Sleep Savannah Sleep

by Alistair Cross

  Yes. Something’s coming.

  9

  Missing

  As noon approached, Jason tapped on Brent’s bedroom door. After several seconds, he heard his son’s sleep-thick voice from the other side. “What?”

  “Are you alive?”

  “Duh, Dad.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “I guess.”

  Jason stepped into the room, past a wadded shirt, crumpled pants, dirt-grimed shoes, and a few dirty dishes Brent hadn’t yet returned to the kitchen. The room had that teenage-boy smell, like a locker room after the big game. Jason made no comment on any of these things, and smiled at his son, who was sitting up in bed, his sandy brown hair corkscrewed by sleep, his eyes puffy.

  “I thought I’d better wake you up before the day’s over,” said Jason. Brent had gotten home shortly after the ambulances left Tabitha Cooper’s last night and, claiming exhaustion, he’d gone straight to bed. He knew nothing about Mrs. Cooper’s death.

  “I’m up, I’m up.” Brent threw the blankets back and stretched.

  “Our neighbor, Mrs. Cooper, passed away last night.”

  Brent blinked at him. “So? Wasn’t she like, a hundred and five, or something?”

  Jason sighed. His son had never been the most compassionate person. “She was elderly, yes, but the reason I’m telling you is because I don’t want you saying anything that will upset Amber.” When their neighbor in LA, Mrs. Jensen, died last year, Brent told Amber that he saw her ghost wandering up the sidewalk in the middle of the night. Jason didn’t think his son would be as cruel since the death of his own mother, but he wanted to be sure.

  Brent sighed. “I already told her I was just kidding about ghosts, Dad.”

  “I know, but kids are impressionable. They remember things like that. I want you to be careful what you say about Mrs. Cooper.”

  “I will. I gotta take a leak.” Brent made to get out of bed, but paused - and Jason knew why.

  Before he’d been caught mid-masturbation, Brent would have gotten up and pulled some pants on regardless of whether or not Jason was in the room. But now, he was self-conscious. The events of the past days had created diversions from the awkward moment, but its traces still lingered and here was the proof.

  Jason gently closed the bedroom door. Now was as good a time as any. “Brent. I want to say something to you and I know it’s going to embarrass you, but it needs to be said. I just want you to listen, okay?” Brent always responded better to uncomfortable subjects after a little warning.

  He nodded.

  Now it was Jason who was uncomfortable. “What happened the other day … in the bathroom …” He paused, expecting Brent to protest, but he didn’t. “It’s perfectly normal,” Jason continued. “I didn’t see anything I haven’t seen before, and I don’t want you to be embarrassed about it.”

  Brent’s eyes were riveted to his hands. He blushed furiously. Jason probably did, too.

  “And I’m sorry for walking in like that. I had no idea you were in there, so from now on, just lock the door, okay?”

  “‘Kay.”

  “And if you have any questions about-”

  “Daa-aad!”

  And Jason knew he’d pushed far enough. He held up a hand. “All right, I get it. I’ll shut up now. Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs and I’ll get you something to eat?”

  “‘Kay.”

  Jason turned and left the room. In the hall, he sighed relief. That hadn’t been as terrible as he’d expected. He straightened some white silk roses that stood in a vase on a small hall table across from Brent’s room, then headed downstairs.

  After a full breakfast of scrambled eggs, French toast, and hash browns, Jason and the kids relaxed in the living room. Amber sat on the floor, playing with Reginald Breedlove and Ruby, and Brent stretched out on the couch, texting. In his leather chair, Jason read a Tamara Thorne novel about a modern-day Jack the Ripper in a small California town, and on the muted television, would-be singers tried their luck on Tomorrow’s Singing Stars.

  Brent had been moody and faraway during breakfast; he looked wrung out and Jason wondered if he’d been drinking or smoking anything the night before. He hadn’t seemed intoxicated when he’d gotten home, but then Jason had had other things on his mind. When he asked Brent if he was feeling all right, his son had given him an emphatic eye roll and continued picking at his plate. He’d hardly eaten a thing.

  “Daddy? Can I go outside and play?” asked Amber.

