The Girl Who Could Not Dream Page 11

  “You’ll feel better soon,” she told him.

  “It’s unnatural,” he said. “I’m always hungry. Maybe I should eat a cupcake, just to see.” He placed a tentacle tip on Sophie’s cheek. “Sophie, please don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. We’ll find your parents.”

  Before she could reply, Ethan’s phone chirped again. “Girl in seventh grade, they say,” he said. His eyes widened. “Hey, I know her. Madison Moore.”

  Sophie gasped.

  “You know her too?” Ethan asked. “She’s the one with black hair and a shrill voice, right? You can hear her all the way down the hall.”

  Nodding, Sophie thought of how she’d been glad Madison wasn’t on the bus. She hadn’t wanted something bad to happen to her, though. She’d just been relieved to not be teased. “Madison’s memorable.”

  “She has a little sister who’s sick. Born sick. The family spends most of their time in the hospital with her. That’s why Madison acts the way she does, like she’s afraid she’ll disappear if everyone doesn’t notice her every second of the day.”

  Sophie blinked. “How do you know that?”

  “My mom’s her sister’s doctor.” The phone chirped again. “Oh, the other one I don’t know. First-grader, named Lucy Snyder. The police don’t know any connection between them, which is why everyone’s so freaked out.”

  The name hit Sophie like a punch.

  “Sophie?” Ethan touched her arm, but Sophie barely felt it. She knew both of them. She’d talked to them yesterday, taken their old dreamcatchers and given them new ones.

  She sank to the floor next to Monster and told herself it was all a coincidence: her missing parents, the missing dreamers, the missing dreamcatchers, the missing dreams and the distiller . . . Just a coincidence.

  “Sophie?” Monster echoed Ethan.

  She felt as if her thoughts were swirling, bashing into one another. “I’m the connection.”

  “What do you mean?” Ethan asked.

  “They’re both dreamers. Nightmares. Bad ones. Like you. Madison dreams about fire and bugs. Lucy dreams about alligator people, ninjas that vanish into smoke, pit bulls that can fly . . .”

  “Lots of people have dreams. Me, for instance.” His phone beeped again. “Dad wants to know if I can stay here for dinner. Mom has to work late tonight, and he has meetings.” Ethan gave a humorless laugh. “And there ends the extent of their concern.” After texting back once more, he shoved the phone into his pocket. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

  Sophie felt as if every vein in her body suddenly ran with ice water. She couldn’t move. She felt the blood drain out of her face.

  “Hey, I’m not that bad,” Ethan said.

  She shook her head. “I know where I’ve seen that backpack.”

  “What backpack?”

  Sophie jumped to her feet. “The one on the kitchen table, in Mr. Nightmare’s house. I have to go back.” She spun and headed for the back door.

  Ethan caught her arm. “Whoa, hold on. You can’t. Curfew, remember? What do you mean you’ve seen that backpack?”

  “It’s Lucy’s.” She was sure of it. Mostly sure. Maybe sure. “Or at least it could be.”

  “But you aren’t positive?” He didn’t release her arm. Trotting to her, Monster weaved between her ankles, as if to calm her.

  Sophie shook her head. Lots of kids could have a pink and purple backpack. But she thought she remembered Lucy carrying one . . . “I’m not positive.” She sagged against the shelves. It could be her imagination. She wanted so desperately to find clues and connect the dots. Rubbing her forehead, Sophie tried telling her shrieking brain to quit overreacting. She didn’t know it was Lucy’s. It was far more likely it belonged to whatever little girl lived there.

  “Sophie, we looked in every window,” Ethan said. “Monster even looked in the upstairs windows. Right, Monster?”

  “There could be a basement,” Monster said. “Also, closets. Take it from me: You can hide anyone in a closet.” He was right. Plus she’d seen cellar doors on the back of the house.

  Maybe they’d all missed something. Maybe they simply hadn’t explored enough. Maybe she’d been right to suspect him, even though she hadn’t known about Lucy and Madison.

  “We all agreed it looked normal,” Ethan said.

  “If you wanted to hide that you were a thief and a kidnapper, you’d make your house look normal too,” Monster pointed out. “Lull people into thinking you’ve nothing to hide.”

