The Long Sleep (18 page)

A nerdy guy named Damon had another take on
it. “What about reincarnation? Maybe you want to move on to the
next life and hope it’s better but you’re stuck there because they
won’t let you go.”

Cindy said, “That’s bullshit.”

He glared at her. “How do you know it’s
bullshit? You don’t know anything about it except what people tell
you, and how do they know? Even if you believe you go to heaven,
which is supposed to be so nice, wouldn’t you want to get there
instead of being stuck in bed with a tube down your throat, and
tubes in your nose and everywhere, and machines doing it all for
you?”

I rapped on the desk. “Those are all good
points and we’ll use them in the article. But we’re not here to
draw conclusions, because there aren’t any. We each have our own
beliefs and attitudes and preferences, and that’s why it’s
important to make a living will, so people will know what you want.
Like Cindy would want to be kept on the ventilator. Somebody else
might want it turned off so they could move on to whatever comes
next. I don’t think Hank meant for us to provide all the answers.
We’re only reporting a few cases that made the news and exploring
some different points of view.”

I looked again at Mr. Geyer. He rested his
chin on a fist that held a pencil, but still showed no reaction. I
had been very articulate, or so it seemed to me. I would make a
good lawyer. It was something I’d thought of before. Or possibly
journalism.

They all watched me. I never meant to bring
up Evan, but had to say something because nobody else did.

“I was researching Paula,” I began, “when I
found out something that knocked me flat.”

I looked around. They waited for me to make a
point, so I tried.

“Paula had a much younger stepbrother who
turns out to be somebody I dated when I was at Lakeside. Dated a
lot,
” I added when there wasn’t much reaction. “In fact, he
was the reason I transferred here. It was not a friendly
breakup.”

They all stared. Including Mr. Geyer.

It pulled me into Paula’s story more than I
wanted. I should have kept it to myself.

Mr. Geyer set down the pencil and looked at
his watch. I looked at mine. It was getting near dark and I’d
promised.

“Maddie,” he said. “Could I see you for a
moment?”

I waited while the others scrambled into
their coats and left. He picked up his ever-present briefcase and
met me at his desk. I dreaded what was coming.

It didn’t look too bad. His face was bland,
almost friendly. He asked, “You actually knew members of the
Welbourne family?”

“Only her brother. Stepbrother, I guess. He
has a different name. And I do my best to avoid him.”

“Have you discussed the case with him at
all?”

“I don’t talk to him if I can help it. He
couldn’t have been more than a baby when, um—that happened.
Probably around seven or eight when she died. He never actually
knew her. Mr. Geyer, I really have to leave.”

“Of course.” He edged me toward the door and
down the hall. “What about the rest of the family?”

“I never met them. We either went out
somewhere or he came to my house. I don’t know where he is right
now and I don’t care. I know you’re worried about upsetting them.
It was so long ago and we can’t say much, there’s not enough room.
I thought we could outline the case and mention just a tiny bit
about drugs and alcohol. But no lectures, I promise.”

He stopped when we reached the head of the
stairs. He grasped the newel post and shook his head the way people
do when they’re fighting off sleep.

“It’s been a long day,” he said, “but I do
want to discuss this with you. What do you say we go downstairs and
talk over a cup of coffee?”

“I have to be home before dark. And it’s
getting there.”

“You have a curfew?” He seemed surprised at
that.

“I only have a junior license and I’m not
supposed to drive after the sun goes down.”

He took my arm. “We’ll try to hurry it up.
I’m sure a little coffee will help us both get home.”

I didn’t feel sleepy but supposed I could
spare a couple of minutes. I’d gulp the coffee as fast as I
could.

He’d said “downstairs.” The cafeteria was
long closed and it didn’t serve coffee anyway.

I found out what he meant when we got there.
It was the teachers’ lounge, near the library. I’d known it was
there but never thought much about it.

He unlocked the door and flipped a light
switch. A row of fluorescents blinked on. It looked like a
comfortable room, bigger than I expected, with several upholstered
chairs and two sofas. All the upholstery was in autumn colors:
brown, orange, and black. The black fabric chairs had leaves
outlined in gold. There were three windows, with the blinds
closed.

