Sleep No More
Page 52
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But she just runs a hand across my forehead, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Be vigilant, Charlotte. Fight.”
Then she leaves and I remain kneeling in the middle of my floor feeling like the world’s biggest failure. I feel the tears build again, and for once, I do exactly what I said I was going to. I push my door shut, grab my bedding from the floor pull it over my head, and slip back into a dreamless sleep.
I stare at Smith’s name glowing on my phone’s screen for a long time while I decide whether or not to answer his call. I don’t like the niggling suspicions I have about him. That he lied to me about what I can and can’t do on the supernatural plane and in my visions. He seems to know so much. How could he not have known what I can do there?
Either he lied, or he’s not as knowledgeable as he pretends. Regardless, it makes me question him.
And I don’t like the doubts he planted in my mind about my aunt.
I wish that I would have a vision about him.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to go with both bravery and honesty. I slide the bar to answer the phone and say, “I’m not actually convinced I want to talk to you.”
Silence. I’ve shocked him.
“What is it that you think I’ve done?” he asks quietly.
“I’m not sure,” I say in a whisper.
“I am so tired of justifying myself to you when I’ve only tried to help. Don’t let this monster make you paranoid. You need to be able to think clearly.”
“To do what?” I hiss. “Not only did I not have a vision of this latest murder, when I woke up, I had no memory of being on the supernatural plane at all. Even though I slept with the stone on. And then—” I cut off before I can say anything else. I don’t want to tell him about the blood. About the knife. I don’t want to tell anyone, but at that moment I especially don’t want to tell him. “Smith,” I say instead. “He’s better than us. We can’t do this anymore. We’re hurting people.”
“We’re saving people!” he snaps. “Maybe you’ve forgotten about Jesse and Nicole, but I haven’t. Can you really sit back and let people die?”
“They’re dying anyway. Or worse—look at Clara. We did that!”
“What happened to Clara is awful; I’m not going to lie to you about that. But it’s never going to stop if you don’t help.”
I don’t know what to think. What to do. The hopes and plans I had last night seem a million miles past impossible right now. How am I supposed to catch a brilliant serial killer who might, somehow, have an Oracle on his side? I don’t think I should even dream myself into my second sight anymore. I can’t risk it. Someone is controlling me there. I’ll have to find another way.
That reminds me. “Smith?” I say tentatively. I’m not sure I want to trust him, but I have no one else to ask. “Did you ever go to the supernatural plane with Shelby while she was sleeping?”
“No. She could only invite me into her visions when she was awake.”
“But did she tell you about it?”
“Often.”
“What did hers look like?”
He hesitates, then seems to realize this is a test—he gives, I give. “An eternal room with a glass floor,” he says. “And an infinite dome overhead. A vast horizon holding every future in the world. I always wanted to go there.”
“There . . . there’s a door in mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“At the very edge of my dome—of my floor maybe—there’s a door.”
“One you can go through, like the scenarios you can step into?”
“No. I can’t get through it. It’s locked.” I don’t know why I’m so focused on this door, but both the text from Repairing the Fractured Future and Smith describe the supernatural plane the same way.
And neither of them mention a door.
It doesn’t fit, and anything that doesn’t fit is suspect in my mind.
He’s silent for several long seconds. “Then it’s probably a place you’re not supposed to go and your mind is telling you that.”
“Did Shelby have a door?”
“Shelby never saw a door.”
I wait, letting a full minute go by as I try to sort through my thoughts. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask, desperation winning over my stubbornness.
“We wait for another vision and try again. It’s all we’ve got.”
“But what about the murder last night?”
“It’s in the past, Charlotte, and you are a master of the future.” Frustrated, I hang up without saying good-bye.
Master of the future, I think cynically as I stare at my phone. Some master.
I realize I’m still wearing the pendant and thank the universe that Sierra didn’t notice. When I crouch down to put it back in its hiding place, my hand brushes something cold. I grab for it and pull back with a hiss when it bites into my skin. Putting my sliced finger in my mouth I kneel beside the bed and reach more carefully this time.
It’s the knife.
It’s clean now, but it is definitely the same knife I flung away from me when I woke up covered in blood this morning.
What the hell was I doing last night?
TWENTY-SIX
I’m sitting at the kitchen table when the next vision overtakes me. Home has always been one of the most dangerous places for me to have a vision because my mom might see me. But since I’ve stopped fighting the foretellings, it’s doubly risky because Sierra could catch me. And if Sierra knew I was just letting them come—especially now—there would be hell to pay.
