by C. E. Wilson
He licked his lips. “A reason,” he breathed. “An actual reason.”
“Yeah. Something better than ‘it’s better this way’ or ‘I have to be number one.’ I want an actual reason. What? Do you have a hitman on me or something? Will one of your family members shoot me in the back if I get to number one?”
“That’ll be up to you, I guess.”
My expression shifted. “Huh? What the fuck does that mean?”
“Nothing.” His eyes quickly lifted to mine and then up to the sky. “You’re waking up.”
“Damn right. I have a book to finish, but I’ll ask you one more time. Give me a concrete reason why I can’t hit number one. Tell me something to change my mind.” My voice cracked slightly, nervous about why being number one was so important to this dead man. “Please, if you tell me something, I’ll consider it, okay?”
He frowned. “I can’t. And even if I could, I don’t think you’d believe me. You’re too driven. I can’t... I can’t change your mind.”
“You can. Just tell me something. Anything.”
“I can’t. I can’t tell you the reason. I can only hope you’ll trust me.”
My expression darkened. The whisper of fear lessened. He had nothing. What stood before me was nothing more than a late author haunting my dreams because he was too scared I’d steal his thunder. But not anymore. The clouds split open and in came the light.
“You sad, pathetic dead man,” I snapped just as my eyes flew open and I realized the burning on my fingers was my cigarette.
I had fallen asleep on the stoop with a cigarette in my hand.
And I was alone.
For the first time in months, I wanted to call Kevin and ask him to come over. I needed someone near me to keep me from going crazy, or crazier. Most people would agree that conversing regularly with a dead man in your dreams is a cry for help. My eyes drifted over to my cell phone which I had set next to me.
I could call Kevin. He’d come over. I knew he would.
I could call my editor. Have her yell at me to get my ass back to work.
I could try calling my mother – not that she’d pick up.
Or I could suck it up and stop being a fucking baby.
Dreams were dreams, and the shrill bleatings of imaginary Jessen Blake were not going to deter me from being a number one bestselling author. Pinching the phone in my hands, I stuffed it into the pocket of my sweater before heading back inside.
I went back to the bedroom and shut the door.
I locked it.
I wouldn’t come out until Daddy, Don’t Sleep was finished.
Chapter Five
“Today’s the day, huh?”
I blinked and slowly opened my eyes. I wasn’t bound or tied, but somehow I knew that I was dreaming. I knew the voice belonged to none other than Jessen Blake himself and sure enough, as my eyes focused, there he was... pacing just a few yards in front of me. I was sitting on the stoop – but not of my townhouse this time, but an abandoned cabin in the woods. The air smelled like rot and blood like it always did when I had just finished a bloody scene or a bloody movie, and I was willing to bet which movie was playing the end credits as I snoozed on the couch.
“What does it matter to you?” I sniffed, standing up and dusting off my jeans.
“You’ve managed not to dream of me for almost two weeks.”
“I’ve barely managed to sleep. I finished the book in three days, and my agent and editor took care of the rest.”
“Quite a whirlwind release, wouldn’t you say?” Jessen asked, arching a challenging eyebrow which I promptly ignored. “You’re taking quite a risk putting out this book so haphazardly.”
“More like I wasn’t giving your estate any time to prep for the release.” I smiled triumphantly when Jessen’s eye twitched with annoyance. “Yeah. I’m not an idiot. I’m a smartass just like the characters in my books. As soon as I had that last dream with you, I told my agent to get ready and start building buzz. My readers have been excited for this book for almost two weeks. It’s a surprise release, and it’s going to beat whatever you have out there because, oh wait! You can’t publish until next week because your publisher is pushing a bunch of sappy romance authors at this very moment. No horror allowed this week! I checked! I beat you, Jessen. I fucking beat you, and you can kiss your number one slot goodbye.” My smile grew wider as I strode up to him and stabbed him several times in the chest with my finger. “Your next book can’t come out until next week. So this spot is mine.”
“Someone else could you beat you out.” His voice sounded heavy and thick. Like his words were weighing him down somehow.
“You and I both know that’s not true,” I said, poking him one more time for good measure. “I practically killed myself to get this spot and fuck if anything’s going to stop me. You put up a good fight; I’ll say that. Particularly for a dead man, but this is one release that’s going to be mine. No more comparisons to Jessen Blake. No more being number two. This book is going to be the release that everyone’s going to learn my name!”
“Everyone already knows your name,” he said. “Number one and number two doesn’t make a difference.”
“It does to me! Being number one will change everything!”
“And will that be enough for you?”
“Huh? What?”
“If by chance... you are number one, will that be enough? Or will you want to publish another book immediately? Will you want another number one release?” There was a glint of hope in his eyes for reasons I couldn’t quite understand. “Because if you do become number one... that’s good enough. You know that, right? You’d be good enough—”
“No,” I snapped. “I wouldn’t be.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“You must have a reason.”
“Fuck off. I’m allowed to want to be number one. You wanted to be. And you were. And I want to be. And I think I’m about to be. Of course I’ll want more.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.”
“You should be scared. You’ve spent your entire life at number one; you should know how great it is.”
