The Girl Who Could Not Dream (15 page)

“Let's get inside,” Ethan suggested. “It's too quiet out here. Kind of freaking me out.”

“Murrrrrrrrrrrr-ugh,” Monster said. Sophie took that to mean he agreed. Leading the way, she steered her bike onto the walk that led to the shop.

They stowed their bikes in the shed, and then Sophie unlocked the back door. Inside, the lights in the shop were off, and the aisles were filled with layers of shadows. It was silent.
They're not home,
she thought.

For an instant, she felt her eyes heat up. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry, or run out the door and scream until the policeman came back. But she didn't. When her parents got home, they were going to see she'd been brave, strong, and resourceful. They were going to see she could be trusted when things went wrong. They were going to be proud of her.

Lowering her backpack to the floor, Sophie unzipped it, and Monster lurched out. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Just peachy.” He flopped against a bookshelf. “Worst way to travel ever. Next time we go on a field trip, anything but bikes.”

Sophie nodded, not entirely trusting herself to talk without bursting into tears.
Brave and strong,
she reminded herself. Like the heroes in her favorite books. She laid her hand on the spines of the nearest books, as if she could suck strength from them.

Ethan wandered between the shelves, peering down the aisles. “I take it your parents aren't back?” He peeked into the bathroom and tried the basement door—locked. “Why didn't you tell the policeman—” His phone chirped from his pocket, and he pulled it out. “Huh. My parents.” He sounded surprised. He began texting them back.

“What are you telling them?” Sophie tried to keep the worry out of her voice and was proud when it came out calm. She knew why she hadn't told the policeman; she wasn't sure why Ethan hadn't. He had the perfect opportunity to spill her family's secrets. If the Watchmen heard and came, he'd be fine.

He didn't look up from his phone. “Same thing I told the policeman: staying with a friend to do homework. It's weird, though—they never check on me.”

“Maybe they heard about the missing kids?” She'd been so worried about her parents that she hadn't spared more than a second to wonder who the kids were or what happened to them.

“Wonder if it's anyone we know.” Ethan typed more.

The odds that it was anyone she knew were low. It was more likely that Ethan knew them. He knew a lot of kids. Or, more accurately, they knew who he was. Checking Monster, she stroked between his eyes. He was taking deep breaths as if to settle his stomach. He flopped his tentacles over his face. “I have no appetite,” Monster said.

“You'll feel better soon,” she told him.

“It's unnatural,” he said. “I'm
always
hungry. Maybe I should eat a cupcake, just to see.” He placed a tentacle tip on Sophie's cheek. “Sophie, please don't worry. We'll figure this out. We'll find your parents.”

Before she could reply, Ethan's phone chirped again. “Girl in seventh grade, they say,” he said. His eyes widened. “Hey, I know her. Madison Moore.”

Sophie gasped.

“You know her too?” Ethan asked. “She's the one with black hair and a shrill voice, right? You can hear her all the way down the hall.”

Nodding, Sophie thought of how she'd been glad Madison wasn't on the bus. She hadn't wanted something bad to happen to her, though. She'd just been relieved to not be teased. “Madison's memorable.”

“She has a little sister who's sick. Born sick. The family spends most of their time in the hospital with her. That's why Madison acts the way she does, like she's afraid she'll disappear if everyone doesn't notice her every second of the day.”

Sophie blinked. “How do you know that?”

“My mom's her sister's doctor.” The phone chirped again. “Oh, the other one I don't know. First-grader, named Lucy Snyder. The police don't know any connection between them, which is why everyone's so freaked out.”

The name hit Sophie like a punch.

“Sophie?” Ethan touched her arm, but Sophie barely felt it. She knew both of them. She'd talked to them yesterday, taken their old dreamcatchers and given them new ones.

She sank to the floor next to Monster and told herself it was all a coincidence: her missing parents, the missing dreamers, the missing dreamcatchers, the missing dreams and the distiller . . . Just a coincidence.

“Sophie?” Monster echoed Ethan.

