Sleeper

by MacKenzie Cadenhead

  The monster is going too fast.

  It can’t stop itself.

  It flies over a prone Wes and in a single

  WHOOSH

  the Burner rips into Jamie.

  Jamie absorbs the demon, swallows this nightmare whole. His body goes rigid. Then he opens his mouth and howls.

  The Burner is possessing Jamie.

  Have I ever seen this before? No. The Burners are always careful to avoid the dreamers. They’ve never touched me or Wes when we’re inside one. Maybe they’re not supposed to touch them. Maybe because they shadow them just like we do. Only while Wes and I seem to understand enough of what’s going on to control the dreamer when we’re inside one, the Burners do not.

  The monster inside Jamie thrashes about, panicked, ping-ponging off unseen objects. He looks like Frankenstein’s monster confronted with fire. I flinch with every ricochet, imagining the bedposts, desks, and walls he is crashing into in my bedroom.

  I determine to expel the Burner, like how I pushed Wes out of Gigi when I jumped into her body while Wes was in it. I pray that the rules that apply to me and Wes also apply to the Burner. But as I near Jamie’s possessed body, he trips over something that’s invisible to me but that’s all too real in the waking world. He stumbles backward, and in a pantomime I will see forever, he falls.

  Instead of hitting the chapel floor though, Jamie’s body rises off the ground.

  As he levitates in this dream, he plummets elsewhere. His legs flail. His arms grasp, but there is nothing in any reality to grab hold of.

  Finally, he crashes—hard—onto the chapel floor.

  There is a loud snap.

  Then Jamie, and the Burner inside him, disappear.

  • • •

  The buzzing of my iPhone is the first sound I register. It’s morning, and for a second, I have that peaceful sense of promise that the start of a new day brings. Then I hear idling vehicles and raised voices outside my window, and the events of the night before come flooding back. I shoot up in my bed and open my eyes to blinding daylight. Someone grabs my arms.

  “Shhh, shhh,” my mother says as her face comes into focus. Her eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed.

  “Mom? What happened?” I look at my open window and the yellow police tape crossing it. I reach for my nightstand and grab my cell. I’ve missed over a dozen calls and texts from Tessa.

  “Honey,” my mom says as she takes the phone from me. “I need you to listen to me. There’s been an accident. Jamie was trying to sneak into your room last night, and he must have lost his footing or something because…” She trails off as she catches sight of the broken lamp on the floor.

  “Sarah, when did you take a Dexid? I’ve been trying to wake you for hours. It was before Jamie fell, right? Otherwise, you’d have heard—”

  “Mommy,” I say. “Tell me what happened to Jamie.”

  Tears spill down my mother’s face. “Oh, Sarah. Jamie fell out of your window. He broke his back.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I’ve been known to call many things tragic, from a lost lip gloss to a broken heart. But to watch, helpless, as someone you care for loses the life he’s always known in an instant? That puts everything else in embarrassing perspective. I spend the day alternating between two equally destructive states: crying about what’s happened to Jamie and over the waking nightmare that Wes has turned out to be, and fighting with my mother to let me go to the hospital where Jamie’s in surgery. After hours of trying to dissuade me from the latter, she finally comes out with the harshest but only effective argument: the last person Jamie’s distraught parents need to see right now is the girl whose window their son fell out of. I shut up after that.

  Around 4:00 p.m., Tessa texts me that the student council and pom squad have scheduled a vigil on campus for tonight. I ask my mother if I can attend (or am I the last person the pom squad needs to see too?) and she gives me the okay. Tessa picks me up right after dinner, and before we’ve made it out of the driveway, we’re both crying.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say between sobs. “I never want to fight with you.”

  “Me neither,” she agrees, her voice hoarse. We hug over the gearshift and don’t let go as we cry some more. “This thing with Jamie just reminds me that anything can happen any time. And I don’t want to be in a stupid fight with you if it does. We’re here for each other no matter what. Right?”

  “Always,” I say.

