Sleep Revised

by Wright, Michael

  The least civilian looking thing around, he thought.

  He didn’t even need to wonder, he knew Morrison was behind the wheel, driving up to him, just as he had expected.

  His reflection traveled across the surface and stopped at the front window of the car. It rolled down a little bit.

  “You getting in, or what?” The detective chimed.

  Clark rounded the car and popped himself down into the passenger seat. He felt the leather sigh beneath his weight, and he sniffed the air. The thick odor of stale food filled his nostrils. “What keeps it so fresh in here?”

  “TLC, that’s what.”

  “You feed this thing donuts?”

  “Shut up.” Morrison set in gear and rounded the street corner, slipping into causal mode quickly as he surveyed the alleys around the small craft store, which Clark found somewhat amusing. There wasn’t a big demand for safety scissors on the street. “What do you got for me?”

  “A present.”

  “I’m touched.” A raised eyebrow, “What is it?”

  Clark hefted the box, “Not much this time, just a little something I want you to keep safe for me.”

  “Why do I need to keep it? Has someone else been in your apartment?”

  Clark thought for a moment about the scattered pages across his living room, and the drawing covering the picture of Carol adorning the kitchen counter. But at the same time he knew it would be impossible to explain. In fact, if he did, Morrison would probably react a lot more negatively than just laughing at him. Instead: “No. I’m going to be out of town for a few days.”

  “Okay, I can understand that. But why are you giving this to me?”

  “Because I don’t trust anyone else with this.”

  The car shifted to the curb and was slowly slipped into park. Morrison turned. “What are we talking about here”

  Clark handed him the package, neatly wrapped.

  “What is it?” Morrison turned it over in his hand, examining it. “A tracker?”

  Clark nodded. “It’s a GPS tracker than I’m going to slip onto my car. And I need you to do me a favor.”

  “What?”

  “If you don’t hear from me in some way every day, then send as many police as you can to the location that the coordinates on that thing specify.”

  Morrison placed the package on the dashboard, and scanned the street quickly, as if he had a ruffian scanner that was detecting nearby activity of the foolhardy variety. “Are you in some kind of trouble here, Clark? If you are, I can help.”

  “Not that kind of trouble.”

  Eyebrows raised again, “What kind are we talking about.”

  “Our mutual interest.” Clark said, tapping his fingers across the faux-leather finish of the interior of the car. “I’m going to find it. I have some information and a lead, so I’m going to go look at something. It might shed some light on what’s going on.”

  “You don’t need to be doing that!” Morrison said, “Not alone, at least.”

  “I’m going with a friend. It’s just for a look.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard that before. From myself, but I know the sound that goes into a man’s voice when he’s doing something he probably shouldn’t be doing. Who are you going with? Do they know what they’re getting into?”

  Clark dismissed him, “Yes, I wouldn’t drag somebody into this without letting them know what was going on.”

  “Do they know how far this is all going?”

  “Yes.”

  Morrison sighed again. His breath was heavy, ragged. “You know I can’t just let you run off into the distance and do this, right?”

  Clark shrugged. “Yes you can.”

  “Clark…”

  “You need to. Because I’m not going to tell you where I’m going. You have the tracker, which is about as good as it’s going to get. I know what I’m doing, and I’m going to be careful. I just need to give myself some insurance.”

  He held up the box, “This is insurance? Who are you kidding here? If you don’t know what you’re going to find, how can you possibly know if you’re prepared for it or not?”

  Clark knew he was right. There was no way to know exactly what he was walking into. It was impossible to know that for sure. For all he knew he could be walking into a trap set by a bunch of psychopaths who lured people in with tales of ancient cults and calendars. It was completely possible, and in fact it was most likely what was really happening. But there was Carol to think about, and Jon. More than that, there was Samantha and Father Capaldi. It gave him pause. “I have to do this.”

  Morrison said nothing.

  “It’s not a choice that I have. I’m not some half-cocked kid running off into what he thinks might be an adventure. There’s some deep stuff going on here. Stuff that I can’t even begin to ask you to understand. But I need you to humor me. This is something I have to do.” Clark tapped his arm, “For your niece. For my wife. For Jon. Hell, I guess for myself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ll never sleep right again if I don’t figure out what is really going on.”

  Another heavy breath, “I guess I’m not going to talk you out of it.”

  “Nope.”

  A nod. He held up the box again. “I’ll keep this handy. If you die, I’m going to kill you myself.”

  “Thanks, Morrison.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m not doing this for you.” He looked out the windshield. “I’m doing this for me. I need to have some answers too. You will tell me what you find?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then get out of here. Go find it.”

  4

  Sam was waiting for him at the overhang that protruded from the office of the cheap no-name motel. She had packed everything she had with her in only a few minutes, and managed to graze on the last dregs of the continental breakfast that had already been picked over by the other guests. A small sprinkling of Cheerios in a foam bowl with a splash of warm milk was pretty much what it amounted to. There was bread and a toaster, but the bread was stiff when she touched it, and she had simply tossed it into the garbage. She was not normally a breakfast person, but she supposed that they were not going to make a stop for a long time, and it was probably best to get what she could when she could if she was going to have anything to eat. She hated road trips. Even worse, she hated making stops—It only prolonged the misery.