She felt as if her thoughts were swirling, bashing into one another. “I'm the connection.”

“What do you mean?” Ethan asked.

“They're both dreamers. Nightmares. Bad ones. Like you. Madison dreams about fire and bugs. Lucy dreams about alligator people, ninjas that vanish into smoke, pit bulls that can fly . . .”

“Lots of people have dreams. Me, for instance.” His phone beeped again. “Dad wants to know if I can stay here for dinner. Mom has to work late tonight, and he has meetings.” Ethan gave a humorless laugh. “And there ends the extent of their concern.” After texting back once more, he shoved the phone into his pocket. “Guess you're stuck with me.”

Sophie felt as if every vein in her body suddenly ran with ice water. She couldn't move. She felt the blood drain out of her face.

“Hey, I'm not that bad,” Ethan said.

She shook her head. “I know where I've seen that backpack.”

“What backpack?”

Sophie jumped to her feet. “The one on the kitchen table, in Mr. Nightmare's house. I have to go back.” She spun and headed for the back door.

Ethan caught her arm. “Whoa, hold on. You can't. Curfew, remember? What do you mean you've seen that backpack?”

“It's Lucy's.” She was sure of it. Mostly sure. Maybe sure. “Or at least it could be.”

“But you aren't positive?” He didn't release her arm. Trotting to her, Monster weaved between her ankles, as if to calm her.

Sophie shook her head. Lots of kids could have a pink and purple backpack. But she thought she remembered Lucy carrying one . . . “I'm not positive.” She sagged against the shelves. It could be her imagination. She wanted so desperately to find clues and connect the dots. Rubbing her forehead, Sophie tried telling her shrieking brain to quit overreacting. She didn't know it was Lucy's. It was far more likely it belonged to whatever little girl lived there.

“Sophie, we looked in every window,” Ethan said. “Monster even looked in the upstairs windows. Right, Monster?”

“There could be a basement,” Monster said. “Also, closets. Take it from me: You can hide anyone in a closet.” He was right. Plus she'd seen cellar doors on the back of the house.

Maybe they'd all missed something. Maybe they simply hadn't explored enough. Maybe she'd been right to suspect him, even though she hadn't known about Lucy and Madison.

“We all agreed it looked normal,” Ethan said.

“If you wanted to hide that you were a thief and a kidnapper, you'd make your house look normal too,” Monster pointed out. “Lull people into thinking you've nothing to hide.”

Sophie nodded. “Mr. Nightmare could have pretended to be cleaning out his garage like a normal person. He could have lied to us so we'd think he was innocent and go away.”

“No one's that good an actor,” Ethan objected.

Monster rolled his lemur-wide eyes. “Tons of people are great actors. Haven't you ever seen a movie? All actors. TV shows, actors. Broadway. Community theater. Every commercial ever made.”

Sophie began to pace between the shelves. Her footsteps were loud on the wooden floor, and she was conscious of how quiet the house was. Her parents were always playing music somewhere, or talking, or making some kind of noise. She felt as if she could hear the emptiness. “I should have looked harder. Found a way to get inside. They could have been there, and we just left and rode away!”

Monster trailed after her as she zigzagged. “We'll go back.”

“How? There's the curfew . . .” Stopping, Sophie faced Ethan. “Can you text your parents again? Ask them to drive us?”

Ethan snorted. “When I was six years old, my parents sat down with me and explained that if I wanted to do extracurricular activities, I'd have to arrange my own rides. Said they were teaching me self-reliance. When I asked what
self-reliance
meant, they said to look it up myself. So, short answer: no, they won't drive us.”

She couldn't imagine her parents giving her that kind of speech. She'd had it drilled into her to never, ever get into a car with anyone but them.

Monster was studying Ethan. “So your alone-in-an-ocean dream is directly metaphorical. How disappointing.”

Ethan shot him a look. “What's wrong with my dream?”

“Much more interesting if it's random,” Monster said. “Like the little kid who dreams about robot Muppets that shoot M&M's out of their Gonzo noses. Or the fifty-year-old businessman who dreams about chickens that transform into pigs for no apparent reason. There isn't as much demand for classic lonely dreams.”

