling, he headed back into his garage.

Ethan turned to her. “I'm sorry, Sophie.”

She nodded. Her eyes felt hot, but she didn't let herself cry. There wasn't much to say. She'd been wrong, and now she had no idea what to do. “Guess we go home.”

They got on their bikes and rode away.

Her eyes fixed on the street, Sophie pedaled as hard as she could, keeping ahead of Ethan so she wouldn't have to talk. She'd been wrong about Mr. Nightmare. He didn't have anything to do with her parents' disappearance. He was a “red herring,” as her English teacher would have said. And she was out of ideas. She was stuck with hoping that they'd be home when she arrived. Maybe they'd have some ridiculous explanation, like the distiller broke and they took it to the distiller fix-it shop, if there was such a thing, and they'd be mad at her for taking off without leaving a note. She'd be fine with being punished—no somnium for a week, or even no books—so long as they were there.
Please, please, be there!
If they weren't, she didn't know what she was going to do.

Within the backpack, Monster moaned. She hoped he was okay. He'd suffered through this for nothing. The entire trip, a waste. She wished she dared let him stick his head out. “Almost there,” she told him. Only a few more streets . . .

Behind them, she heard a siren. She steered onto the sidewalk as the siren grew louder. Oddly, it didn't pass. Instead, the siren wailed, close and loud, directly behind Sophie and Ethan, as if the police car was following them.

Braking, Sophie twisted in her seat. Beside her, Ethan braked too, and the police car stopped. Its lights flashed red and blue, and the headlights made her eyes water. A policeman stepped out. Frowning at them, he looked serious, as if he'd walked out of a crime show.

Oh no, my parents!
She knew it! Something terrible had happened and—

But the policeman smiled and held up his hands as if to calm them. “Don't worry. You aren't in trouble. But I do need you to get on home. You probably noticed there aren't many people out. There's a town curfew tonight. A couple kids have gone missing, and we're asking everyone to stay in tonight until the matter is resolved.”

Sophie felt her rib cage loosen as relief washed over her. Not her parents.
Of course it's not,
she scolded herself. He didn't know who she was or who her parents were. She was just a kid on a bike. She'd been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she hadn't noticed fewer people were out. She looked right and left—there weren't any cars moving, and this was usually a busy street. It was weirdly quiet.

“We were just heading home, sir,” Ethan said.

“Good,” the policeman said. “Where's home?”

“Dreamcatcher Bookshop,” Sophie answered. “I live above it.”

He nodded approvingly. “Great store. My wife shops there all time. Constantly hanging those dreamcatcher things all over the house. Your parents own it?” He was chatty now, all smiles.

“Yes.” Her throat felt clogged. She wanted to make herself say more. This was her chance. She could tell this smiling policeman that her parents were missing, explain about the theft, and ask him to help . . . but what if they weren't missing? And what if the policeman wanted to search their house? What if he saw the dream bottles and the somnium? How would she explain that? The Dream Shop could be exposed, all because she was worried. Really, she didn't actually know her parents were missing at all. They could simply be at the neighbor's, trying out more of Ms. Lee's cupcakes.

“And you?” the policeman asked Ethan.

“I'm going to her house.” Ethan jabbed his thumb toward Sophie. “We're doing a school project together.”

The policeman nodded. “Make sure you get a ride home. We aren't allowing kids out without adult supervision tonight. Just a precaution. No need to be alarmed.” He headed back to his car. “I'll follow you to the shop. Make sure you're home safely. After that, stay put—we'll make an announcement on local news when it's all resolved.”

“Uh, thanks.” Sophie got back on her bike. So did Ethan. The police car drove slowly behind them the last half mile to the bookshop. Now that she was paying attention, it was eerie—the town felt too still and quiet, as if everyone were inside peering out through closed curtains. She wobbled at the traffic light, checked in both directions twice, even though there were no cars, and crossed. Beside her, Ethan was just as cautious. He kept pace with her and didn't zoom ahead. Every few feet, he glanced over his shoulder at the cruiser creeping along behind them. Sophie was very, very conscious of Monster in her backpack. She hoped he'd stay still and silent.

At the Dreamcatcher Bookshop, the policeman waved to them as they dismounted. Robot-like, they waved back. Speeding up, he drove away. “That was the most nerve-racking ride ever,” Ethan said. “I kept worrying I was going to accidentally ride through a stop sign or mow down a little old lady. Not that I saw any. Or anyone.”

“I kept worrying he'd see Monster.”

“Ughhhhh,” Monster moaned from the backpack. Glancing down the street, Sophie saw the policeman turn left at the next light. No other cars moved.