Then she leaves and I remain kneeling in the middle of my floor feeling like the world’s biggest failure. I feel the tears build again, and for once, I do exactly what I said I was going to. I push my door shut, grab my bedding from the floor pull it over my head, and slip back into a dreamless sleep.
I stare at Smith’s name glowing on my phone’s screen for a long time while I decide whether or not to answer his call. I don’t like the niggling suspicions I have about him. That he lied to me about what I can and can’t do on the supernatural plane and in my visions. He seems to know so much. How could he not have known what I can do there?
Either he lied, or he’s not as knowledgeable as he pretends. Regardless, it makes me question him.
And I don’t like the doubts he planted in my mind about my aunt.
I wish that I would have a vision about him.
Taking a deep breath, I decide to go with both bravery and honesty. I slide the bar to answer the phone and say, “I’m not actually convinced I want to talk to you.”
Silence. I’ve shocked him.
“What is it that you think I’ve done?” he asks quietly.
“I’m not sure,” I say in a whisper.
“I am so tired of justifying myself to you when I’ve only tried to help. Don’t let this monster make you paranoid. You need to be able to think clearly.”
“To do what?” I hiss. “Not only did I not have a vision of this latest murder, when I woke up, I had no memory of being on the supernatural plane at all. Even though I slept with the stone on. And then—” I cut off before I can say anything else. I don’t want to tell him about the blood. About the knife. I don’t want to tell anyone, but at that moment I especially don’t want to tell him. “Smith,” I say instead. “He’s better than us. We can’t do this anymore. We’re hurting people.”
“We’re saving people!” he snaps. “Maybe you’ve forgotten about Jesse and Nicole, but I haven’t. Can you really sit back and let people die?”
“They’re dying anyway. Or worse—look at Clara. We did that!”
“What happened to Clara is awful; I’m not going to lie to you about that. But it’s never going to stop if you don’t help.”
I don’t know what to think. What to do. The hopes and plans I had last night seem a million miles past impossible right now. How am I supposed to catch a brilliant serial killer who might, somehow, have an Oracle on his side? I don’t think I should even dream myself into my second sight anymore. I can’t risk it. Someone is controlling me there. I’ll have to find another way.
That reminds me. “Smith?” I say tentatively. I’m not sure I want to trust him, but I have no one else to ask. “Did you ever go to the supernatural plane with Shelby while she was sleeping?”
“No. She could only invite me into her visions when she was awake.”
“But did she tell you about it?”
“Often.”
“What did hers look like?”
He hesitates, then seems to realize this is a test—he gives, I give. “An eternal room with a glass floor,” he says. “And an infinite dome overhead. A vast horizon holding every future in the world. I always wanted to go there.”
“There . . . there’s a door in mine.”
“What do you mean?”
“At the very edge of my dome—of my floor maybe—there’s a door.”
“One you can go through, like the scenarios you can step into?”
“No. I can’t get through it. It’s locked.” I don’t know why I’m so focused on this door, but both the text from Repairing the Fractured Future and Smith describe the supernatural plane the same way.
And neither of them mention a door.
It doesn’t fit, and anything that doesn’t fit is suspect in my mind.
He’s silent for several long seconds. “Then it’s probably a place you’re not supposed to go and your mind is telling you that.”
“Did Shelby have a door?”
“Shelby never saw a door.”
I wait, letting a full minute go by as I try to sort through my thoughts. “What am I supposed to do?” I ask, desperation winning over my stubbornness.
“We wait for another vision and try again. It’s all we’ve got.”
“But what about the murder last night?”
“It’s in the past, Charlotte, and you are a master of the future.” Frustrated, I hang up without saying good-bye.
Master of the future, I think cynically as I stare at my phone. Some master.
I realize I’m still wearing the pendant and thank the universe that Sierra didn’t notice. When I crouch down to put it back in its hiding place, my hand brushes something cold. I grab for it and pull back with a hiss when it bites into my skin. Putting my sliced finger in my mouth I kneel beside the bed and reach more carefully this time.
It’s the knife.
It’s clean now, but it is definitely the same knife I flung away from me when I woke up covered in blood this morning.
What the hell was I doing last night?
TWENTY-SIX
I’m sitting at the kitchen table when the next vision overtakes me. Home has always been one of the most dangerous places for me to have a vision because my mom might see me. But since I’ve stopped fighting the foretellings, it’s doubly risky because Sierra could catch me. And if Sierra knew I was just letting them come—especially now—there would be hell to pay.
