“Yes.”
I saw Pete and Rachel waiting for me on the front steps of the Art building.
“Okay, but—”
“Mom, I’ll be fine. I promise.”
I followed them back through campus, the sidewalks more crowded than they’d been that morning. People were sprawled out on the grass doing homework, napping; clusters of students posed along the grounds like stills ripped from an enrollment magazine.
The coffee shop was a hole in the wall, literally. The entrance was down a side alley, the smell of hazelnut and coffee grounds mixing with the stale garbage sticking to the pavement still wet from the morning dew.
Rachel ordered me the house specialty—a dark roast that made my grandparent’s coffee taste like a chocolate shake. I tried to force it down without wincing, making my face as still and cold and sophisticated as the other art students sitting on mix-matched bar stools lining the painted windows.
“So how was your tour?” Pete asked.
“I loved it.”
“Yeah, we’ve got a great campus. That was definitely a draw,” Rachel said. “I love being outside.”
“When we have time,” Pete huffed.
“Right. I doubt I’ll lose this vampire tan by August.”
“And Johnson wants me to take on that apprenticeship this summer,” Pete said.
“What about your job at the gallery?”
“You mean my unpaid internship?” Pete shrugged. “I’ll have to ditch it, I guess.”
“It might not be so bad. Maybe you’ll be able to get some sleep this first summer session.” Rachel lifted her glass, looked at me. “Prepare to develop a rather severe addiction to caffeine if you don’t already have one.”
“Course load’s that intense?” I asked, trying to keep my voice cool.
“Hmm…” Rachel turned to Pete. “How many hours of sleep did you clock in this week, Pete?”
“Let me count. Eight this weekend. Three on Monday. Tuesday and Wednesday I was setting up a show at the gallery and finishing my project for Carter’s class, so zero. And yesterday four. Hey, I got more than last week.”
Fifteen hours? For me that was a normal, non-episodic weeknight. For Pete that was a victory over his grueling schedule.
“How many hours are you taking?” I asked.
I knew things would be different for me. Maybe I’d just be a part-time student, taking small bites out of the curriculum. Something I knew I could manage. I’d need notes from my professors, compliance with my unorthodox sleep patterns. I’d need flexibility.
“Twelve.”
“Isn’t that, like the bare minimum?” I asked.
“Bare,” Rachel scoffed. “Any more and we’d be dead. That’s twelve hours of lecture but we still have to make it into the studio on our own time. We still have projects and deadlines and every teacher thinks their class is the most fucking important thing on the planet.”
“Egos,” Pete muttered.
“Professor Carter had an installation commissioned for some prince’s thirteenth birthday party and he thinks he shits gold.”
“If he could, he’d probably try and sell it,” Pete said.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he already has.” Rachel pulled her hair back, tying it in a knot on top of her head. Then she yawned, dark shadows spilling down over her cheeks. “Uh-oh. It’s catching up to me.”
Pete waved toward her cup. “Drink.”
She groaned, reached for it.
“Hurry, you’re scaring the kid.”
I shook my head, smiled, even though she kind of was. Even though they kind of both were. I knew my KLS would affect my college experience. Change it. Delude it somehow. But until now I’d never settled for the idea that it might ruin it. Not completely. But sleep, how much you get and how often, is vital even in a normal person’s life. These two people were perfectly healthy and they were struggling. What was going to happen to me?
If I had to pull an all-nighter studying for a test or too many looming deadlines had me pulling out my hair, I wouldn’t end up with just some trendy coffee addiction. I’d end up in a mini-coma, face down in the middle of the studio or on the floor of the community showers.
Rachel smiled. “Glamorous, right?”
“Oh, definitely.”
“But don’t let us freak you out,” she said. “It’s totally worth it.”
“Oh, yeah.” Pete exhaled. “I wouldn’t trade these stomach ulcers and insomnia for the world.”
“You’ll love it.”
Rachel smiled and I tried to smile back.
