Night Terrors (9 page)

Without waiting for me to reply, Jinx set off down the sidewalk at a brisk pace.

“Too bad you have to rest today,” he called back over his shoulder. “There’s a new Titian exhibit at the Art Institute I’ve been dying to see. I was planning on asking you to come with, but I suppose I’ll have to go by myself.”

Both Jinx and Sanderson were wrong, I thought. I didn’t need a rest. I needed a full-fledged vacation.

While Jinx’s back was turned, I drew my rev inhaler from my pocket, took a quick hit, and then tucked it away. Then I followed after my partner.

 

One of the perks of being a Shadow Watch officer is that the agency supplies you living quarters. Unfortunately, the agency’s cheap. Noddian currency, called M-units – or yoonies – isn’t worth anything on Earth, and the Shadow Watch doesn’t have access to much Earthly currency. We officers are lucky we get any housing at all.

Our apartment building is located in McKinley Park, on the city’s southwest side. It’s a working-class area and safe enough – at least as safe as any city gets. The complex is called Lakeside Apartments, which – despite the name – isn’t anywhere near Lake Michigan. It’s a decent-enough place, even if its best days are behind it. Our building is three stories tall, there’s no elevator, and of course we live on the top floor. At least we get in a little cardio every day.

As we trudged up the stairs – well,
I
trudged; Jinx never seems to get tired, regardless of his Aspect – I inhaled the faint sour-cabbage odor that permeated the building, a smell I put down to decades of human beings cooking in a cramped, confined space. I hate that smell, but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that it was part of what makes the place feel like home.

Our apartment is 3F, about midway down the hall. The fluorescent lights in the hallway hum too loud and have a tendency to flicker, the walls are painted a stomach-turning olive green, and the gray carpet is stained and fraying at the edges. Be it ever so crumbled…

I unlocked our door and went inside. Jinx followed and closed it behind us, throwing the deadbolt and sliding the chain into place. Our apartment is a small two-bedroom with a tiny living area, an even tinier kitchen, and a single bathroom. Jinx may not be entirely human in his Day Aspect, but he’s close enough, which – unfortunately for me – meant he needed to use the bathroom, too. I grew up as a single child, and I’m not big on sharing.

Jinx headed for his room to change, and I went into the kitchen and got a bottled water from the fridge. I opened it, tossed the cap into the trash container beneath the sink, then returned to the living room. When we first moved in, Jinx and I made a deal. I told him I didn’t care what he did with the rest of the apartment, as long as he left my room alone. Jinx – his Day Aspect, that is – readily agreed.

So, while we might not be in the biggest or fanciest apartment in the city, inside, our place looks like it deserves a spread in
Better Urban Living
magazine. Our furniture is modern, sleek, and surprisingly comfortable, if a trifle sterile-looking.

The rooms are painted in warm colors with curtains in complementing hues, and the carpet – which Jinx also picked out – is so soft and cozy, it feels positively sinful to walk on in bare feet. The decorations are all his doing as well. Framed paintings – all originals bought from promising newcomers from various downtown galleries – and
objets d’art
displayed on wall-mounted shelves.

The only part of the living room that I had anything to do with is the large wall-mounted flat-screen TV. At first, Jinx resisted the idea of having a TV, but when I told him I’d be even crankier than I usually am if I didn’t get to watch my Bears and my Cubs, he relented. He still complained about it for the first two weeks, until he discovered the various arts and food channels on cable. Now I think he watches the damn thing more than I do.

Normally, I like what Jinx has done with the place, not that I’d ever tell him that. But today, it depressed me. There was little of
me
in here, in my own home. It was like I didn’t live here at all. Almost as if I didn’t even exist. I told myself to knock it off, that I was just feeling down after bungling Quietus’ capture and getting thrown off the case. But it didn’t help. I still felt like crap.

