None Shall Sleep (Damnatio Memoriae Book 1)

by Laura Giebfried

  The only assignment that I had over the holidays was to read Jane Eyre for English. Though I was desperate for something to do to pass the time, I couldn’t get past the first few pages. Throwing the book back down, I pulled my bag up to the bed and began to unpack my clothes instead. I took my time lining up the multiple pairs of khaki pants and light-blue sweaters, smoothing the unwrinkled fabric down as I went, and moved them into the empty dresser drawers. As I picked up my bag to store it in the closet, something rattled within it. I reached my hand inside to see what I had forgotten and was surprised to find a bottle of the medication that Beringer prescribed. I stared at the orange plastic with a frown, wondering how it had gotten there: as far as I knew, I had stored all of them beneath my bed at Bickerby.

  “Enim –”

  Karl barely knocked on the door before opening it. In the split second that the pillow prevented it from opening, I shoved the bottle into my pocket and sat back on the bed. He stepped into the room suspiciously.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Then why did you ask?”

  He opened his mouth to retort before thinking better of it.

  “Dinner’s almost ready. Come downstairs.”

  “I’m not really hungry.”

  “Well, come down and see how much you can eat anyhow.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Well, you have to.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  He clenched his jaw at my defiant tone.

  “Enim, I don’t want to argue with you about this.”

  “Then don’t.”

  I glared at him from my place on the bed. He looked more tired than I had ever seen him, though it had nothing to do with the long drive up to Bickerby and back. We had only been with each other for less than a day, and already I was wearing him thin. It would be a wonder if either of us got through the holiday break at all.

  “Enim,” he said wearily, “please come downstairs. Please.”

  After a long moment of no response, he sighed and left the room.

  I listened to the sound of his footsteps on the floor below as he paced through the kitchen, and though the sounds of clinking and scrubbing were barely audible I knew that he was doing dishes and washing the counters. Karl had the annoying habit of cleaning when he didn’t know what else to do. It was hardly a surprise that my grandmother’s dusty house was so immaculate.

  I fell into a fitful sleep hours later, turning back and forth on the old mattress as I tried to find a comfortable way to lie, while pressing the pillow over my head to drown out the sound of beeping from down the hallway. It sounded louder in the dark; I didn’t know how Karl could stand to sleep in the room next to it. I had only just drifted into a deeper sleep during the early hours of the morning when a loud knock sounded on the door and woke me back up.

  “Enim?” Karl stepped into the room and looked around. “Are you still asleep?”

  “Obviously.”

  “It’s nine in the morning,” he said. “You don’t sleep this late at school, do you?”

  I pushed the comforters off of me and made no response. Getting groggily to my feet, I fished around for something warmer to put on as Karl watched me.

  “Well, come down and have breakfast. It’s ice-cold by now, but ...”

  “I’ll go down later,” I said.

  “No, you should come down now. You didn’t have dinner last night, you must be ... starving.”

  He lingered on the last word as he stared at my bare arms, and I quickly pulled a sweater over my short-sleeved shirt before he realized how thin they were.

  “I’ll go down later,” I repeated.

  “Why don’t you come down now?”

  “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “I ... all right. Come down in a minute, then.”

  I twisted past him and went down the hallway, quickly shutting the bathroom door as the beeping from the next room grew louder. I took my time so that he wouldn’t wait for me to come back out, and when I was certain that he had gone back downstairs I crept back to my room and shut myself inside.

  “Enim,” Karl said ten minutes later, knocking on the door. “Come on – come downstairs.”

  The doorknob rattled and twisted as he tried to get the door open again, but the lock prevented him from doing so. After a few minutes of useless pleading he gave up and went back downstairs. I stared at the painted wood unfeelingly.

  He came back periodically throughout the day and attempted to coax me out, but I had already resigned not to leave the room. The cold light from the window was an indication that it would snow again before the week was out, and the room had a chill despite the sound of heat hissing through the antiquated radiator. I backed up into the corner of the room with the comforter over me and sat stilly until my limbs went numb. When he came back up the stairs that night, I barely flinched as his hand slammed against the door.

  “Dammit, Enim!” he said. “This is ridiculous! Open the door!”

  I shut my eyes and tuned out his voice. A dull discomfort had settled in over my head and I was exhausted despite doing nothing all day. As I stared at the peeling wallpaper and waited for him to withdraw and leave me in silence again, my throat burned. In his anger he finally bore some resemblance to his older brother, and the familiarity of the angry voice coming through the door was just another reminder of things that I wished I could forget.

  He gave one last failed attempt to stir me the next morning before he left for work. His voice was heavy and tired as it came through the wood, and he sighed without waiting long for a response. When I listened to the sound of his car pulling away, it was with a mixture of satisfaction that he was gone and unease with the silence that he left; the house was much too empty, and yet not empty enough.

