Aprilynne Pike - Sleep No More

“I learned the signs of an Oracle a very long time ago, Charlotte.”

It’s disconcerting the way he keeps using my real name when we both know the one he gave me is fake. “How?”

He loosens his scarf—like he’s settling in for a long chat. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. “When I was very young, I lived a few houses down from a girl who was an Oracle. We were best friends and when she started having foretellings, she did what any kid would do: she told her buddy, Smith.” The start of a smile lifts the corners of his mouth for about half a second, but the haunted look in his eyes cancels it out. “Her mom was an Oracle too, and took her in hand as soon as possible, teaching her the same things I imagine you were taught.” He waves his hand toward the table as though there were a pile of items on display. “Fight the visions, don’t ever tell anyone who isn’t an Oracle what you can do, never ever, ever change the future. And she was very dutiful. With one exception.”

“You?” I say after a long pause.

He nods. “I watched her suffer through the same kind of things you probably go through—spacing out in the middle of class, everyone thinking she was a weirdo, feeling like she could never have friends.”

I swallow, empathy filling my chest as I compare that to my own solitary childhood. My solitary life : it’s not like that part ended along with scraped knees and cooties.

“I did what I could,” he says, looking out at the food court again. “Shielded her when she had a spell. Took her to prom when no one else would. Supported her lies when she told people she was epileptic. But her senior year something happened. I suppose the Sisters got to her. Threatened her somehow. She staged a huge fight in the middle of school. I knew it was forced, of course—I knew her better than anyone else in the world—but afterward, she wouldn’t speak to me. Not even on the phone. When I left for college, I sent her letters and they were all returned unopened. For several years, I thought our friendship was just over.”

“Did she come back?” I ask, knowing the end of this story isn’t “happily ever after” and wishing it was anyway. Not for Smith’s sake, necessarily, but for this other Oracle girl. But I know better. We don’t get happy endings.

Smith swallows visibly and shakes his head. “No. But the accidents started.” He runs his fingers through his already tousled salt-and-pepper hair and looks decidedly uncomfortable. “I don’t have any proof, of course, but I think that when I kept trying to get in touch with her, the Sisters decided that if I wasn’t going to go away on my own, they’d make me go away.”

I want to tell him he’s lying. That an organization my aunt would belong to wouldn’t actually kill someone, but I can’t get the words out. “What does that have to do with me?” I ask.

His head jerks up almost like he’d forgotten I was there. “At some point, I realized I wasn’t going to last very long if I didn’t disappear. So I started traveling. Bounced from town to town. Eventually I came here. Sometimes I wonder if I was drawn to this place. I’d been around a couple of weeks when I was walking past the playground at your school. You must have been nine or ten. I wasn’t watching you —I was just seeing kids out playing and remembering the times I had with my friend. And then a girl fell off the monkey bars.”

He looks me in the eye now and I know what’s coming next.

It’s where everything with Linden first started. It’s one of my most precious memories and it makes me feel sick to hear it coming out of someone else’s mouth.

“She lay there, staring off into space. And I knew that look on her face. I’d seen it hundreds of times before. The scene played out just like I knew it would. All of the kids walked away, trying to avoid the freak.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees, fingers knit together.

“I probably would have run again, right then,” he says. “Disappeared—found an Oracle-less town to live in. But I saw a boy sit beside you and help you up, right before the teachers realized what was happening and intervened. It was me and . . . and her all over again. I couldn’t look away.” He shrugs and clears his throat. “I’ve watched out for you from a distance ever since.”

I stare hard at him, trying to decide how much of this is true. Obviously some of it is; how else could he know that story? And know exactly what it meant . But the idea that some stranger has been watching me since I was ten creeps me out. “Why don’t I recognize you?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’ve been around ,” the word comes out a little mockingly, but Smith doesn’t seem to notice, “shouldn’t I recognize you?”

“I’m good at blending in,” Smith replies. “Besides, it’s not like I’m some sick stalker who scopes you out constantly. I see you every few months. Very casual.”

It doesn’t quite ring true. “But you knew I saw Bethany’s death. And you knew I tried to warn Matthew. Those aren’t exactly casual observations,” I say, getting a little heated now.

“I didn’t actually know you saw Bethany,” he says, looking chagrined. “I guessed.”

“You texted me!”

His jaw tightens. “I shouldn’t have. I was angry. But by the time I thought better of it, it was too late.” He looks up and meets my eyes again. “I’ve watched you more closely since her murder though. I just pretend I’m someone’s parent at the high school.” He points at his hair. “I look older than I am. And no one questions strangers in the hall right before and after school hours; a lot of parents are walking their kids all the way inside the building these days. I . . . I saw the look on your face when you talked to the tall, black boy. Matthew. You can’t hide that desperation. I knew something was going to happen to him. And after the murder, when they reported that it was a teenage boy, well, it wasn’t hard to put the pieces together. I should have gone right to you that day, but I was afraid I would freak you out.”

And he would have.

“I want to end this, Charlotte. Otherwise I’d have let you continue on your little Oracle life doing what every other Oracle in the world does.”

“You said you could help me stop it.”

“I can.”

The strength of those two words—his confidence as he says them—strikes me into stillness. “But . . . but you’re nothing special.” I don’t apologize for my rude words. It’s the truth. He’s not an Oracle; he’s just a guy.

“No,” he says, without flinching at my insult. “I’m not. But I knew someone who was special and we used to experiment and explore. More than that. We learned things no one else in the whole world knows.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ll teach you— if you’ll stop this.”

I stare at him for a long time. I can’t just jump at false hope. “You’re a stranger who knows all about me. Not to mention you know an awful lot about these murders. I have to say, that doesn’t inspire trust.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair, looking as harrowed as I feel. “I know. I know . How else can I convince you?”

The desperation in his eyes is so deep, so startling that I almost want to believe him right then and there. But this is too important a decision to make based on ten minutes of acquaintance.

“I just, I have to think. I have to plan. I have to . . .” My voice trails off. It’s not like I know what the hell I’m doing either.

He nods shortly, but looks nervous. “I can give you time if that’s what you want. But before we do this, you have to promise you’ll keep my secret.” He meets my eyes, intensity glowing from his dark-brown irises. “You cannot tell your aunt about me. Or about anything we do. My life is at stake here. If the Sisters figure out—” His voice cuts off and he leans back abruptly, clearing his throat. A heavy silence lies between us for a long moment. “They can’t find me again,” he finishes in a whisper full of terror.