  Sophie nodded. “Mr. Nightmare could have pretended to be cleaning out his garage like a normal person. He could have lied to us so we’d think he was innocent and go away.”

  “No one’s that good an actor,” Ethan objected.

  Monster rolled his lemur-wide eyes. “Tons of people are great actors. Haven’t you ever seen a movie? All actors. TV shows, actors. Broadway. Community theater. Every commercial ever made.”

  Sophie began to pace between the shelves. Her footsteps were loud on the wooden floor, and she was conscious of how quiet the house was. Her parents were always playing music somewhere, or talking, or making some kind of noise. She felt as if she could hear the emptiness. “I should have looked harder. Found a way to get inside. They could have been there, and we just left and rode away!”

  Monster trailed after her as she zigzagged. “We’ll go back.”

  “How? There’s the curfew . . .” Stopping, Sophie faced Ethan. “Can you text your parents again? Ask them to drive us?”

  Ethan snorted. “When I was six years old, my parents sat down with me and explained that if I wanted to do extracurricular activities, I’d have to arrange my own rides. Said they were teaching me self-reliance. When I asked what self-reliance meant, they said to look it up myself. So, short answer: no, they won’t drive us.”

  She couldn’t imagine her parents giving her that kind of speech. She’d had it drilled into her to never, ever get into a car with anyone but them.

  Monster was studying Ethan. “So your alone-in-an-ocean dream is directly metaphorical. How disappointing.”

  Ethan shot him a look. “What’s wrong with my dream?”

  “Much more interesting if it’s random,” Monster said. “Like the little kid who dreams about robot Muppets that shoot M&M’s out of their Gonzo noses. Or the fifty-year-old businessman who dreams about chickens that transform into pigs for no apparent reason. There isn’t as much demand for classic lonely dreams.”

  “Sorry my dreams are too boring for you.” Ethan turned back to Sophie. “Anyway, I think you’re jumping to conclusions. Just because you know the missing kids, and just because you think the backpack looks familiar . . . And because Mr. Nightmare left you that birthday card and we never asked him about the missing dreamcatchers. And because he was supposed to meet with your parents, and you came home to a mess upstairs and stuff stolen downstairs . . . Okay, maybe you have a point. Maybe we missed something.”

  “Exactly. You see why I have to go back,” Sophie said. “And this time, I have to get inside.” She turned to Monster. “Do you think you could open a window lock?”

  “I know I could,” Monster said, flexing his tentacles.

  “Wait a minute. Calm down. Let’s talk about this,” Ethan said. “I admit, it’s possible we were wrong. Possible. But you want to break into this guy’s house? You know that’s illegal, right?”

  Sophie didn’t want to calm down. She paced between the shelves again. Outside in the distance, a dog barked. She didn’t hear any cars. She imagined people home, glued to their TVs, wondering what had happened to the two missing kids. “I know Mr. Nightmare loves nightmares. He admitted as much. And I also know that both people I talked to yesterday have nightmares and are now missing.”

  “So? You talked to me, too—”

  “And you were attacked by a gray giraffe,” Monster finished.

  Ethan’s jaw dropped open. “You think . . .”

  “I think you were next.” In the shadows, Monster’s e
yes glowed bright. Sophie couldn’t see his soft fur. All that was visible were his eyes and teeth. “It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise. Two people who talked to Sophie about dreams are missing, and the third—you—was attacked.”

  Ethan closed his mouth but didn’t speak.

  It made a horrible kind of sense, Sophie thought. That gray creature . . . It could have kidnapped the other two and been trying to kidnap Ethan when Monster spotted it. It could work for Mr. Nightmare.

  “I don’t believe in coincidences,” Monster said. “Except when they happen, which they do—coincidences aren’t statistically improbable. But I don’t think this is a coincidence.”

  Ethan’s eyes were wide, rivaling Monster’s. “You think he’s not innocent, and we just rode away.”

