If Souls Can Sleep Read online

Chapter 12

  Leah thought she heard something over the hiss of the blow dryer. She clicked the switch to off and listened to what turned out to be her phone. The ring tone, an electronic interpretation of Meredith Brook’s “Bitch,” identified the caller as Sister Number Two.

  Still clutching a hairbrush, she sprinted from the bathroom, nearly tripping over the viola case, which someone had left propped up in the hallway. She stumbled into her bedroom and flipped open the phone, intercepting the call a split second before it went to voicemail.

  “Hello?”

  “Are we screening our calls now?” The voice on the other end sounded a lot like Leah’s—as well as the other two Chedid sisters’—but the attitude was all Zaina’s.

  “No,” Leah replied indignantly. “You just have the knack of calling at the worst possible times.”

  Zaina’s laugh was a low hum that came in three staccato bursts. “So you finally found a new boyfriend? I’ll call back in a couple of minutes.”

  “Har, har.” Leah awkwardly cradled the cell between her shoulder and ear. She used a combination of brush and fingers to tame her dark hair. “Actually, I’m running late for a lunch thing.”

  “With a guy?”

  Leah sighed. “Aren’t you a little old to be thinking about sex all of the time?”

  “Not too old, just too married,” Zaina said without missing a beat. “That’s why I’m forced to live vicariously through my little sister’s wanton escapades.”

  Leah reached for her perfume but then thought better of it. “You must be talking about Bekah because I’ve got nothing to report on that front. I’m meeting an old friend…actually, he’s a friend of a former friend.”

  “But he is a he.”

  “He is research,” Leah insisted.

  “Cute research?”

  “Is this why you’ve been trying to get a hold of me, Mrs. I-Never-Leave-a Message…to harass me? Because if that’s the case, I really will start screening my calls.”

  Leah heard what sounded like a car horn, followed by a stream of curses that would have put a sailor to shame. “Goddamn buses think they own the road!”

  “I hope my nephew isn’t in the car with you, hearing you swear up a storm.” Leah opened the closet door and sifted through the mountain of footwear.

  “I’m calling,” Zaina said, “because Adina wants to throw a surprise party for Mom and Dad’s anniversary. November third…two weeks from today. Can you make it?”

  One shoe on, one shoe off, Leah hopped over to a calendar hanging on the wall. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Just send me the details, OK? I really have to let you go now. I’m running late.”

  “Fine, fine,” Zaina said. “Enjoy your date.”

  “Bite me.”

  ***

  Leah hurried over to the table in the corner, where Vincent greeted her with a clumsy standing gesture.

  “Sorry, sorry!” she said breathlessly. “Believe it or not, I’m late for lunch because I overslept. Then my sister called just as I was walking out the door.” She sat down in a chair across from him. The tang of curry tickled her nose. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”

  Vincent sat back and crossed his arms. Those dark bangs, which had framed red-rimmed eyes yesterday, now were combed to one side. His flannel shirt was only a little wrinkled.

  “Don’t worry about it. I live a couple blocks away. It took me all of five minutes to get here. Anyway, you’re the one doing me a favor by coming here.”

  Leah smiled and reached for a menu. When he had suggested meeting at an ethnic restaurant, she had wondered if it was a courtesy of some kind. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone mistook her for being Indian, even though her skin was olive, not brown.

  Of course, there wasn’t a plethora of Lebanese restaurants in Milwaukee…

  “So…you live on Farwell?” she asked as she scanned the list of entrees.

  “No, I’m right off Brady Street on Arlington. In an apartment. I’ve had the buffet here before. It’s pretty good.”

  She set the menu on the table. “The buffet it is, then.”

  She wanted to ask if he lived alone. Or had he and Bella separated because Vincent found someone new?

  He said he was expecting divorce papers soon. I wonder what he did to deserve them.

  A Middle-Eastern waitress came to take their order and then directed them toward the steaming smorgasbord. Leah didn’t have to be told twice. She spooned generous portions of chicken pakora, lamb curry, and poori onto the warm plate. She had slept through breakfast, but her appetite was wide awake now, thanks to the blend of exotic aromas wafting up from the buffet table.