  The beeping sounded more loudly from down the hall and I sat up in alarm. Pushing the covers off of me, I crossed the room to the door and peeked out into the hallway. Someone had left the door open to the guestroom. The horrible noise sounded louder in the otherwise silent house. It pounded against my skull and threatened to split it open.

  “Oh, Enim –” Mrs. Quincy came out of the bathroom and paused upon seeing me. “Did you want to go in? I can wait downstairs, if you’d like –”

  “No,” I said quickly. I withdrew into my room before she could ask me again, shutting the door firmly in the hopes of blocking out the sound of the machines in the room. As I leaned my head up against the wood, I tried not think of what was hidden just out of sight behind the habitually-closed door, but the memories that constantly lingered on the edge of my mind were beginning to break through.

  I crossed the room and went to the window to look outside. It had begun to snow again, just as it had the night that she had gone. I squirmed in place and teetered back and forth as I watched it fall. Even inside, my covered feet were cold against the carpet. I wondered what could have possibly driven her on long enough to walk all the way to the bridge barefoot.

  I shivered and went downstairs to get a cup of coffee. If not for Mrs. Quincy, there wouldn’t be any in the house. As I sat on the counter and looked around the spotless kitchen, I found that I rather missed the messiness of the dorm room that I shared with Jack. Had he been there, he would have toppled over the neatly-lined boxes in the cabinets or rearranged the contents of the refrigerator just to irritate Karl.

  To distract myself I tried to imagine what he was doing, but even though I knew that he was searching for more connections between Miss Mercier and the list of names that she had written, it all felt very far away. It was as though she had never died, and there was no list of names, and it was all just a blurred dream from the night before that was peculiar but meaningless. The events from twelve months ago felt much closer than anything recent did, and for all I knew, the entirety of the last year had not happened at all.

  I stood up and dumped my cup in the sink before scouring the kitche
n for something to eat. Apart from a fruit basket that someone from Karl’s office had sent over and a plate of gingerbread that Mrs. Quincy had baked, the cabinets were quite empty. I looked through the shelves and opened up an unmarked tin in the hopes of finding something more appetizing but only found dried leaves inside. Sniffing it cautiously, I realized that it was Karl’s tea. The scent was the familiar one of sweet-peppermint, just like my mother used to drink. I replaced the lid and shoved it to the back of the cabinet.

  I returned to my room and laid down on the bed rigidly. My back ached against the cold mattress and my stomach felt hollow as though it had been burned with acid. I shut my eyes as the beeping from down the hall persisted to drum against the walls, making the room pulse all around me, but couldn’t fall back to sleep.

  “What are you doing?”

  Karl arrived home hours later and peered into the room at me. I didn’t move from my spot. He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. Come down and have some dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You must be. You haven’t eaten all day.”

  “I might’ve,” I said. “How would you know?”

  “You didn’t.”

  “How do you know?” I repeated. “You were at work.”

  “Don’t be difficult, Enim. I know you haven’t eaten – Mrs. Quincy said so.”

  “Did she? Do you pay her extra to spy on me?”

  “Stop it. She said that you were holed up in here all day and she was worried about you – that hardly constitutes as spying.”

  “Right.”

  “So come down and have dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Enim, just come downstairs. I don’t want to have this conversation every night.”

  “Neither do I. I’m not hungry, and I’m not coming downstairs.”

  Karl ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

  “Enim, I’ve had enough of this. Come downstairs.”

  “No.”

  “Enim –”

  “I’m not going downstairs.”

  “You have to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because!”

  His tone was much too similar to my father’s, and in the dimly-lit room their appearances didn’t seem so different. I straightened a bit in my spot and momentarily considered doing as he said, but then the light hit his blue eyes and fair hair and I changed my mind. He wasn’t my father and I felt no obligation to listen to him.

  “Because why?”

  “You know why, Enim – so come downstairs. Now.”

  “No. Why do you care if I eat or not, or if I stay in my room all day? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  “Because!” he said again, his exterior finally cracking to give way to his anger. He raked his hands through his hair as his bright eyes flashed in anger, and I pressed my back into the wall in the hopes of putting more space between us. “Because your mother stopped eating in the end! Now come downstairs, for Christ’s sake!”

  The silence that rang throughout the room after his outburst was broken almost immediately by the sound of increased beeping from down the hall. He turned towards it as it grew louder and pulled away from the door to go to the guestroom. As he checked to make sure that everything was fine, I stood to lock myself inside the bedroom. He returned a moment later and halted upon seeing the closed door.

  “Enim –” he began exasperatedly, but then he sighed. “Dammit, Enim. This is ridiculous.”

  He retreated downstairs without another word. I sat in the dark for hours as I waited for him to return, certain that he would appear at the door any moment and bang on it for me to let him in. As the numbers on the clock shifted by, however, the house stayed silent but for the beeping down the hall. Finally I eased my shoulders and relaxed enough to fall asleep.

