Sleep Disorders

by Mark Lukens

  SLEEP DISORDERS

  A PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER

  by

  MARK LUKENS

  Sleep Disorders—Copyright © 2017 by Mark Lukens

  All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reprinted without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (or in any other form), business establishments, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by: Tim Skipper’s Vision Studio

  Special thanks to: Jet, Ann, Joe, Kelli, and Mary Ann—your help is immensely valuable to me, and I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate it.

  Contents

  SLEEP DISORDERS

  OTHER BOOKS BY MARK LUKENS:

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE:

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  OTHER BOOKS BY MARK LUKENS:

  ANCIENT ENEMY – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FD4SP8M

  DARKWIND: ANCIENT ENEMY 2 – www.amazon.com/dp/B01K42JBGW

  HOPE’S END: ANCIENT ENEMY 3 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07G1MS6RK

  EVIL SPIRITS: ANCIENT ENEMY 4 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07L8KLXVB

  DESCENDANTS OF MAGIC – www.amazon.com/dp/B00FWYYYYC

  SIGHTINGS – www.amazon.com/dp/B00VAI31KW

  DEVIL’S ISLAND – www.amazon.com/dp/B06WWJC6VD

  WHAT LIES BELOW – www.amazon.com/dp/B0143LADEY

  NIGHT TERRORS – www.amazon.com/dp/B00M66IU3U

  THE SUMMONING – www.amazon.com/dp/B00HNEOHKU

  THE DARWIN EFFECT – www.amazon.com/dp/B01G4A8ZYC

  GHOST TOWN – www.amazon.com/dp/B00LEZRF7G

  THE VAMPIRE GAME – www.amazon.com/dp/B07C2M72X9

  FOLLOWED – www.amazon.com/dp/B078WYGMJN

  THE EXORCIST’S APPRENTICE – www.amazon.com/dp/B00YYF1E5C

  POSSESSION: THE EXORCIST’S APPRENTICE 2 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07NCZQTNR

  A DARK COLLECTION: 12 SCARY STORIES – www.amazon.com/dp/B00JENAGLC

  RAZORBLADE DREAMS: HORROR STORIES – www.amazon.com/dp/B076B7W252

  COLLAPSE: DARK DAYS BOOK 1 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07SCPL6QB

  CHAOS: DARK DAYS BOOK 2 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07TVYNW19

  EXPOSURE: DARK DAYS BOOK 3 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07TY5S1S8

  REFUGE: DARK DAYS BOOK 4 – www.amazon.com/dp/B07VR8KNJ6

  CHAPTER ONE

  My sleep disorders began when my wife disappeared. Strange things happened while I slept, so I started filming myself while I was asleep, and then I learned the truth. I learned that things weren’t what they seemed to be. You think you know how everything works in the world. You think you understand truths and realities, but then you see that it’s all been a façade when it’s ripped away, revealing what’s underneath.

  Let me back up to the day my wife disappeared.

  No, I mean the day she was taken.

  It was a Friday night in early April, almost six o’clock, but still hot and humid, the air sticky with heat. We lived a little south of Daytona Beach, but we were far enough inland that the ocean breeze didn’t reach us. Michelle wanted to go out to a new steak and seafood restaurant she’d heard about. I was tired from working all day, but for once I had a Saturday off so I could stay out a little later that night.

  I bitched about my job all the way to the restaurant—that’s how I spent the last few moments with my wife. I worked at a lawn and pest control company. I was the manager of the lawn division. I had been working there for six years, starting out as a lawn technician for three years, and then one year in sales, and the last two as a manager. I had five lawn trucks under my command, trucks loaded with water, fertilizer, and chemicals. Spring and summer were always busy with complaints of chinch bugs and weeds, and I had spent much of my day trying to appease upset customers.

  “Steve’s having a shit fit about the missing bags of fertilizer and the spreader,” I told Michelle as I drove.

  She had been looking out the window, her eyes probably glazed over with boredom as I droned on, but then she looked at me. “You’ll find out who took them,” she said.

  Steve was my boss, and the fertilizer and spreader had been stolen from us two weeks earlier. There were no security cameras in the back where the trucks were loaded. Steve had his suspects narrowed down to one of the five lawn techs under me, and he was on my ass to find out which one of them was the thief. I suspected Ron, thinking he was itching to start his own lawn business and was building up his inventory little by little, but I had no way to prove it.

  We pulled into the restaurant and parked. The place looked pretty busy, but we didn’t have to wait. A hostess was ready to seat us as soon as we entered the lobby.

  Michelle needed to use the restroom. “Go ahead and get a table,” she said with her purse looped over one shoulder. “I’ll find you in a minute.”

  I followed our hostess to our table tucked away in the far corner of the dining area. At least we weren’t out in the middle.

  “Cindy will be right with you,” the hostess said with a big, fake smile.