  “I think I have to go back and at least see,” Sophie said. “If I don’t and I’m right and they’re there . . .” She trailed off. She knew it was a stretch. She didn’t have any proof, and everything they’d seen said she was wrong. But if she was right and she didn’t go back . . . she’d never forgive herself. Ever. “He said he likes nightmares. If he did kidnap them, then he has his own personal supply—dreamers and people who can distill their dreams. I know you don’t believe me . . .”

  He swallowed hard. “I’m beginning to.”

  She turned to him. “Really?” He looked pale, as if he wanted to scream, flee, or faint, and she realized he must be thinking about how close he’d come to being one of the missing kids. He must want to run. In his shoes, she’d be out of here and home so fast . . .

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Sophie blinked at him. “You don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do,” he said.

  Monster looked at him piercingly. “Of course you do. You’re the boy with boring, lonely dreams. Your parents taught you no one would save you. So you have to save yourself. If we’re correct and that gray giraffe was really coming for you, then you believe you have to be the one to stop it.”

  Ethan looked uncomfortable. Watching him, Sophie wondered if Monster was right. It was hard to imagine her school’s star basketball player—the new kid that everyone instantly befriended—as lonely, but he did have the Nothing dream . . .

  “Besides,” Monster continued, “if you’re a hero, maybe your parents will finally notice you.”

  Without responding, Ethan walked toward the front of the store. He stopped next to the cash register and looked out the window at the street. “So how do we get back to Mr. Nightmare’s?”

  Sophie joined him at the window. “I don’t know.”

  Keeping to the shadows between the shelves, Monster said hesitantly, “Sophie, I have an idea, but you aren’t going to like it.”

  She’d like any idea that wasn’t them standing here, worrying about whether she was right or wrong, worrying about whether her parents and Madison and Lucy were trapped in that house and she’d ridden away without knowing . . .

  “We could fly,” Monster said.

  “YOU CAN FLY?” ETHAN ASKED.

  “Not me. No wings.” Monster flapped his tentacles. “But there are plenty of dreams about creatures who can fly . . .”

  Sophie suddenly realized what he was suggesting, and she retreated so fast that she smacked into a bookshelf. Books wobbled as the shelf rocked. “No. No. And in case that’s not clear: No! I promised!”

  Monster ducked farther into the shadows. He drew his tentacles around him, making himself as small as possible. “Knew you wouldn’t like it. Never mind. It’s a terrible idea. We’ll come up with another plan.”

  Ethan looked from Sophie to the shadows that held Monster and back again. “Wait, what’s the idea? Fly how?”

  “He wants . . .” She stopped. He wanted her to drink a flying dream, but she couldn’t say that without revealing what happened when she dreamed. “Never mind. Maybe I’m wrong about this. Maybe it wasn’t Lucy’s backpack, and Mr. Nightmare has nothing to do with my parents or the gray creature.”

  “Or maybe you’re right and we missed something,” Ethan said. “He won’t be expecting us to come back. If we can find a way to sneak in without him noticing . . . Maybe go in through the basement?”

  “You changed your tune quick,” Monster commented.

  “You convinced me. Or, more accurately, the gray giraffe did.”

  Sophie stared out the window, wishing that she saw her parents walking up to the door as if nothing had happened. A dreamcatcher twisted as she brushed against it. It sparkled in the sunlight, casting a hundred shards of light on the floor. This late in the day, the sun was low in the sky, and it spilled straight through the window. Outside, all the shadows were rosy and long, blending as they melted together on the asphalt. Car windshields reflected the soon-to-set sun, and she heard a dog bark, wanting to be walked. But no one came outside. A police car drove by again, slowly. The street was empty. Yards and driveways were empty. No one was taking out the trash or taking in the mail or playing basketball or jumping rope or riding bikes or doing anything at all outside. It was even more noticeable than earlier—word must have spread. She thought of the policeman saying there would be an announcement on the local news and wondered if everyone was glued to their TV, waiting for the kids to be found. But the kids wouldn’t be found if she was right, because no one knew about Mr. Nightmare or the gray giraffe-man. “Fine. I’ll do it.” She turned to Monster. “But we take a dreamcatcher, and we turn the flying whatever back into a dream as soon as Mom and Dad and the others are safe.”

