Midnight Wonders

7.4.2. A Peculiar Sense of Familiarity

Annabel left again. It was the last time, she said. She was going to give back the bells. Though she didn't say who the next Collector was going to be. Luc wondered if he would even know the name if she told him.

Luc started sleepwalking again.

Usually he didn't make it outside, which he was grateful for. He supposed that even asleep he liked to avoid getting rained on.

Luc woke as he opened the door to his bedroom. He blinked, staring out into the dark, empty all. A creak, and he jolted. A figure stepped out of the shadows. Emma.

"Why are you up?" she whispered, before he could. She spoke anyway, "I'm going to the Green Hill. Annabel texted me that she's back."

Luc would have asked her why she was awake to see Annabel's text in the first place, but he didn't want an interrogation on either end, so he just nodded and said, "I'm getting water."

"Okay," she said, giving him an odd look, though he thought he'd said a rather innocuous thing. She gave him a nod, then passed by. He heard the front door open and close as she left.

For a moment, he just stood there in the doorway. What was he doing? What had he been doing? He didn't know, but now that he'd said he wanted water, he wanted water, so he went out to the kitchen and got it and then went back to his room with a cup.

He no longer wanted water. He put it down. Luc rubbed his eyes, which were terribly weary, but not yet heavy. He got into bed and lay down with his eyes open and thoughts racing and heart pounding like he'd just been running because he was trying to go to sleep and couldn't, and he thought maybe he wasn't trying hard enough, but he couldn't very well go to sleep if he was thinking about it, but what else was there to fill his mind with, and that made his thoughts race and heart pound like he'd just been running and he couldn't go to sleep but he was trying. He tried to close his eyes, but felt a strange sort of chill.

Luc opened his eyes. There was no resistance. All at once everything was too much: the bed was too hard and too soft and his pillow was too thin and too thick and the blankets were too heavy and too light and the room was too dark and too light and it was all too cold and too warm. His clothes didn't feel right and he could feel his nails in his fingers and his hair in his scalp. For some reason, he felt frustrated. He rolled over and put his face into his pillow and had the urge to cry for no reason.

And then he opened his eyes and he was standing. He had made it to his bedroom door, but his back was to it. As if he'd turned around. Or walked backward.

He stared at his bed. It was neat; it didn't look like he'd been in there at all. It seemed he'd made it in his sleep. He closed his eyes. He wished he could be as productive when he was awake as he was in his sleep. Even if really he did so little—in his sleep there was no expectation of even being slightly productive.

It didn't seem worth it to go back to bed anymore. His bed was already made. What was the use of ruining it again? There was no point in sleeping anyway. Everything just felt the same.

There was a pitter-pattering somewhere. Rain? Had he checked the forecast for tonight? Did it matter? Little was predictable now but the cold and the wet.

Luc blinked. He was staring at the front door, his hand wrapped around the cold metal knob. He looked down to see Tam standing in the middle of the hall a few feet away from him, staring up at him with wide brown eyes.

Luc let go of the door. He stared back at Tam for a moment, trying to think of what to do. Trying to think of what he was even doing. He went over to Tam and crouched down. "What are you doing?" he whispered, not sure if he was talking to himself or Tam. "Why are you out here?"