That night back at the hotel I couldn’t sleep. So many things were running through my head—about Roman, about Emory. Impossible things. Scary things. The shadow. Roman’s lips.
Because I’d almost kissed him. He was leaning over me, a strand of my hair curled around his finger and I’d almost kissed him. Because he was stuck. Because he wanted to know me and I wanted to let him. Even if it was just because he was lost and I was his only tether to the real world, I wanted to let him.
But then he’d flinched. Again. He’d seen something and in that split second between pretending he was real and pretending I was normal, I was suddenly reminded of his impermanence. Of mine too. Because even though I knew he was right, that not everyone leaves, I also knew that I was right too. That they should.
That was the real reason I’d always gone back to Drew. Not because I knew what to expect but because I knew what I deserved. I thought I did. I thought trying to love someone who left you as much as you left them was only fair. I thought it made sense. And now this. This…Roman. He didn’t make sense even though I wanted him to.
I’d watched his face, the way the rain carved down his jaw line, settling in the dimple on his left cheek and all I could think about was the symbol on his shirt, about finding it in the real world, about telling him it wasn’t a dead end. But then I felt the weight of all that time I’d spent looking and turning up nothing, and in that moment, air rushing out of his mouth and into my lungs, I didn’t want to give him that. Not until I had proof. So I was still, lips waiting and then he’d leaned forward.
But then I’d disappeared.
I felt my mom tossing next to me, fists punching her pillow, trying to get comfortable. She’d been sleeping alone for almost ten years and was not good at sharing a bed. She threw the blankets off and fiddled with the thermostat. When she finally climbed back under the covers she lay on her back, arms crossed.
“So how was it?” she asked, giving up on sleep altogether.
I tried to remember the morning, not letting my mind stray past that ten-minute walk to Sugar Browns. “Great.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
“Sorry I didn’t change my mind.” And I hadn’t. Yet. I’d fought for this trip and I wasn’t going to let myself give up that easily.
“I didn’t think you would,” my mom said. “I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
“I’m used to it,” I said, rolling onto my side.
“You shouldn’t be.” She curled up next to me.
“That’s life,” I said.
I grew quiet then, pretending to sleep. I hated those kinds of heart to hearts. They usually ended up with my mom crying over me being sick and me just sitting there. Still sick. Sure, I’d cried over it before. But crying made my face hurt. Crying made a lot of things hurt. So I didn’t. There was no use in crying over things I couldn’t change anyway.
But as I lay there, I didn’t hear that soft gasp of tears. I didn’t feel that quake of her holding them in. Instead, my mom was perfectly still and then she said, “You’re right.”
But the words barely registered, the cold pulling her voice to pieces. I was looking at the shadow in the corner of the room. The one that was following me. Not Roman. I watched it contract. Faceless. Hollow. And then it smiled.
Dr. Sabine was sitting at her desk, some colorful stills of my brain activity during the latest trial pulled up on her co
mputer screen. Dr. Banz and his associate were there too, hovering in the corner, making the room feel even smaller.
Our first meeting was a little foggy. I remembered Dr. Banz’s cane and his thick bifocals, but seeing him now, he looked much older. His associate was just as stiff as I remembered him, though the angles of his face were even sharper in this light. Something about them made him look ancient too even though he was probably no older than mid-fifties.
We’d wasted half an hour discussing my campus visit to Emory, me shifting in my seat every time I felt Dr. Banz eyeing me. I tried to stick to short unassuming sentences. I didn’t want to waste my breath on recounting my little adventure only for it to come out sounding like some sort of plea. I knew exactly what Dr. Sabine was about to say.
She let out a long breath, pen tapping against her knuckles. “So you’re still having episodes. We’ve adjusted the medication a few times, and while they’re shorter, they’re also more frequent. Whether a result of the medication or the disease’s natural progression, we’re still not sure.”
“Is that…bad?” I asked.
“It’s inconclusive.”
