Sleep Tight

Chapter Seven: Found Dead

It's astounding how quickly I got up this morning. The dream I had flashes in my mind and makes my stomach turn. I went the whole morning without looking at my phone. The object I would usually spend my whole morning on is laying on my drawer and every buzz exacerbates my bubbling apprehension. Before heading out the door, I merely slip it into my pocket.

At the bus stop, my hand traces the bulge it makes in my pocket. I can't help my curiosity. Did I get a text this morning, too? If so I have an inkling about what it says. I can remember my dream last night and how it ended. Bright sunlight and ocean waves flash in my mind as much as I try to push them away. Then the moment of me splayed out on the roof of the unstable shed, the waves pawing at the walls like bloodthirsty wolves appears. I shiver.

Keller Fernandez lost.

I glance around me. My head feels heavy and completely detached from the world around me--I'm too focused on trying to rationalize the dreams and texts, trying to convince myself it's just my mind psyching me out.

It's not working.

Florence, the purple haired person Skip talked to, is huddled in close to a friend. She must be telling him about some drama because her face is serious and her friend's eyebrows are raised in question like he can't believe someone said something. I stare at them as she tells her story, unafraid she'll notice my staring.

The pupils of her eyes glance in my direction for a brief moment. In the same gesture, I swear to God her chin nods in my direction, too. Then, her friend sneaks a look. Both are fast and nervous and when they glance, I don't look away. I can't pull my eyes from them--a familiar feeling I get when I'm tired and in a trance-like state.

Florence was in the second dream; the memory of it is slowly piecing together. It was the dream that Samantha Callid lost. Keller Fernandez was in it too, if my mind isn't making shit up.

The bus pulls up rumbling with noise. For a brief second, I'm tempted to slide behind a tree and let it drive off without me. I can't handle school. All I want is to be alone so I can sort out my thoughts. But then the bus driver makes eye contact, so with a blank face, I step on and find my seat.

Now sitting, my hand traces my pocket again. In a fluid motion, I slip my phone out and open it to the lock screen like ripping off a band-aid. I have five texts. The first three are lacrosse buddies in our group chat. They're talking about our new league rank after last night's game. The fourth is what I've been dreading this whole time.

Keller Fernandez lost.

The first thing I can think to do is go to the search engine and type in "mysterious teen deaths in Sunset."

The first headlines that come up are from yesterday. They all report on Samantha Callid and the linked death of Ashden Coop, both teenagers from Sunset High School and both of which I already knew about. Of course, they keep the articles so vague I can't figure anything new out. And there's nothing about Keller. Yet. It's still early in the morning, though.

I browse through every article I can find, skimming through all the words, not entirely reading them, but waiting for something significant. It's so early into the investigations that the police have hardly released anything and the articles are merely a few paragraphs long.

Even though the articles revealed nothing, I could've read through them all day. Something bizarre like this happening to kids in my school is one thing, but to think that I am somehow linked to it? It kills me that I don't have any explanation.

I get off my phone when we reach Skip's bus stop. The last thing I need is for him to get concerned about me. I just want to act normal, be normal, and maybe I will stop feeling like I'm going crazy. I squeeze my eyes shut and wrinkle my face, then release the tension to relax my expression.