Insomnia (The Night Walkers)

by Johansson, J. R.

  The layers of the dream seemed to float through the fog like ghosts blurring in and out of the world around us: a shadow of an older woman discussing her finances, a young boy playing in a tree in a huge backyard.

  In the front seat, Dr. Freeburg fiddled with his bow tie. He clipped it on, unclipped it, adjusted it, and clipped it again several times before he reached up and smoothed the sides of his hair back. Finally, with a nod, he opened the door and stepped out.

  As his focus moved, I was jerked to a new spot outside of the car. We were parked in front of my school. I looked around in confusion. Every detail was exact, even down to a blackened dead spot on the grass to the left of the main doors. A kid in my chemistry class had mixed the wrong ingredients during the first week of school and picked that spot to dispose of his mistake.

  My jaw clenched reflexively. This much detail had to be at least part memory, but the haze meant some of it was fantasy. The spot on the lawn proved he’d been to the school during this school year, and often enough to remember small details.

  When I turned to the front steps and saw Mia jogging down them in a skirt shorter than any I’d ever seen her wear, I realized where the fantasy part was coming into play. I wondered what would happen if I punched a Dreamer inside their dream.

  “Hello, Dr. Freeburg,” she said with a flirtatious grin. “I’m ready for my appointment.”

  Okay, well, at least it wasn’t a memory. I seriously doubt-ed Mia ever acted like that with her therapist. Or with anyone really.

  Dr. Freeburg nodded and cleared his throat with a stupid grin that made me want to puke. “My car is right over there.”

  The drive to his office took twice as long as normal. The sicko therapist couldn’t keep his leering eyes off of her. Every time he moved the stick shift his hand grazed her thigh and she giggled. The car felt unbearably hot and my vision twisted, leaving the whole world skewed. I couldn’t watch him live out his fantasies on Mia.

  Without even thinking, I reached out for where his seat belt connected to the side of the car. I blinked twice when I realized I was pulling on it with all my weight, trying to strangle him. I released my grip, feeling ill. Dr. Freeburg coughed once, but seemed otherwise unaffected.

  I stared down at my hands in my lap. The red stripes from my grip on the seat belt faded. What was I trying to do? Kill him with an aspect of his own dream? Was that even possible? Did the idea of him taking advantage of Mia in a simple fantasy affect me that much?

  What scared me more was the hunger I felt burning inside. A desperate curiosity. A desire to see if it was possible. The darkness within me wanted to know more—wanted to know if I could physically hurt someone inside of their dreams.

  I shivered and pushed the disturbing craving aside with as much force as I could manage.

  We pulled into the parking lot and I reluctantly followed them into the building. Dr. Freeburg let Mia go up the stairs first. As she climbed, he stared at the back of her toned legs with unsuppressed desire. I couldn’t even look at them. She had seriously nice legs, but the idea of having the same thoughts in my head as the therapist made me want to jump off a cliff.

  His office was on the right. The room reeked of stale coffee and lavender from one of those plug-in air fresheners. The walls were painted in blue and gray tones, and a wide window overlooked the park on the other side of the parking lot. An enormous black leather chair sat across from a gray suede couch.

  Mia immediately reclined on the couch with a seductive smile. But the doctor simply took a seat in his chair and she closed her eyes. For the next few minutes he talked in low, soothing tones, and she relaxed into a hypnotic state. Except for her ridiculously short skirt, I imagined this was exactly what happened when he used hypnosis during her regular therapy sessions.

  I hadn’t been expecting this. In the quiet, I listened to the cars passing on the street outside, feeling guilty for thinking so badly of him. The dream had become even clearer since he began the hypnosis. It had to be mostly memory now—too much detail for most fantasies. But which parts were fantasy? Besides Mia’s ridiculous outfit, it was hard to tell.

  I took in a deep breath and released it along with the tension in my body. This was even better than I’d expected. Maybe I could see aspects from her recent therapy sessions. Maybe I could learn more about the e-mails.