  I could spot fake smiles a mile away—I wore one every day when I talked to customers who were going nuclear because they had a dry spot in their lawn.

  As promised, Cindy was at our table a few minutes later with menus. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asked.

  “Just water for now,” I told her. “Some lemon for my wife’s water.”

  Cindy nodded and bobbed away.

  I checked out the menu, my stomach already grumbling.

  A few minutes later Cindy was back with the iced waters, lemon wedges floating in both of the glasses. It was okay, I would just give my lemon wedges to Michelle.

  “Are you ready to order?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” I told her. “Still waiting for my wife.”

  Another beaming, fake smile and Cindy was off again.

  A few more minutes passed and Michelle still wasn’t back from th
e restroom. I kept glancing across the dining area, waiting to see her walking my way.

  Ten minutes turned into fifteen minutes. I was starting to get concerned. Maybe she couldn’t find our table. I instinctively touched my phone, thinking she might call. Had she left her phone in my company pickup truck that I’d driven here? The truck was white with bright green grass painted along the bottom and the company name in yellow letters, outlined in red: Carlton’s Lawn and Pest Services. Yeah, Michelle loved riding around in that truck. I wasn’t really supposed to be driving it for private use, but I didn’t really care. Besides the decent health care and a matching 401K program, the company truck was one of the few perks of my job.

  Maybe Michelle was sick. Maybe she’d gone back to the truck. But the doors were locked. Maybe she’d left her phone in the truck. Maybe she was waiting for me to read her mind and check on her out in the parking lot.

  I glanced around at the other people in the restaurant. There were couples, families, and a large party of what looked like office workers sucking down beers and overpriced mixed drinks. Brays of forced laughter came from their table.

  Cindy was back. “Are you ready to order?” she asked with a big smile.

  Do you see my wife here yet? I wanted to snap, but didn’t. Instead, I said: “I’m still waiting for my wife to come back from the bathroom.”

  “Oh,” the waitress said, glancing at the empty seat across from me. “I’ll come back.”

  “Cindy,” I said.

  She stopped on a dime, staring at me, waiting for my request.

  I was suddenly at a loss for words. I knew what I wanted to say, but not exactly how to say it. I couldn’t help feeling that Michelle might be sick or something. “Uh . . . my wife has been in the restroom for like almost twenty minutes. Is there any way you could check on her for me?”

  Cindy looked puzzled. It seemed I had stumped her with my request.

  I knew no matter how I said it, that it was going to come out weird. “I mean, I would check on her, but I . . .” I let my words die off, hoping she’d understand.

  “Oh, of course,” she said. “No problem. I’ll go check for you.”

  “Thank you, Cindy. Her name’s Michelle. She’s got long brown hair.”

  Cindy was off.

  I sat there for a few more minutes, sipping my iced water, glancing at my cell phone for something to do, just checking to make sure I didn’t have any nasty emails from Steve.

  “Sir.”

  I looked up at Cindy.

  She was frowning like she was confused, possibly the butt of some kind of joke. “I checked the bathroom. There’s no one in there. Nobody named Michelle.”

  I was frozen for a moment, trying to figure out where Michelle could be, thinking again that maybe she’d gotten sick and went out to the truck.

  Cindy had more to say: “And someone turned a purse in to our manager. She said she found it in the restroom.”

  “A purse,” I asked, my voice suddenly losing strength.

  “Yeah. You want to take a look at it?”

  I was standing before I even realized what I was doing, my head suddenly a little light. I told myself that it was just the heat from my long day at work and lack of food. Maybe I was dehydrated. But I was suddenly frightened. I felt like I was walking through the thick air of a dream as I followed Cindy through the crowded dining hall, passing the group of office workers, an overweight man telling a joke, the others erupting in laughter.

  I was at the hostess’s stand and our hostess was already holding a black purse out to me like it was a dead animal she wanted to be rid of.

  My heart felt like it had stopped in my chest. The room seemed to be spinning around me. I had that slight sense of floating an inch or two above the floor. I stared at the purse: fake black leather, some kind of assortment of silver rings and buckles on it that seemed more decorative than functional. Was this my wife’s purse? It certainly looked like it, but I was no handbag expert. Could I pick my wife’s purse out of a lineup? I wasn’t sure. But I heard my voice coming from far away, telling the woman that yes, this was indeed my wife’s purse. Because instinctively I already knew.

  I took the purse and opened it, praying to be wrong, praying to be embarrassed when I realized that I was rummaging through a stranger’s possessions. I pulled out Michelle’s wallet, opening it. Her driver’s license was tucked away behind the plastic protector, her credit cards in their slots.

  “You’re sure she’s not in the bathroom?” I asked Cindy. “Could you check again please?”

  Cindy nodded quickly, her movements like a frantic bird now. She hurried back down the short hall to the women’s room. Time seemed to stretch, but it also seemed like Cindy was back in an instant, shaking her head like a doctor about to call the time of death.

