Charlie~~
Dad's last message replays in my head, the last thing I remember before I fell asleep. I cringe, shutting his image out of my mind. Still his image stays. Condescending as ever.
I mumble into my pillow for the image to go away.
"Charlie?"
Rolling onto my back, I groan at the lights shining through my eyelids. "Not now, Kyle."
"Weren't you supposed to be up half an hour ago?"
My neck's stiff as I look at the date on my clock. April Sixth. 9:25 AM. Five minutes before I'm supposed to meet Dad.
Swearing, I push back my comforter only to find my sheet twisted at the end of my mattress, my feet tangled in it. I kick it off and stumble out of bed.
Kyle's snort stops me before I reach our door. "You might want to put on some clothes. It's just a suggestion."
I grab the first pair of jeans in my drawer and tug them on over my briefs before grabbing a shirt from my closet.
Even running behind, my sheet and comforter hanging off the end of the bed mock me as I rush out the door with socks and shoes in hand. In the dream, I'd just make the bed with a simple thought, but I can't do that here.
I hurry down the hallway, past the doors that lead to my siblings' rooms, and round the corner at the end.
I slam into a hard chest.
Stefan, my eldest sibling at twenty-six years old and one of the blessed quadruplets, stares down at me looking as amused as our nine siblings do who stand behind him.
Stefan places his hands on my arms to steady me. "You all right?" His curly caramel-brown hair is neater than my reddish-bronze that never likes to lie flat. I'd need gel to tame it, but I refuse to put goo in my hair.
"I'm fine."
He takes in my bare feet and the shoes in my hand. "Where are you off to?"
All of them wait for my answer. I can see it in the way they tilt their heads, in how they lean forward. They don't see me awake that much so this is a rare sighting for them, one I'm sure the rest of the favored twenty-three siblings will be hearing about only minutes after I'm gone. But my other three siblings will never hear about it.
"I have a meeting with Dad." It's explanation enough.
Something in Stefan's eyes sparks, and he steps aside. "Don't let me keep you then."
I throw hasty murmurs of morning greetings to my brothers and sisters as I pass by them. They do the same.
In a minute, I'm passing through the kitchen, and one of my stepmoms calls after me asking if I want breakfast.
My stomach grumbles, smelling the apple oatmeal on the stove. It's been too long since I've had real food, and not the serum that's pumped into me through an IV that Dad calls a meal.
I'm already in the hall by the time I yell, "Dad" by way of explanation.
One of my older sisters, Mei, her black curls shining with hairspray, leans against the wall, an apple in hand. "Where are you rushing off to?"
"I'm late to meet Dad."
With her foot, she pushes off the wall. "Breathe. Put your shoes on. Dad's not going to kill you if you're late." I wish I could be sure that's true.
I tug my socks on as she takes a bite of her apple.
"Don't you need to get ready to dress people for their funeral?" It's a cheap jab.
She swallows what must have been a big piece or her grimace is from my words alone. "You're not a saint, Charlie."
"I'm definitely not that," I say and slide my shoes on.
"Don't take your guilt out on the people who love you."
"What's going on?" Marcella walks up to us, running a brush through her hair. At sixteen, she's younger than both of us.
I don't have time for this.
"He's being himself." Mei takes another bite. For the briefest moment, I hope she chokes on it. I hate myself for even thinking it.
Marcella sighs, holding the brush in front of her in both hands. If she was Mei, I'd be scared she'd throw it at me. "I hardly know what that means."
Mei opens her mouth, but I cut in.
"I've got to go."
Mei shouts at me as I take off running. One sister is enough. Twelve's too many.
Years of roaming the underground hallways that lead up to the eastern facility of OneirTech keep me from having to think about which turns to take as I make my way through them. When the floors turn to marble, I know I've reached the facility.
Minutes later I come to one of the classrooms where the children of Dad's employees are being briefed by him.
Cobbs waits outside the door.
"Charles," he says, and I ignore him, stepping aside to lean against the wall beside the doorway.
"How long were you under this time?" he asks.
"I didn't come from the dream."
He doesn't say anything more before stepping into the room to tell the new dreamers to follow him. As he leads them out, only one notices me, her blue eyes meeting mine. Her brunette hair is tangled, her eyelids limned in tears, though no salty streaks line her face. A wild, dangerous thought passes through me that I should save her. To just reach out and grab her.
But then what? We'd have nowhere to go. I'm not the person who can save her or any of them.
Once they're all headed down the hallway, I step inside the classroom. A puddle of blood separates me from Dad. None of the dreamers were bleeding when they passed by me. Whatever caused the puddle to be there must have happened and been taken care of before I arrived.
"Charles." Dad leans back against the desk. "You're looking refreshed this morning."
"The blood?"
He waves his hand in the air, dismissing my question without even answering it yet. "Someone got a bit nervous."
I swallow down my queasiness. "You wanted to meet?"
He crosses his ankles and folds his hands. "There's a new dreamer who I have every reason to believe will be very talented."
"You can't know that if you haven't seen her in the dream."
"Please." He raises his eyes to the ceiling as if annoyed I even brought that up, never mind it was him who first said that to me. "I think she'll be exactly like you."
"Why?"
Leaning against his desk, he shrugs. "Science. Call it a theory. It shouldn't matter to you. I'm sure you know why I wanted you now."
"What if she's only a Class Five?"
"I'll want her even then. She's extremely important to me, and I'm trusting you with this."
I'm the only person he has to do this job. The trust part doesn't mean much.
He places his hand on my shoulder. "Can I count on you, Charlie?"
"Always, Dad." The words taste metallic like I imagine the blood on the floor would.
He smiles, and I feel a kernel of pride within me. I stomp down on it.
"I'll make sure you will wake up in the dream where she does. Her name's Nora Everley."
Thank you to everyone who is reading, voting, commenting, and/or adding Asleep to your reading lists. Sending you so much love.
Count those fingers,
~Mikaela