“Sorry my dreams are too boring for you.” Ethan turned back to Sophie. “Anyway, I think you're jumping to conclusions. Just because you know the missing kids, and just because you think the backpack looks familiar . . . And because Mr. Nightmare left you that birthday card and we never asked him about the missing dreamcatchers. And because he was supposed to meet with your parents, and you came home to a mess upstairs and stuff stolen downstairs . . . Okay, maybe you have a point. Maybe we missed something.”

“Exactly. You see why I have to go back,” Sophie said. “And this time, I have to get inside.” She turned to Monster. “Do you think you could open a window lock?”

“I know I could,” Monster said, flexing his tentacles.

“Wait a minute. Calm down. Let's talk about this,” Ethan said. “I admit, it's possible we were wrong.
Possible.
But you want to break into this guy's house? You know that's illegal, right?”

Sophie didn't want to calm down. She paced between the shelves again. Outside in the distance, a dog barked. She didn't hear any cars. She imagined people home, glued to their TVs, wondering what had happened to the two missing kids. “I know Mr. Nightmare loves nightmares. He admitted as much. And I also know that both people I talked to yesterday have nightmares and are now missing.”

“So? You talked to me, too—”

“And you were attacked by a gray giraffe,” Monster finished.

Ethan's jaw dropped open. “You think . . .”

“I think you were next.” In the shadows, Monster's eyes glowed bright. Sophie couldn't see his soft fur. All that was visible were his eyes and teeth. “It's too much of a coincidence otherwise. Two people who talked to Sophie about dreams are missing, and the third—you—was attacked.”

Ethan closed his mouth but didn't speak.

It made a horrible kind of sense, Sophie thought. That gray creature . . . It could have kidnapped the other two and been trying to kidnap Ethan when Monster spotted it. It could work for Mr. Nightmare.

“I don't believe in coincidences,” Monster said. “Except when they happen, which they do—coincidences aren't statistically improbable. But I don't think this is a coincidence.”

Ethan's eyes were wide, rivaling Monster's. “You think he's not innocent, and we just rode away.”

“I think I have to go back and at least see,” Sophie said. “If I don't and I'm right and they're there . . .” She trailed off. She knew it was a stretch. She didn't have any proof, and everything they'd seen said she was wrong. But if she was right and she
didn't
go back . . . she'd never forgive herself. Ever. “He said he likes nightmares. If he did kidnap them, then he has his own personal supply—dreamers and people who can distill their dreams. I know you don't believe me . . .”

He swallowed hard. “I'm beginning to.”

She turned to him. “Really?” He looked pale, as if he wanted to scream, flee, or faint, and she realized he must be thinking about how close he'd come to being one of the missing kids. He must want to run. In his shoes, she'd be out of here and home so fast . . .

“I'm coming with you.”

Sophie blinked at him. “You don't have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he said.

Monster looked at him piercingly. “Of course you do. You're the boy with boring, lonely dreams. Your parents taught you no one would save you. So you have to save yourself. If we're correct and that gray giraffe was really coming for you, then you believe you have to be the one to stop it.”

Ethan looked uncomfortable. Watching him, Sophie wondered if Monster was right. It was hard to imagine her school's star basketball player—the new kid that everyone instantly befriended—as lonely, but he did have the Nothing dream . . .

“Besides,” Monster continued, “if you're a hero, maybe your parents will finally notice you.”

Without responding, Ethan walked toward the front of the store. He stopped next to the cash register and looked out the window at the street. “So how do we get back to Mr. Nightmare's?”

Sophie joined him at the window. “I don't know.”

Keeping to the shadows between the shelves, Monster said hesitantly, “Sophie, I have an idea, but you aren't going to like it.”

She'd like any idea that wasn't them standing here, worrying about whether she was right or wrong, worrying about whether her parents and Madison and Lucy were trapped in that house and she'd ridden away without knowing . . .

“We could fly,” Monster said.