  Tessa gives me a final squeeze before extricating herself from my embrace. “I just can’t make sense of it,” she says as she reverses out of my driveway. “I mean, I know that the police think he was sneaking into your room from the window and slipped, but it’s just so weird. He’s done that climb, like, a hundred times. If I was going to worry about anyone falling out of your window in the middle of the night, it’d be you during an episode. Not Jamie. I don’t get it.”

  I cringe. Tessa’s absolutely right. Jamie’s injury wasn’t an accident. It was a brutal attack. And it’s because of me that it happened. All day, my hands have been in a permanent white-knuckled state, my body constantly tense, waiting for Wes, the boogeyman, to jump out of the shadows. I’m unraveling, and I need help sorting through everything. But how and with whom? Can I tell Tessa? Where would I start? How do I explain everything that’s happened? And what will she say once she knows all the terrible things I’ve done?

  “Tessa,” I say, my knees twitching.

  “What?”

  “There’s some stuff I need to tell you.”

  “About Wes,” she states more than asks.

  I nod. “I realize now is not the best time.”

  “Any time is fine, Sar,” she says, glancing over at me. “I know something’s not right. And whenever you want to tell me about it, I’m here.”

  “Good. Because I think I need to talk. A lot.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes as she turns the corner onto campus. “There’s something you need to know about—”

  “Oh my God. Sarah, look.”

  I open my eyes as we pull into the visitor’s parking lot. My confession stops. Hundreds of people flood the football field. Drama geeks are handing out candles as cheerleaders sing hymns. The popular, the disenfranchised, the stoners, the brainiacs—they’re all here. There’s a weeping freshman girl who I doubt Jamie has ever even spoken to being consoled by her friends near the bleachers. And on the field itself, you can barely see an inch of grass. All I can really see, for what feels like miles in front of me, is a gently rippling wave of warm, glowing lights held by friends, family, acquaintances who are all here to mourn what’s happened to Jamie.

  It’s beautiful.

  And it pisses me off.

  Who are these people co-opting Jamie’s tragedy for their own emotional growth spurts? Suddenly, they care enough to stand next to their enemies and cry on the shoulders of strangers? They’re acting like the decent people they should always be. But it’s taken something really awful happening to someone really good for them to bother.

  Then I chastise myself for this ungracious response. Because honestly, who am I to judge? Isn’t this break from their regularly scheduled apathy way less offensive than the guerilla warfare I’ve been waging? Sure, the fact that they might not have cared as much had this happened to some cosplay enthusiast makes my stomach turn almost as much as the #standwithjamie hashtag does, but they aren’t the ones seeking out offenders and doling out punishment. That’s me. At least these hypocrites have the decency not to paralyze anyone.

  I’m feeling sick to my stomach, literally made ill by the bleak conclusions about the human condition that are infecting my brain, and wondering if this is more evidence of Wes’s influence or my own sorry outlook (and which is worse?). I turn to Tessa to say as much, to spill everything, to make someone else sort through all the crazy going on in my head, when I see that she’s smiling
with tears rolling down her face.

  “Isn’t this amazing?” she asks.

  I shelve my confession, smile back, and say, “Yeah.” I squeeze her hand. Tessa’s done so much for me. She’s never blinked at my disorder, never wavered when I became persona non grata. I owe it to her to keep her out of this mess. I’ll protect her, like I didn’t protect Jamie.

  As soon as we get out of the car, a girl walks up to us holding candles. She hands one to Tessa and turns to me. She’s a short, blond pom girl with a sweet, round face. Her dimpled smile is just the right balance of friendly and solemn. But it curves downward into an accusing scowl the instant she registers who I am. She yanks the candle in her outstretched arm back, and I grasp air.

  “What are you doing here?” she spits.

  “Excuse you?” Tessa says.

  “She heard me,” Dimples replies with all the righteous indignation of the outwardly blameless. “This event is for people who want to mourn what happened to Jamie, not for those who caused it.”

