Sleep No More
Page 63
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When the pressure rises in my head and makes me want to scream in sudden pain, I know I don’t have a choice. Every murder vision I’ve had has seemed stronger than the last, but this one is so intense I don’t think I could scream if I wanted to; it’s exponentially stronger and all I can do is let it overwhelm me. Shatter through my body. The last sensation I have of the physical world is feeling myself slump forward over the steering wheel. Then blackness.
I hear laughter before I see anything but once the world finally brightens, I’m surprised to discover it’s coming from me. Like the vision with Charisse, I’m not seeing the vision, I am the vision. I feel everything to a degree that’s one step beyond real life; the snow is ultra white, the crisp air extra cold, and the hand in mine soft and warm beyond anything I’ve ever actually felt.
Linden. I’m walking with Linden through the snow and we’re laughing. I look down at our twined fingers and realize I’m wearing the green coat. Weird. Maybe Michelle won’t want it back.
I turn my attention back to Linden and the conversation fades in like someone turning the volume up on a television. It’s nothing exciting; we discuss school, which is starting back up soon. We both grow somber as we talk about the classmates who’ll be missing. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary and I can’t figure out why a vision of a casual conversation like this would create such a fever-pitch pressure in my head. And then Linden turns to me and takes both of my hands in his.
“I can face it with you,” he says, and his eyes are so serious, so intent, I squeeze his hands as hard as I can. “It is hard. I think it’s going to be hard for a long time.” He leans down slightly, and rests his forehead against mine. “But you make me feel strong and I don’t know what I would be doing right now without you.” He laughs, the sound colored with self-deprecation. “I’d probably be scared and holed up in my room, to be honest. Instead, I’m here, in the beautiful snow, with a beautiful girl, and despite everything, I’m okay. And I’m so grateful.”
Then he lifts his hand to my face where he tips my chin up toward him and kisses me. I lean into the kiss and pull him closer.
Closer.
There.
I jam the knife into his stomach and Linden chokes in pain and pulls away just in time for me to raise the already bloody blade and slash it across his throat. Blood pours down his chest and his wide, blue eyes meet mine as he staggers backward and falls into the snow.
It’s mere seconds before his pulse stops and his eyes grow sightless.
I open my mouth to scream but the vision is fading, pulling me back into the physical world where the guttural sound I’m making fills the car. This is worse than the vision with Charisse—so much worse. I can’t kill Linden—why the hell would I kill Linden?!
I don’t understand why this is happening. I know that Smith had some kind of hold on his victims, but there’s no way he could do anything like this. Not to me. Not without access to my supernatural plane. Right?
But he got in last night. I start to shiver at the possibility that he could access my plane on his own. From a cell.
Dear God.
I sit parked on the side of the road for ten minutes with the heater blasting warm air at me before my body stops shaking. I can’t go to Linden’s house. I’m not sure I can ever speak to Linden again, even though the thought make me want to sob. I just can’t risk that horrific vision coming true.
Sierra can talk about right and wrong all she wants, but I will fight this vision with every shred of will I have for the rest of my life. I would rather turn the knife on myself than kill someone I love. I remember the feeling of poisoning Sierra, of bashing Mom’s head against the bar. Never again. Never. Again.
I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone to text Linden and my hand curls around something else—something cold and hard, and I know what it is even before I pull it all the way out of the deep pocket to check. The knife. The green coat. I wanted to throw the knife in a Dumpster last night, but there wasn’t an opportunity—not without letting either the cops, or my mom, or Sierra see it.
I’ll do it now and then go right home. I’ll tell Linden I’m sick until I can figure out something else. I lay the knife on the seat beside me, shift into DRIVE, and pull out, thinking I’ll go to a corner a few blocks away where there are several fast-food places that all share a parking lot. Surely there will be a couple of Dumpsters in the back.
I reach the intersection where I’m supposed to turn right and my hands start steering the wheel left. “The hell?” I whisper under my breath as I try to force my hands to correct the mistake.
But they stay steady on the wheel.
With a flash of horror I realize where I’m going. I’m going to Linden’s house.
“No!” I yell at my hands. “No, no, no!” But they don’t stop, don’t release their hold on the wheel. My mind keeps repeating back the words that Smith spoke to me last night.
You think you’re in control? Even your powers are not your own anymore.
I beat him last night by getting him arrested—or at least I thought I did. But now I understand that smile he gave me. I won the fight, but Smith has every intention of winning this war.
I think about the way I couldn’t confront my aunt last night, even though I wanted to. Even then, he was controlling me; I was too tired to consider it. He made me too tired to consider it.