  A small squeak interrupted my thoughts, and I turned to see Dr. Freeburg quietly pulling an ottoman from the corner to a spot next to the couch. He took a seat and I watched him place one hand on her ankle and run it slowly up her leg.

  Suddenly, there wasn’t enough air. I backed into his desk, searching for an escape. I wished I could open the window and jump out. A broken leg would’ve been worth it if it meant getting out of this dream.

  No, not a dream. This still felt like a memory.

  Mia’s small trusting voice spilled secrets about missing her parents, feeling all alone, her foster family. All while his hands scurried like rats along her body. Mia flinched, and I heard his soothing voice telling her everything would be okay. There was nothing to be afraid of. She could trust him, and she would feel better after they were done. He would make sure she felt much better and happier—satisfied.

  My breath came in shallow gasps. Dr. Freeburg had to be the one sending those e-mails to Mia—he had to be. But why would he frame me? His memory was blurred with my reality, and I couldn’t think of anything else. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t watch anymore. I had to stop him.

  My hands grasped around on the desk for something, for anything that could change what was happening. They closed around a small paperweight. It felt right in my hands, solid, like it had always belonged there. Fury drove me forward.

  He was the monster, and I would end him.

  I swung without thought, connecting with the doctor’s head again and again before I glanced up at Mia. She was curled into a ball at the corner of the couch. Her shoulders trembled as she stared at me, the doctor’s blood splashed in a rainbow of red droplets across her white shirt. I wasn’t even sure how many times I’d hit him; it was like everything around me had frozen … everything but the rage boiling inside me.

  Then Dr. Freeburg fell forward off the ottoman, and I was thrust out of his dream.

  twenty-four

  I bolted upright, dripping with sweat. My fingers were wrapp-

  ed up so tightly in my sheet that the tips were white and I couldn’t feel them anymore. Disentangling my hands, I

  shook them back and forth. They tingled with stinging pains as the blood flowed back into them. The clock read 7:05 a.m. It was almost time for school, but I wouldn’t be going. One by one, images from the dream infected my mind until it transformed into an oozing wound, disgusting and deadly.

  What had I done? I knew it was only in a dream, but what if it had some effect on real life? I’d been able to break the barrier with Addie and Mia before, even if just slightly.

  I snapped the dental floss still connecting me to my headboard and jumped up from my bed, tugging on some jeans and a T-shirt. My head was pounding with the same ferocity it had the night before, but I ignored it. Running through the kitchen, I grabbed my car keys and was shutting the back door when Mom walked out of the pantry, already dressed in her suit of the day.

  “Have a good day at schoo—hey! Did you have breakfast?” She frowned and raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Yep,” I lied through the closing door, jamming my finger against the garage door opener.

  As I backed out of the driveway, I saw Mom standing in the doorway. Even from the street, I could see the concern on her face. I knew there were frown and worry lines. It wasn’t only me who was being affected … my life was hurting her too. It all needed to stop. I needed to make it all stop. Trying to smile, I gave her a quick wave and drove down the street.

  The drive was torturous. Something dark and sinister had awoken
inside my mind. I wasn’t sure what I would find when I got to Freeburg’s house. According to the Internet listings I’d pulled up on my phone, only one Dr. Clive G. Freeburg lived in the Oakville vicinity. If everything was fine and the dream was simply a dream, then I planned to confront him about the e-mails. It had to be him. He was a pervert.

  If everything wasn’t fine, and somehow my actions in the dream had followed me into reality, then I didn’t know what I’d do. A twisted corner of my mind felt hopeful at this idea and I heaved the darkness back, along with the bloody visions plaguing my thoughts.

  When I parked across the street, the doctor’s house was as still as a coffin. The dark side of me shivered with pleasure at the thought, and I felt sick. Squeezing my eyes shut, I rested my head against the steering wheel for a moment. I couldn’t—I didn’t want to feel like this. It was time to face the truth before the menacing thing that stirred within me gained any more power.

