Sleeper Code

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

  “Where are you, Tom?” his mother demanded, and he told her, sobbing now.

  “Tom, listen to me.” Her voice was calm and soothing. “You stay right where you are. I’m on my way.”

  His nose was running. I must look really good, he thought as he sat under the pay phone, crying like a baby. “I … I think I might be going crazy,” he managed to get out, his body starting to shake uncontrollably, but not from the cold.

  “Calm down, son. Everything is going to be all right,” she reassured him.

  Tom wanted to believe her. He really did, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was only going to get worse from here.

  Chapter 12

  Tom held his breath as he watched yet another car turn into the nearly empty Li’l Peach parking lot. Right kind of car, wrong color.

  Damn. How long has it been since I called? he wondered, pacing back and forth in front of the pay phone. He considered calling again just to be certain she had left. What’s keeping her?

  A pretty woman with curly blond hair and a flowing, floral print skirt got out of the car, keys in her hand, and hurried into the store. He looked back to the road just as a dark-colored van slowly cruised past. The muscles in his legs tightened, his heart rate increased, the blood pounded in his ears as panic kicked in, and he prepared to run.

  But it was a false alarm: the van continued on its way down the road, bypassing the Li’l Peach completely.

  As it passed, Tom saw it was dark blue with a white stripe.

  Another car pulled into the lot, headlights flashing, and a wave of relief washed over him. His mother, finally. He rushed to meet the metallic green Toyota and was reaching to open the door when sheer panic shot through him in a searing flash. He pulled his hand away as if it had been shoved into fire. He stood before the car, fighting the urge to run.

  Opening the driver’s side door, his mother emerged. “Tom?” she called to him. “Tom, what’s wrong?”

  He managed to get control of himself enough to open the car door and get in. “Drive,” he ordered, folding his arms across his chest and slouching down.

  “What’s the matter with you?” his mother asked, getting back in beside him. “You’re scaring me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he told her, his voice rising with anxiety. “But just get me out of here. Take me home, please. Please, just drive.”

  He could feel her eyes on him as she circled the Li’l Peach lot, making her way to the exit on the opposite side. For a while they drove in silence, and as they got closer to home, Tom began to feel slightly better; even the babble of the morning DJs wasn’t all that annoying now. He closed his eyes as a song by the Doors began to play and tentatively searched his mind for signs of Garrett—for the other personality that supposedly shared his brain.

  Hello? he thought, imagining an echoing sound in a vast and empty cave. Anybody there? There was no answer, but he knew that something was there. Tom recalled the struggle at the airfield and how tough it had been for him not to kill Crenshaw. Something was happening to him. Suddenly he felt very cold.

  “I can’t keep quiet anymore,” his mother blurted, interrupting his thoughts. “I have to know what’s going on.”

  Tom opened his eyes and scrunched down even farther in his seat. “I think I’m going crazy,” he said flatly.

  “And what does that mean?” she asked, glancing from the road to him.

  He wanted her help desperately—for her to say that one special thing that moms were famous for—that one thing that puts everything magically into perspective and miraculously makes things better. But in this case, he doubted it was possible. “My hallucinations have been getting worse,” he said at last. “Much worse.”

  “Okay,” she responded. “When we get home, we’ll call Dr. Powell and—”

  “No, you don’t understand,” Tom interrupted. “It’s so bad that I’m having a hard time telling what’s real from what’s not.”

  His mother nodded in understanding. “We can deal with that,” she tried to reassure him. “There’s nothing we can’t handle. You’re going to be fine—trust me.” She reached over and patted his leg. “Really, you’re going to be all right.”

  “No.” Tom shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Tom, that’s no way to talk. We’ll—”

  “Where do you think I’ve been all night?” he blurted.

  “I don’t really know,” she replied calmly. “I’m thinking that maybe you were having one of your attacks and you wandered out of the house—”

  “I woke up in a motel in West Virginia, Mom, where I learned that I had been sent to kill a guy named Tremain because I’m some kind of assassin with a split personality and—”

  “Tom, you really are scaring me.” His mother pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped. He could see that her hands were shaking as they moved over the curved plastic of the dark green steering wheel.

  “You’re scared?” he asked, his voice shaking, threatening to shatter like glass. He was on the verge of tears again, and that would be the final straw, to cry in front of his mother. “How do you think I feel? I was in some guy’s motel room, Ma—I had a gun.”

  His mother leaned back against the headrest, breathing in and out deeply. It was one of the relaxation exercises he’d seen her do in the past when things were getting a little too intense. “Oh my God,” she whispered once and then again.

  He had no idea why, but he suddenly started to laugh. Maybe it was a nervous reaction, or maybe he was just slipping that much further down the slope to insanity, but suddenly Tom found his situation hilarious.

  “I haven’t even told you the best part.” He was laughing even harder now, hot tears streaming from his eyes and running down his face. “I’ve got this other personality, and I think I can feel him inside me—and he’s trying to get out.” His laughter had turned to a high-pitched giggle as he rocked from side to side, caught up in his escalating hysteria. “Isn’t that a riot?”