  Her suitcase wasn’t very big, a small roller that she had picked up at a thrift store, but she still felt like she was standing there with way too much around while she waited for Clark to roll by and pick her up. He had sent her a message only twenty minutes ago, saying that he was ready to come get her, and she had replied immediately. She wondered if he really did know where the motel was, or if he had simply overestimated himself.

  The rowdy kids from the other night wandered out of the lobby of the motel. They had soft drinks, and a pack of cigarettes that she was pretty sure they had stolen as none of them looked even close to being of age to buy tobacco. They were passing around an old Zippo, lighting the tips. The girl laughed her obnoxious laugh, and one of the boys reached over and grabbed her butt. Samantha watched them for a moment as they wandered toward the street, blinking back memories as they did.

  There was the smell of cheap hamburgers and fries in the air. She saw a fast food dive on the other side of the road and wondered why she had never noticed before. It was almost nine in the morning, so they were probably pre-cooking the lunch rush food. How long it sat there before it was finally served to people she had no idea. She was not beyond the occasional fast-food burger, but looking at the place made her question why anyone would have ever gone into it and ordered food.

  She saw a silver Honda on the road, headed her way. Based on the cars that usually traveled the roads around the motel caused her to expect it was Clark’s. When the blinker popped on and it slowed, she took a couple steps forward with her suitcase. The wind snapped again, pulling her denim jacket close
to her. She was dressed in black jeans, her boots and a white T-shirt that had at one time held a logo for Coca-Cola, long faded. But the jacket was warm enough.

  When he pulled to a stop he rolled down the window. “I’ll pop the trunk.”

  She rolled the case around the car to the back and slid open the trunk, noting that there was almost nothing in there. Most guys she knew would tend to throw a lot of crap into the trunk of their cars, mainly because they never checked back there unless they had a flat. But there was nothing inside. She saw the bulge where the spare tire sat, but the soft mesh overlaying the fiberglass body that made up the trunk was smooth and clean. She lifted the small case and shoved it into the space. The trunk closed solidly.

  With a glance, she noticed he had been watching her through the rear-view mirror. She rounded the car again, popping open the passenger door and stepped into a clean and smooth car. Not what she had been expecting at all. If she had a car, she wouldn’t have kept it clean, she knew that from past experience. As soon as she plopped in, she folded a leg over her other one, scraping the tip of her boot on the soft vinyl overlay. It didn’t leave a mark, which she was glad for, but would have been quite amused if it had.

  He pointed to the cup holder. “I got you a coffee.”

  She glanced. “Who says chivalry is dead?”

  “That’s because you’re gonna be driving halfway.” He shifted out of park and rocketed around the parking lot, shedding gravel behind him, and back onto the street. “We’ll be on the highway in a few minutes. We should get there tomorrow. As long as there aren’t any delays.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  The car hummed lightly on the road even when he pumped it up. She had never ridden in a newer car like it. The newest one she had ever had was over ten years old, but she could tell that the one he was driving was within the last two. It was smallish for a four-door sedan, but it rode smooth. She felt like she could sleep pretty easily in it, which was definitely in the plans.

  “You ready for all of this?” He asked, reaching for the cup-holder to grab his own coffee, and slurped back some of it. She could swear that the man drank more coffee than anyone else she had seen. Then again, energy drinks were the currency of her profession. Those and beer.

  “Ready as I can be.” The reply was simple, but it was all she could think of. How much more was honestly needed, really? They were going off on a journey that could lead to nothing. That fact didn’t take the dagger of nervousness out of her stomach however. Her guts shifted every time she paused to consider it, still seeing the picture Jon had drawn of her, towering over people, an unearthly arm wrapping around her, holding her so tight.

  “Okay, then.” He revved the engine again. “Let’s go find what Jon was looking for.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  1

  The road was quiet. Even at seventy miles an hour it seemed to be an endless run of nothing. The more he drove, the more he barely registered the fact that they were moving that fast at all. It seemed funny to him, the longer you drove the more it felt like you weren’t even driving.

  Clark turned over and saw Sam was buried in a folder that he had handed her. The homework he had given her for the road, seeing if she could pick through some of Jon’s paperwork and figure out what he wanted them to know so badly. She had filled him in on some of it, the rest she had just been reading. He had a feeling she was skimming some of it, but in the long run he supposed that didn’t matter. There was only so much to be collected from it. They were on their way to see what it all led up to anyway.

  “At the state line.” He said, pointing to the sign on the side of the road.

  She looked up, thick framed glasses that she had pulled from a small handbag seated neatly on her nose. They reflected the passing yellow lines and the single solid one on the highway. Her face only registered vague interest in it, before turning back to the papers.