  My first impulse is to smack those dimples right off this brat’s face. My second? To start plotting how to slip her some Dexid. I shudder at how quickly my thirst for revenge overwhelms my brain, and all the fight in me dries up.

  “It’s okay. I’ll go,” I say.

  “The hell you will,” Tessa snaps. She steps to Dimples, and I begin to sweat. Being the cause of a fight at Jamie’s vigil is not a good idea. I stand there, useless, waiting to find myself in the aftermath of yet another mess, when a shock of orange hair and a pair of broken glasses shuffles up to save the day.

  “Ladies,” Grady says. “I think we’re all a little upset, but there’s no need to take it out on each other. Especially not tonight. Is there?”

  Tessa continues to glare at Dimples but takes a step back. When the pom girl doesn’t move, Grady shoves his hands deep into his pockets and sighs. “Lindsay,” he says calmly. “Back off and give Sarah a candle, or I’ll replace the pom squad’s Adderall supply with Xanax just in time for state.”

  Lindsay’s mouth falls open, but she says nothing. She shoots me an icy glare and drops the unlit candle at my feet before stomping off.

  “Thanks, Grady,” I say as I pick up the candle.

  “I’d say ‘anytime,’ but I’m not sure if I can keep up with all the people you’ve pissed off lately,” he replies, and I manage a real smile.

  “Well, aren’t you two just the cutest little odd couple? How long has this been happening?” Tessa asks as she looks from me to Grady.

  He shrugs, and she laughs. Even though what he’s said is depressingly true, I relax just a little as Tessa links her arm through mine and motions for Grady to join us on the field.

  As we weave through the crowd, I ask, “Any updates from the hospital?” Though Mom was probably right about how Jamie’s parents would’ve reacted to my presence, I’m sure nothing could have kept Meat away from his best friend’s bedside.

  “Word is the surgery went okay,” Grady offers. “But Mrs. Washington pretty much cried the whole time Jamie was in the OR.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek to stop my own tears at that.

  “Do they have any more ideas about what happened?” Tessa asks. “I just can’t believe he missed the jump.”

  “Nope,” Grady says. “But my brother did say some cop was asking about drugs. Sent Mr. Washington into a rage.”

  “Drugs?” Tessa gasps. “I mean come on. That’s ridiculous. Jamie?” She laughs with no mirth, and I barely stifle a shudder.

  “Pretty standard cop question in a situation like this, I’d guess,” Grady replies dispassionately. He glances at me over the top of his glasses. “Then again, you never really know about people, do you? They can surprise you.”

  As Tessa launches into a lecture about Jamie’s clean living and Grady’s skewed worldview, I notice he’s keeping an eye on me. Could he know something? But how? And what? What could he even understand? Does he think I’m somehow responsible for what happened to Jamie? Would he be wrong?

  We stop at an open pocket in the crowd from which we can just see the makeshift stage at the far end of the visiting team bleachers. The glee club is finishing up a somber rendition of “Stand by Me” as we all light our candles off a friendly hippy chick sporting a flowery dress and jeans ensemble.

  Trisha Goldmark gets on the mic to announce that a bake sale to raise money for Jamie’s hospital bills is happening by the south bleachers. Then she informs the owner of a blue Honda Odyssey that his lights are on before finally introducing Reverend Hiller, the local minister from the Unitarian Church where Jamie’s family attends services. My mom considers herself a student of all religions, so we’ve done brief stints just about everywhere—from Shabbat service at Temple Beth El to Quaker meeting—but nothing ever really stuck. Still, as the reverend asks everyone assembled to take a step closer to their neighbor and move toward the stage, I feel a desperate hope that whatever he’s going to say might offer a little bit of clarity in all this fog.

  As the crowd shuffles forward, filling in the gaps, Tessa and I are separated. I can still see her with Grady, about three people removed from me. She’s hanging on Reverend Hiller’s every word, joining him in the Lord’s Prayer in full voice. My lips start to move too as I recall what I can from a couple of Sunday school visits, and I begin to get swept up in the moment. Can all these voices united in love and prayer for Jamie actually make a difference? I so want to believe in something other than the havoc Wes and I have wreaked.