  It’s not a date, so why bother with the whole salad-and-water routine?

  When they got back to the table, the conversation centered on the food. After a stretch of silence, it became clear to her that Vincent wasn’t going to delve into his problems unprompted.

  “How did you sleep last night?” she asked, glancing up from her nearly empty plate.

  He took a drink of soda. “Pretty good, considering.”

  “And your dreams?” she asked.

  “Normal…if there’s such a thing as a normal dream.” He continued eating.

  This was a mistake.

  After several more seconds, Vincent cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. This isn’t easy for me. I probably should see a shrink, like you said, but it didn’t do any good when Bella and I…not to mention I don’t have a job, let alone health insurance, to pay for it.”

  “Forget about psychiatrists, Vincent. Just tell me when you first started having trouble sleeping.”

  He stopped eating and fixed her with a stare sharp enough to cut overcooked kabob. She chewed slowly, refusing to look away from the unnerving intensity of his eyes.

  “I suppose it really started eight years ago, right after my daughter drowned in the bathtub. She was three.”

  Leah stopped chewing.

  “I kept having the same dream over and over, finding her in the bathtub… I was supposed to be watching her.” His eyes grew shiny with unspent tears. “I’d given her a bath that morning, but I didn’t drain the tub. Hell if I know why. I’d gotten in late the night before. Bella was grocery shopping at the time…don’t know why she couldn’t have waited until later, why she couldn’t have let me sleep longer. I was driving truck back then. Seems like ages ago…”

  Leah forced the flavorless wad of food down her throat. Before she could interject, Vincent continued.

  “I’d just gotten back from a job…a long drive…the night before. I’m not even sure what time she woke me up. I’m sure it wasn’t as early as it seemed, but I was obviously exhausted because I dozed off after Clementine’s bath. She must’ve been reaching for Webster, her rubber ducky. Clementine loved ducks.”

  He stopped abruptly and rubbed a sleeve across his eyes.

  “Oh, Vincent.” She tried to blink away the blurriness but failed.

  Looking down at his half-eaten lunch, Vincent said, “I’ve heard that a lot of couples who lose a child don’t make it. Bella and I were OK before the accident, I guess, but after Clemmy died…”

  “Vincent, I am so sorry.” Leah set her fork down, her appetite a distant memory. “So then the dreams started?”

  He nodded. “Almost every night in the beginning. I’d wake up drenched in sweat, shaking. And Bella would wake up. I could tell that, after a while, she really resented that. Like I was doing it on purpose. Or maybe she chalked it up to a guilty conscience. She never said so, but I know she blamed me. Which is fine, since I blame me too.”

  Vincent wasn’t the only one wrestling with guilt. Leah had come to this meeting in hopes of studying—and capitalizing on—the poor man’s condition. Her one-sided competition with Aldrich suddenly seemed very petty, compared to Vincent and Bella’s suffering.

  I also came here to see if I could help him.

  “Grief can have strange effects on the brain,” she said at last. “At wha
t point did you start feeling yourself getting ‘pulled’ into the dream?”

  He poked at a pile of rice. “I don’t get pulled into that dream. Two or maybe three weeks ago, I stopped reliving that terrible day. Come to think of it, it was the day after my last nightmare about Clementine that I first found myself in the new dream…the recurring story-dream that cost me my job…and my sobriety.”

  Vincent jerked, and Leah thought it was a reaction the mention of his drinking, until he said, “Sorry…my phone is on vibe.” He pulled a cell out of his pocket, pressed a button, and said, “Hello?”

  His eyes widened, and Leah, already tensed, held her breath.

  After a few seconds, he said, “Yes, I’m here. I just wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” His eyes met Leah’s. “So, how have you been, Bella?”

  Leah had gone on dates with some creeps over the years, but as far as she knew, she had never been the other woman. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t interested in Vincent in that way. Bella didn’t know that.

  Please don’t mention me, Vincent.

