Aprilynne Pike - Sleep No More

Especially since I broke the glass yesterday.

I lower the hammer. If I smash the gate, it’ll allow Smith to drain my world even faster. I have to go in and destroy his world first.

A deep grumbling inside Smith’s world tells me I’m right as I walk through the gate and, for good measure, close it behind me. Now I’m trapped in here until one of us wins.

His world is so much bigger than when I was here last, a mere twelve hours ago, and I’m immediately disheartened at the work before me. But it’s not only Linden’s life I’m fighting for—it’s my own, and through me, millions of people whose futures Smith would be more than happy to change. To destroy.

I heft my hammer over my shoulder and swing it at the nearest scene and the surface cracks like a television screen. The image inside distorts, then blackens, and I move onto the next, and the next.

At one frame I raise my hammer, but I see my mother, walking down our hallway. I hesitate and Smith’s voice is suddenly all around me. “It’s not like when you were here last, Charlotte. These aren’t simply my dreams and memories anymore. I have enough of your world, enough of your power, that these are all possible futures. Will you destroy this possibility for your mother? Remember, you’re awake, and everything you do in this world today will actually affect the future.”

I pause, staring at the sight of my mother walking and my hands tremble.

“I could help it happen,” Smith’s voice says. “Fund that kind of research with the fortune we’re going to make. There’s no need for us not to have a symbiotic relationship. I’m happy to compromise and negotiate.”

“I begged you not to make me hurt Linden,” I yell. “You call that compromise?” And with a chunk of my heart breaking to pieces, I swing my sledgehammer, the head plunging right through my mother’s face. Every breath is painful as the image fades from sight.

“It’s a shame,” Smith’s voice said. “In ten years that surgery might have been available.”

I say nothing. Lies, I remind myself. He’s never told me anything but lies .

The next screen features a figure in white, standing next to a tall man who can only be Linden. I hardly recognize myself in the woman beside him. His love has made me more beautiful than I ever thought I could be. Happier. Complete. I have to close my eyes as I bring the hammer down on this one.

Sierra smiling and happy. My mother and a new husband. Me at my favorite college. Scene after scene I smash until my face is so wet with tears I feel them sliding down my neck.

But it’s not enough. I look up at Smith’s dark dome. I’m stopping the flow of my world into his, but it would take me years to go through every scene he could concoct in here. This is nothing but damage control—I have to find Smith. I have to destroy him .

I remember the last time I was here. It may be his world, but just like he has limited control over mine, I have some control over his. Until one of us takes over, we both share my powers. I look up at the ceiling and focus on a new scene. A scene of Smith sitting in his prison cell. Only seconds in the future. The scene draws near and I raise my hammer again, but instead of smashing the scene, I step into it.

Smith sits with his head leaning against the cell wall and watches me approach with emotionless eyes. I know he’s here on the supernatural plane, which means that his physical body in the jail cell is helpless. Can I affect his physical self from here?

If I can make him regain consciousness in his cell, his projected self will have to leave my second sight. My hammer is still poised above my head and, reminding myself that I am nothing more than a compulsion in the mortal world, I bring the hammer down, aiming for his skull.

A hand reaches out from behind me to push the hammer off course, and I feel a jolt of success as I turn and see his retreating form. Not his physical self—the one here in the supernatural plane. The part of him that jumped here. When I threatened his physical self, I pulled him out of hiding and he’s here in this scenario with me, somewhere. He can’t leave unless he can get out of this scene.

And there’s only one exit.

The background changes and I whirl around, trying to look in all directions at once. His jail cell is gone—and the image of his physical self with it. Now it’s a decrepit old manor house with dozens of shadowy enclaves to hide in. Dusty mirrors to bounce light from and throw me off. There’s even a light wind to keep the ragged bits of curtains blowing—hiding any movement from Smith. It’s a perfect place for hide-and-seek.

He wants me to look for him.

So that must be the wrong answer.

I peer behind me—the exit isn’t small exactly, but it’s guardable. Like a little kid stalking the base in tag, I pace back and forth, my hammer upraised. “I know you’re here!” I shout. “Why are you doing this?” I ask, hoping that I’ll be able to home in on his location.

A laugh from my right, a window shattering on my left. “To break you. And you’re so close,” he adds with triumph in his voice. “Why do you think all the victims have been your friends? Not friends even— potential friends in your otherwise lonely, pathetic existence.”

I refuse to let his words make me sad. I won’t. I have to find him.

“Why end with the boy you’ve been in love with since you were in grade school? To break your mind and your resistance until you’re nothing more than my puppet. Once you let me into your head, I combed your past—found people you cared for, even if you didn’t really know it. This is all about you, Charlotte. All of them died because of you .”

It’s a lie, it’s a lie. Smith killed them. It’s not my fault . “Then why start with Bethany?” I ask, and I’m pretty sure that, despite the echo, his voice is originating from over to my right.

“To get her out of Linden’s way. Did you think he really liked you, Charlotte? Did you believe?”

My heart cracks in two and my arms feel weak, trembling against the weight of the huge sledgehammer. I can’t . . . I can’t . . .

“So stupid. Stupid little girl.”

His words make something flare inside me. He’s made a mistake. Now I’m angry .

“I saw you,” I shout. “The night that Clara was attacked. I saw you in your dumb coat running toward us. How could there be two of you?”

“It wasn’t the physical me,” Smith says, and now I swear it’s coming from the left. I turn subtly in that direction. “I was in your second sight. I snuck in your head and you didn’t even know it. I watched you change the vision. But, I admit, you did better than I expected, so once you started to lose consciousness, I hurried in to warn myself to leave.”

Of course he wasn’t saving Clara—he was saving himself .

“Why now?”

He doesn’t answer right away. The scene wavers and I realize I’ve found a weakness. I remember him saying that he fed off the energy from the visions I couldn’t fight. “I was getting too good, wasn’t I? It was longer and longer stretches between visions. You were getting weak.” And the logic crashes over me like an ocean wave. “So you had to do something big enough that I wouldn’t be able to fight the vision. It was the only way you could survive.”

“I do what I have to, Charlotte. You weren’t ready when I found you. You were too young. That’s the mistake I made with Shelby. With Sierra.”

“So you started killing people to feed yourself ,” I say caustically.

His sigh is almost strangled. “I tried other things, but Sierra was a good instructor. I almost missed my perfect window. Old enough to have truly come into your abilities, but not yet sworn to the Sisters who might have warned you about me. About people like me.”