10. Soren

Field trip social observation after these events proved to be a tortuous and fruitless endeavor. Leila and Evelyn were far too rattled to stare, and too far in the spotlight to go unnoticed if they tried anyway. They were silent on the ride back, their skin crawling every time they heard someone in their vicinity giggle or sing reggae songs.

She’d stepped off the bus at Belmonte staying close to Evelyn and was relieved to see her parents were already waiting for her. She said goodbye to her friend, tucked her head down and bolted forward, trying to avoid eye contact with others. Vin’s shoes came into view at the same time that he uttered a sudden “Hey!” directed at her. She was nearly toppled by a towering mass of boy before she’d even registered Vin’s voice.

A large, firm hand steadied her like she was just a seedling waving in the wind. She had to turn sideways and up some ten inches to discover Marco’s face. 

“Hey, you alright?” He spoke in a voice that suggested puberty had already claimed him and his body was currently in the works of fixing itself from the wreckage. His pale, milky face was also affected by adolescent battle scars, but his bright black eyes spoke of guarded emotions and measured expression. All of this was easily overshadowed by his impressive build and stature, second in school only to Lane Tibbs.

Leila looked down and sideways to meet Vin’s gaze. Vin eventually stated, “Um… same question.”

“I’m fine. I just wanna go home now. See you tomorrow, Vin.” It wasn’t a mistake. It was Friday, but she was going to spend the weekend with the twins, just like any other.

Leila’s home seemed like a desert oasis after the morning’s ordeal, she didn’t even care about the prospect of chores and homework. The walls of her house emanated comfort on that particular day by sheer virtue of not being related to school.

She’d already had to lie to her father on the way home, telling him that the outing had been just fine. Getting through the door and having to lie to her mother was a bit more of a strain, after which she was ready to take a three-hour nap.

She walked by the den on the way to her room and found Josh strumming away at his acoustic guitar. Leila’s brother was another fine carrier of the family genes, which accounted for a bony complexion, long, straight nose, expressive eyes and bad skin. By contrast to her, Josh was a ghastly pale color and had thick, dark blonde hair. His expression and disposition were stern and harsh, like his father, and he was known to loosen up only around his close friends.

“Hey.” Leila breathed in a falling half-whisper as she dropped onto the plush modular sofa set next to him, her backpack falling haphazard on the floor. “Play my song?”

Josh looked up at her, and it made Leila wonder what she looked like, because his facial muscles twitched in a way she couldn’t interpret before he adjusted his grip on the guitar’s shaft and dove right into Leila’s favorite song.

Even you changed. I didn’t even call you by anything other than “brother” until I was eight. We did everything together, you were my best friend. And I know I should be thankful for moments like this because they remind me that you’re still that kid that lied to dad about who got water on his favorite record (I was only trying to clean it because I knew it was his favorite), and always split your last chocolate bar with me after I ate all my Halloween candy, just so I wouldn’t cry.

The song Leila always requested was, in fact, one of Josh’s favorites. She asked him to play it for her all the time because she liked that he put so much of himself into it. It spoke about expectations, about boys needing to grow up and be strong, show no emotions. Perhaps, Leila thought then, those expectations were what did away with her loving brother and left this dry, aloof person in his stead. She felt a hollow in her insides when she considered that the same thing might happen to her one day. Josh was three years older than her, and it was all she could do not to attempt the math that would give her an estimate for when she could expect to become an emptier version of herself as well.

As soon as the song concluded Leila thanked her brother and excused herself to her room. She coiled up on her bed and felt she would implode if she didn’t allow herself an escape. Her mind was fuzzy and her muscles ached, sleep was a necessity.

Her dream was vivid, bright and airy. She was in some sort of Asian room, impressive in its height and size. The chamber had high-set window openings that bathed every corner in natural light. She was lying on a straw mat just large enough for her and her opulent garb. A lavish red and white silk kimono swathed her body, making itself a sumptuous cocoon that caressed her with the slightest movement.

