Sleep Is Death

Greyhound

Now Playing: Only Girl (In the World)

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ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▯▯▯▯▯

For weeks, I watched the case unravel and I felt useless. Yes, they had my journal and let it be known how powerful it was, but it didn't feel like it. It felt like, deep down, they were disappointed that I didn't show up a single time.

Looking back, I guess it was in my head.

Anna visited me on my last day at the hotel. The case was wrapping up as far as the kidnapping, malpractice, and neglect charges against Lou-they're still fighting in court against Isaac and his coworkers for similar charges-so she brought my journal.

"I hope you don't mind, me and the girls wrote a few things on the jacket," she said, and I flipped open the book to see for myself.

We know you couldn't be here, but just know we think about you and will be fighting for you like you did for us.

That message stuck out the most-not that the others weren't as heartwarming.

"I would've written you something too, but I didn't finish school, so," she trailed off, then shrugged. I looked at her with a confused expression, but she was staring at the notes. I wanted to ask her why she didn't finish, or if she wanted help learning to write, but she said, "It's fine, though. I drew you something right there."

She placed her black nail at the bottom of the jacket, just above a white house with a red roof. It was intentionally blurry, drawn exactly like what you'd see getting your eyes examined.

"That's my way of saying, I'mma be just like Helen." That didn't make sense, but I appreciated the sentiment.

When she left, I took my suitcase and my bus ticket and walked to the Greyhound station. I didn't tell anyone where I was going partly because I didn't know where I was headed, but mostly because I didn't want anyone stopping me.

I went for Julian, California because it was secluded and far enough for me to pick up where I left off, but maybe less bleak.

I took a seat at the empty bus stop, wrapped in an afghan blanket that flowed like my hair against the breeze. I shut my eyes and took my last breath of this town's air, then I heard the most angelic voice.

I opened my eyes as a black-haired teenager with sea-blue eyes sat beside me. She had earbuds attached to her iPod, listening to a woman I didn't know sing a song I also didn't know.

I watched her drop her suede, leather backpack between her ankles. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, she wore tall socks in Uggs, camo shorts, and a flannel jacket. It wasn't buttoned so I saw her white tank top.

She had tattoos here and there. One was a mustache on her finger, a compass behind her ear, and a red heartbeat on her inner wrist.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, scrunched her face, and then asked, "Can I help you?"

"Sorry. I was listening to your music," I said in a hurry, stuttering a few times.

She removed an earbud, and then asked, "What?"

"Oh, I was just saying that I was listening to the song you're playing." She looked at her white iPod and exhaled, her face relaxing. "What's it called?"

"It's a song by Rihanna," she said with a shrug. "I heard it while my brother and his friends were playing GTA, and had to add it to my Playlist."

"Who's Rihanna?" She turned her head to me that time, but the way she looked at me was like I was from a foreign country.

"You're fucking kidding." Her tone contradicted her otherwise offensive statement. It almost sounded like a question too. "You've never heard of Rihanna?" When I shook my head no, she asked, "Damn, what rock have you been living under for the past few months?"

I didn't respond. I just let her put the removed earbud into my ear.

The lyrics were simple yet catchy, but the melody and her cadence drew me in. The song and how she sang it was like walking along a beach in the Bahamas and sipping margaritas. It took me down memory lane, but none of the memories happened.

"I envy you right now," she said and I looked her in the eyes. "I wish I could experience the first time hearing this song again and again."

Cars passed, people strolled by, and some walked in and out of the bus station. When the song ended, she shut off her iPod, wrapped it in the earbuds, then tossed it into her bag.

"My name's Lynn." She extended her hand and even though I thought about Rosalyn-wherever she is-I shook her hand and faked a smile.

"My name's Helen," I said and she tilted her head, smiling with her top row of teeth.

"Oh my God, like Helen of Troy. I read about her in History class." I shrugged, chuckling awkwardly. "Love, like war, knows no boundaries and can ignite the flames of passion and disaster in equal measure," she quoted, placed a hand to her chest, and sighed longingly.

She looked at me, but I didn't say anything at first. When she cleared her throat and turned away, I mumbled, "I think my parents were more inspired by my paternal grandmother Helena. She didn't wage wars, but when she was in the nursing home, she did have men fighting for her. One guy threw a cup of coffee."

Lynn looked at me again and her smile returned. It turned to chuckling which then grew into the loudest laugh that I could tell was from the pit of her stomach.

I was so monotonous but she laughed like I was telling the funniest joke imaginable.

Even as the bus slowed to a stop in front of us and we stood with our belongings, she didn't calm down. Her face was red and she was wheezing. I'll admit, my smile disappeared.

Before we boarded the bus, we stared at each other. I felt something telling me that something was wrong with her and it was the same feeling I had when I met Lou.

"How old are you?" She didn't answer. "Where are you headed?" Same thing.

I watched her perfect teeth slowly sharpen and space out. I saw her pale skin darken to a shade of black that nothing could compare to, and then her blue eyes faded.

They kept fading, her skin kept darkening, and her teeth grew sharper. I watched her grow taller until I was staring at her with a crick in my neck. She'd hunched over, smiling and hovering her jagged hands above me like claws.

I stared at her like SpongeBob after being tormented by The Flying Dutchman, and I balled up my fists.

I took a deep breath, then screamed it out until there was nothing left, and my voice cracked. My forehead hurt from scowling, and my throat ached too, but I stood my ground.

She went back to normal in the blink of an eye, now mortified by my behavior as were the passerby, passengers, and the driver.

I shook my arms like Lou, turned to the old man in uniform, and stepped onto the bus with an ear-to-ear grin. Not because I'd defeated my demons, but because I'd seen enough to not fear a sickly entity, hallucination, or whatever it was.

The End...