Episode Eight
I waited for the light above the door to flicker on, the round open sign in the window guttering and glaring a lurid red. The sky was inky black shadow dancing with the moonlight, thin wisps of cloud slipping across the skyline like skeletal fingers reaching for the stars. I glanced up at the moon then, her swollen belly glowing white against night’s black curtains, and I tried not to let the marrow-deep exhaustion root me to my seat.
Ten minutes more I waited in the car, until the gentle swish of movement behind the curtains signalled some sign of life. Then I stepped out of the vehicle, swinging the creaky door shut behind me, and I made my way into the office.
Inside, the lights were blinding. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, and I stood there in the doorway still trying to convince myself I was doing the right thing. I lingered there on the threshold, standing on the precipice of a chasm, prepared to jump but afraid to fall. Until the receptionist beckoned me forward, and my feet obeyed her words rather than my thoughts, and I found myself standing before her desk heart lodged in my throat.
“I have an appointment for 8pm,” I said, surprised by the lack of my own hesitation.
“Everett?” she asked, her smile wan but welcoming. I nodded.
“I’ll let Dr. Hartford know that you’re here. You can take a seat.”
I tried to settle my legs, to fold them up beneath me and sit as if I wasn’t restless. But as the minutes slipped by, I found myself standing again, pacing the waiting room for my name to be called. Guilt was my constant companion that night. I wore it around me like a sweater, cradled it against me like a lover. I’d taken Maeve’s advice, albeit without her knowing, and several days earlier had come here for a sleep study. Whatever was happening to me when I closed my eyes, I needed to know the truth. If I was merely deluding myself into thinking I could somehow bring Val and Meadow back through my dreams, then I’d decided I didn’t want to waste any more of my time there. The trouble was, I didn’t know how to get out. So, I’d consulted with Dr. Hartford.
I could still feel the wires around my face as I tried to sleep, could still feel the tape pulling against my skin where it held those wires in place. It had been a fitful sleep, one that was hard in coming, but when at last it did, I found myself back in Alta California.
It had been four days of waiting, and worrying, and obsessing. I’d spent much of that time at the hospital, next to Val and Meadow, reading them stories and trading off shifts with Alyssa and Maeve. Still, there was a quiet kind of agony in the waiting, and no matter where I went or what I did, it clung to me like a shadow.
“Everett, Dr. Hartford will see you now.”
The soft plunk of my shoes against the wooden floor filled my ears as I followed her back toward the doctor’s office. My heart was a hammer, a feral beast trapped in a cage, but I wasn’t sure how to quell it. Did I want to know the answers to my questions? Or was it easier never knowing?
Dr. Hartford sat behind his desk, pouring over stacks of papers. He was a sullen looking sort of man, one with high cheekbones and sallow valleys beneath them, purple shadows ringing his eyes like bruises. He motioned to the chair across from him and I sat, swallowing a steadying breath.
“Sorry for the mess,” the doctor muttered, sweeping the pages up into a pile and placing them in a drawer. “We’re in the process of moving the office and everything’s a bit scattered these days.”
I nodded, the corners of my mouth twitching into the ghost of a smile. I hoped that wasn’t some precursor to inevitably botched results, but didn’t say so. Hartford reached for a folder that was separate from the rest of the stacks, and opened it before me so that I could see the results of my tests.
“First, let me say that the fact that you’re sitting here before me is a miracle,” Dr. Hartford said. “Based on what I see here, you’re probably more than exhausted.”
My heart squeezed at his words. “You could definitely say that,” I muttered.
“Let me just give you a brief idea of how your brainwaves and sleep works,” the doctor continued. “There are four different phases of sleep. In the first phase, we see what we call alpha waves.” He points to a line on the graph in my folder, one with small, almost immeasurable dips and peaks passing in broad strokes across the page. “Alpha waves are broad, low frequency waves that you usually experience during moments of extreme drowsiness or relaxation.