“Make yourself comfortable while I get this
thing going,” he said.

The room had everything he needed—a
twelve-cup coffeemaker, a tiny sink, and a cupboard above the sink
with a three-pound can of coffee, powdered creamer, and mugs. I
fidgeted. How long would it take him to get things going?

Someone had tidied it all up and washed every
dish for the night. He had to start from scratch, measuring out
water and coffee. I took a seat on one of the leaf-patterned chairs
and studied the titles in a bookcase next to me. They were light
reading, mostly mysteries and romances.

“I really should get home,” I said. “My
family’s worried about me and I don’t want to lose my license.”

“We won’t be long. Would you like me to write
a note telling them it’s my fault for keeping you?”

I figured he was kidding, but I didn’t laugh.
Nor did he.

This was weird, being in the teacher’s
lounge, with a teacher, after school.

Uh-oh.

He didn’t seem like the type to try anything.
In fact he didn’t seem sexual at all. Maybe he really did want to
talk. But why couldn’t it wait until tomorrow? We had a half-day on
Wednesday. If it was this important, I could meet him at noon.

I tried to hurry things along. I said, “Are
you really concerned about her family’s reaction? I’m sure they can
handle it. From what Evan told me, his stepfather, that would be
Paula’s dad, is a block of ice. Maybe he got that way after what
happened to her.”

Geyer rested back against the table and
watched the coffee drip. “You know the oath. First do no harm.”

That was Hippocrates. For doctors. It had
nothing to do with journalism. But it was good advice for
everybody. About everything.

“We wouldn’t say anything bad about her,” I
assured him. “We’ll just be straightforward with what happened. We
can mention the booze and pills but only in a general way, not as
if we’re blaming her.”

“You’re walking a thin line,” he
cautioned.

It looked as if he was trying to talk me out
of Paula altogether. I tried to think how I could get around him
without making trouble.

The coffee finished its burbling and he
turned it off. “How do you take yours?”

“A lot of everything. I hope it’s not too
hot. I’ll have to drink it fast and get going.”

“Relax.” He handed me a mug. “Do you have a
long way to go?”

“Lake Road.” I took a sip. He had put in a
delightful lot of everything. “It’s on the other side of the
Vanorden Kill.”

“I know where it is. I used to have friends
there, back in the old days.”

“Not anymore?” He was starting to make me
nervous. Would he be blatant about it, or would he be subtle and
try to seduce me? He wasn’t attractive enough to succeed with that.
Unless he had a really remarkable line.

“Not at the moment,” he said. “Let’s see if I
can find my notes.” He rummaged through the briefcase that rested
on top of his jacket on one of the chairs. I took several more
gulps of coffee. It was hot, but bearable.

“Go slow on that,” he told me with a chuckle.
“Take a little time to enjoy it. The sun’s still up.” He pulled out
a legal pad with scribbles and diagrams all over it.

The sun couldn’t still be up. This was
November. The blinds covered whatever was out there.

My eyes went back to the chair. His jacket.
It was black nylon with a pile lining. I couldn’t see much of the
lining. Only enough to know it was pile. Or fuzzy, as Falco put it.
A dark, purplish red.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

I jerked my head up and hoped my face kept
its normal color. “Excuse me?” I tried for a bright smile.

“You looked as if you were in a trance of
some kind.”

“Oh . . . I probably was.” Quickly I
improvised, remembering a book I’d read not long ago. “It’s not a
trance, really. It’s more like a form of epilepsy. My cousin has
it. Kind of like a momentary blackout. You lose a little bit, no
more than a few seconds, and you don’t even realize it. But other
people notice.” I took several more swallows of coffee, hoping it
would pick me up.

“If you have epilepsy,” he said, “you
shouldn’t be driving.”

“You’re probably right. But they gave me a
license even though they knew about it.” How was I going to get out
of this one? The main thing was to stay calm. Act normal. The room
was overly warm, making me sweat. I thought they turned down the
heat at night. Save the taxpayers some money.