“Yeah,” he snapped. “So great that I’m here begging you not to go through with this. If you do make it this time, bask in it and move on. You don’t have to stay at number one. Not every release needs to be number one! You’re going to learn that soon enough, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything once...” he jerked slightly and wasn’t able to finish his sentence as he shook his head as though there was water in his ears. His voice lowered when he spoke again. “You’re good enough, Emma. Whether you’re number one or number two, you’re still good enough—”
“Will you cut this daddy’s so proud bullshit with me?” I said, growing angry again. “You don’t understand what I’m going through. How much this could change everything.”
“Like what? What is going to change? Just what are you fighting so hard for, Emma?”
“Stop calling me that! I’m Shade. Not Emma. You of all people don’t get to call me that, and as for what I’m fighting for, that’s none of your fucking business either.”
“It’s your parents, right?”
“Stop.”
“You want your parents to notice you? You want them to take you seriously as an author? As an adult? You think being number one is going to change all of that instead of being number two?”
“It’s not just the number! It’s what comes with being the number! When I’m number one... not just this time, but in the future, more people will see my books. Big people.”
“Like who?” he asked. I sensed that he was growing increasingly desperate. “Who? Who needs to see you? What would make you happy, Emma?”
“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” I shouted, angry tears popping at the corners of my eyes. “You don’t know what it’s like for me. If I could just get that title, and if I could just get noticed by a few more people then maybe...” I trailed off, realizing t
hat I was shaking along with my tears.
“Then what?” Jessen asked, keeping his voice soft and gentle. “What is it that you want so badly? A movie deal? Do you think that will change things? A TV series? Do you think your mother will pick up the phone then? Do you think people will take you seriously? That you’ll be able to walk into a high school reunion and people will bow to you? Newsflash! Those things won’t change. You’re at a place already where you should be proud and satisfied. You’re a top selling author! You don’t need a bloody movie deal! You don’t even want those things! You just want to figure out what your parents want so you can finally give it to them. It’s a cry for help, and being number one isn’t going to make things better. If anything it’s going to make them worse.”
“Shut up!” I cried through blurred vision. “You don’t know. You say it won’t change anything, but you know what? It might. And a change has to be better than what I have now which is jack shit.”
“You make as much money as some CEOs. You have a husband who loves you—”
“He cheated on me.”
“He still loves you. He can be there for you—”
“I can’t believe I’m listening to a dead man,” I said, staggering back towards the deserted cabin. I wanted to crawl inside and cry myself to sleep. Never good enough. I would never be good enough. I pounded my fist on the front door until my knuckles bled. Being number one would be good enough. It had to be. “I have to be number one,” I said with a voice that cracked. “That has to mean something... to someone... to them... to her... to me.”
I felt so empty inside suddenly that I was afraid I would crack open if Jessen touched me. But thank God he didn’t because I could feel myself falling.
The dream was ending. And it terrified me because I knew that when I awoke, the sales for New York Times would be updated. I would know if all my efforts were worth it. I would know if all the nights of cigarettes and vodka and writing until my fingers were numb and coffee and movies and a few snatched hours of restless, haunted sleep here and there were worth it. And I worried about what my dreams would hold afterward.
What if I had done it? Would Jessen still haunt me? That seemed to be the only reason he was here.
So what happened next?
My eyes drifted towards Jessen who remained frozen just a few feet away from the stoop. A shudder passed through his spine, and he looked up at me with dead, frozen eyes. The eyes a dead man was supposed to have.
“If I can’t stop you from being number one, I just ask you to remember... you don’t have to stay there. You can give the spot back to me. I will welcome it with open arms.”
I arched an eyebrow. “With open dead arms, more like.” I noticed Jessen was no longer fading. He was rotting. Thick flaps of skin fell away from his fingers as he held his hands up to his face and he looked at me with shock and horror. The sound of the flaps of skin slapping on the sidewalk made my stomach clench – and I loved gore. But seeing it before me, seeing the panic in his eyes... I had to glance away, no longer feeling as smug.
“This will be the last time I dream about you, won’t it?” I guessed as the decay reached his face. The smell of rot grew thick in my nostrils as he felt the cracks forming on his cheeks with hands that were all but skeletal.
“Your next release, Shade... I beg you to be careful with your words.”
“Why?”
“Be careful careful what you write. As the number one author, your words are stronger than you can imagine. They have true power...” His voice grew strangled as the skin on his throat peeled apart like the peel of a banana and exposed his spine. I swallowed hard as he fell to his knees, gasping to keep his breath. If he wasn’t already dead, it was pretty clear that he was about to die right now. His thumb dissolved into a gray powder that came alive as it hit the ground and crawled to burrow beneath the earth like a child hiding under his blankets during a thunderstorm.
I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to throw up, but my throat was too dry. It was painfully dry, suddenly.
Jessen raised his head suddenly as his cheek shriveled and curled way from his skull.
“You’re up, sweetheart,” he managed to utter.
“Up?” I asked, struggling to find the words as a sudden tremor shook the earth. The violent action tossed Jessen forward, and the stubs of his hands struggled to find purchase in the dirt. He landed on his face in the gravel with a crunch. Another rumble prevented him from getting up.