  He supposed it wasn’t all that interesting after all, and he couldn’t blame her. The trip was going to take a while, and they had barely spent any time together, let along being trapped in a confined space with each other for hours on end. It either made best friends or worst enemies, and as far as he knew they were still only on neutral terms. Despite the fact that he felt something about her the more time he spent with her. It was a warmth, not the sharp coldness that had marked their first meeting. She had called him to meet after all, he supposed that had to mean something.

  “Hey,” she said, “did something come in that box?”

  “Yeah. A weird ball.” He thumbed toward the back seat. “Black bag, in the main zipper pocket.”

  She set the folder down on the dashboard and unfastened her seatbelt, reaching back between the seats to dig into the bag. It had been on the seat along with all of the other things that Jon had left them. He had decided to pack most of the folders with them, in case they needed them for some reason. With it was the weird orb that he had sent with the symbols etched around it. He was still unsure what to think about it, it was so out of place and didn’t seem to have anything to do with the research on the calendar or the patterns.

  Sam leaned forward and had it in her hands, fiddling with the black tiles on the surface that formed the symbols. She was running the nails of her thumb and forefinger through the grooves, trying to feel out the ones that would move, he guess, if they did move at all.

  “What is it?”

  A shrug, “Apparently it’s something that supposed to help with directions. It’s kind of a like a dowsing rod, only it finds the creepy crap we’re messing with instead of water.”

  “How does it work?”

  “Good question there, Sherlock.” She spun it around on her palm, picking a new section to start fiddling with. “It apparently doesn’t start working until you’re close to the location. Or something like that. It tracks the calendar, I think. There’s not much info on it, in fact, I don’t know how in the heck he even got it. Where does something like this come from?”

  “The dark side of eBay.”

  She turned it over. “It’s supposed to do something. Legend says that as long as one of the figures has it, it will work. How it knows who you are is beyond me, and I don’t even know where they have these legends and myths at. I’ve never heard of any of this crap.”

  “I think that’s the point,” Clark stated. “We’re not supposed to know this crap. It’s something that isn’t supposed to exist. That’s what I’ve figured anyway. Whatever it is, this stuff is deep occult.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like this isn’t the stuff some bored teenager looks up on the Internet and decides to start practicing. This isn’t Pastafarianism, or Cthulhu worship. It’s different. According to Morrison it’s been popping up everywhere, I don’t know how.”

  Sam set the orb down on the floorboard. “They don’t work through regular channels, that’s how. You know about the deep Internet?”

  “Not much. I only do Google.”

  “That’s why. It’s websites that can’t be accessed through regular search engines and stuff. To find the stuff you have to know how to get there. Whoever these people are, apparently they don’t work through those kinds of channels. They use deep web content.”

  “So, you’re saying I can’t like them on Facebook?”

  She gave him a look.

  “So what you’re saying is that these people are untraceable? Because to me that sounds about as impossible as it gets with the way everything works these days.”

  “They aren’t completely untraceable, but they are very hard to find. Jon had a bit of stuff somebody sent him, they use encryption on everything and do it out of the public eye. Which makes sense. If you’re in a cult that’s raping and murdering people, you wouldn’t want that to be out in the open.”

  “But what about the eye?” He passed a slow moving truck. “Why do they leave a calling card if they really don’t want to be found? Isn’t that kind of a dead giveaway?”

  She grabbed the fo
lder back from the dashboard. “I think that takes away from the ritual for them. This whole things seems to be set on ritual. Like if they have a liturgy they follow in their orgies I wouldn’t be surprised. They’re organized to the point of stupidity.”

  “Then why are we being roped into it?”

  “Fate.”

  It seemed about a good of an answer as he could think of. There was no rhyme or reason to it, they were being pulled in because it was what role they were meant to play in it. There wasn’t a particular purpose behind them being the ones, it was just the way it was always meant to be. He wondered how far that went, how it affected the fact that he had been the one to treat Jon, that Jon’s mother had died. That Carol had died.

  He put the thought away. Daring not to let it fester any further.

  Sam had picked up the orb again. It sat black in her hands, shining against the light that was beginning to dim behind thick storm clouds. They looked heavy with rain, rumbling across the sky in a herd. He hoped that they would bypass most of it, driving in the rain was something that he never really enjoyed doing, despite the fact that it had been so normal for that time of year. There was something about the clouds that bothered him. They didn’t look right to him, they looked darker, somehow more sinister and threatening.

  He glanced at the GPS mounted to the dashboard. It said they had several hundred miles to go, and he almost groaned audibly at the count of hours. He hated being in cars for that long. There were some aspects about road trips he had liked when he was growing up, but generally he hated them. Something about the regulated landscape, the hum of pavement underneath the carriage that you felt moving past with your sore rear end. He didn’t care for it at all.

  They passed another mile mark, and he heard a harsh snap from the passenger seat. He glanced over and saw Sam staring at the orb in her hands. “Did you hear that?” She asked, holding the thing closer.

  “What?”

  “Something moved.”