I flopped onto the couch and took a long sip of water. I considered turning on the TV to catch the early-morning news. I knew today’s top story would
not
be the destruction of the Bean. I had faith that Neil and his fellow M-gineers had repaired the damage to it by now, but making sure would give me something to do. But a manila folder lying on the coffee table caught my eye. I left the TV off, put my water down, and picked up the folder. Inside were background reports on Quietus’ victims – not counting last night’s. The Shadow Watch has many operatives on Earth, but most of them serve in less obvious ways than Jinx and myself. They work as police officers, federal investigators, doctors, lawyers, elected officials – any position where they might be of use in the struggle to keep the world of dreamers and the realm of nightmares separate. The Shadow Watch has operatives working for news organizations as well, and it wouldn’t be long before they delivered a report on the latest victim to the Rookery. Not that Jinx and I would see it, though. That report – along with fresh copies of those that I held in my hand – would go to Damon and Eklips.

Even though Jinx and I were officially off the case, I couldn’t help looking over the reports again. I told myself that maybe I’d missed something, that some new tidbit of information, some connection, would jump out at me this time. But in reality, I knew that I wanted to review the reports because I didn’t want to let go of the case, despite Sanderson’s orders.

I picked up my water, tucked the folder under my arm, and started toward my room, which is across the small hallway from Jinx’s.

Jinx came out of his room, dressed in a satin robe and comfortable but stylish slippers. He stopped when he saw me. “Aren’t you going to have breakfast? I’m planning on making eggs Benedict. You know what they say–”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” I finished. “I know. You tell me that every morning. I’m not really hungry. I figure the sooner I get some rest, the sooner I can get back to work.”

Jinx continued looking at me, his thin eyebrows furrowing into a frown. He noted the folder under my arm, and his frown deepened into a scowl. “You’re not going to do anything foolish, such as continuing to work on Quietus’ case after Sanderson removed us from it, are you?”

“I told you – Night You, that is – that I wasn’t going to do that. I’ll admit that’s exactly the kind of thing I’d normally do, but not today. Today, I’m just tired of all the bullshit, and I want to get some rest before I burn out completely.”

He frowned at me a moment longer, as if trying to gauge my sincerity. Night Jinx is more apt to take what I say at face value. His Day Aspect, not so much. Finally, he said, “Very well. I’ll put your breakfast in the refrigerator, and you can heat it up later, if you wish. And if you do, use the actual oven, not the microwave.”

He started to walk away, but then paused. “Have a good rest.”

Then he continued down the hall.

“Thanks,” I half whispered, then I opened the door to my room and walked inside, glad that Jinx had bought my lie.

FOUR

My bedroom looks more like a hotel room – or maybe a prison cell – than a place where someone lives. My bed sits longways against one wall to give me more room; a desk with my laptop on it rests beneath the single window, which is covered with the plastic blinds that came with the place. No curtains, and the room has the same bland white paint it had when I moved in.

Opposite the bed is a set of shelves crammed with books and DVDs. Since I don’t sleep, I have to occupy myself somehow when I “rest”. Meditation is the preferred method for officers to “refresh and renew”, as the Shadow Watch’s somnocologists put it. But since I suck at meditation, it’s books, movies, and the Internet for me.

I tossed the folder onto my bed, then put my water on the nightstand, along with my fully charged trancer. Once loaded with M-energy, trancers can function on Earth day or night, but they can only be recharged at one of the M-stations in the Rookery – which I had done before leaving. I took off my suit jacket, shirt, and pants, slipped them onto hangers, then hung them up on the back of my closet door. I took off my bra for good measure. I then slipped into a Leon Redbone T-shirt and a pair of comfy shorts.

I sat cross-legged on the bed and began rereading the files. I don’t know how long I read. A half hour, maybe. But no new insights came to me. Aside from living in the Chicago area, the victims had no connection that I could see. Two were male, one female. A newspaper reporter, a lawyer, and a physician.

There was more information, of course. Places of residence, names of family members and coworkers, medical histories, organizations they’d belonged to, hobbies they’d had… Hell, even their pets’ names. But none of it was any use. Maybe the report on last night’s victim would shed some light, but not for Jinx and me. Not unless I could scam a copy of the report. There had to be someone at the Rookery who owed me a favor.