I’m nearly hyperventilating as my hands steer me up to Linden’s house and into his half-circle driveway. Now that I’m here, I stop trying to pull my hands off the wheel and start gripping them instead. Maybe I can stay here in the car. And never leave. Ever.
I hear laughter before I see anything but once the world finally brightens, I’m surprised to discover it’s coming from me. Like the vision with Charisse, I’m not seeing the vision, I am the vision. I feel everything to a degree that’s one step beyond real life; the snow is ultra white, the crisp air extra cold, and the hand in mine soft and warm beyond anything I’ve ever actually felt.
Linden. I’m walking with Linden through the snow and we’re laughing. I look down at our twined fingers and realize I’m wearing the green coat. Weird. Maybe Michelle won’t want it back.
I turn my attention back to Linden and the conversation fades in like someone turning the volume up on a television. It’s nothing exciting; we discuss school, which is starting back up soon. We both grow somber as we talk about the classmates who’ll be missing. But there’s nothing out of the ordinary and I can’t figure out why a vision of a casual conversation like this would create such a fever-pitch pressure in my head. And then Linden turns to me and takes both of my hands in his.
“I can face it with you,” he says, and his eyes are so serious, so intent, I squeeze his hands as hard as I can. “It is hard. I think it’s going to be hard for a long time.” He leans down slightly, and rests his forehead against mine. “But you make me feel strong and I don’t know what I would be doing right now without you.” He laughs, the sound colored with self-deprecation. “I’d probably be scared and holed up in my room, to be honest. Instead, I’m here, in the beautiful snow, with a beautiful girl, and despite everything, I’m okay. And I’m so grateful.”
Then he lifts his hand to my face where he tips my chin up toward him and kisses me. I lean into the kiss and pull him closer.
Closer.
There.
I jam the knife into his stomach and Linden chokes in pain and pulls away just in time for me to raise the already bloody blade and slash it across his throat. Blood pours down his chest and his wide, blue eyes meet mine as he staggers backward and falls into the snow.
It’s mere seconds before his pulse stops and his eyes grow sightless.
I open my mouth to scream but the vision is fading, pulling me back into the physical world where the guttural sound I’m making fills the car. This is worse than the vision with Charisse—so much worse. I can’t kill Linden—why the hell would I kill Linden?!
I don’t understand why this is happening. I know that Smith had some kind of hold on his victims, but there’s no way he could do anything like this. Not to me. Not without access to my supernatural plane. Right?
But he got in last night. I start to shiver at the possibility that he could access my plane on his own. From a cell.
Dear God.
I sit parked on the side of the road for ten minutes with the heater blasting warm air at me before my body stops shaking. I can’t go to Linden’s house. I’m not sure I can ever speak to Linden again, even though the thought make me want to sob. I just can’t risk that horrific vision coming true.
Sierra can talk about right and wrong all she wants, but I will fight this vision with every shred of will I have for the rest of my life. I would rather turn the knife on myself than kill someone I love. I remember the feeling of poisoning Sierra, of bashing Mom’s head against the bar. Never again. Never. Again.
I reach into my pocket to pull out my phone to text Linden and my hand curls around something else—something cold and hard, and I know what it is even before I pull it all the way out of the deep pocket to check. The knife. The green coat. I wanted to throw the knife in a Dumpster last night, but there wasn’t an opportunity—not without letting either the cops, or my mom, or Sierra see it.
I’ll do it now and then go right home. I’ll tell Linden I’m sick until I can figure out something else. I lay the knife on the seat beside me, shift into DRIVE, and pull out, thinking I’ll go to a corner a few blocks away where there are several fast-food places that all share a parking lot. Surely there will be a couple of Dumpsters in the back.
I reach the intersection where I’m supposed to turn right and my hands start steering the wheel left. “The hell?” I whisper under my breath as I try to force my hands to correct the mistake.
But they stay steady on the wheel.
With a flash of horror I realize where I’m going. I’m going to Linden’s house.
“No!” I yell at my hands. “No, no, no!” But they don’t stop, don’t release their hold on the wheel. My mind keeps repeating back the words that Smith spoke to me last night.
You think you’re in control? Even your powers are not your own anymore.
I beat him last night by getting him arrested—or at least I thought I did. But now I understand that smile he gave me. I won the fight, but Smith has every intention of winning this war.
I think about the way I couldn’t confront my aunt last night, even though I wanted to. Even then, he was controlling me; I was too tired to consider it. He made me too tired to consider it.
I’m nearly hyperventilating as my hands steer me up to Linden’s house and into his half-circle driveway. Now that I’m here, I stop trying to pull my hands off the wheel and start gripping them instead. Maybe I can stay here in the car. And never leave. Ever.
