If Souls Can Sleep (The Soul Sleep Cycle Book 1)

by David Michael Williams

  The pungent smell of fast food filed the room. Vincent’s stomach rumbled.

  “I tried calling your room this morning, but you didn’t answer. I thought maybe you left…or worse.” Leah took a big breath. “The police came by my place after I left here yesterday.”

  “What did you tell them?” Vincent asked. He pulled a heaping container of curly fries from the bag and a sandwich wrapped in foil.

  “I lied,” Leah replied with a nervous laugh. “I told them the reason I went to the police station to see you was because you’re one of my patients and I saw you on the news. I said I hadn’t seen you since the sleep study.”

  Vincent swallowed a mouthful of cheeseburger. “Did they believe you?”

  Leah shrugged. “They didn’t arrest me, but they had plenty of questions about the ‘family emergency’ that has kept me home from work. It’s only a matter of time before they connect me to Agent Dragsa. All they’d have to do is check my credit card, and they’ll see that I rented a Lexus yesterday and returned it just a few hours later.”

  “The cops came back to the apartment too.” Jerry stole one of Vincent’s fries. “They had a warrant, and they asked a bunch more questions about you…if I knew why the CIA might have an interest in you and if I’d had any contact with you since the hospital. Don’t worry. I didn’t mention anything about the break in or my stolen laptop.”

  Vincent took another bite of cheeseburger and digested their news. He noticed Leah was holding a white plastic bag. He swallowed an uncomfortably large wad of food and asked, “What’s in the bag?”

  “Some of your clothes.” She handed him the bag. “I think it’s time to check out, Vincent. You have to keep moving…at least until Boden can straighten everything out.”

  “Boden!” Vincent snapped. “Did you happen to talk to him last night?”

  Leah frowned. “No.”

  “Yeah, well, neither did I,” he said, tossing the plastic bag on the bed. “I had The Dream again. I was in Valenthor’s world for a very long time, and Boden never showed up.”

  “What happened?” Leah and Jerry asked at the same time.

  In between bites of burger and gulps of cola—it seemed like weeks since he had had a decent meal—Vincent gave them a summary of last night’s adventures.

  “If I could’ve stayed in The Dream for just five more minutes…” he concluded with a shrug.

  Leah cocked her head.

  Jerry said, “Sorry, man” and snagged another fry.

  Vincent sighed. “That wasn’t supposed to sound like an accusation. It’s just frustrating. I was so close…but I still don’t know what I’m supposed to do with Daniel now that I’ve found him. The Dream seems to be coming to end, but I’m no closer to figuring out what Daniel is up to.”

  Jerry and Leah exchanged a look.

  “What?” Vincent asked.

  “About The Dream…” Jerry wiped his hands on his pants. “…The Master of All Things Fantasy had some dire predictions about where ol’ Valenthor is headed.”

  Vincent cringed at the sudden cramp in his stomach. “If the nurse-burglar stole your computer, how were you able to talk with the Master?”

  “We used my computer,” Leah said. “The bottom line is the Master thinks the story is going to end with the Final Battle.”

  “He said the Jötunn are from Norse mythology,” Jerry interjected. “So the Final Battle might end up being Ragnarök, which the Master described as a big war between the forces of good and evil. The Viking version of Armageddon.”

  The Ancestors versus the Dark Ones…

  “Basically,” Jerry continued, “they all kill each other, and the world resets. Almost everybody dies, Vincent, maybe even Valenthor.”

  Vincent dropped the sloppy remains of the sandwich into the garbage. He took the bag from the bed and headed into the bathroom.

  Through the door, he heard Leah say, “You can take a shower if you want. We don’t have to leave this very second, but we shouldn’t stay too much longer.”

  Vincent used the toilet, quickly changed his clothes, and splashed some water on his face. The man looking back from the mirror looked vaguely familiar. He opened the bathroom door.

  “I’m not going to run, Leah. If I can’t get answers from Daniel, I’m going to talk to the one person who might be able to tell us what happens next.”

  Leah’s frown reappeared. “I’ve already told you I have no way of contacting Boden.”

