the color fade from Linc’s face as he scrunched down in his wheelchair. Even Grandma was watching him with narrowed eyes. What had happened to my fearless brother?
Finally, a female reporter managed to over-shout all the others. “Dr. Herpa and Detective Clemet, do you really still believe he was in the car accident?”
“Like I said, his injuries are consistent with a car accident and appear to date back about two weeks.”
Detective Clemet cleared his throat. “At this point we aren’t ruling anything out.”
Another reporter jumped up to shout her question. “Lincoln, do you really not remember what happened before or after the accident?”
Linc looked at my dad then leaned toward the microphone. “Yeah.”
The woman sat down, looking annoyed.
A man popped up and shouted, “How does it feel to be back with your family?”
At this Linc gave a goofy little grin. “Good?”
That reporter sat down annoyed as well.
“Will you be returning to school soon?” another shouted.
Dr. Herpa answered that one. “Within the week, I should hope. But sports will have to wait a bit longer,” he said pointedly to Lincoln.
The longer Linc sat up there and answered their stupid questions, the more relaxed he became. He sat up straighter, smiled and made a few jokes. The doctor finally cut them off citing his patient needing rest and we were all escorted back upstairs.
Relieved to see Linc more like himself, I gave him a tiny hug good-bye but was surprised when he wouldn’t let go.
“Bixby?” he whispered into my hair.
“What?”
“Can’t you stay here tonight?”
I pulled back a little and looked from him to our dad. “I have to take care of Grandma. What’s wrong?”
He shrugged, and then whispered, “Nothing. Just bad dreams I guess.”
He heard my tiny intake of breath and looked at me quizzically.
“What kind of dreams?” I wheezed.
“Just ... bad ones. Like I’m stuck, or ... stuck, I guess.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, don’t worry about it.”
I nodded and shoved my shaking hands into my pockets. “There are nurses out there all night if you need anything, okay? And we’ll be back tomorrow to bring you home. I’ll make Salisbury steak, okay?”
Even that didn’t cheer him up and I left the hospital feeling like a jerk. He was sick and in pain and having nightmares and not only could I not stay to keep him company, I couldn’t help but be worried for myself. I had been distracted for the last few hours but bedtime was only a short ways away and I was worried for my sanity.
Chapter 7
THE RIDE HOME WAS ANOTHER silent one and to my dismay, Grandma wanted to go to bed right away. I would have straightened Lincoln’s room for him but I had done that obsessively after the funeral, washing and folding his clothes and making his bed, doing it all over again when my hands had been still for too long.
I tried to loiter in the living room with my dad but he kicked me out. “Seriously, Bixby, can I have five minutes to myself?”
Our outdated water heater only gave me fifteen minutes of soothing, distracting hot water and even my hair didn’t need more than a few minutes with the hair dryer. Frustrated and nervous, I found myself in bed at ten o’clock.
I lay thinking then reached over to my nightstand for a pen. After another minute of thinking, I carefully wrote out “Lincoln” on the back of my left hand and lay back down.
I tried to pay attention as I drifted off. Was it at all different than how I normally felt falling asleep? Was coming to in this new kind of dream different than Nightmare Town?
Hearing the distinct crackle of the fireplace again I realized that it was. I didn’t ever wake up in Nightmare Town, I just was there. I fell asleep, floated around in darkness for a while then my mind faded in with me standing in front of the display cases in the general store, or walking down the road to my house, or in the alley behind the pub. Here, in
Finally, a female reporter managed to over-shout all the others. “Dr. Herpa and Detective Clemet, do you really still believe he was in the car accident?”
“Like I said, his injuries are consistent with a car accident and appear to date back about two weeks.”
Detective Clemet cleared his throat. “At this point we aren’t ruling anything out.”
Another reporter jumped up to shout her question. “Lincoln, do you really not remember what happened before or after the accident?”
Linc looked at my dad then leaned toward the microphone. “Yeah.”
The woman sat down, looking annoyed.
A man popped up and shouted, “How does it feel to be back with your family?”
At this Linc gave a goofy little grin. “Good?”
That reporter sat down annoyed as well.
“Will you be returning to school soon?” another shouted.
Dr. Herpa answered that one. “Within the week, I should hope. But sports will have to wait a bit longer,” he said pointedly to Lincoln.
The longer Linc sat up there and answered their stupid questions, the more relaxed he became. He sat up straighter, smiled and made a few jokes. The doctor finally cut them off citing his patient needing rest and we were all escorted back upstairs.
Relieved to see Linc more like himself, I gave him a tiny hug good-bye but was surprised when he wouldn’t let go.
“Bixby?” he whispered into my hair.
“What?”
“Can’t you stay here tonight?”
I pulled back a little and looked from him to our dad. “I have to take care of Grandma. What’s wrong?”
He shrugged, and then whispered, “Nothing. Just bad dreams I guess.”
He heard my tiny intake of breath and looked at me quizzically.
“What kind of dreams?” I wheezed.
“Just ... bad ones. Like I’m stuck, or ... stuck, I guess.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, don’t worry about it.”
I nodded and shoved my shaking hands into my pockets. “There are nurses out there all night if you need anything, okay? And we’ll be back tomorrow to bring you home. I’ll make Salisbury steak, okay?”
Even that didn’t cheer him up and I left the hospital feeling like a jerk. He was sick and in pain and having nightmares and not only could I not stay to keep him company, I couldn’t help but be worried for myself. I had been distracted for the last few hours but bedtime was only a short ways away and I was worried for my sanity.
Chapter 7
THE RIDE HOME WAS ANOTHER silent one and to my dismay, Grandma wanted to go to bed right away. I would have straightened Lincoln’s room for him but I had done that obsessively after the funeral, washing and folding his clothes and making his bed, doing it all over again when my hands had been still for too long.
I tried to loiter in the living room with my dad but he kicked me out. “Seriously, Bixby, can I have five minutes to myself?”
Our outdated water heater only gave me fifteen minutes of soothing, distracting hot water and even my hair didn’t need more than a few minutes with the hair dryer. Frustrated and nervous, I found myself in bed at ten o’clock.
I lay thinking then reached over to my nightstand for a pen. After another minute of thinking, I carefully wrote out “Lincoln” on the back of my left hand and lay back down.
I tried to pay attention as I drifted off. Was it at all different than how I normally felt falling asleep? Was coming to in this new kind of dream different than Nightmare Town?
Hearing the distinct crackle of the fireplace again I realized that it was. I didn’t ever wake up in Nightmare Town, I just was there. I fell asleep, floated around in darkness for a while then my mind faded in with me standing in front of the display cases in the general store, or walking down the road to my house, or in the alley behind the pub. Here, in
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