  Jason wasn’t keen on letting her out of his sight, not even for a few minutes, not yet. “Let me finish this chapter and I’ll come with you.”

  “Can’t you read outside? I just want to play in the front yard.”

  Jason smiled. “Sure thing, sweetie. Let’s go.”

  Outside, Jason sat in the porch swing and continued reading while Amber showed Reginald Breedlove how to climb the tree. From time to time, Jason’s gaze wandered over to Tabitha Cooper’s house. He shuddered each time he looked and wondered how Coop was doing.

  “Hello, neighbor!” called a voice.

  Jason looked up as Dottie Blanchard made her way across the lawn toward him, a giant cat in her arms. “Dottie. How are you?” He set his book down and smiled.

  She climbed the steps, winded. “I’d be better if I weren’t so out of shape!” The cat in her arms was not Virgo; this one, while just as fat, had a more memorable face - half black and half white, divided right down the middle. Even its nose was bicolored.

  “Please, sit.” Jason patted the seat next to him.

  “Oh, heavens, no. I don’t think any more sitting is what I need. But I will put Gemini down, if you don’t mind. He’s gotten too heavy for me, I’m afraid.” She set the chubby cat on the swing and, rather than darting away as Jason expected, Gemini flopped onto his side, batted at the book a few times, and then, exhausted by the activity, appeared to fall asleep.

  “So, what brings you over, Dottie?”

  “There’s so much to tell you, I’m not sure where to start!” One of Dottie’s knee-high nylons had rolled down her calf and pooled at her ankle.

  “If it’s about Tabitha Cooper, I already know. I saw the sirens last night.”

  “Well, yes, there’s that - such a shame - but there’s more.” She paused, catching her breath. “Evie Sturgess didn’t show up to cooking class this morning.”

  Jason waited for the point.

  “I did some investigating,” said the real-life Miss Marple, “and apparently, her daughter, that Savannah, has gone missing. No one’s seen her since yesterday evening!”

  Jason perked up. “Missing?”

  Dottie nodded, her face glistening with sweat. “I’m sure she took off with some out-of-towner - so many folks come here for the carnival - but I can’t help wondering if she got cold feet. She and Flynn Garvey just got engaged, you know.”

  “I heard.”

  Dottie looked disappointed that she hadn’t been the first to tell him. “That girl’s not marrying material, I tell you. I don’t know what that young man was thinking, proposing to her.”

  As she rambled on, Jason’s mind drifted to the other night at the carnival. He wondered if the man he’d seen with Savannah in the forest had been local - and if he had anything to do with her disappearance. It had to be that guy. But who was he? He recalled Fred De La Paz’s words: ‘She’s going to end up in serious trouble if she doesn’t slow down.’ Jason had agreed.

  “-it’s so selfish of her to leave without saying anything to anyone, but then that’s just what she is - selfish! And I’m sure that when she returns, poor Flynn Garvey will just take her right back as if nothing happened.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.” But he wasn’t so sure at all. “Can I ask you something, Dottie?”

  “Of course, dear.”

  “Do you know of anyone around here with a heart tattooed on his forearm?”

  Dottie considered. “I don’t think so. Whyever do you ask?”r />
  Jason shrugged. “Just curious. I, uh, saw a guy with a very nice tattoo the other day and I wanted to ask who the artist was, but it’s not important.”

  She studied him. “I certainly hope you’re not considering getting one of those dreadful things at this point in your life.”

  Jason laughed. “Not at all. I was just admiring the work.”

  Satisfied, Dottie went on gossiping, but Jason wasn’t listening. His thoughts were on Savannah Sturgess - and the man with the heart tattoo.

  Part 2

  10

  Suspicion

  SEARCH FOR LOCAL WOMAN ENTERS FOURTH DAY.

  Below the headline was a picture of Savannah Sturgess, chin resting in her palm, a half-smile on her face. In the backyard, beneath the morning sun, Jason stared at the photograph on his laptop then scanned the article. There were no new developments. The police were still investigating. The family implored anyone with information to come forward.

  On the surface, things had been quiet in Shadow Springs since Savannah had gone missing - but behind closed doors and over the phone, everyone was speculating. He knew this because Dottie Blanchard kept him informed.