  And then, as quickly as it had come upon him, it was over. He wiped at his still-leaking eyes, breathing deeply, and then glanced at his mother to find her staring back at him. Tears filled her eyes as well, and he became very aware of what he was putting her through.

  “I’m so sorry.” He lowered his head, ashamed, not wanting to see the unhappiness and disappointment in her eyes. “I wanted so badly to be normal—to be like all the other kids. I tried, I really did, but…”

  She leaned over, and he felt her hand cup the back of his head, her fingers running lovingly through his hair. And he was reminded of the times after he’d been diagnosed with Quentin’s when she would hold him in her lap, stroke his head, and assure him that everything was going to be just fine.

  “I’m going to need you to be strong, Tom,” she said as she gently caressed his head. “We’re all going to have to be strong.”

  He looked up at her then and saw that she was no longer crying. There was a different look on her face now, a kind of light in her eyes that told him she had found her focus, her strength, and was ready to do whatever it took to help him.

  “As long as we remain strong, we’ll get through this.”

  And, looking deeply into her eyes, Tom believed her.

  “I love you, Mom,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “I love you too,” she answered, pulling him close to kiss the top of his head.

  And it would have been one of the most comforting moments of his life if it weren’t for the nagging sense of danger that he couldn’t shake.

  Madison had returned to her room and, although she hadn’t wanted to, found herself sleeping fitfully until she heard the sound of a car engine next door.

  Mr. Personality going off to work, she thought sarcastically, rolling off the bed and going to the window. She watched the green Corolla back down the driveway and out into the street. What kind of job does he have anyway, she wondered, that would make him to go to the office so early on a Sunday
morning? She couldn’t remember if Tom had ever mentioned it.

  Reluctantly she returned to her bed. Something just wasn’t right. She thought again about the look on Mr. Lovett’s face when she’d mentioned seeing Tom leave in a van. It hadn’t been just annoyance—a look she knew well. No, it had been something else.

  He was definitely lying.

  She turned over and buried her face deep in her pillow, trying not to be paranoid, but she knew what she had seen. Why would Mr. Lovett lie? Why wouldn’t he want her to know that Tom had left the house?

  For a while she lay there, drifting in that weird, timeless place between being awake and asleep, only to be roused again by the sound of a car next door. Shaking off the numbing haze, she returned to her perch at the window.

  The Corolla was back, and Madison gasped as she watched Mrs. Lovett open the passenger door and help her son from the car. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him toward the house. Tom was wearing all black, just like last night, but he was walking with a zombie-like stiffness.

  Madison wanted to open the window, to yell down to them, ask if Tom was all right, but the sight of him looking so helpless froze her in place.

  Mrs. Lovett kissed her son on the side of his head, pulling him closer as they carefully climbed the steps to the front door.

  Madison stepped back from the window as the two disappeared into the house.

  “What the hell is going on?” she asked herself, hurrying to put her shoes back on.

  She was damned well going to find out.

  Stepping through the doorway of his house was like crossing the finish line of the Boston Marathon. Tom could finally begin to shut down, but something kept him wired.

  His father came out from the kitchen, cell phone clutched to his face. “He’s here now,” Tom heard him say. And as he wrapped up his conversation, Tom, for a moment, wondered who his father was talking to but became too distracted to ask the question.

  “Tom,” his dad said, clipping the tiny phone to his belt as he moved to join them in the living room. “You look like hell.”

  “He’s okay,” his mother replied as she helped him onto the couch. “Just a little out of sorts.”

  Tom leaned his head against the soft back of the couch, willing himself to relax. He was home now: home, where he could figure it all out—separate fact from fiction.

  “Let me get you a glass of juice and your pills,” his mother offered, going toward the kitchen.

  “Where’d you go, Tom?” his father asked, standing in front of him. His mother had stopped in the doorway and silently watched them both. “Do you remember why you left the house?”

  Tom shook his head. “I don’t remember leaving the house.” He dropped his hands limply to his sides. “Although I did spend some time in a log cabin in my head talking with an old man—Dr. Bernard Quentin, actually, about how I’m some kind of secret government weapon.”

  His father stared at him, emotionless.

  “Oh, and I killed this doctor—in my assassin identity, of course—a few days ago. Apparently.”

  His mother moved to his father’s side. “Maybe we should let him lie down for a while…”

  “Assassin?” his father asked incredulously, ignoring Tom’s mother.

  Tom nodded vigorously. “Yeah, and when I woke up this time, I was in some guy’s motel room in West Virginia. I was supposed to kill him too, I guess, but Dr. Quentin did something, so—”

  “Stop it, Tom,” his father snapped. “Can’t you hear yourself—how crazy you sound?”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” Tom cried, his voice shaking. “But it’s what I remember.” He shifted on the couch and felt a sharp sting in his side. He pulled up his shirt, turning slightly to show off twin welts where the Taser had left its mark. “How do you think I got these?” he asked.

  His father leaned down for a closer look. “Those are bug bites, Tom,” he said matter-of-factly. “From what your mother says, you’ve been running around in the woods near the air force base. God knows what could have bit you out there.”