I decided to worry about it later. I got up, put the folder on my desk, and then went over to my bookshelf. Sitting next to my collection of Jane Austen novels (don’t judge) were a half dozen leather-bound journals. I selected the one on the end, then returned to my bed. On the way, I grabbed a pen from my desk, and after sitting cross-legged on the middle of my bed, I opened the journal to the first blank page – about two-thirds of the way through – and began to write.

I started keeping a journal when I was ten, at the suggestion of Dr Kauffman, the psychiatrist my parents took me to see when my constant nightmares became too much for them to deal with. I’ve continued the habit ever since. When I was in high school, I’d considered becoming a journalist. I even worked on the school newspaper for a couple years. But then Jinx – who’d been becoming increasingly real as the years passed – achieved full Ideation. After that, my life took a different turn. I never became a reporter, but I have kept writing, so I’ve never fully lost touch with that part of myself.

I spent an hour or so writing before closing the journal and returning it to the shelf. Sometimes, I think I should hide them, maybe even keep them in a trunk with a lock on it or something. Some of the stuff I write – OK, most of it – is private. But I wasn’t concerned about Day Jinx taking a peek at any of my journals. He’s too proper. He’d never consider violating my privacy like that. Night Jinx, however, would read them in a heartbeat. But since we were almost never home at night, I didn’t worry about it.

I then selected a movie at random –
Bridesmaids
, one of my favorites – and put it into my laptop to play. I climbed back onto the bed, lay down, placed my hands on my stomach, and stared up at the ceiling. Jinx had said he planned to go to the Art Institute today. All I had to do was wait for him to leave. Then I could get back to work – for real.

As I lay there, I thought back to what Sanderson had said to us in his office, about how Jinx and I weren’t bonded as strongly as we could –
should
– be, and how it was affecting our performance as officers. While I had to admit, if only to myself, that Jinx and I weren’t always the most simpatico of partners, most if not all of that was due to Jinx’s chaotic personality. In his Night Aspect, he was nuts, even for an Incubus, a barely controllable force of lunatic energy that caused as much harm as good. It wasn’t my fault he was the way he was… but I knew I was lying to myself. I
was
his Ideator. Maybe I hadn’t brought him into existence on purpose, but that didn’t change the fact that, in a metaphysical sense at least, I was his parent.

As the saying goes, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree. If Jinx could be a psychotic maniac at times, what did that say about me?

I didn’t want to let my thoughts wander down that road any farther, so I forced myself to close my eyes and listen to the movie. The longer I listened, the more distant the actors’ voices became. It wasn’t as if the volume was slowly being turned down, more like someone had picked up my laptop and carried it away from me, one slow step after another. A feeling of distance. I suppose that’s why I didn’t notice it at first. It happened so slowly.

There was silence for a time after that, but I didn’t think anything of it, and I didn’t open my eyes. I was still fully aware, of course. As I’ve said, Ideators can’t sleep. But in a way, the state I was in resembled sleeping. Almost as if I were remembering what it was like to sleep. It was wonderful.

I heard sounds then. The rustle of cloth, the soft inhalation and exhalation of someone breathing. Then came a familiar sound – one I dreaded above all others. A low, mocking laugh. It was followed by a whisper.

Panic filled me, and it took everything I had not to whimper and pull the sheet over my head. But if I moved, he’d know I was awake. If I kept my eyes closed, stayed still and quiet, there was a chance – however slight – that he might go away. But I couldn’t do anything to stop my body from trembling. All I could do was hope he wouldn’t notice.

But as I feared, it turned out to be a vain hope.

He sniffed the air, loud and deep, like a bloodhound, and when he spoke next, I could hear the wicked smile in his voice.

I couldn’t take it any longer. I opened my eyes and sat upright in bed. My room was dark – Daddy wouldn’t let me leave the light on, and he refused to let me have a night-light. He said I was too old for such foolishness.

At first, all I saw was darkness. But soon I was able to make out some shapes in the gloom. My dresser, my Barbie playhouse, my shelves full of cutesy stuffed animals… There was another shape, too. A
human
shape, standing at the foot of my bed, hands gripping the footboard, body bent at the waist, head leaning forward. I couldn’t make out his face (I knew it was a him, it was
always
a him), but I knew he was looking straight at me, grinning one of his too-wide grins.