It Doesn't Do Well to Dream

Chapter 26

There was an uncomfortable air that lingered in the manor after they found Peyton's room trashed. She remained in the bedroom near Lex's even after her original room was cleaned up. Mostly cleaned up. It was difficult to get the paint off the walls.

She didn't believe ghosts used paint.

But the idea that it wasn't a ghost still didn't make her feel safe, and she didn't understand how someone could have gotten in and out without being caught. How had they gotten the door to rattle or the light to shine without being inside? Why did they target her specifically?

There were so many issues to worry about, Peyton wasn't sure how to prioritize them. Everything seemed important; everything felt like it should take prominence. And everything felt like it needed to be handled and figured out before it would fit and make sense with everything else.

The mark on her head was another puzzle piece, but it meant nothing without context and she didn't think her mom would be willing to give that. Peyton couldn't trust her to tell the truth anyway.

But what did the mark even matter to her?

She was supposed to be getting home. She wanted to get home. Everyday it felt farther away and it scared her. Not that she couldn't remember, but with every week that separated her from her original life, it felt more like a hopeless endeavor to get back. It felt more like a memory.

Peyton needed to get back before her body was dead at her desk. Violent nausea rolled through her at the thought and she immediately pivoted. No. Comatose. Her comatose body.

Lex looked up when she entered his office at a clip walk; he closed his laptop and gave her his full attention. Peyton leaned over the edge of his desk and quickly drummed her fingers along the surface.

"So, I've collected a couple paychecks now," she said. "Do you think I can get that list of doctor's you worked with on my condition?"

Lex's expression was carefully composed, but it was too still. He licked his lips as he looked away and nodded.

"Right," he said.

He got up and Peyton followed as he walked over to what looked like a normal wall panel below the window behind his desk and pressed on the corner. She watched as he reached inside a hidden cubby, opened a safe, and pulled out her file. Surprisingly, he handed it to her without debate. His eyes, however, were tight. Guilt pooled in Peyton's belly.

"Thank you," she said, subdued. "I know- I appreciate this."

"Maybe they'll have better luck with you being aware now," he said sardonically. She moved to leave the room in order to look through the file without bothering him and he called after her. "Do you have a plan, for if they don't give you the answers you want?"

She pivoted on the ball of her foot and walked backwards a few steps so she could look at him.

"I guess I'll cross that bridge if I come to it."

[]

Some of the paperwork was familiar, even if she'd had a concussion while originally looking at it. But she didn't remember who any of the doctor's were from her first brief read. She spread out the paperwork on her desk in her office and scanned through the relevant information. Not all the doctors had the same specializations and not all had approached her condition the same way; and given she had limited funds she needed to decide who to contact first wisely. She skimmed down the list.

Dr. Morgan, a neurologist who focused on hallucinatory disorders and seizures. She hadn't found anything of note with Peyton. Or, she wouldn't have known what she was looking at even if she did. There was too much wrong to know how to begin narrowing it down, especially since Peyton couldn't help tell her what she was experiencing. But at least they ruled out seizures.