  Tom stood, bringing his wounds closer for his parents to examine, desperate for them to believe him. “No, they’re burns from a Taser. They used it to knock me out. Really, look at them.”

  His father took him firmly by the shoulders and looked squarely in his eyes. “No, Tom. They’re not Taser burns. You had a daymare, a real doozy from the sound of it. All these crazy things you’re telling us are a product of your condition, no matter how real they might seem to you. Do you understand, Tom? None of it was real.”

  Tom remembered how his father always comforted him after a particularly bad daymare, sitting with him, telling him to think of the bizarre hallucinations as a kind of television show, one that that he was special enough to be part of. They had never seemed quite so bad after that… well, until now.

  It’s bullshit, said that same creepy voice he had heard inside his head at the airport, a voice that he now knew belonged to Tyler Garrett. The sudden words were like a crack of thunder in the middle of a peaceful night. Tom flinched.

  “Hey, you all right?” his father asked, noticing his reaction, but Tom didn’t answer. That overwhelming sense of foreboding was back.

  His father gave him a quick, hard shake. “What’s happening, son?”

  Tom tried to smile as he focused on his father’s concerned features. “Did I mention that I’ve started hearing voices?” he asked wryly, making a lame attempt at humor. The urge to run from the house made the muscles in his legs twitch. There was danger here, his new senses told him. But that was insane. This was where he was safe.

  His dad glanced briefly at his mother, where she stood in the center of the living room, arms folded tightly across her chest, as though she were incredibly cold. Then he reached out to push Tom back down onto the couch. Tom reacted, his entire body tensing. And his father stepped back, an expression that could very well have been fear appearing on his face. Tom felt sick to his stomach.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, looking from his dad to his mom. “I … It isn’t you… I’m feeling things … crazy things. I think I might need to lie down.” He moved around his father. “Maybe you should call Dr. Powell now.”

  Tom winced, his stomach twisting in knots as he continued to fight the urge to get away. This was insane. These were his parents, for God’s sake, his house. What could possibly harm him here?

  Get out now! the presence that was Tyler Garrett shrieked from his hiding place somewhere in Tom’s brain.

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” Tom mumbled, pushing past his parents, heading toward the stairs.

  They didn’t move, appearing helpless, stunned by his behavior. If they only knew what he was going through, how his diseased brain was making him feel. It was all too much to deal with at the moment.

  He had reached the staircase when he caught the muffled sound of a car door slamming outside.

  Too late, Garrett’s voice whispered, and Tom squinted his eyes shut, forcing it away.

  “What was that?” he asked from the stairs, glancing to his parents. They looked at each other, a silent message seeming to pass between them.

  “Was it a car?” The sense of alarm he’d been experiencing intensified, and it took all he had not to turn and run for the back door.

  To escape.

  Escape what? Tom wondered as he left the stairs, walking toward the front door.

  “Tom?” his mother called out.

  “Where are you going, Tom?” his father joined in.

  “I have to see who’s here,” he said dreamily as he pulled open the door. The first thing he saw was the van parked across the end of the driveway.

  A black van.

  And two men—Crenshaw and Burt, slowly coming up the drive.

  “Oh my God,” he whispered, hardly able to believe his eyes.

  Madison pulled the front door closed behind her, getting ready for another embarrassing exchange with her friend’s parent
s. Even though it was none of her business, something wasn’t right, and she had to find out what was going on or go out of her freakin’ mind.

  She stepped from the brick pathway to the grass, about to cross the lawn to the house next door, and stopped short. A black van was parked at the end of the Lovetts’ driveway—the same van she had seen from her window the night before.

  She saw two men heading up the driveway and was tempted to call out to them. Maybe she could get her answers from them and save herself another encounter with Tom’s father. They hadn’t seemed to notice her, so she resumed her trek across the lawn, watching them with great curiosity as she went.

  As they neared the Lovetts’ front door, each reached inside his loose-fitting black jacket and removed something. At first she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her, because, seriously, why would two men be at Tom’s house with guns? It was absolutely crazy.

  But absolutely true.

  Madison froze. Her first instinct was to use her cell phone to call 911, but as her hand moved to where her pocket should have been, she remembered she was still wearing her sweats, and her cell was on the dresser back in her room.

  She was about to turn and run back to her aunt and uncle’s house to call the police from there when she saw the Lovetts’ front door open.

  “Tom,” she said in a frightened whisper, seeing him standing in the entryway.

  And before she really knew what she was doing, Madison was running across the lawn toward him.

  Chapter 13

  Tom looked from the two men slowly advancing up the drive to his parents standing perfectly still in the living room.

  “They’re coming,” he said in a voice tainted by terror, quickly closing the door. “You’ve got to do something—call the police. They’re outside.”

  His mother and father didn’t move. They simply stared at him as though he had lost his mind.

  “Look, this is real!” he shouted, pointing at the door. “The men who tried to take me…” He pulled up his shirt to expose the Taser welts again. “The men who did this, they’re coming!”