Sleep No More
Page 38

Sierra meets my eyes and her eyelids lower immediately, like she’s ashamed to have been caught in such a vulnerable moment.
But she doesn’t know—nor can I think of any way to express—how much I’m grateful for this sign that she still feels.
The steaming water that generally helps to clarify my thoughts is so not doing its job today. It all seems to be getting worse. I was half convinced that I was meant to help catch this killer—convinced that that was why the visions were so strong.
But if that were true, shouldn’t I have seen this one? Or maybe this murder was just a fluke? An impulse kill?
Still, shouldn’t I be able to see an impulse kill? I’ve seen lots of unplanned things in my visions. This one shouldn’t be any different!
None of it makes sense.
And it makes me doubt, which is worse.
On top of that, I didn’t make any progress on getting to the supernatural plane last night. But I did have that feeling of swimming through thick water again. I don’t know if I should expect more after only the two nights of sleeping with the pendant—it just feels so pointless. It was a little clearer and the need to get wherever I was going was more urgent. I don’t know if that means I was closer or not.
Tonight I’ll wear the pendant again with more focus.
Not that I’m sure exactly how I’m supposed to focus when I’m sleeping.
Smith said to think about the supernatural plane before I go to sleep. I’ll do that.
But I did that the last two nights too.
Maybe I let myself get too carried away with Linden yesterday. I certainly forgot about the murders for an hour or two. Maybe I’ve got to focus on nothing but reaching the supernatural plane—even when I’m awake—in order to get there. I’m not sure how to picture a place I’ve never been.
It’s been several hours since Smith called; I have to call him back. But I have no idea what to say. Where do we go from here? I think about his idea of getting a victim close—almost certainly close enough to get injured—but not killed. Every time I’ve considered it, I’ve pushed the idea away. This is all supposed to be about saving people, not hurting them.
But the killer is so careful. Always masked, always gloved. The FBI guy said it himself: no DNA evidence. And they think he’s been planning this for a long time.
I’ve got to get better at manipulating my visions. It’s the only answer. I’ve got to get to that supernatural plane.
As the water is draining away and I’m toweling off my hair, I have an idea. The text from Repairing the Fractured Future talks about the importance of sleeping lightly. Wouldn’t a nap in broad daylight be a lighter sleep than at night? Maybe? It kind of makes sense. At the very least, it’s worth a try. And having gotten up so early this morning, I have a good excuse.
Assuming I can calm down, because as soon as I thought of this, I got all nervous and excited. Not exactly the best way to prepare to sleep.
I wish I could get my hands on the rest of that book! If Sierra leaves, I might be able to go in and look at it again. Hell, I’m about at the point where I’d just take the book and risk her noticing.
If only I could talk to her.
But I’ve gotten so far into my lies that I can’t tell her without confessing everything I’ve done. Everything I still plan to do. And I don’t think I have the guts to do that.
Besides, it’s not like she’d help me. I’m breaking every rule I’ve ever heard of. She’d stop me—I’m sure of it. I’m going to have to do this on my own.
“I can’t meet you,” I whisper into the phone when I’m finally brave enough to call Smith back. “My mom is so paranoid she’s barely letting me go to the bathroom without supervision.” I peer at my closed door. “I even tried to get her to let me drive straight to my—” I hesitate. “My boyfriend’s house who has, like, tons of security and it was an absolute no.”
Did I just call Linden ‘my boyfriend’? Well, when you spend an hour doing . . . what we did yesterday, isn’t that what he is?
“Besides,” I continue, shaking that thought away for the moment, “what would we do?” The urge to cry starts to form in my throat again, but I shove it back. “I don’t have a vision to go into. I didn’t get anything this time.”
“Then I guess we wait until you do,” Smith says, and I can hear the frustration in his voice. I can empathize; I hate feeling so helpless too.
But I’ve felt that way for my whole life; he’s still getting used to it.
“Smith?” I say, even more quietly than before. Because what I’m about to say I wish I could hide from myself as well as my mom. “Your suggestion that we have a victim get attacked but not killed? I think you’re right. That we’re going to have to do something like that to get anything useful on this guy.”
“Are you sure you’re ready?” Smith asks, like it wasn’t his idea. “It’s a big step. And a difficult decision.”
“You think I don’t know that?” It’s ripping my heart in two just to say it—but I don’t see another way.
“I’m just saying you need to be fully committed. It’s going to require a lot of skill and not a small amount of risk. Have you been sleeping with the stone?”
“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’m not sure it’s helping though. I don’t think I’m getting there. I’m close—I’m know I’m close.”