Watchers of the Night Page 7

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  Stephanie’s house was as it always was. There was a feeling of home there, and always had been. It was possible that it only felt that way to Paul because he’d known her family the majority of his life, but he found it hard to believe that anyone else would feel any different about the Petersen’s. It was one of those places where it was just so easy to feel welcome. Like every time you walked through the door you could take a big deep breath of their air, hold it in, and let it course through your body. When you exhaled, all the stress from what was outside their door went with it. Just let it out and put it behind you until you had to go back out there, because while you’re in the Petersen home, everything’s going to be one-hundred percent fine.

  “Hi, Paul!” called Stephanie’s mother from the kitchen. “Dinner in about an hour. Steph’s up in her room.”

  There was no question of impropriety when it came to how Paul and Stephanie spent time alone. Because of the length of their friendship, the idea that Paul might one day take a romantic interest in their daughter had either never occurred to the Petersens or was fine with them. In either case, Paul was considered part of the family and was treated with the complete, unquestioned trust that came with being a member.

  Stephanie was already on her laptop, lying on her belly on the bed with her legs kicking the air lazily behind her. She had kind of a black Pippy Longstocking thing going. She was taller than most girls and extremely slender. Her father was black and her mother was white, so she was noticeably dark but—again, her term, not his—she was more of a bleach-black. She had the obligatory wiry hair that never seemed to stay in place and had a smattering of freckles across her nose. On top of all that, she always dressed like it was 1985. Her look was most definitely all her own… hers and maybe Cyndi Lauper’s.

  As usual, the radio was on, the TV was on, and one of the background screens on the laptop was playing music. Despite the amount of noise in the small room, she was focused intently on her computer screen. Paul had no doubt she was taking in every word, despite all of the blaring devices. She’d always been like that—she thrived on as much noise as possible. The first thing she did when she came into a room was to turn on the radio or television. Paul didn’t know how she functioned that way, but she claimed she couldn’t manage without it.

  “Well,” Stephanie said by way of greeting. Without looking up, she patted the bed next to her, “so far this place looks like the real deal, but I’ve only just now gotten their site up.”

  As Paul settled in next to her and took a look at what might be the place that helped cure him, Stephanie began clicking through some of the pictures and testimonials. The name of the clinic, ‘Astralis,’ was presented in a stylized but understated logo at the top left of the page. From the photos, it looked more like a country club than a hospital or clinic. All of the doctors had pictures linked with a personal profile and had open, smiling faces that appeared genuine. The patient photos showed people in various stages of testing and treatment. In every case, even in cases where the pictures were of patients in hospital gowns with electrode pads attached to them, they appeared comfortable and relaxed. The testimonials were all five-star ratings.

  Stephanie narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, and made a ‘hmmm’ sound. “Okay. So their website basically shows that the place is so perfect that you won’t want to leave even after you’re cured. But now for the real test.”

  Clicking open a new window, she went to Google and did a general search using ‘astralis,’ ‘review,’ and ‘sleep’ as her keywords. Over 200,000 results showed up on the page, but most had to do with an acne-fighting cream whose name sounded a lot like Astralis. With another click, she eliminated all of the extra links and kept only those that specifically had her keywords in them.

  She and Paul read discussion boards, letters of recommendation, and news articles about the clinic for over an hour. They couldn’t find a single negative page, post or review.

  “And that’s what worries me,” Stephanie said. “Every place gets bad press. You can’t please everyone one-hundred percent of the time. How is it possible that this clinic does not have a single person saying something like the janitor was rude or the receptionist on the phone sounded like they were having a bad day? I simply cannot believe it.”

  “Stephanie,” Paul protested, “maybe they really are as good as Jeff seems to think…”

  “No. No way. No way, no how,” Stephanie shook her head. “Has Jeff ever been there? How does Jeff even know about this place? Maybe Jeff isn’t the saint you think he is. Maybe he gets kick-backs for bringing them fresh guinea pigs like you!”

  “Oh come on, Steph. Seriously, that’s just…”

  “No, you come on!” Sitting up, agitated, Stephanie’s eyes blazed. “You’re rushing into this and it doesn’t sound right to me at all.”

  “Stephanie, stop!” Paul sat up as well, getting angry. “Do you even want me to find help with this? Why are you so dead set against a place that you know nothing about except what you’ve read on the internet? I want to be normal! Give me a chance to be normal!”

  Paul hadn’t meant to let his emotions get carried away, but now that it was out he realized that he really did want to find a way to fight his condition. He really didn’t feel normal. It was one thing for his parents and friends to accept that he was a little different, and he appreciated it, but it was another thing to live with it. It was his burden—no amount of understanding or acceptance would replace the isolation he felt every night and every morning when he woke up.

  Stephanie’s eyes softened.

  “I’m sorry, Paul,” she said in a small voice, “I really am. You’re right. Of course you are. I have no right to try and make decisions for you and I have no way of knowing what this must be like for you.” Reaching out, she took his hand. “You’re right,” she repeated. “You’ve got to at least give it a shot.”

  Paul gave her a small smile and said with a mock lisp, “You’re tho protective.”

  Eyes glistening a little, Stephanie laughed and gave him a hug, burying her head in his neck as she did.

  Sitting there, holding onto each other, Paul became very aware of their nearness. He could feel her breath on his neck. He wondered if she noticed it too. Would it make her uncomfortable if he told her what he was thinking? He felt a little ridiculous having thoughts about someone who’d been a good friend for so much of his life.

  But he didn’t let go.

  Moving her head a little against his neck, giving him goose bumps in the process, Stephanie made a small, contented sound.

  Staring out the window into the darkness of the early evening, he was just starting to think he could get very used to being that close to her when he realized what he was looking at. He let go of her and jumped up from the bed.

  “Stephanie! Holy crap! It’s night time!”

  Not looking at him, fidgeting a little, Stephanie said, “Yes, I know that. That means you need to go home, right?”

  “Stephanie, no! I mean—yes. But no, that’s not the point!” He took two quick steps back to the window, excitedly gazing out. “It’s dark and I’m awake! I mean, I’m wide awake! This is awesome! Maybe I don’t need to go to Astralis after all. Maybe this thing will go away in time. I mean, I never used to have this problem when I was younger, right? So maybe as I mature it will just kind of work itself out of me?” He turned back to Stephanie, his face lit in a brilliant smile. “I mean—look at that beautiful blackness out there!”

  Smiling at his enthusiasm, Stephanie looked out the window with him, enjoying the moment. She wanted to reach out and pull him into her arms again, but she was afraid of spoiling the moment. Instead, she tentatively reached for his hand, brushing her fingers against his. As his fingers began to curl around hers, they saw someone moving in the room behind them, reflected in the window glass. They turned around quickly, expecting either Mr. or Mrs. Petersen to be there to tell them it was dinner time, but there was no one. They blush
ed, feeling a little embarrassed and disappointed at the same time.

  “Mom?” Stephanie asked without raising her voice.

  Exchanging puzzled looks, Stephanie walked into the hallway while Paul looked out the window down into the street. Stephanie came back into the room with a puzzled look.

  “Had to have been the reflection of the television,” Paul said. “Weird. Looked like someone was right there behind us.”

  “Yeah,” Stephanie replied, hugging herself. “Yeah, it did.”