  When I rolled out of bed the next morning, his car had already gone from the driveway. I made my way down the hall to the bathroom, rubbing my shoulder as I went to dispel some of the soreness, and quickly stepped inside and shut the door. The beeping pounding through the wall echoed off of the tiles and I turned the faucet on to drown out the sound. Under the harsh lighting, my reflection peered back at me from the mirror with a ghostly, deadened expression and I turned away from it before I could recognize any more similarities to my mother than Karl had already drawn.

  “Oh, Enim – there you are.” Mrs. Quincy poked her head out of the guestroom as I made my way back down the hall and offered me a friendly smile that I couldn’t return. “How are you this morning?”

  Her eyes traveled over me knowingly and I smoothed down my sweater to appear less disheveled. I wondered if she could tell that I was still wearing the same clothes that I had been the day I arrived.

  “Fine,” I said stiffly. Then, remembering what Karl had said the night before, I added, “I was just going downstairs. To eat.”

  “Oh, that’s good ...”

  She seemed to want to say something more, but I had already turned from her and started down the hallway. I couldn’t focus on a conversation as long as the door to the guestroom was open, even if it was only open a crack. As I hurried down the stairs, it occurred to me that she might mention my behavior to Karl when he got home. I wondered how long she had been giving him reports on my daily activities.

  I went to the kitchen and poured myself some coffee. Then, going to the plate of gingerbread men that she had brought over a few days before, I successively bit the heads off each one and lined the bodies back up on the plate. I was sure that the two of them could draw some conclusions as to what it meant.

  I returned to my room and attempted to get further in Jane Eyre, but after rereading the same page numerous times I threw it back down in defeat. The thought of Doyle ridiculing me loudly when I returned to school was a much more welcome thought than listening to the beeping down the hall for another fourteen endless days. More than once, I had the strong desire to go down to the guestroom and pull out the plugs to all the machines if only to end the noise, but then immediately regretted the thought. I put my pillow over my head and laid in stillness for the rest of the day instead.

  “Enim,” Karl said when he came home to find me lying in such a way, “what are you doing?”

  I didn’t bother to respond; nothing I said would make any difference to him, anyhow.

  “Should I bother to ask you to come down for dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Of course you’re not,” he said bitterly. “I can see why, of course – given the state of the gingerbread in the kitchen.”

  I smiled into the pillow, glad that he had found them already.

  “Mrs. Quincy was quite upset,” he went on irritably. “It’s bad enough that you look sick – you don’t have to act like it, as well.”

  “And how am I supposed to act, Karl?” I said, sitting up and letting the pillow fall to my lap. “What do you want me to do – celebrate the holidays happily? Be overjoyed that Christmas is coming?”

  “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Yes it is,” I countered. “That’s what you all want – to just pretend that everything’s all right and go on normally.”

  “No, we just – we just want you to get out a bit more, and eat something once in a while, and make some friends –”

  “I have friends.”

  “You have a friend, and he hardly counts. A few more would be more normal for your age.”

  “I have others.”

  “Like who?” Karl snapped at my defiance.

  I searched my brain rapidly.

  “Cabail Ibbot.”

  “Who?”

  “He’s in my Physics class.”

  “You’ve never mentioned him before.”

  “Not to you.”

  Karl gave an exasperated sigh.

  “To who then? Beringer?”

  “Maybe. At least he listens to me.”

  �
��He’s paid to listen to you!” Karl said angrily. “He’s paid to like you, and to put up with you – I do it by choice!”

  “And not very well.”

  “Do you just enjoy being difficult? Are you doing this to torture me because I’m here and not your father?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” I said scathingly. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  I turned my head to the window only so that I didn’t have to look at him. I hardly expected Karl to understand why I had had so much trouble eating and sleeping for the past year; if I wasn’t able to tell either Jack or Beringer, then I certainly wouldn’t be able to explain it to him.

  “Then what is it? Why are you doing this? Why are you acting this way?”

  “Because my mother jumped off a bridge last year,” I said. “Which – apparently – everyone else would rather just forget about.”

  “No one’s forgotten, Enim!”

  “Of course they have.”

  “Who? Who’s forgotten?”

  “Everyone!” I repeated. “All her friends, all her family – you, Dad –”

  “I’ve forgotten?” Karl interrupted angrily. “I have? I’m the one who’s here every day, Enim – I’m the one who lives here and stays here! I’ve hardly forgotten!”

  “You’re here because you have to be,” I said, standing and tossing the pillow to the side. His accusation that the time I spent at Bickerby was some sort of reprieve from the painful memories of what had happened to her was worse than anything else he could have suggested. He didn’t know what it was like to lie awake every night going over the events in his mind, thinking that he could have done something differently, wishing that he could have stopped it –

  “I’m here because I choose to be!”

  “That’s not true – you’re here because my father makes you!”

  “He – I – who told you that?” Karl said, clearly flustered. “Is that what he said?”