Waking up. I don’t know why, but I was waking up. But I had to know... I had to know what he meant.
Gathering all the strength I had left, I ran to Jessen’s side and tried to heave him up to his knees. He felt like a scarecrow. “What do you mean? What do you mean I’m up? Jessen? You’re already dead; you can’t die on me now!”
His chin lifted. The look in his eyes was something I would take with me for the rest of my life. Not the cracking, peeling skin. Not the gravel caught in the roped muscles of his jaw. Not the way his teeth fell out with each movement of his mouth. I could handle the gore. I could handle the disgust. In fact, I welcomed it for the most part. But the sadness and fear, that was something I couldn’t deal with. And that was all I remembered when Jessen finally managed to spit a few hollow words from his near-toothless mouth.
“May God have mercy on your soul,” he stammered. Another quake shook us both, and he coughed blood across my eyes. I blinked to find his face again. “You’re number one.”
“What?” I didn’t know whether to shake him or cry or smile, but I was paralyzed as the world shook one more time and the remains of Jessen’s jaw fell away from his face and tumbled down my knee. “Did you say... did you say...” I blinked hard.
“You’re number... number one...” The voice did not belong to Jessen. “You’re number one! Oh my God, Emma! You did it! You’re number one!”
I shook again, but this time it was only me... and not my entire world.
“Wake up, you crazy maniac! Did you hear me? You’re number one! I checked the sales chart on the way here! You’re number one! Are you listening?” The owner of the voice shook me harder. “Wake up, Emma! You’re not going to sleep away the entire day, are you? This is the day you’ve wanted your whole life, and you’re fucking sleeping on the floor?”
I blinked and screamed, darting my attention to my hands, half-expecting the blood of Jessen Blake to be coating them, but they were dry to the point of pruning. I gripped my hands into fists and spread my fingers several times, wondering if it would show up, but nothing came. I was dry. I was clean. I was back in my bedroom... apparently sleeping on the floor.
And apparently, I was the number one New York Times Best Selling Author.
***
The next few days were a haze. Filled with so much booze and smoke and celebrating that I barely remembered sleeping. And if I did, it must have been real sleep because Jessen Blake no longer haunted me. No one bothered me. I hung out with Kevin, and it was almost like the good old days. He was always there, and I was too excited to work on my next release. Days and nights blended in an orchestra of booze, music, smoke, kissing and rough sex. Kevin always wanted to be sweet, but I wouldn’t allow it. Sweet lovemaking was for innocent couples, not for cheaters like him. I didn’t want us to be sensual. I didn’t want to think about the possibility of taking him back. I didn’t care what Jessen said. Kevin didn’t love me. Not anymore. And no matter how kind he was and how much he showed that he cared nothing would ever convince me otherwise.
But that wasn’t to say that I didn’t mind the sex.
Or the snuggling. Honestly, that was the best part.
For a week my bed wasn’t empty because Kevin slept there every night. He’d hug me tight and beg me to stop smoking because it made the sheets stink. I asked him to stop sleeping around with whores before he came over because he stunk like French perfume and lube.
He said I was crazy and paranoid.
I couldn’t stop looking at the paper. I bought ev
ery copy of the New York Times I could find and framed them with anything I could snag at the Dollar Store. I mailed copies to every person I knew whose address I could find. I sent one to my high school and a special one to the teacher who all but laughed in my face when I told him that I was going to be a famous author. He had called me a disturbed, no-talent psychopath. I enclosed a photocopy of my latest royalty check. I mailed copies to my friends and family and even to Kevin’s family. Let them know what they were missing. Kevin said I was crazy and not to mail random things to his parents, but I didn’t care.
I was number one. Nothing could bring me down from this high.
Not Kevin. Not Jessen Blake. Not myself.
But there was one person who could – one person I hadn’t even considered until my phone rang over a week after I was named number one... for the second week in a row. I tried to pretend like it wasn’t a big deal when my heart felt like exploding.
And then I saw the name on the caller ID.
Hag. Jealous.
My mother had called at last. Smirking for a few rings, I allowed myself to stew in the idea that she had finally remembered me. It didn’t take a lot – being the top-selling author in the country for two straight weeks, but I finally had her attention. She called. She called me. She fucking called me, goddammit! I felt smug as fuck when I picked up the phone, happy that I had sent Kevin to get me a pack of cigarettes before we went out to dinner. If he saw the way I was smiling now, he would probably make a crack about the Cheshire cat or the Grinch. I wasn’t in the mood for his comments. I didn’t mind him being around for physical things, but interacting with him on an intellectual level was damn near painful.
I held the phone up to my ear. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“Emma? Emma, is that you?”
I rolled my eyes. Mom always had a way of making me feel so unwanted. Even when she called me, she made it sound as though it was such an inconvenience. I had to give her credit, for a few bloody seconds I felt self-conscious. My mother was the woman who only called me a few times a year – sometimes twice in a month if she was lonely. But today, I knew exactly why she had called. She had received my care package in the mail – complete with signed copies of Daddy, Don’t Sleep to show off to her friends. She must have realized what this meant. She must have known that this was the time to build bridges.