Chapter 6: To sleep
Okay, this is officially impossible. Even my Dad wants to kill me now. Alright, so I always suspected he wanted to kill me, but, sheesh, you'd think he'd have gotten over it by now.
I sit down and sigh, looking across the table at the line-up of perps. A sorry excuse for murderers. One old man, retired cop or not, a girlfriend, okay she carries a gun and can wield a mean ax, but still, a pharmaceutical salesmen that faints at the sight of blood, and a recently divorced cop known for his short temper and itchy trigger finger. Bad example. But three out of four shouldn't have any real inclination towards violence, so why did they all dream of killing me?
And why did they all dream of killing me on the same night?
That's what was really getting me. Not the dreams themselves, though by the guilty expressions on their faces they were nightmares to beat the band, but the fact that they all had similar dreams, with an identical victim, on the same exact night. Even at the same moment if the phone calls and early-morning meetings were any indication.
"Did somebody poison your burgers?" I asked, figuring maybe some sort of shared hallucination was to blame.
"I ate fish," Dad muttered, shaking his head.
"I had steak and potatoes," Lassie added.
I looked over at Gus and Jules.
"We split a Hawaiian pizza, remember?" Jules said, gesturing at Gus and me. I nodded, frowning. Well, I didn't have a nightmare, so that ruled out the pizza.
Did anything strange happen yesterday? I scanned through the day mentally, shoving aside useless information like the number of hats in the diner where I ate breakfast and how many pineapple pieces I'd stolen off of Gus' slices.
There was one thing. When we'd visited that creepy voodoo store, looking for information about the disappearance of Daniel Craig (no relation), everybody except me had complained about the strong incense smell, but I didn't notice anything odd about it. At the time, I thought they were just griping because they didn't like stopping in after the big lunch we'd had, but now I wasn't so sure. Maybe there was more to it.
"I think we need to go back to Mama Aimee's," I said.
"Where?" Gus asked, sharing a confused look with the rest of the group.
I huffed in frustration.
"You know; that creepy voodoo shop we stopped at after lunch yesterday! There was something off about it…"
"Spencer, are you alright?" Lassie asked, frowning.
"We didn't go to any voodoo shops yesterday, Shawn," Jules added, concerned.
"Of course we did! Don't you remember, Dad, you complained about the incense smell?"
Dad shook his head, "We just came back to the station after lunch, Shawn."
My mouth fell open in shock.
"Are you guys going senile? I mean, my Dad I can understand, but none of you can remember Mama Aimee?"
"Maybe that was your dream, Shawn," Gus chimed in, "Maybe instead of a nightmare like us; you just had a vivid dream."
I shook my head, frowning.
"No, it was too real. I remember it!"
"And I remember shooting you," Lassie growled, "But my gun hasn't been fired. If none of us remember this place you think we went to, then it has to be something you dreamt."
"But I…" I stuttered, lost for words. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe…
"Tell us about it, Kid," Dad suggested, "There has to be a reason you brought it up. Why do you think it's connected to our nightmares?"
I sat down and closed my eyes, picturing the store.
"It's just off Mariposa," I said, "A small purple house, stuck between a bar called Bar and a tattoo parlor that's shut down. The windows are boarded up, but there's a sign on the door that says open. I'd had a vision that led us there…"
Actually, one of Daniel Craig's friends, the last to see him, had dropped a business card out of his pocket at the station. All it said was Mama Aimee's and the address, but it was enough for me to 'run across' the place.
"You were all griping. You didn't want to stop and check there. You guys had work, and Gus was afraid to mess with 'the dark powers'," I continued.
"You know that's right!" Gus exclaimed.
"But I convinced you it was vital to the investigation, so we went in. It was dark inside and smelled like incense, and you guys thought the smell was too strong. We questioned the owner, Mama Aimee of course, and she said Daniel and his friends had visited her store once, but they were drunk so she made them leave. She was a large African-American woman, about 6' 2", 200 pounds, wearing some kind of sparkly purple turban. When I told her I was a psychic she…"
I frowned.
"She what, Shawn?" Jules asked.
"She threw some kind of glittery powder on the counter, chanted something, and then lit it on fire. Then we were back at the station."
I opened my eyes, paling.
"What's wrong, Shawn?" Jules asked worriedly.
"Didn't you hear me?" I asked, "I said we were back at the station. Not that we drove back or walked back. We were just back!"
"Proves it was a dream, then," Lassie snarked.
"I don't…" I trailed off. It felt so real. It had to be real.
I stood suddenly.
"I'm going back to the shop. I'm going to find Mama Aimee and prove we were there."
"Kid, it was a dream. There's no Mama Aimee," Dad said, grabbing my arm.
"It wasn't! It couldn't be! It was too real!"
Dad leaned in close and spoke quietly, "You know how your mind works, Shawn. If you wanted to, couldn't you make your dreams seem real?"
I frowned and pulled away. He had a point. I noticed everything. I could construct a store with pinpoint accuracy. But I also knew what I saw. And I knew I was missing something, not the least being the trip from the store to the station.
I rubbed a hand over my tired eyes. I hadn't gone to sleep until after one, and then the phone calls started at five… I was exhausted.
"Go home, Kid. Get some rest. Look at this with fresh eyes."
Everything in me rebelled against the idea of obeying him, but he was right. I was too tired to think clearly. And all the guilty looks were getting on my nerves.
"'Kay," I muttered softly.
Maybe a nap would do me some good.
After all, a little sleep never killed anybody.