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I nod.
“Hey Alexa, activate cameras three and four.”
Two small blue lights come on. It’s uncomfortable knowing I’m being recorded, so I say, “Hey, Alexa, turn off cameras three and four.” The blue lights go out. “OK, so this Joe guy saw you, but how did he know when you were on the edge of a nightmare? And is it the same nightmare every night? I’ve never heard of parasomnia before.”
“Different situations in the dreams, but they always end with me dying. As for how did Joe know when to grab me from the nightmare? It took him a while to recognize the tell, but once he did, he’d save me from at least nine out of ten imminent deaths.”
“And then you’d sleep through the night? Eight hours’ sleep?”
“Four or five—which is a hell of a lot more restful than waking up with my heart pounding every hour.”
“Five hours isn’t enough to heal your body, Will. There’s so much science about how important sleep is to health and longevity …” I stop mid-sentence, realizing that Will might have a point about predicting his premature death. And it makes me mad.
“Will, why the hell aren’t you dealing with this? You have all the money in the world. Use it to fix this.” My anger morphs into sadness. “This is stupid.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Geopolitics are complicated. Reversing climate change is complicated. Figuring out how to get enough sleep? That’s just a puzzle. A puzzle that has an answer, but you have to be willing to look for it.” I grab him by the shoulders so I can watch his micro-expressions. “Will, why have you given up trying to fix this?”
17. Will
HUMAN-SHAPED TRANQUILIZER
Virginia is doing that thing where she looks at me with so much intention, it’s like she’s looking straight through my skin at how my cells vibrate inside my body. Where I can read a room, this woman can read an expression. Where I can see the forest, she sees the goddamn mites on the underside of a leaf of a plant ten yards away.
Not that I want to lie to her, but I don’t know the answer and don’t feel like being psychoanalyzed, so I lean forward and pull her into my arms with her head against my heart, hoping she can hear an answer I don’t have words for.
I rub her back, and after some time, her breathing and mine are in a slow, calm, deep synchronicity. She pulls away first, but my hand tracks her arm and grasps her fingers before she entirely disconnects. I’m not ready for her to leave.
She points. “Bedroom down that hall?”
“Yes?”
“Will you let me help you sleep tonight?”
I pause and a dozen images of Virginia in my bed click through my mind. None of them have either of us sleeping. And to prove my suspicion that Virginia “Psychic” Beach is, in fact, a witch, she says, “I’m not going to have sex with you. I just want to help you sleep without a nightmare. A few hours. Show me what Joe did. I’ll do that. In person.”
This woman, with her directness and self-confidence, with her fitted floral dresses and her out-of-control hair, her quirky quotes and astute observations … She’s going to be my undoing. The opposite of the death of me. And that is the scariest thought of all since I’ve never considered life beyond forty-four, but since meeting Virginia, I’ve wished for that option every single day.
“No,” I say.
The shock in her eyes makes me laugh.
“Will, I might be able to help you. Let me try.”
“Virginia, if you come into my bedroom, I will not sleep. I can promise you that. I’ll be so amped, focused on keeping myself from doing what I’ve imagined I’d do to you if you ever made the mistake of—”
“Will, stop. I get it. Just stop talking. Let me think.”
She shakes her hand from mine and walks to the bank of windows overlooking the city. As she stands with her back to me, her upper body starts to sway, the way she does when she’s talking to my plants, as if she’s listening and moving to music. I desperately want to hear what she hears, to be able to move in such a relaxed way, without feeling self-conscious.
Every move I make is scripted, recorded, analyzed, and corrected to the point that I’m not sure how to walk or stand or breathe if it’s just me and no audience, no image to uphold. At this moment, I want nothing more than the freedom Virginia is expressing simply by looking out my window.
She turns. The anger, sadness, and confusion she shared earlier have been replaced by the same look of determination I saw when I first pulled her into my office. She has a plan, and I know it will be flawless.
“OK, so number one, you’re going to give me access to your suite as part of my professional duties. I’m bringing plants to this room and to your bedroom. I need to see the bedroom to know what kinds will do well, but not until daylight.” She pauses. I sit.
“Agreed?” she asks.