“The next phase, usually referred to as phase two, happens when you’ve fallen asleep. You’ll see here that this phase is indicated by those low, broad waves, then followed by smaller waves, on and on in a cycle. At this point, you’re in a very light sleep, and it serves as a precursor for phase three. Now, this third phase is characterized by delta waves. These are slow-waves, and they’re essential for the restorative properties of sleep to take effect.”
This time, Dr. Hartford didn’t direct me to any part of the page. I glanced up from the folder, unable to stop the twist of dread in my gut at the sight of concern on his face.
“The fourth and final phase is what’s commonly known as REM sleep,” he continued. “In this phase, we see brain activity very similar to what we’d see of a patient that is awake.” He pointed to a series of lines that were labeled Beta Waves. Here, there were no stretches of flat line at all, but rather sudden peaks and valleys pressed tight to one another, so close as to be indecipherable.
“In an average eight hour time span, we might see four to five complete cycles.” He paused, and there was something in his tone that told me what he saw in my chart was anything but average.
“But…that’s not what you’re seeing here, is it?”
Hartford shook his head. “Not even close. You have all of the typical signs of the first phase of sleep, but that’s where the similarities end. After that, the only brainwaves we see are the beta waves indicated in REM sleep.”
I shook my head, brow furrowing. “I don’t understand…how is that possible?”
Dr. Hartford sighed, running a hand through his thinning, peppery hair. “Honestly? I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like this before. It shouldn’t be possible. There are no documented cases where a subject has moved from phase one to phase four without first transitioning through the other phases. The fact that you can, that you are…”
His words trailed away, and in his eyes were the shadows of sadness. “Your mind is going from awake, to tired, and back to awake with no rest in between.”
“Okay,” I breathed, wiping the sweat from my palms onto my knees. “How do I stop it? How do I go back to normal?”
“My guess is, eventually, your body and your mind are going to give out. The body can only continue on so long without being properly restored. Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t already experienced more adverse effects from this lack of sleep.”
A prickle of fear needled its way into my heart. “Effects like what?”
I swallowed around the sudden tightness in my throat as a terrible thought began to take shape.
The doctor tilted his head to side in thought. “On the lighter side of things, your mood may become irritable, you may experience things like brain fog and confusion, increased appetite and impaired decision making. But those symptoms quickly give way to more serious conditions. Sleep deprivation psychosis—depersonalization, heightened anxiety, hallucinations…”
I didn’t want to ask him the question waiting on my tongue. I was afraid, afraid I already knew the answer, afraid of what it would mean. But no matter how desperately I wanted to get up and walk away, to hide my head in the sand and pretend everything would be okay, I knew that I couldn’t. I had Meadow to think of, and Val, and myself. And so, I asked.
“What happens after that?”
Dr. Hartford’s lips pursed into a thin line, his soft grey eyes all the darker for the shadows of knowing within them.
“Eventually, after enough time, your body will begin to shut down.” His voice was a whisper, one filled with regret. “Your organs will start to fail one by one, you’ll likely fall into a coma, and eventually…”
“I’ll die.”
He nodded, a solemn dip of his chin.
I don’t remember leaving his office, or climbing into my car and driving home. I don’t remember the stops signs or traffic lights, or the way the night pressed in close all around me. All I remember is the soft patter of rain against my windshield, and the truth echoing through me again and again and again.
By the time I arrived home, the house was dark. Alyssa and Maeve had evidently gone to bed, and even the ginger groan of the front door’s hinges seemed a terrible intrusion in the silence. I flipped the switch to the nearest lamp, golden light flooding the room, and I dropped onto the couch, shaking the wet coat from my shoulders.
My body felt leaden, like molten steel. It was heavy, torturously so, and I wanted nothing more than to fall through the couch and be swallowed by it and disappear into nothingness. Dr. Hartford’s words still rang in my ears, my mind twisting them into a mocking litany of waiting symptoms.
Exhaustion. Anxiety. Confusion. Death.
Depersonalization. Psychosis. Hallucinations. Death.
Organ failure. Coma. Death.