  “Not Boden. Suzanne.”

  Leah’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. “Vincent, no. I don’t think Suzanne Fortune has a clue what Daniel is doing in The Dream. And if she told the police anything you said about her book, they might have her house under surveillance.”

  “I don’t care,” Vincent said. “Maybe Boden can’t interfere because The Dream isn’t even a real dream on Suzanne’s end. It’s a book. We know Daniel has stolen her story, so if nothing else, Suzanne will be able to tell me what happens to Valenthor and Locke. At least I’ll know what I’m walking into the next time I’m in The Dream.”

  Leah was already shaking her head. “Maybe Boden and his men were just waiting for Daniel to show up before they made their move.”

  Vincent placed his hands on her shoulders. Their eyes locked. “Leah, I’m going to talk to Suzanne. I don’t know where she lives, but I know where she works. I’ll go back to the hospital if I have to, but together maybe we can find another way.”

  Leah, her face filled with worry, waited a moment before she said, “OK. If that’s what you want to do, I’m with you. But if we could wait until Boden gets in touch again, we can ask him to find out where she—”

  “Got it!” Jerry shouted, holding up the phonebook. “Rick and Suzanne Fortune, Menomonee Falls.”

  Leah shot Jerry a withering look.

  Vincent couldn’t help but smile. “Nice one, Jerry. Now let’s get out of here.”

  ***

  From the passenger seat of Leah’s car, Vincent watched Jerry ring the doorbell of the brown, square home of Suzanne Fortune. Leah stood behind Jerry and a little off to the side. It was anyone’s guess whether Suzanne would be more likely to open the door to a complete stranger or the possible accomplice of a fugitive. They were gambling on the former.

  Vincent held his breath and waited. The driveway was empty, but Suzanne’s car could be in the garage, he reasoned. Or maybe she didn’t even own a car and took the bus to work.

  Please be home!

  He gasped as the door opened, and Suzanne’s face peered out from the small space she allowed between the door and its frame. Vincent slid slower in his seat, trying, but failing, to read her lips. Moments later, when Leah stepped up to the door and motioned toward the car, Vincent’s heart pounded with an enthusiasm that rivaled the bass of any suped-up sound system.

  Even from a dozen yards away, Vincent saw the parade of emotions marching across Suzanne’s face.

  She’s not going to let us in. Unless…

  On a whim, Vincent opened the glove compartment and rifled through its contents—a stack of maps, a couple of pens, tire gauge, tampons, an official CIA badge, and a black handgun. He picked up the gun and stuffed it inside his jacket.

  Someone tapped on the window, and Vincent jumped.

  “We’re good to go!” Jerry’s voice was muted by the glass. He gave Vincent two thumbs up.

  Vincent slammed the glove compartment closed and got out of the car. “What did she say?”

  “Not much,” Jerry said. “She seems kind of skittish, so just stay chill, OK?”

  Leah and Suzanne had already vanished into the house. Vincent followed Jerry up the front stairs and into the living room, where the two women stood in heavy silence, obviously waiting for him.

  “Your mother is worried sick about you, you know,” Suzanne said softly.

  Vincent managed a smile. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. With any luck, all of this will get sorted out very soon. That’s why I’m here actually.�
��

  Suzanne forced a smile back. “Right. Please have a seat, everyone. Um…can I get you all something to drink?”

  “No th—” Leah started to say.

  “Got any Dew?” Jerry asked.

  “Yes,” said Suzanne. “I think we do. Let me go and check…”

  As soon as she left the room, Vincent and Leah glared at Jerry.

  “Well, she asked!” he said defensively.

  Vincent sighed and took a seat next to Leah on a well-worn sofa. Jerry, naturally, gravitated to an oversized Lay-Z-Boy recliner—the couch potato king trying out a new throne. The four walls of the living room formed a gallery of nature paintings of deer, ducks, and fish, along with a collection of family portraits of Suzanne and, Vincent assumed, her husband and son. The young bride in the wedding picture bore an unmistakable resemblance to Destiny.