  I needed help. I’d never felt so out of control—so violent. There was a disturbing desperation to my dark side. It was determined to keep me alive—at any cost. I’d never imagined myself capable of some of the things I’d done over the last few months. Stalking Mia was terrible, but if I was losing control, I couldn’t stop. And this was only the beginning.

  I tugged on my black gloves, got out of the car, and made my way across the street to the house. The front door was locked, but I found a side entry into the garage that wasn’t. Dr. Freeburg’s blue BMW sat in the stillness. The house was so quiet. Impossibly quiet.

  An iciness slipped through the concrete floor and wrapp-ed around my legs, freezing them in place. I wanted to run, to get as far away from here as possible. Freeburg was probably sleeping in, that’s all. I didn’t join his dream until late last night. He must be tired.

  My hands shook so hard that even sticking them in my pockets accomplished nothing. Quick breaths wouldn’t slow as I fogged up the window on Dr. Freeburg’s car.

  A thirst started in my gut. A need. I didn’t give them permission, but my feet shuffled from the garage, through the door into the house, past the kitchen, and up the stairs. Like I knew exactly where I was going. I was standing outside

  double doors that I was sure led to the master bedroom before I managed to slow my breathing a little.

  This is stupid. I should leave. What will I accomplish here? I asked myself. If Freeburg was dead, did I really want to see that? If he was alive, then I’d committed breaking and entering, or at least entering, but illegal either way.

  Hesitating, I took a step back and knocked a silver plate off a table in the hallway. It made a loud clang as it landed on the floor and then rotated slowly, like a top near the end of its spin. I put the plate back in place and forced my heart to stop pounding so I could listen for the sound of Dr. Freeburg scrambling out of bed.

  Silence.

  I turned to leave, willing my feet to run down the stairs, to get out, but they didn’t listen. The darkness within pushed the rising need over my head like a tidal wave and I sputtered against the force.

  I have to know.

  With a single shove, both doors opened. In the dim light filtering through thick curtains, I saw Dr. Freeburg lying motionless in his bed. I watched him for twenty seconds without breathing. Waiting, watching—I needed to see the slight expansion of his side, the slight lift of his shoulder that would prove he was only sleeping.

  But it wasn’t there.

  I stepped closer. He had one of those sleeping masks over his eyes. Moving around the side of the bed, I tugged up the sleeve on my right arm. I held my bare skin directly under his nose, waiting to feel the slightest push of warm, life-filled air. Nothing.

  It had really happened.

  I’d killed him.

  My heart felt like an erratic jackhammer inside my chest as I stood beside the bed. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt. So much pain. I was a killer.

  I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. My vision filled with the scene from the dream—it pounded me over and over the way I’d pounded his head with the paperweight. He was dead. The bloody misshapenness of his head, the rainbow of red across Mia’s white shirt … there was so much blood I felt like I was drowning in it.

  I extended one gloved hand and lifted the sleep mask. His dead eyes gazed at the ceiling above me. If it weren’t for that gaze, I could’ve convinced myself he was just asleep—there was none of the blood from the dream. But he was dead just the same.

  The world spun and came up sideways. I had no control. I didn’t want control, not anymore. In a haze, I walked from the room. I could feel the blood smeared all over my hands—even though I could see the gloves still on my fingers. Had I touched Dr. Freeburg? I couldn’t remember.

  Looking up into the hallway mirror, I saw Darkness looking back at me. I started, surprised. But he moved when I moved, blinked when I blinked. We were one. He was inside of me, a place where I didn’t even want to be anymore. I pulled my phone from my pocket to dial 911.

  Darkness told me no—they would know I’d done it. My mind rolled in horrified agony, trying to push away the images—the room, the words, everything. I retreated within my own mind. Letting my other side, Darkness, take over. Letting him close the phone, take me through the kitchen and out the garage door. Careful to leave everything as it was when we arrived, so careful. He walked calmly to the car, started it, and drove down the street. The street was peaceful, the residents so unaware of the murderer among them.

  Murderer.