“Then what’s next?” my mom said.
“We have two options. We can discontinue the medication and continue to monitor the disease without it—the frequency, the severity. Or we can continue to modify the medication until another trial becomes available.”
“How long could that take?” I asked.
Dr. Sabine looked to Dr. Banz and he stepped forward.
“We’re hoping within the next six months,” he said.
“Months,” I said, turning back to Dr. Sabine. “So this summer?”
“Dr. Banz is spear-heading research into a new development.”
“New. So I could try again?”
“Possibly,” Dr. Sabine said.
“Hopefully.” Dr. Banz turned to me. “The problem is funding for research on KLS is extremely limited. It’s rare. The disease itself isn’t terminal. There’s just not a high demand.”
I sunk against the chair, my mom’s hand gripping my shoulder.
“But if we can get the proper funding in place,” he continued, “I’ve assured Dr. Sabine that you would make a very likely candidate.”
“Likely?” I needed something more substantial than that, especially after what happened at Emory. Because something was happening to me, something not good, and I needed a way to manage my KLS now more than ever. That’s why the strange doctor had shown up, wasn’t it? I was getting worse. Dr. Sabine knew it. I knew it. And even more than my miracle, I needed answers.
I turned to my mom. “Can I talk to Dr. Sabine alone?”
I hadn’t planned on telling her about Roman. But what if there was something to him? What if there was a reason he’d turned up just as the episodes started to become more frequent? It could mean I was getting better. Or it could mean I was getting worse. It could mean that he wasn’t real. And the shadows…what if they were all from the same place, haunting me for the same reason?
It had hung in the corner of the room all night, watching me, but never venturing any closer. Another hallucination. Another symptom.
“Sure,” my mom said. “I’ll be right outside.”
I could tell she was hurt but I also knew that she wasn’t going to argue with me, not today, not after knowing she had secrets of her own. She’d still have questions, she always did, but for now I was grateful she was giving me some space.
Dr. Banz and his associate each took a step toward the door. But I wanted them to hear it too. I needed them to if I was going to become anything more than just a likely candidate.
“They can stay,” I said.
I heard my mom’s footsteps recede down the hall and then the door finally fell closed.
I looked at Dr. Sabine. “I just didn’t want to worry my mom.”
“Is everything alright?” she asked.
“I’m not sure. The dream state…“ I used Dr. Sabine’s words.
“Yes?”
“It’s changed recently.” Just three words and my throat started throbbing, my palms sweating. But I felt lighter.
“You said it was like walking through an old photo album,” she recalled. “It’s made up of memories?”
I nodded. “It was. But I saw someone, more like found. A boy washed up on shore. I thought he’d drowned but then he opened his eyes. He couldn’t remember who he was or where he’d come from.”
“You interact with him?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. Is it someone you go to school with? Someone—”
“No. I’d never seen him before.”
She grew quiet, pen still clicking against her knuckles. Suddenly Dr. Banz was moving toward the center of the room, a hand gripping Dr. Sabine’s desk.
“Like we’ve talked about,” she finally said, “there’s a lot we don’t know about KLS. Every patient is different, especially you. I’ve never seen a case like yours before. You’ve been dealing with this disease for a long time and sometimes the body learns to…cope in interesting ways.”
“But how do you explain the boy?”
I saw Dr. Banz in the corner of my eye, his mouth quirked as if he was about to speak.
But then Dr. Sabine said, “Having KLS has isolated you quite a bit. I wouldn’t be surprised if your subconscious mind is simply trying to compensate for those social interactions you’ve missed out on.”
“Like I made him up?”
Dr. Sabine hesitated. “Yes.”
No.
“What about out of body experiences? Coma patients have them all the time. I’ve read about them.” I looked to Dr. Banz. “Or what about mutual dreaming? What if—?“
“Bryn,” Dr. Sabine stopped me. “I can see you’re getting worked up over this. Look, I don’t want you expending all of this energy trying to find an explanation or a cure. That’s my job. You just need to focus on the here and now. Focus on school, on your friends.”