It was like some macabre shopping list, a collection of conditions that would play out one by one. Already I could cross some off the list. Exhaustion was a loyal companion, one that never left my side, and anxiety was becoming a close personal friend. I’d managed to stave off confusion—at least, the worst of its effects—but even now my head felt cloudy, an interminable fog blanketing all sense of reason. How many more nights could I escape the more dangerous symptoms? The psychosis? My own inevitable end?
I thought of Val then, and Meadow, laying in their hospital beds. Had they already suffered the worst of it? Was this why they were trapped in a coma? I thought back to the first time I’d entered Alta California. My stomach twisted with the sickening realization that it had, indeed, happened just after my accident in the ambulance, before I’d woken up in the hospital.
If Val and Meadow were still trapped there, then I had to find them. I had to find a way to get them out, to free their bodies from that perpetual nightmare. But how could I possibly help them when I wasn’t even sure how to help myself?
Rising from the couch, I made my way over to the small liquor cabinet at the far side of the room. I pulled out an old bottle of whiskey, one that hadn’t been touched since my last birthday, and took it into the kitchen. I poured myself a shot and tossed it back, the familiar burn softened by the subtle notes of caramel and honey. Then, I poured a second one for good measure, this time sipping it slowly.
If I had any hope in hell of helping Val and Meadow, I had to find a way to get out myself. But I was starting to think it was impossible. All I knew for sure was that I was running out of time, and that I no longer had the luxury of keeping this all to myself.
—
The cork opened with a loud pop, and Maeve poured the contents of our second bottle of red into the three waiting glasses.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” I said, not for the first time.
Maeve scoffed, an undignified sort of snort. “I’m sorry Rhett, this is just…it’s unbelievable.”
“How do you know it’s not just a regular dream?” Alyssa asked for the third time.
I shook my head. “Have you ever had a dream that was so vivid you could recall every single detail, hours—even days—afterward?”
“No,” she confessed, chewing her lip.
“Every time I fall asleep, I’m back there. I’m in Alta California, in the exact same place I left. And every time I just continue on, as if the dream was a movie and I’d simply hit pause in order to wake up.”
Alyssa sighed and grabbed her wine glass, tipping the drink back and swallowing half of the contents before setting it back on the table.
“I don’t know how this is possible,” I said, trying to stifle the slow-burning frustration growing within me. “If I had some way to explain it, believe me, I would. But after meeting with Dr. Hartford, I know I’m running out of time. If I don’t find a way to change this, to get out of that place and find somewhere new…soon enough I’ll be just like Val.”
Silence drifted into the spaces between us, filling the kitchen as I waited for them to say something, anything that might make a difference. Instead, all that came was Maeve’s sudden laughter.
“This is ridiculous,” she said, hiccupping between fits of laughter. “Why are we even entertaining this, mom? He’s lost his damn mind.”
“Hush, Maeve,” Alyssa hissed. “You’re drunk.”
“At least I’m not crazy,” she shot back, taking another gulp from her glass. “I mean be honest, you don’t believe what he’s saying either, do you?”
Alyssa’s silence shattered something in me. I’d always held her in the greatest confidence, had always treated her with the same love and respect I’d given my own mother. I’d thought, in some small way, that after all the years we’d known each other, after all the years we’d called each other family, that we’d become like mother and son. I thought she trusted me, that she thought of me as one of her own. But at that moment, I could see how wrong I really was.
Shaking my head, I rose from the table. “Listen…let’s just forget the whole thing.”
“Rhett—” Alyssa stood, reaching out for me, but I pulled away. There was a divide between us now, a chasm so deep and raw I wasn’t sure I would ever heal from it.
“It’s fine,” I said, waving her away. “It probably is just the ramblings of exhaustion and paranoia. I’ve been worried sick about Val and Meadow, and I guess…I guess I just let that get the better of me.”
“Rhett, you don’t have to—”
I smiled, my mouth twisting into a grimacing line. “No, really. I actually think Maeve is probably right. Now that I’ve said it out loud, it does sound crazy. I think it’s probably better if I just go to sleep. Goodnight.”