There were more mats on the floor, equally sized and spaced, and the small channels between them were filled with sparkling, diaphanous water. She was not alone in this scene, there was another behind her. A man, in red, black and gold samurai cloth sat up alert and protective. Leila couldn’t make out his face, but with a certainty that was afforded only to those who hold awareness in their dreams, she knew it wasn’t Clay. The stranger’s presence and her surroundings made her feel luxuriant and more at ease than she could ever remember feeling. It was enough until it wasn’t. She was all at once met by the need to know who the other person was. I have to turn, I have to know. You’re here for me, for my sake. Protection has seldom been something I take for granted. So show me who you are, that I might know who needs to be thanked for this blissful repose. Let me see you.

“Leila! Come eat something.” Lola’s voice speared her dream and brought Leila back into consciousness. It had only been a few minutes, no more than half an hour of sleep, but once again, Leila could recall every single detail. It was the closest she’d come to another lucid dream since her ocean rendezvous with Clay.

After dinner, homework and chores, Leila scampered to the phone in the den and dialed Evelyn’s number. A deep, raspy voice came over the speaker. “Hello?”

“Hi Mr. Soria. Is Evelyn there?” She was groggy and once again faltering in her thoughts from the morning’s events. Now that the distractions afforded by her obligations had faded she felt an unwelcome heaviness in her head.

“Hi, yes, she’s upstairs in her room, let me call her for you… Wait, Vin’s here, says he wants to talk to you first, is that okay?”

“Sure, thank you.” It didn’t really matter to her who talked to her first; all she knew is that she needed the sound of a friendly voice.

“Hey, what’s up?” Vin sounded contrite, which made Leila imagine where the conversation was headed, “how are you doing?”

“I’m okay I guess. Just… tired.” she pinched the bridge of her nose as she said this, the painful realization of how much the harassment suffered at the hands of her classmates had hit their mark poring on her like a ton of molasses.

“Hey, I already told this to Evelyn. She says she doesn’t care, of course, but I want you to know I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you this morning. I should have.”

“It shouldn’t have to be anyone’s business what others do or don’t do. So don’t worry Vin, there is nothing you could have done without diving into this crap heap with us yourself.”

“Look, I talked to a couple of the guys in my group on the way back and they didn’t mention anything about it, so it might go away sooner than you think.”

“Yeah, thanks. Can I talk to Evelyn now?” She was done discussing this topic, and there were far more pressing matters to talk over with Evelyn.

“Sure, she’s right here. And again, really, I’m sorry. You know I’m here for whatever.”

“Thanks, Vin, I know.” She couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed in him, but in her heart she did believe he had done the right thing.

Evelyn’s voice came over the speaker then, “Hey, dream weaver. What’s up?”

She was pulling off composure about as well as an elephant could pull off a pole vault, and it made her well up a little, to know her friend was trying to keep her spirits up right off the bat.

“Had another dream today,” she dove right into the topic rather than risk emotion taking over the conversation, “but there was someone I couldn’t talk to in this one. I need to make sense of the situations that trigger these dreams.”

“Okay,” Evelyn also plunged right into the welcome distraction, “the first one was the night before we went to the beach, right?”

“Yeah, that was the first one I could remember from start to finish; but a couple of nights before that I had the ‘blue dream’, the one with the clear water.”

“Right, but wait, you said that the first time you saw Clay, the dream took you back to the day you had the water dream.”

“Um… yeah, it felt like I’d skipped a couple of days for a moment; I even though it was a weekday.” Leila endeavored to recall the details of the water dream, and to her surprise it now seemed clearer and more vivid than back when she first had it.

“So, let me guess, did your latest dream have something to do with water?” The sudden, infamous ring of alarm in Evelyn’s voice as she said this made Leila’s pores shrink and her hair stand on edge.

“Not in particular, it was more about me feeling comfortable and protected, by someone other than Clay. At least that’s what I think now. But there was water there; there was some transparent water in little channels that ran through this room we were in.” Her mind started to turn fuzzy. She started to feel less than defined, blurred in her own reality.