Why was I thinking of taxpayers? I started to
set down my cup, and then decided to finish it. And leave. I had to
get out of there. But not so fast as to make him notice.

I rambled on, trying to act normal. “You
won’t tell them, I hope. The DMV. If they don’t want me driving,
they can figure it out for themselves.”

He crossed his ankles, still leaning back
against the table, and studied me. “What about your own safety? Do
you have any warning when those episodes come on?”

“No, they just come when they please.”

Wrong answer. I should have said plenty of
warning, so he would drop the subject.

“It’s under control, mostly,” I tried. “I
forgot to take my meds this morning. I was in a hurry. Like now.” I
tried to stand, and sat down again.

“Ohmigod. I don’t . . . know what . . .”

My jaw felt stiff. My head spun and my legs
wouldn’t hold me.

I heard his voice from far away. “Would you
like me to drive you?”

No!
I tried to shake my head. That
made me dizzier. If I could get outside, the cold air . . .

I couldn’t think what the cold air would do.
“So . . . hot.” I tugged at my sleeves. I thought I was talking but
couldn’t hear anything. If only I could get outside

He started toward me, his hand outstretched
to help me up. I saw him through a black curtain. His doughy face.
The glasses.

The black curtain wrapped around me. I was
falling. Falling through space.

Chapter Fifteen

It
smelled.

I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see anything, but
it smelled like a musty old car.

It moved, too. I felt the shaking, the
bouncing. Something gritted against my face. I was lying down.

I tried to remember. What was I doing? How
did I get here? Not driving the car. Not even on a padded seat with
springs. I tried to open my eyes. They wouldn’t open.

My mouth wouldn’t close. Something held it
wide, stretching my jaw so far it hurt. Again I tried to remember.
There wasn’t any past and definitely no future. I didn’t have the
mental sharpness to feel fear. I simply . . . was.

That thing in my mouth, it hurt. I tried
pushing it with my tongue. It was sort of like a tennis ball but
didn’t have a stiff rubber core. Instead it was softer. But harder,
too, because there was so much of it.

The car hit a bump and I bounced, slamming
back down on grit. Why couldn’t I think? My brain didn’t work. I
wanted to know where I was and why, but it was all black. All dark.
Black curtains filled my head. The only reason I didn’t go to sleep
was the bouncing.

I gagged. It felt like a roll of socks. I
gagged again.

What was a roll of socks doing in my
mouth?

I tried to remember where I’d been. Was it
school? Home? Evan?

That was it. Somebody had to be driving the
car. Was this the time he tried to drag me out of the house? I
thought my family stopped him. Had him arrested. Maybe we’d somehow
gotten into an alternate universe and it was happening again, but
differently. I liked the first one better. How could I get back to
it?

I thought my brain might be sharpening, since
I could figure out someone was driving the car and it was Evan.
That awareness started small, and grew. It had gone beyond the
confines of the immediate space I was in, which had to be the trunk
of a car. It was too tight and stuffy and dark for anything
else.

I was a genius to figure that out. But I
hadn’t gotten all of it.

Then I lost even that.

We hit a bump. A bad one. The car made a
sharp turn. My genius turned to fear. What was happening?

It felt like parts of Fremont Drive. I knew
it well. Lake Road went off from it. Its fine houses were
interspersed with patches of meadow and patches of woodland. This
felt like one of those meadows, bumpy with hummocks of grass. If
you crossed the meadow you came to a steep hill with a lot of
trees. At the bottom of it, the Vanorden Kill. Were we crossing the
meadow?

A tiny point of fear began to grow. I
couldn’t put it all together, but I knew it wasn’t good.

Steep hill. Almost a cliff, except it had
trees. It could only be the Vanorden Kill. My mouth hurt. I hurt
all over. I couldn’t see anything, didn’t know if it was day or
night. I couldn’t remember . . .

Bang.
Another bump. The car tilted, as
if part of it had fallen in a hole.

The engine roared. He rocked it, trying to
get it out of the hole. For a moment it felt suspended. Then it
bumped down but didn’t roll back. I felt more bruises. Exhaust
fumes choked me.