  The house smelled like cooking of some kind, though Vincent couldn’t identify the dish. A giant cuckoo clock marked the passing seconds with loud, mechanical clicks. He was just about to wonder out loud about what was taking Suzanne so long, when their hostess returned.

  “I looked everywhere, but I guess Cory drank the last Mountain Dew. I hope Diet 7UP is OK,” she said, handing Jerry the bottle and a coaster.

  “Sure, no worries,” Jerry said.

  Suzanne sat on a matching loveseat opposite of the couch so that she faced Vincent and Leah. “So…”

  “Mrs. Fortune,” Vincent began, searching for words that wouldn’t put his sanity under immediate scrutiny. “I know you must find all of this very strange. I’m not going to pretend I understand what is happening to me, but if you can answer a few questions, I promise we’ll be out of here before you know it.”

  “First, tell me how you know about my book.” Suzanne’s voice rose at the end of the statement, making it sound more like a question.

  “Fine,” Vincent said. “For the past few weeks, I’ve been having a recurring dream about…well, about Valenthor…about being Valenthor. And Daniel, my brother, is Locke. Now this is going to sound crazy, but I have to ask it…have you had any contact with Daniel?”

  Suzanne looked more than a little confused. “Contact?”

  “Conversations,” Vincent prompted. “Maybe you read your book out loud to him or something?”

  “No,” she said. “No one has ever read my book.”

  Here goes nothing.

  “Have you ever talked to Daniel in a dream?”

  Suzanne looked from Vincent to Leah to Jerry and then back to Vincent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “OK, OK.” Vincent rubbed his eyes. Despite the twelve-plus hours of sleep he had gotten last night, he didn’t feel at all rested. “But it can’t be coincidence that Valenthor and I have so much in common. He lost a daughter. I lost a daughter. He has a drinking problem…and I’ve been known to throw back a few. Are Locke and Valenthor related too?”

  Suzanne nodded. “Half-brothers.” Her leg jerked up and down nervously. “I think…I think I might have unconsciously based Valenthor on you. When I first met your mother, she talked a lot about you and Daniel. But I didn’t do it on purpose, and everything else is made up.”

  “Except for what you took from Norse mythology,” Jerry said.

  Suzanne flinched. To Vincent, she said, “But that doesn’t explain how you know anything about my—”

  “I want to see it,” Vincent said.

  “What?”

  “I want to see the book,” he said.

  Suzanne’s face became an alarming shade of red. “I don’t let anybody read my writing, not even my husband.”

  “Please?”

  “No!”

  Vincent clenched his teeth.

  We don’t have time for this!

  Leah must have sensed he was losing patience because she said, “Please, Suzanne. We’re not here to critique your work. If Daniel is using themes and characters from your book…”

  Vincent stood up, pulled the handgun from his inside jacket pocket, and aimed it at Suzanne. Her yelp was echoed by a gasp from Leah and a “Dude!” from Jerry.

  “Give me the book now!” Vincent ordered.

  Oh God, what am I doing?

  Eyes bulging, Suzanne rose shakily and walked to the end table under the cuckoo clock. She picked up and opened a laptop.

  “I haven’t p-printed it out or anything. I only just finished it last night. The ending j-just sort of poured out of me…”

  “Vincent.” Leah said his name in the same way a person would address a stray pit bull as “nice doggy.” “What are you doing?”

  Ignoring her, Vincent said, “Open the book file and set the laptop on the coffee table.”

  Suzanne obeyed, and Vincent sat back down. He kept the pistol pointed at Suzanne, who continued to stand, trembling, in the middle of the room.

  “Destiny’s Story” was spelled out in bold letters across the top of the screen. The first line under that read, “It all began with a dream.”

  Vincent scrolled down to the bottom of the file and then backtracked until he found the start of the last chapter.

  The ancient and mystical temple of Yggdrasil lies in a great vale bordered by high, treacherous mountains. Sunlight glinted off of its silver spires. Destiny never failed to be awed by the beauty of the place, but the magnificent architecture of the massive structure was as practical as it was artistic. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the tooth-like crenellations and murder holes interspersed among the stained-glass murals and magnificent sculptures of oversized elves.