  Without waiting for Monster or Ethan to respond, Sophie spun around and marched to the basement stairs. She hoped she wouldn’t regret this. For six years, she’d kept her promise. But for six years, her parents had been safe. If Mr. Nightmare really had them . . . If she’d been to his house and they’d been there, or if she’d missed a clue to where they were and she’d left without noticing . . . then she had to do this.

  “Anyone want to fill me in?” Ethan asked, following.

  “She’s going to drink a dream,” Monster said.

  “Okay. And?”

  “And then she’ll dream.”

  Sophie hurried to the ledger and flipped through. She needed a flying dream, but not just a dreamer-flies-like-a-superhero kind of dream. All three of them needed to fly.

  Not a plane. She wouldn’t know how to fly that.

  Magic carpet? Maybe. But not a runaway one.

  Monster hopped onto the counter to look at the ledger with her. “I think whatever you bring out of the dream has to want to come out of the dream.”

  “What do you mean?” Sophie asked.

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought over the years—why me? Why not the bed or the blanket or the toys? There was an entire room of things, yet only I came out of the dream. I think it’s because I wanted to come. In the moment you said you wished I could be your pet, I chose to be with you.”

  Sophie looked at the ledger again. “So you think I have to convince a dream thing to come?”

  “It’s possible. Or maybe I came out because I’m furry and cute. Or it’s the tentacles. Or it’s random luck. I only have one data point.”

  Ethan held out his hands. “Wait. Back up here. You came out of Sophie’s dream?”

  Sophie took a deep breath and hoped her parents would understand. “I don’t dream, not normally. When I do . . . things come to life. That’s where Monster came from. So I’m going to drink a dream with something that can fly us across town.”

  Ethan’s jaw dropped. He then shut it and nodded. “Yeah, that’s not any crazier than anything that’s happened so far. Okay, so what kind of flying thing?” He joined them at the ledger.

  “Just like that?” Sophie asked. “You’re not freaking out?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll freak out later. The school counselor calls it repression. Says it’s an unhealthy coping mechanism. But at least I’m coping, right?” Looking over Sophie’s shoulder, he pointed at a line. “What’s that?”

  Sophi
e tore her gaze from him and looked at the ledger. “Flying hippopotamus.”

  “Not stealthy enough,” Monster said.

  Sophie read on, skimming for relevant dreams. “Giant bat?”

  “Possible.” Monster scampered over to the shelves. “No. Gone. It was filed under monsters, and it’s missing with the others. Pity. That would have been fun.”

  She scanned down the list, picking out a few more flying creatures. Dragons—all of those had been sold. Gryphons—also sold. Fairies—too small. Phoenixes—too fiery. Gargoyles—filed under monsters, so they were gone. “Winged ponies?”

  Monster wrinkled his nose.

  “They’re meant to carry people,” Sophie said.

  “But they’re so sparkly,” Monster complained.

  “All the monsters are gone. Besides, this isn’t about looking good.”

  “I always look good,” Monster said automatically, then sighed. “Fine. I’ll find the ponies.” He climbed the shelves, sorted through a few bottles, and then selected one. Carrying it in his tentacle, he climbed down. “Check it first. It would be a shame to drink the dream and then discover the ponies are six inches tall.”

  Carefully, as if she were holding the most fragile egg in the world, Sophie carried the bottle across the basement to the somnium. Please work, she thought as she poured it in the top.

  The clouds swirled in the base of the somnium.

  “What are we looking for?” Ethan asked.

  “You’ll see the dream here.” She pointed to the fattest part of the tube.

  The blue sparkle touched the smoke, and Sophie leaned closer to the glass. Ethan squeezed next to her, and Monster put his front paws on the table and rose onto his hind legs to see. He tucked his tentacles underneath the somnium.

  Images began to appear: the post office, the supermarket, the gas station, and then a house she didn’t recognize. It was white with blue shutters. The windows were dark, as if smudged with soot, or as if nothing were outside. Dreams were often like that, with incomplete houses and hints of objects that implied full rooms. The dream was silent, of course—the somnium was always silent, another way watching a dream wasn’t the same as experiencing one.