  “Uh-huh,” Vincent said.

  Leah looked around, wishing she could swap places with anybody else in the restaurant. She spotted a statue of the elephantine god Ganesha across the room.

  I’ll give you a peanut if you help me out here.

  “I appreciate the call, but I’ll tell you what I told my mother yesterday. I’m not in any trouble. I’m sorry she got you worked up too, but—”

  Leah assumed Bella had cut him off, but just as she looked back across the table, the phone dropped from his hand, and his eyes rolled back in his head. He tumbled out of his chair and onto the floor.

  “Vincent? Oh, God…”

  Instantly, she was kneeling beside him, hunting for a pulse. She let out a relieved sigh when she found it. The rising and falling of his chest were slow but even. His eyes were closed. No signs of a seizure. By all appearances, he was asleep.

  Could it be as simple as narcolepsy after all?

  A buzzing noise drew her attention to the phone, which had landed under the table. She picked it up and held it to her ear.

  “—you still there, Vincent? Hello? Hello?”

  It didn’t sound like the Bella Stark of her Shorewood High days, but the phone’s tin-can effect might have had something to do with that, not to mention the blatant concern in Bella’s voice.

  An early memory of her mother literally catching her elbow-deep in the cookie jar came unbidden to Leah’s mind. She nearly hung up, but at the last second she realized how cruel that would be. Bella deserved an explanation.

  Leah said, “Um…hello…sorry, but something’s come up. Vincent will have to call you back.”

  Before her onetime best friend could fire off a question, Leah ended the call.

  So much for an explanation…

  For the first time, she noticed the waitress and a man dressed in white standing over her. She dropped Vincent’s phone into her pocket.

  “What has happened?” the man asked, his bushy eyebrows forming a dark V.

  “Narcolepsy,” she said. “He’ll be all right.”

  Neither of the employees budged. Was that skepticism she saw in the look they exchanged?

  Well, it’s not food poisoning, if that’s what you’re worried about.

  The other people in the restaurant stared and muttered. Leah’s cheeks reached a temperature usually reserved for her third glass of wine. She shook Vincent’s shoulder gently and then a little harder, repeating his name again and again. She thought she heard him moan, but otherwise, he didn’t stir.

  I should call an ambulance.

  Instead, she took some money from her purse and handed it to the waitress, who, finally snapping out of her trance, took it. To the bearded man, she said, “I’m a doctor. Can you help me get him out to my car?”

  The man’s frown said no, but he must have decided that removing unconscious customers from the dining room was better for business than standing around scowling. He gave a curt nod and pulled Vincent up with a grunt. Leah ducked a shoulder under Vincent’s other arm, and the two of them half carried, half dragged Vincent out of the restaurant, adopting a method that Leah could think of only as Weekend at Bernie’s style.

  Once she was sitting behind the wheel of her Camry, she took a couple of slow breaths. In the passenger’s seat, Vincent sat with his head resting against the window, his breath fogging the glass. He wasn’t snoring per se, but his breathing had the audibility of someone in a deep sleep. She reached over to fasten his seatbelt and put her own on.

  The voice of reason, which sounded suspiciously like her father, urged her to drive straightaway to St. Mary’s Hospital. The car started with a satisfied hum. After merging into the one-way traffic, she took advantage of the first side street to do a one-eighty, heading north.

  Do the right thing, Leah.

  She almost screamed when Vincent turned suddenly in his seat. She glanced over and saw a grimace of pain on his face. God only knew what nightmare his brain was brewing up.

  If it’s narcolepsy, there’s no need to take him to the hospital, especially if he doesn’t have insurance.

  A familiar song wafted up from inside her purse. Eyes on the road, she fumbled about the depths of the bag until her fingertips grazed the glossy finish of her phone.

  “Zaina,” she said into the receiver.

  “Just thought I’d call in case you needed an out for your not-date,” her sister replied. “You can tell what’s-his-name that Jordan fell down a well or something.”

  “Cute.”

  “Well, how are things going? You can talk in code if he’s sitting right there,” Zaina said.