  I snapped.

  No!

  I couldn’t let this happen. What if I hadn’t caused it? What if Dr. Freeburg just had a heart attack? He was overweight and older—that kind of thing happened every day, right? I couldn’t let Darkness leave Dr. Freeburg’s body like this. I shook my head. No, it wasn’t just Darkness, it was me—Parker—it was my body, my mind. I pushed the evil away with every ounce of strength I had left. I wouldn’t leave Freeburg like this. Who knew how long it would take for someone to find him?

  A rush of adrenaline flowed through my veins and I felt more decided, more in control, than I had in a while. I was going to do the right thing. I tried to reach into my pocket to grab my phone, but my hand didn’t budge. I focused all my energy on making my hand take out my phone, but it didn’t obey. It remained on the steering wheel, following directions someone else was giving it.

  “You don’t want to do that.”

  I jerked my head around to the passenger seat and blink-ed several times, hoping the image would go away. It was me—but not me. It was Darkness. The circles under my eyes were a deeper shade than ever. My pale white skin made me look different—cruel, somehow. I couldn’t breathe. Darkness had escaped.

  “What’s going on?” My voice was weak, just like me. I tried again to make my body obey—to place my foot on the brake, to pull my phone from my pocket—but nothing happened.

  Darkness’s laugh was so cold it hurt my ears. “Oh, come on. Don’t be an idiot. If you’re going to call the police, you might as well drive straight to the nuthouse from here.”

  “But he’s dead. I need to call them. This might not be my fault.”

  He leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

  My voice sounded uncertain and hollow even to me. “Yes.”

  “How did the blood get on your hands?”

  “It—it’s not real. It’s from the dream.”

  “Are you sure?” Darkness was watching me with mocking pity in his eyes. “Are you sure of anything anymore?”

  I choked on the horrible thought that filled me. Darkness in the car beside me, the blood on my hands that couldn’t be there—it had finally happened. I couldn’t tell reality from dreams anymore. Psychosis.

  “How could I have k-killed him? I was sleeping.”

  Darkness laughed and nodded sarcast
ically. “Good. You should practice that answer. Sure—of course, you were.”

  I shook my head violently, trying to remember anything real that I could hold on to, but my shattered mind refused to help me. I could see the blood, feel the murderous fury. In my mind it hit me again over and over—like a song set on replay—the smashing. The heat. The blood. The way the dream ended, abrupt and jolting, thrusting me out.

  I’d never been in a dream that ended from something I did before—it was unnatural. It only made sense that I had caused it to stop.

  “Aw, don’t take it so hard. We couldn’t help ourselves. He was twisted. He deserved it. We never sleep. We aren’t even trying anymore. Maybe we could get the rest we needed if you let us focus on our needs for once. But no, everything is about Mia, Mia, Mia.” Darkness sighed and popped his knuckles exactly the way I did. “Frankly, I’m getting pretty tired of that little distraction. She could’ve been the answer—but no. She only wants to be part of the problem.”

  “No, no, she didn’t do anything wrong,” I muttered, trying to regain control of my mind, my car, my life.

  “She didn’t do anything wrong,” Darkness mimicked. “You are so lame.”

  “Mia doesn’t deserve this.” I spoke low, squeezing my eyes tight for a moment and willing him to disappear. When I opened them again, nothing had changed. He was still sitting beside me, and the car was still driving down the road, oblivious of the madness inside.

  Just like I’d been doing for months. Going through the motions, ignoring the signs, and now he was out.

  Darkness folded his arms across his chest and looked at me like I was a confused child. “Besides, why do you care so much about being good? Following their rules? Why should we care about breaking the laws of a society that would toss us in a nuthouse for telling the truth? Or put us in jail for simply doing what it takes to stay alive?”

  He leaned forward and I met my own piercing blue eyes. “These people aren’t like us. They don’t have the ability to understand. The only thing we need to worry about is keeping ourselves alive and getting them the hell out of our way. We’ll do what we have to do. It’s simple.”