Sing Me To Sleep

Chapter 22

"So basically what you're saying is that, while you were in a coma, you were visited by some dead kid who gave you green apple Skittles as some sort of omen but you have no idea what they mean."

Ray, who lounges in the visitors chair to my right with an unopened bag of Skittles in his lap, arches a single brow. His eyes are narrowed in concentration, taking in the story that I've presented to him and the creases in his forehead show me evidently that he's having a hard time believing me.

I nod fervently, verifying his recount of the tale. He shifts in the chair, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. I hear the crinkle the wrapper of the Skittles makes with the movement and the heavy breath intake and release that leaves him. He's dressed once again in pale blue scrubs, the stiff fabric folding and wrinkling with the gesture and the bottoms rise slightly to show off the tops of his pure white tennis shoes.

I find myself averting my gaze and studying the laces that double-knot neatly atop the shoes, just barely reaching the scuffed tile floor. "You don't believe me," I state simply.

When Ray finally came in this morning after a very restless night-- for me, at least-- bearing the Skittles I had asked him to bring, he refused to give me the small package until I told him why I had awoken at 3AM and played twenty questions with the nurse that came to check on me. So I told him the truth. Looking back on that choice now, I realize I probably should have lied and made up some bullshit excuse as to why I wanted the candy. But I had blanked. I needed to tell somebody the truth, about the haunting nightmare, the taste of green, the boy with glasses, and all of the memories that seemed to flood with seeing these things. There were just jumbled images and a few perplexing phrases but it seemed to hit some nerve in my head and I had to find out what it all meant. That's why I told Ray the truth. Maybe he'll be able to help me figure it all out.

Ray shakes his head quickly, biting down on his lip and running a hand through his thick hair. "I don't know what I believe." He admits, shrugging.

"Then you think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy." His voice is steady and for a second I almost believe him.

But I just roll my eyes and finally meet his unmoving gaze. "Even I think I'm crazy." I let out a laugh which, to my own ears, sounds slightly maniacal. "I'm having nightmares about some random dead kid. I'm tasting colors. Images of a skeleton keep flashing through my mind. I am fucking crazy."

"Okay," Ray holds out his hand as if he's physically handing me the answer to why I'm suddenly questioning my own sanity. "Think rationally." I snort, which earns me a disapproving look from Ray. But, come on-- Rationality was thrown out the window when I woke up and said 'What tastes like green?' But Ray just continues, his voice is suffused with an authority and maturity that I hadn't heard from him before and the tone makes me focus on his words. "Maybe you know the kid. Maybe that's why you keep seeing him."

I shake my head, the image of the twisted body coming to mind once again. "Vaguely, maybe?" I allow, though it still comes out sounding like a question. "His eyes. I've seen those eyes before. But the glasses and the body--" I shake my head again, those aspects seeming to be blurry. "No. I don't think I know him."

"Then think about his death," Ray proceeds, turning to a different facet of the night terror. "You said he had rope burns, right? Do you know of anyone that hung himself?"

I contemplate this for a second and it seems to scratch at the back of my mind, hitting something so vague and distant that it almost isn't there. "Maybe." Dammit. With all of these unsure answers, I'm never going to learn anything. I tilt my head to one side, chewing absently on the inside of my cheek as I look to Ray, posing my own question. "What about the skeleton I keep seeing? Do you think it's like... I don't know. A metaphor for the dead kid?"