Who Is Brian Quinn?

Sleep Therapy - Quinn's Watch - A Wooden Bowl

"You know your sister Dolores has also been following your mother at night," remarked Beardsley. He sat at the kitchen table chewing on an apple core and stabbing at day old meatloaf.

Cody sat across from him wearing a thick mackinaw and bright yellow rain slicker. "What? How do you know?"

"She came down and told me. While you were out. She's a real nut that sister of yours. A real nut. She might need some serious treatment."

"Yes. Well, it figures. Mother's behavior since father disappeared has been strange. It doesn't surprise me that the girls are worried."

"I'm mostly worried about you, Cody. You say you haven't dreamt in days. That's not healthy. Really it's not. I think some sleep therapy is in order."

"Sleep therapy?" said Cody.

"Yes. It's very effective. Trust me. Very cutting edge. You'll be back to dreaming in no time."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. Dreams within dreams within dreams. You won't know what to do you'll be dreaming so much." Beardsley winked and tucked a piece of meatloaf into his mouth.

"All right," sighed Cody. "When should we start?"

"Now," replied Beardsley. "Right away. There's no time to lose. None at all."

"But what will this sleep therapy achieve?" asked Cody.

Beardsley paused, looking at Cody. "It may answer a few questions." He shoved the plate of meatloaf off into the surrounding brine and tossed the apple core behind him. Then from an interior pocket of his overcoat he pulled a shiny silver pocket watch embossed with a bright silver rooster and began to spin it on his finger, making it turn gently, rotating slowly. "Watch the watch, Cody," he whispered "watch the watch."

"Alright," Cody murmured quietly. The shiny pocket watch had already begun to work its effect.

"Watch the watch," crooned Beardsley.

Cody rested his chin on his hands and stared at the spinning rooster. His eyes became heavy and began to droop.

"Watch the watch," repeated Beardsley.

Finally, Cody's head slumped down upon his arms and he slept, his breathing the only sound in the little kitchen. Beardsley watched him silently for a moment. He flicked the pocket watch open. The two hands stood still at seven forty-two. Seven forty-two, he thought. What time is it now? He glanced at the clock on the wall. It had also stopped at seven forty-two. He frowned and looked at Cody. "That's odd," he said out loud to himself. "Cody," he said.

Cody remained motionless, snoring quietly.

"Cody, hey, Cody. Listen, why's that clock say seven forty-two?" pointing at the clock on the wall. "What does that mean?" He glanced at the pocket watch then clicked it shut.

"Where did you get that?" Dolores stood once again at the foot of the stairs.

"What? What are you doing here? I thought I told you I'd be up in a second."

"That's father's watch. Where'd you get it?" hands on her hips in fists.

Beardsley squinted at her. "Your father's you say? Interesting."

She stood long and skinny in gruesome floral print pajamas. She scowled but said nothing.

"Where're your moon boots?" he growled.

She seemed momentarily confused. "I took them off."

"Well get them back on. We have to make a little trip."