“But there has to be—”
“I know it’s hard, Bryn, not being in control, but you have to trust me. Sometimes there is no explanation and sometimes that has to be enough.”
“So that’s it?”
“I appreciate you being open with me, Bryn.” She clasped her hands, looked down for a moment. “I think the next step might be to have you talk with someone else. I work very closely with Dr. Smith who sees many of my patients.” She handed me a business card. Dr. Smith was a child psychologist.
“You think I’m losing my mind or something.”
“No, Bryn.”
“Dr. Sabine,” Dr. Banz finally cut in. “If I may.” He faced me. “I’ve read a little on your case, Bryn, and it’s just fascinating. While I’ve never seen another patient with symptoms quite like yours, the variations I’ve seen when it comes to hallucinations has—”
“It’s not a hallucination.” I said the words before I could think. Before I was even certain that I really believed them. I looked down at my hands, tasting regret. What if Dr. Sabine was right?
“I’m sorry,” Dr. Banz said. “I just meant that Klein-Levin Syndrome is still a mystery to even the most experienced researchers in the field, and while I agree with Dr. Sabine that you shouldn’t get worked up over these…changes you’ve been experiencing, I also don’t discount what you’ve seen. I’ve developed this next trial specifically for patients like you with unique strands of the disease and I know that together we can find a way to help you manage it.”
I stood, uninterested in another formulaic answer that I’d heard a hundred times before.
Dr. Sabine followed me to the door. “Let me know if anything else changes,” she said, squeezing my arm. “And try not to worry.”
I stepped out into the hall and saw my mom watching me from the lobby. She was pacing near the nurse’s station. So much for not upsetting her.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I just had some questions about the medication,
that’s all. You ready to go?”
We reached the elevator and my mom spun. “Geez, I think I left my purse in Dr. Sabine’s office. Will you grab it for me?”
“Sure, I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I took slow quiet steps back down the hall to Dr. Sabine’s office. I didn’t feel like facing any of them again after having divulged my little secret only for them to shoot it down as some kind of hallucination.
“Do you think—?”
I heard their voices on the other side of the door, clipped and quiet and I waited for a lull.
“Strange, yes.” It was Dr. Banz’s associate. “How long did she…?”
“She didn’t. Hopefully it’s recent. We’ll need to keep a close eye on it, “ Dr. Banz said. “And we need to find out if she’s seen anything else.”
“Don’t you think she would have mentioned it? Surely it would have frightened her.”
“Dr. Sabine just recommended she see a psychologist. I’m not sure the girl will feel comfortable enough to confide in her again.”
“So what should we do? If she’s already seen them then we’re running out of time. We can’t let this happen again.”
Again?
I heard footsteps and then I saw Dr. Sabine coming down the hallway back to her office. She stopped when she spotted me outside the door. “Bryn, did you forget something?”
I nodded. “My mom’s purse.”
She pushed the door open slowly and Dr. Banz and Vogle were both frozen in the center of the room. I eyed each of them but their faces were blank.
Dr. Sabine handed me my mom’s bag. “Is that everything?”
I nodded again, words still eluding me. Say something. But I couldn’t. I turned to go, the door to Dr. Sabine’s office shutting behind me with a sharp click.
No explanation? What did they know? They’d just stood there while Dr. Sabine told me to let it go. Not to worry. To accept that sometimes there isn’t an explanation; that sometimes that had to be enough.
But it wasn’t enough. Maybe I couldn’t control everything; maybe most days I couldn’t even control my own body but at least I could try to understand it. At least I could try to find out where Roman came from, whether that was some city I’d never been to or somewhere dark and deep in my own fucking head. I could find out what Dr. Banz knew too; who he and his associate really were and what exactly they wanted from me. I could try to find some kind of answers. Real ones. Finally.
The Girl In Between series: Books 1-4 Page 17