“Wait, so, if there was water in your first dream, the one that set all of this off, and that dream was linked to the one where you lost track of time, then this dream…” Evelyn was cut off by a tick and static that sounded like someone was interfering with the line.

“Evelyn, is someone picking up the other line in your house?” Leila could feel her pulse quickening and a grating feeling inside, like sand was coursing through her veins.

“No, listen, hey, are you listening?” Evelyn was breaking up, and her voice picked up urgency as it dimmed, “Listen!”

“I can barely hear you, what do you want to say?”

“You’re dreaming again!”

“Wha-?”

Leila had been very sincere to Clay in her accounts of Josh’s night terrors as a small child. The reason Leila’s parents took Josh out of their room when he started talking in his sleep was because his erratic speech made her believe she was right there with him sharing his stupor. Josh would rant about being chased, about bad people wanting to take him away. He shook with fear at an alarming certainty that he would never see his family again.

And now she was reminded of that same drowning feeling, cemented in place, too terrified to move after hearing the waver of Evelyn’s words emanating from the phone’s earpiece. Was she dreaming again?

“Evelyn? Are you there? Am I dreaming?” as she spoke, the lack of vibration from her throat answered her latter question before her friend’s voice came back through the line.

“I’m still here, this is wild. I think you are dreaming. Why am I still here? How can we prove I was here when you wake up?”

“I don’t know if I want to keep dreaming, this is scary.” She noticed the changes in her surroundings as she spoke. It was already night out, but not late enough that her house would be so dark and still. She had to will herself to stay put for the sake of obtaining answers. “Okay, let’s plant proof so I can will myself out of this as soon as possible. Tell me something you’ve never told me. Tell me about your damn sandwich.”

Evelyn jumped right into the story, as if sympathetic to her friend’s needs even in dreams, “I was about eight and I went to a summer outing with a church group. We went to a pool. So anyway, one of the ladies brought a bunch of bologna sandwiches to share with the kids and since I love bologna I took one, but saved it in my Tupperware for later. Then I got home and forgot about it. I just stuffed my bag in my bureau and forgot about it for days. I only remembered about it when it started to smell some days later, but I… just didn’t have the guts to tell anyone it was there, or do anything about it. It stayed there for MONTHS. It smelled so bad, and I was so embarrassed to have something so gross putrefying in my room, stinking up the whole place. But at the same time, I was so pathetic I didn’t even have the resolve to just grab the whole thing and throw it out.”

Leila found herself enthralled by the amount of detail her friend was able to provide, and it made her feel even more uneasy about the nature of this particular dream. All of that took a brief backseat to her real, foremost concern when Evelyn stopped talking.

“WHY would you want to tell me that story?”

“I don’t know, it had something to do with Clay, I think.” Leila could picture Evelyn flailing her free arm as she stated this. “It made sense at the moment!”

“Okay I’m gonna let you go and try to find my way out of this one now, thanks for that, Evelyn. That was… something!”

“Any time, good luck!” The line died then, and Leila made a conscious attempt to steady her nerves before deciding what to do next.

This is strange. Where is Clay? This should be around the time he shows up.

There was a sound of steps coming from the kitchen then, but far from making Leila anticipate the appearance of Clay, they made her shudder and shrink in unexplainable and sudden fear.

“Who’s there? Clay, is that you? Clay?” It was more a plea than a question. She needed to see him although everything in the atmosphere suggested it was anyone but.

A dark figure appeared from behind the wall that separated the kitchen from the hall that led to the den. Its only distinct human peculiarity was a pair of black shoed feet. A few more steps were all it took for it to reach Leila. The dark mass first took human shape, then distinct features, although they were hidden under a hooded cloak that seemed to be made from the fabric of night itself. The shroud possessed such unfathomable opaqueness that its edges shifted as if they were taking in the light and life from the objects around it. The figure spoke in a monotone, grating series of sounds that could only with effort be construed as speech. 

“I am not Clay.”

“Who are you?”

“I am Soren.”