  For the first couple of days, the grapevine suggested that perhaps she’d struck something up with one of the carnies and joined their traveling circus. That theory quickly died - it wasn’t tragic enough - and the latest gossip suggested that Savannah had been murdered, probably by some smooth-talking city-slicker she’d met at the carnival. And he must have been a smooth-talker because since her disappearance, Savannah Sturgess was no longer the lewd seductress she’d been a week ago, but a sweet misguided victim of youth and naiveté.

  It was funny, Jason thought, how quickly people sainted the missing and the dead. Yet he was sure that if Savannah did return after trying her hand as a carnie, she’d be cast back into her previous role as the town tramp within a week. There was a dark side to the human heart, and never was it more alive and well than when people found something good to gossip about.

  Jason hoped Savannah was living happily elsewhere, but if he were to be honest, he was tired of hearing about her. Even his massage sessions were spent pondering the woman’s whereabouts. It was maddening. I should put up signs that say ‘Savannah-Free Zone.’ But to be fair, as someone new to town, he supposed he wasn’t as impacted as the rest of them.

  Savannah’s disappearance did have one immediate effect on his life, though. Liam Sturgess, in the face of the tragedy, had fallen off the map. This left Brent moody and despondent - far worse than Jason had ever seen him. He felt bad for his son. It seemed cruel that he should so quickly lose the first friend he’d had in such a long time - but Liam needed to be with his family now. Eventually, things would return to normal and Brent and Liam would resume their friendship.

  Tabitha Cooper’s death hadn’t made nearly as big a splash. Her funeral services - which had been held in Shadow Springs Cemetery just yesterday - were done quickly and quietly. Jason had gone, more to support Coop than anything, and was surprised to see so many in attendance. Even Hallie Bessner had been there. He’d felt a sense of community then and understood that while the townspeople may have spent a lot of time gossiping and stabbing each other in the back, they were there for each other when it counted. Travis and Marlee Delgado had not attended.

  Coop, who’d been getting his grandmother’s things in order, stopped by for a beer each evening after a few hours at her house. Jason wasn’t big on beer but had stocked the fridge anyway - he enjoyed Coop’s company. He’d offered to help out next door, but Coop wouldn’t hear of it. It wasn’t Jason’s problem, he’d said; it was something he needed to do alone.

  In truth, Jason was relieved. He’d developed a pleasant regimen over the past days: Take the kids to school, drink a cup of coffee out back, shower, and get ready for any clients who might be scheduled, do some housework, pick up the kids, and have a beer with Coop. He didn’t have any appointments today, which meant he had the next six hours to himself. He looked up at the house wondering where to start; there was still so much to do.

  Eventually, he’d hire someone to build the sauna in the massage studio, redo some of the carpets, and add a few electrical outlets, but he wanted to tackle the little things first. There was plenty of cleaning to do, not to mention a handful of small repairs he could handle himself. First, he wanted to get his weights set up in the spare bedroom. Next, he’d paint the bedrooms. Then, he needed to fix the creaking stairs. In fact, he thought, I ought to do those first.

  These past nights, as the house settled, the creaks were bad enough to wake him and keep him up. For two nights in a row, Amber had heard them as well, and had come into his room to sleep. She pretended not to be scared, but Jason knew better. Brent’s stories about ghosts roaming the sidewalks of LA had undoubtedly transferred themselves to the new house and now, every little noise was proof of otherworldly entities.

  He wasn’t sleeping well and now, a pulse throbbed thickly at his temple, indicating a coming migraine. He sighed, deciding that, yes, he’d start with the stairs. After I take half a bottle of aspirin, that is. He wondered how much work repairing them would be. He knew he could do it - he’d always been able to figure these things out - but he wasn’t sure he felt like it. Perhaps it would be better to hire out for that, too.

  Glancing around, he acknowledged that at least the yard would be easy to maintain. He liked it just as it was. For one thing, it was private. He could sit out here in the nude - and had actually considered doing that more than once - and no one would ever know. Also, it was pretty. The cat’s claw blooms had withered on their vines a few days ago, but the honeysuckle and roses were still open and full, perfuming the air with sweetness. And blooms or no, he liked the way the vines climbed the walls of the old Victorian, shrouding his home in rich green beauty. It was hard to imagine he’d ever thought the place looked creepy.