I turned without waiting for a reply, making my way up the stairs. Heavy as my heart was, I knew the truth. Maeve might think I was crazy, and Alyssa might agree, but even without their help, I would find a way to get out of my dreams. And then, I’d get Val and Meadow out, too.
—
Shadows of night spilled in over the windowsill as I nested inside of the blankets, laying my head back against the pillows. I’d only just closed my eyes when two faint knocks sounded at the door. Grumbling and cursing, I threw the blankets back as the door opened.
Maeve stood in the doorway, still holding her glass of wine. She tiptoed into the room, holding a finger to her lips to keep me quiet as she pushed the door shut in silence.
“Maeve, what—”
“Shhh,” she hissed, pressing her ear to the door.
I watched her, brow furrowed and creased in confusion. We waited like that for several more minutes, until she breathed a sigh of relief and turned to me with a smile.
“Mom’s gone to bed,” she whispered, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. She took a sip from her glass, folding her legs up underneath her.
“Maeve, what the hell are you doing here?” In truth, she was the last person I wanted to see. After everything she’d said, I wasn’t sure I was ready to forgive her, even if I saw the logic in it. She had the good grace to give a sheepish, almost embarrassed smile.
“Firstly, I have to apologize to you,” she said. “I said some things down there that I really did not mean. But I had to make it convincing, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”
Maeve sighed and rolled her eyes as if it were painfully obvious. “Look, as much as I love mom, there’s no way in hell she was ever going to believe the stuff you were saying. Dream worlds and comas and I don’t even know what else…it’s like something out of a science fiction movie.”
As much as her words stung, I didn’t disagree. If I hadn’t seen it, lived it, with my own eyes, I’m sure I would have had a hard time believing it too.
“So, what are you saying?” I asked, leaning back against the pillows. “You believe me?”
She shook her head, swallowing another gulp. Smacking her wine red lips together, she shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t know. It sounds crazy, but…we’ve known each other a long time. And for as long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been one to make outlandish claims or make me think it was time for a trip to the loony bin. And I know you’ve been under a lot of stress, but I don’t think that justifies what’s happening here.”
Maeve chewed at her lip, finger running the rim of her near empty glass. “Maybe it isn’t real. But I know you believe it is. So…that’s good enough for me.”
I couldn’t help but remain skeptical. Her sudden change of heart had thrown me for a loop, her position changing fast enough o make my head spin. One minute I was crazy, the next utterly believable.
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you,” I said tersely, “it’s very hard to believe you switched sides so quickly.”
“I didn’t switch sides, dummy,” she chastised, her tone teasing, almost playful. “I always believed you. But mom already thinks you’re running off the deep end. I can’t imagine what she’d say if she thought I was going with you.”
“So, that was all for show, then?” I raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced.
“Mostly,” she admits. “I mean, I still think you’re a little bit crazy. But who the hell wouldn’t be, after going through what you’ve been through.”
Sidling closer, Maeve placed her hand on mine. It was warm and soft, and strangely comforting despite the complicated emotions it filled me with.
“Nothing we’ve tried has worked to bring them back,” she said softly, her eyes almost pleading in the darkness. “The doctors are running out of options, and if what Dr. Hartford said is right, then they’re also running out of time. Even if I don’t fully believe or understand what you’ve said, you can trust that I will try anything to bring them back.”
And there it was. The truth. It was so simple, so easy, and somehow it was a relief that it had nothing to do with me. I didn’t need to convince her of my story, didn’t need to convince her that I was of sound mind, because she didn’t care about that at all. All she cared about was seeing her sister and niece again.
And that was enough for me.
“Okay,” I said, swallowing back the last whispers of resentment that had risen at the sight of her. “Maeve…I don’t know where to go from here, or what to do.”
Admitting it aloud made my heart ache. There was a knot in my chest that only grew tighter, a knot of worry more convoluted than the twisted roots of a tree, more solid than impenetrable steel. Speaking those words only served to harden that knot, to drive it deeper inside of me, until I wasn’t sure I could exist without it.
“Something happened to you guys in Mexico.” She didn’t frame it as a question.