  “She’s not in there?” I asked, my voice rising.

  Cindy shook her head no again, eyes wide.

  “You’re sure?”

  “No one’s in there. I checked every stall.” She glanced at the hostess like she was looking for help; she seemed to be afraid that I was going to bolt past her and check the women’s room myself.

  “I don’t understand why my wife would leave her purse in the bathroom,” I said. I looked at the tables closest to the lobby. I saw an elderly couple sitting at the nearest table, their attention on me. The woman was staring at me unabashedly, her husband glancing back and forth between her and me, and then he looked at her again, touching her hand, whispering to her, perhaps telling her to stop gawking.

  But the old woman kept looking at me. She’d seen something, I was sure of it.

  “Maybe she went back to the table,” the hostess suggested.

  “I would have seen her,” I said, still looking at the elderly woman. “How could she have gotten back to the table without walking past me?” But the hostess was right, it wouldn’t hurt to check.

  It took me less than a minute to walk to our table and then back to the lobby. I went out the glass doors, exiting the lobby, sensing the relief from the waitress and hostess, both of them hoping I might be leaving.

  I looked around at the parking lot and then ran, actually ran, to my company pickup truck. I peeked inside the truck, making sure it was still locked. Michelle wasn’t inside. I looked all around the truck, even underneath it. I don’t know what I had been expecting, that she might be crumpled down beside the truck, a hand to her stomach, groaning, suddenly sick—too sick to come to the table and tell me she’d gone back to the truck.

  But she wasn’t there.

  A moment later I was back in the lobby. “She’s not out there,” I told the hostess.

  Cindy was gone.

  The hostess stared at me, unsure of what to do.

  “I need to find my wife,” I snapped. “She went to the bathroom, and now she’s not here.”

  The hostess had nothing for me but a fake smile and big, watery eyes.

  I rushed down the short hall to the women’s room.

  “Sir!” the hostess screeched.

  I didn’t answer her. I didn’t stop. I didn’t care. I slammed my way into the women’s room. A woman stood at the long row of sinks, messing with her makeup, staring at me through the mirror without turning around, apparently not as shocked at my entrance as I thought she would be.

  I banged on the doors of each of the stalls. “Michelle! You in here? You okay?”

  “Sir, she’s not in here.” The hostess was in the bathroom now, following me from stall to stall.

  I brushed past her and went to the men’s room. Maybe Michelle had gone into the men’s room. But even as I grasped at that straw, I knew rationally that it wasn’t true because her purse had been found in the women’s room, not the men’s.

  She left her purse behind. It still boggled my mind.

  When I was back in the hallway, I heard a man’s voice right behind me. “Sir?”

  I turned around and saw a tall man in his late thirties with thinning hair and a large, pr
otruding belly. He looked like someone who might have had a decent run at football in high school but lacked the talent to go any further in athletics. He still looked sturdy and strong, though. Cindy, our waitress, was standing beside the manager, a little more comfortable with the bulk beside her.

  “Sir, can I help you with something?”

  “My wife is missing,” I told him.

  “Sir, if we could discuss this somewhere else,” he said, gesturing at the glass doors that led outside.

  “I already looked out there,” I said. “She’s not out there. I can’t find her.” I could feel my breaths growing quick, my lungs and throat wanting to close up, the beginnings of a panic attack. I’d had my share of them throughout my life so I knew the signs.

  I still had Michelle’s purse in my hand. I’d been carrying it the whole time without even realizing it.

  “Have you asked around in here?” I asked the manager. “Has anyone seen my wife?”

  “Sir, please calm down.”

  I knew my voice was rising. The people at the tables closest to the lobby were looking at us now, including the old couple who had been staring at me before.

  “Sir,” the manager warned, glaring at me.

  “She’s twenty-seven years old,” I said, looking at the older couple now. “She has long dark hair. Five foot five. Slim. Pretty.” I could feel tears threatening. “Beautiful,” I corrected myself. “She’s beautiful.”

  “Sir,” the manager warned again.

  “Please,” I said, rushing over to the old couple. The old man reminded me of Burgess Meredith from the Rocky movies. But I concentrated on his wife. “If you saw anything . . .”

  “Sir,” the manager snapped right behind me. He grabbed my arm a little too hard. “You can’t bother the customers.”

  “Bother the customers?” I shouted, ripping my arm out of his grasp. “My wife is missing!”

  “I’m going to call the police,” the manager warned.

  “Good! Call them!”

  The manager nodded at the hostess, a silent command to her. She was off and running.

  “I saw the woman,” the old woman said from right behind me.

  I turned around and locked eyes with her.

  She was smiling now, her eyes twinkling and kind, but there was something vacant about her stare. “I saw the woman you’re talking about. I saw her leave with a man a little while ago.”