  Finishing his coffee, Jason took one more glance at the picture of Savannah Sturgess before shutting down his laptop. He tried not to speculate on her disappearance - it seemed like bad karma or something - but from the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d sensed that she was headed for trouble - and he hoped he was wrong.

  He went inside and headed upstairs to shower, stopping in his bedroom for clean clothes. As he shaved in front of the bathroom mirror, he thought he certainly wasn’t a “cute guy” as Savannah had called him, but not homely, either. Of course, the black eye - which had now faded to a sickly yellow-green - didn’t help, but otherwise, he considered himself blandly handsome with mostly forgettable features: hair that was neither too dark nor too light, eyes that were neither steely nor pale, and garden-variety bone structure. He hadn’t been in Julia’s league, for sure - or Hallie’s for that matter. He hated how quickly thoughts of one woman followed the other and pushed them aside, focusing on the shave.

  As he brought the razor down his face, he heard - then saw - the doorknob jiggle. He paused, baffled. Uncertain, he set the blade down, and tried the knob. At first, it wouldn’t budge. He twisted it harder and the door swung open.

  The hall was empty. Of course it’s empty. No one’s here.

  A little uneasy, he pulled the door shut and resumed shaving, continually glancing at the doorknob - but it didn’t move again. After finishing, he rinsed off his razor and stripped. Again, he looked at the knob. Nothing was amiss. Before stepping into the shower, he locked the door anyway - better to err on the side of caution.

  Under the hot spray, he soaped up and scrubbed, washing last night off him. As he shampooed, he had brief memories of his dreams the previous night. There was blood. And screaming. He tried to recall more, but beyond that, it was out of reach. Again, it occurred to him that the chronic night terrors he’d suffered as a boy - courtesy of Daddy Dearest - might be making a comeback. Can that even happen? The nightmares had stopped when he was fourteen and they hadn’t returned.

  Jason rinsed, shut the water off, and stepped out onto the fluffy white b
ath mat. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he reached to wipe the steam from the mirror - and froze. Written in the fog, in crude dripping letters, was the international distress code: SOS.

  “What the hell?”

  The bathroom door - which he knew he’d locked - snicked open. Jason’s breath caught in his throat as the door creaked on its hinges, slowly swinging ajar. He stood there a moment, frozen, staring into the empty hall beyond.

  Blood thrummed in his ears as he stepped out of the bathroom. “Hello?”

  The black mouth of the hallway seemed to open wider, threatening to swallow him whole - and it was dark. Too dark. Unnaturally so. The kind of dark you needed a flashlight for. It was freezing, too - far colder than it should have been - but despite the chill, sweat broke out on Jason’s forehead.

  “Who’s there?”

  The silence of the house oppressed him.

  He stood there, clutching his towel, shivering, as two words played over in his mind: Travis Delgado, Travis Delgado.

  Confusion became anger. “Here I am. Come and get me.” His words echoed, as if spoken down a deep tunnel, and that was when the foreign feeling came over Jason. It was a feeling he couldn’t identify - something he’d never experienced before. It felt like stepping into a different dimension - a heavier one where time seemed to crawl, shadows deepened, and the air turned dense and concentrated, charged with something thick and electric. And it wasn’t just the air that changed - it was Jason himself. He felt other somehow - like a different person in a different place.

  He looked down and recognized his own body, but felt twice removed from himself. He fought against a sudden panic and continued down the hall, uneasy and uncertain, his legs no more than phantom appendages moving him toward the black-ink darkness. The wood floor was like a block of ice under his bare feet, but there was a numbness about his skin that rendered it barely noticeable. Somewhere outside, an owl hooted. Jason paused, feeling as though he couldn’t get enough air. Pain burgeoned in his head, threatened to explode … and then, as if someone had raised a massive blind or the sun had come out from behind a black cloud, the light returned. The feeling came back to his hands and feet. Warmth returned to the hall and the fog that had settled on his brain burned off like mist on a lake under strong morning sun.