  Yggdrasil was as much a fortress as it was a church, friendly yet foreboding.

  The surprisingly lush flatland surrounding the temple was accessible only by a long and winding valley, a natural corridor that at times feels more like a tunnel at its narrowest points. The location of both the temple and its entrance are a closely guarded secret, known only by the elite members of elves’ priesthood.

  That is, until now.

  Destiny led her dearest Valenthor and the knights through the hidden path. The Jötunn hadn’t bothered to post sentries, and only the bodies of the solider elves remained as evidence that the Fay had watched that secret road. Concealed by a copse of hardy evergreens, the party gazed upon the Jötunn host. The war camp formed a gloomy ring around the temple. Even as they watched, the elfin defenders repelled the thousands of besiegers with flaming arrows and vats of boiling oil.

  “Alas, Yggdrasil!” Destiny cried.

  Valenthor fell to one knee beside his lady love. “Verily, we arrive too late!”

  Vincent looked up from the screen, as much to give his eyes a rest from the reader-unfriendly font as the agonizingly unhelpful words.

  Who would willingly read a whole book like this?

  From his regal recliner, Jerry sat up straight and asked Suzanne, “Did you call the five-oh?”

  Vincent raised the barrel of the gun, which had drooped while he was reading, and listened. The sound of sirens, which he had dismissed as background noise a moment ago, seemed to be getting louder. He jumped to his feet.

  “Just tell me how it ends!” Vincent shouted.

  “Does Valenthor die?” Jerry asked.

  Suzanne, her forehead slick with sweat, didn’t say anything at first. Finally, she said, “I knew from the beginning that Valenthor was going to die. He had to do something heroic so he could forgive himself for not being there when his wife and daughter needed him the most.”

  Destiny was right. This never was Valenthor’s story.

  The wail of sirens grew louder.

  “Vincent, we have to go!” Leah announced, suddenly standing beside him.

  It’s too late…

  Vincent let the gun fall to his side. To Suzanne, he said, “Does Valenthor get to see Clementine at least?”

  “Who?” Suzanne asked. “Do you mean Valentine?”

  But Vincent couldn’t reply. The second he spoke his daughter’s name, the room started to disappear. The
Dream’s pull was stronger, more urgent than ever before. He didn’t struggle against the undertow.

  Chapter 34

  Milton sprang up from the couch and squinted at the silhouette in the doorframe.

  “DJ?” he asked hoarsely.

  “Yes,” the other replied, his voice muffled by a mask with big, dark eyeholes. “But you might as well call me Daniel now.”

  When he stepped out of the shadows, he lowered his hood and removed the mask. A pair of penetrating blue eyes replaced the empty sockets. A long knotty stick held Milton’s gaze until he noticed the bloody wound in Daniel’s abdomen.

  “My God, what did they do to you?” Milton asked, remembering the tall man from the white van.

  “Nothing yet.” Daniel looked down and poked his index finger into the bullet hole. “Oh, this? It’s an old wound. You must’ve been expecting me to look beat up.”

  The boy isn’t making any sense. He must be in shock.

  On the couch, Clementine stirred restlessly and mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep. Daniel knelt beside her. “Thanks for taking care of her, Milton. I owe you one.”

  Milton rounded on him. “What were you thinking, getting your niece involved?”

  Scoff. “Not my call, Milton. She came to me.” Daniel rose, a wistful smile on his face. “We’ll let her sleep for now. I’ve got a big surprise in store for her…if all goes according to plan.”

  “Daniel, you’ve been shot—” Milton sucked in a breath through his teeth. When Daniel moved his hand away from the wound, the black sweatshirt was whole and clean again. The stick also seemed to have evaporated into thin air. Milton staggered back a few steps and almost tripped over a table. “Who are you?”

  “Who am I?” Daniel gave him an amused look. “I’m a scoundrel and a schemer, your captor and co-conspirator. The lock and key.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “That’s because you’ve forgotten that this is all a dream,” Daniel stated.

  “Impossible!” Milton argued.