  No need for that!

  “Um,” Leah mumbled. For a moment, St. Mary’s Hospital could be seen outside the passenger-side window. Then it was gone. Half-digested Indian food performed a little dance in her stomach. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  Zaina laughed suggestively. “Good luck, girl. And if you take him home, be safe!”

  Chapter 13

  Sunlight on his face, birdsong in his ears, Valenthor fought against a wave of disorientation. He opened his eyes and stared futilely at a patch of cerulean sky ringed by tall treetops. In an attempt to shrug off sleep’s lingering hold, he rolled onto his side.

  His dew-soaked clothes and the morning chill clung to his body. He shivered, then gasped, as he sat up. Memories of the elf’s magic, their flight from captivity, and the ensuing battle resurfaced with the sudden sting in his side.

  Gritting his teeth, he pulled up his tunic and gently prodded the crusty red line that crossed three ribs. To his surprise, the pain was a mere echo of the previous night’s misery. The wound—caused by Sir Angus’s sword, he recalled—had closed hours ago. The bright red blood staining his fingers had faded to a dull brown overnight.

  “You sleep like the dead,” said a muffled voice.

  Valenthor flinched and winced again when the sudden movement pulled at the wound. Locke sat straight-backed against a looming oak several feet away. It was no wonder Valenthor hadn’t noticed him before. Locke’s brown cloak appeared to be an extension of the rough bark; his mask’s eyes, a pair of knotholes.

  “I was dreaming,” Valenthor said as soon as the idea occurred to him. He thought for a moment, but the details of the dream evaporated. All except for one. “I think I was talking with my wife.”

  “Your wife is dead,” Locke stated.

  “What difference does it make?” Valenthor demanded, bracing himself against a fresh pain in his chest. “It was but a dream.”

  Locke rose and walked over to him. He had the speed and grace of youth, but at the same time, his movements seemed carefully measured, belying a degree of discipline that came only with experience.

  Valenthor reminded himself that the man defeated three armed knights with naught but a quarterstaff.

  Looking down at him, Locke said, “The gods have been known to share their wisdom throu
gh dreams. Might you recall what your wife said?”

  Although annoyed by the request—if the gods were real, he wanted nothing to do with them and their cruel ways—Valenthor tried to return to the scene in his mind. “I think…I think she was concerned for me. I assured her that I was safe and well.”

  The same unsettling sound from yesterday reverberated against Locke’s mask. Valenthor decided it was surely a laugh.

  “Then you lied to her,” Locke said. “The enemy passed quite near our camp at the break of dawn. Verily, our peril grows greater whilst we remain here.”

  “You believe Sir Angus still searches for us?”

  Locke’s nod was a slight dip of the mask. “That one is a slave of duty. Moreover, he seeks vengeance. Such men would sooner be separated from their manhood than their honor. However, the defenders of the realm are a lesser concern by far. They follow us by finding the natural signs of our passing, but the Jötunn possess other methods for tracking us.”

  “The Jötunn?”

  “Aye, it was giants, not men, who nearly discovered us,” Locke said. “If the gods smile upon us, our foes will find each other first…and the fewer from either side to survive that confrontation, the better!”

  Valenthor considered Locke’s words, confusion furrowing a brow slick with sweat in spite of the late autumn air. “What do the giants want with us?”

  “’Twas not happenstance the Jötunn were so near a human settlement at the time of your escape. Mayhap they had been following the elf whilst she ventured westward. Else, an agent amongst the townsfolk informed them of her presence, and they hastened to her.”

  Valenthor glanced where the elf lay curled up on the ground, wrapped in the ill-fitting cloak. She had asked him to save her people from the forces of darkness—the Jötunn?

  “Did she wake while I slept?” he asked Locke.

  “No. Whatever incantation she performed to free you from the prison has taken a toll on her body and mind. I pray she stirs before the morrow. We cannot afford for her to hinder our pace when we set out once more.”

  Valenthor spun around to face Locke. “Surely remaining here another day would be folly! We were lucky the giants missed us the first time. If they should return…”