I couldn’t speak, couldn’t admit the things we’d suffered and seen. I’d buried it away. It didn’t seem all that important, given what happened once we got home, and in truth I’d given it little thought since then. I didn’t want to think of it now, but I forced myself to. My memories were like bits of sand on a foggy shore. Blips of time lay scattered like a macabre mosaic against the insides of my skull, but they were gray and hazy, as if I was viewing them through someone else’s lens. Each time I tried to pick one up, to hold it and examine it, it slipped away as easily as a grain of sand on the wind. I sighed, frustrated by the futility of it. There were moments of clarity, moments dripping in blood—but those were not the memories I wanted to keep, and they weren’t the memories that would help me fix this.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened, not if you don’t want to,” Maeve whispered. “But something out of the ordinary must have happened. It wasn’t just you or Val or Meadow that suffered because of it. It was Hannah and Adaline too. It’d be one hell of a coincidence if what did this to you didn’t happen in Mexico.”
Of course, I knew she was right. That much was obvious. But which part was to blame? Was it the trauma of watching men and women murdered before our eyes? Was it the starvation? Or the thirst? Or sleeping on the jungle floor nights on end? Or bathing in the cenote?
And then it struck me hard and quick, the idea cutting through me like a bolt of lightning. I sizzled with the intensity of it, my body burning cold.
Who knows what sort of parasites might have been in the jungle? Isn’t that what Val had said?
I shivered, more with excitement than with the cold.
“The night we spent in the cenote,” I said slowly, turning the idea over in my mind, “we drank the water. We bathed there. Is it possible that we got something from that?”
“But I thought the doctors tested for everything,” Maeve pointed out. “They said that it wasn’t because of a parasite.”
“What if it wasn’t a parasite?” I asked. “What if it was something else? Our guide told us that cenotes used to be used as a watering hole for the Mayans, but that they also used to perform sacred rituals there. Rituals that were supposed to bring them closer to the gods, or something like that.”
“I’m not following you, Rhett. Make it make sense.”
“I don’t know,” I said, wringing my hands. “But there has to be some explanation for what’s happened. Maybe there’s some sort of ancient germ or—”
I broke off with a sigh. It seemed hopeless. The whole damn thing. How could I convince doctors to search for something when I couldn’t even explain it to myself? But there had to be some connection, something from our time out in the jungle. After all, I’d heard nothing about a mysterious illness making anyone else sick. And unless there was a massive coverup happening by the Mexican government to keep something like that silent, which seemed rather absurd, then the only other plausible explanation is that whatever happened to us happened in the jungle.
“You said that the Mayans used the cenotes for rituals?” Maeve asked, tilting her head in thought.
“That’s what I was told, yes.”
“To commune with the gods?”
I nodded. “Something like that.”
She paused for a moment, her eyes scanning the room without really seeing anything. “What if it worked?”
I scoffed. “What?”
Maeve gripped my hand tight with excitement, her eyes like luminous orbs amongst the gloam.
“What if, when the Mayans performed these rituals…what if they really did have a chance to commune with the gods? What if they did it in their dreams?”
Realization dawned on me, and I finally understood what she meant. “You think that what happened to them after their rituals is what’s happening to us?”
She nodded. “Why not? They clearly believed they went to another plane, somewhere that the gods stayed. What if it’s the same for you?”
“But then where are Val and Meadow?” I asked, shaking my head. Trying to reconcile the idea was like trying to fit pieces of a puzzle together, only the pieces didn’t fit, not really.
“I don’t know,” she admitted, the shadows of defeat blurring the edges of her words.
Maybe it wasn’t entirely right, what Maeve had said. But there was some merit to the thought. We sat together in silence for a time, each of us lost in the threads of her idea, trying to unravel it into some recognizable shape.
“Maybe I’m wrong,” she whispered, suddenly deflated. “Maybe it was a stupid idea.”
But I shook my head, holding her hand tightly in mine. “No, it wasn’t. If the Mayans really did find a way to travel through dreams to see the gods, then they had a way to get back, too. All we need to do is talk to someone that knows how.”
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