  I know I can’t go back, but I can stop doing all the terrible things I’m capable of. Just because you own a loaded gun doesn’t mean you need to pull the trigger, right? Of course, I did try to stop, to stay away from Wes, and where did it get me? Jamie is in the hospital, Wes is still out there, and I have absolutely no idea what to do.

  I listen to the crowd chant amen and decide to try the only thing I haven’t yet—pray. As Reverend Hiller asks the crowd to bow their heads in a moment of silent reflection, I, along with everyone around me, comply.

  The shared silence of hundreds of people is exceptionally moving. For the first time in days, I feel peace. It’s so striking that I become overwhelmed, unaccustomed as I am to any sense of calm. I don’t want to lose this feeling, but I need more air in my lungs, so I lift my head, just for a moment. And that’s when I see him. The only person not looking down. The only person staring straight at me.

  Wes leans against the bleachers where the bake sale is set up. He holds a cookie in the air and waves.

  I weave through the crowd and reach him just as Reverend Hiller lifts his head and the elementary school’s small chorus begins to sing.

  “Cookie?” Wes asks.

  I knock it out of his hand.

  “Hey,” a girl behind the table says. “You need to pay for that.”

  Wes smiles at me. “Christa here is helping raise money to get Jimmy a new back. Who wouldn’t want to contribute to that?”

  The lovestruck underclassman blushes. “His name is Jamie, Wes,” she somehow whispers and giggles at the same time. Wes face-palms his forehead, and Christa squeaks. I want to punch them both, but I go for my wallet instead.

  “Get the cookies,” Wes suggests as he winks at Christa. “They’re delish.”

  “Brownie bites,” I snap.

  “That’ll be four dollars,” Christa says as she hands me a ziplock bag of a dozen or so chocolate treats.

  I throw her a five and grab Wes by the wrist. To Christa’s chagrin, I pull him away from the bake sale to the far end of the bleachers, out of earshot if not eyesight of the crowd. I can still make a run for it if I need to.

  “Who knew this was what people needed to come together?” Wes says, surveying the crowd. “Can’t imagine what they’d do if this happened to more than just one dumb jock.”

  I lunge at him, but he grabs my arm an
d stops me from making hard contact.

  “No, no,” he says. “You don’t want to make a scene.”

  “You think I care?” I hiss.

  “More than anything,” he replies. “But we’ll get to that. First, I want to give you one last chance. So we had a fight. A bad one. But if you agree to get back with the program, I’ll give you my full forgiveness, and we can start over.”

  My cold sweat turns red hot. “Do you have brain damage? After what you did to Jamie?” I whisper furiously. “Screw you.” I pull against him, but he tightens his fingers to the point of bruising us both.

  “Haven’t we been here already? Calm down, and I’ll let you go. Fight me again, and I’ll dose everyone in a fifty-foot radius and throw them to the Burners.”

  I look at the defenseless people around me, counting Tessa and Grady in that lot. Despite the fact that all I want to do is run, to escape from this nightmare, I understand now that I can’t walk away. I’ve got no clue what to do next, but I know I won’t figure it out with Wes slowly crushing me.

  “Fine,” I say. I stop pulling against him, and he lets go. I follow him under the bleachers. “This is far enough.”

  “Come on. Take a walk with me,” he purrs.

  “Not a chance,” I reply and fold my arms.

  Grin becomes glower. He holds out his hand. “Come or I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” I snap, what little patience I have finally gone. “Time for another threat? Is this the only way you can get a girl to be alone with you now? You’re pathetic.”

  He drops the hand, and I can tell I’ve hit a nerve.

  “Relationship problems?” I continue. “Try seducing your girlfriend by pretending to be someone else. Not working? How about pummeling her ex-boyfriend until he ends up in the hospital? Still not enough? Why not follow her around like a sad little—”