Chapter Thirteen
“Dormir, peut-etre rever”
Cecil was trying to follow Dave, who was visible in the dark only because of his neon body paint. Occasionally Cecil caught a glimpse of pink, yellow, green— whatever Dave was chasing was terribly important. Cecil knew this, but he could never get close enough to Dave to ask what it was or could he help or where was Dave going?
The streets wound into each other, dim light into dim light, blood- red brick into blood-red brick, barren tree into barren tree— where was Dave? Cecil tried to call out but his jaws were wired shut and the plaster winding over his mouth—
Sweating, Cecil fought his way up through a haze of morphine. A shadow by the window moved, ruffling the curtains. The shadow moved into the light. Riggs bent over him, wiping his brow with a damp washcloth.
"Shh. Go back to sleep."
"But—"
"Don’t argue. You’re out of your league, remember?"
Strong dark hands pulled Cecil back down again.
•
Janis, asleep in a cheap motel on the outskirts of Provo, Utah, was running down the alleys of London, chasing Sherlock Holmes.
•
Brittany lay staring at the perfectly painted ceiling above her waterbed, trying not to sleep. If she dreamt, it was with open eyes.
•
In the light of the streetlamp through the bedroom window, Lisa Morowitz was watching Shelby. Asleep, curled round a pillow, Shelby’s dark hair fell across her face, stirred slightly with each breath. Lisa resisted the urge to brush it back, run her fingers through it, move her hand down Shelby’s back. Lisa didn’t want to wake her. Rather, Lisa wanted to wake her, but she also wanted to let Shelby sleep. Exams were soon. Why, Lisa thought, smiling to herself, did I get involved with an undergrad?
Lisa leaned over, kissed her lover quickly, got up and walked naked into her living room. She sat down on the couch, wrapped herself into her afghan, stared at the wall. Lisa Morowitz had lately been plagued by insomnia.
•
Shelby ran through the Pascal Chem building, looking for Lisa. She found lab 132—no one was there. Behind another door—Jack’s dead body hung on a coat hook, slashed in the neck. Shelby slipped in the blood. Where was Lisa? She fell to her knees, saw her own face staring back at her in the mirror that the floor had become. The blood was covering her reflection—Jack’s body was gone—where was Lisa?
In her sleep, Shelby Moore reached for the person that should have been in the bed beside her. No one was there.
•