“Okay… well if you change your mind,” he says with a smile as he heads toward the pool hearing the girls demand for him to hurry.

  I settle in one of the chairs, put my sunglasses on, and open my sketch book to a fresh page. I contemplate what to draw, but realize I have the perfect material right in front of me, the girls swimming. I look at them periodically while they swim around and get thrown up in the air by their dad. I’m glad they are having so much fun. When I have almost finished the sketch of them in the pool, the whistle gets blown. It’s time for everyone to get out so the adults can swim if they like. The girls reluctantly get out, followed up by Marc. They pout the whole walk over to me.

  “Hey girls, did you have fun?” I ask looking up at them and wrapping each of them up in a towel.

  “Yeah… but when can we go back in?” Anna asks. She sits in her towel and stares at the pool.

  “In a few minutes. It’s a special time when adults get to swim by themselves,” I say. “Perfect time for you guys to snack and let me reapply your sunscreen.”

  “Fiinneee,” they both say at once.

  I hand them each a water to drink while I put some more sunscreen on them.

  “Did you bring any of Grammy’s cookies with, Mommy?” Ada asks.

  “No sweetie I didn’t, but I have some granola bars if you’re hungry,”

  Before she can answer, the whistle blows again and they all but run out of my grasp.

  “Girls wait, you need your floaties back on,” I call.

  “Okay, Mommy, but hurry,” Anna says.

  Marc helps Anna with hers, and I get Ada’s on before they run off toward the pool. I settle back to open up my sketch book again, but decide I would like to cool off in the pool after all. I put the towels on each chair, the universal sign for everyone that they are taken, slip off my shorts, and head toward the pool. At first it feels cold, but as I get all the way in, it feels very refreshing.

  “Mommy!” the girls say as they swim toward me. “You came in.”

  “I did,” I say, closing the distance between us and hold one on each hip while we bob in the water.

  Marc swims over and splashes us with water. “Hey, babe, glad you could join us.”

  “Hey!” they scream in unison, wiping water from their eyes.

  They wriggle out of my arms and start to splash the water right back at their dad.

  “Get him,” I yell playfully, splashing water in his face.

  It’s three against one in our splash war. Marc doesn’t stand a chance and proceeds to wave his invisible white flag.

  “We win!” they squeal with delight.

  “You sure did, monkeys,” Marc says, pulling them both in for a hug. We swim around for a while longer and go through two more adult swim periods before deciding we have had enough of the pool. I help the girls dry off and change while Marc gathers up our belongings.

  “Here, I’ll start loading up, you change into some dry clothes,” I tell Marc, already reaching for the towels and floaties.

  “Thanks, babe.” He gives me a swift kiss on the cheek and disappears into the locker room. He is already jogging toward us before I even get to the car. Must be nice to dry off and change so quickly.

  “Alright, who wants hot dogs on the grill when we get home?” Marc asks.

  “We do!” the girls yell in unison.

  Everyone is worn out by the time we get home. As Marc works on preparing the food, the girls plop on the couch and watch cartoons. I move to my recliner and reach for the book I’ve been reading, hoping to get at least halfway through.

  I don’t. Maybe later.

  With the food in front of me, I realize how hungry I was after I take the first mouth-watering bite. I devour the whole thing in record time, and I’m not the only one.

  “So, do you girls have any homework you need to get done?” I ask when we are finished eating.

  “Yeah, but it's only one thing though.” Anna says.

  “Well, go ahead and get to work on it.” Marc chimes in.

  They reluctantly go get their assignments and Marc agrees to help them so I can get some painting done.

  I am ready to finish my landscape. I gather all my paints, but when I sit in front of my canvas, I drop everything to the floor gasping. My hands fly up to my mouth. The beautiful canvas I was working on has three black paint swipes running down the length of the canvas.

  “Marc! Girls! Can you come in here?” I struggle to keep my voice calm, but internally, I am anything but. I gather my composure as I hear them run down the hallway.

  “Yeah, babe, what’s up?” he says looking at me with questioning eyes that have a slight bit of concern in them. I turn the canvas around for him to see.

  “Did any of you come into my studio and paint these black lines on my canvas?” My voice comes out calm and steady, which is good because I don’t want to scare the girls.

  Marc’s brows crease with confusion, “No, wasn’t me”

  “Girls? Did you do this? It’s okay if you did. Mommy won’t be mad, I promise. I only want to know the truth.”

  They look toward each other before looking back to me, confusion also on their small faces.

  “You did it, Mommy,” Anna says. I reel back at the accusation. My blood runs cold and shivers shoot down my spine.

  “What do you mean… I did it?” It takes an enormous amount of effort to keep my voice even as I look at the two of them. “When did you see Mommy do this?”

  “Umm. A few nights ago?” she says timidly. The question appears in her eyes, asking if she’s in trouble. “I was thirsty and… I came down to get some water and I saw you go in there, so I went to ask you to tuck me back in.” She finishes, not being able to look me in the eye.

  My heart breaks. I don't remember the encounter, “Honey it’s okay, Mommy isn’t mad,” I say sweetly and kneeling down to brush her hair behind her ears. “Go ahead and tell me what you saw.” She meets my gaze with more confidence now that she knows I’m not mad at her.

  “I saw you, Mommy. You were in here holding the paintbrush, painting. I tried to talk to you, but you told me to go back to bed,” she says with a shrug, “so I did.”

  I look to Marc and let him see the fear in my eyes before looking back to the girls. I set the canvas back on the easel and kneel down to pull them into a hug.

  “Okay. Thank you for reminding Mommy, I must have forgotten,” I say with a warm smile. I am trying as hard as I can to hide my growing anxiety. “Go ahead and finish your homework, okay.”

  They run back out of the room, leaving Marc and me alone.

  “Marc, I don’t remember doing this,” I say in a frantic, hushed whisper.

  “Shhh, babe, it’s okay, you were probably just sleepwalking or something,” he says as he pulls me into a hug. “I hear you get up in the middle of the night sometimes, but I didn’t think anything of it since you always come back to bed and seem fine.”

  “Maybe we should call and make an appointment for me, check everything out, just in case,” I try to relax in his arms, but I feel like I’m going crazy. I want to be able to remember what happened.

  “Okay, babe, if that’s what you want to do, we can, but I don’t see any harm in you sleepwalking. Why don’t you go watch some tv with the girls and have a cup of chamomile tea?”

  “That sounds good,” I head toward the couch, grateful to Marc for bringing me my tea and doing what he can to keep me relaxed.

  The tea is long cold. I haven’t taken more than two sips. My mind is too fixated on the black lines on my canvas. The girls have long finished their homework and are now playing upstairs, while I zone out in front of the tv. The gurgling sounds my stomach makes tell me it must be close to dinner time.

  Ding Dong.

  I am brought out of my never-ending thoughts for the moment. Who could that be?

  “I decided to order take out for dinner… hope that’s okay.” Marc says.

  I’m hit once again with how much I love him. “Thank you, that means a lot.”

  We eat in silence on the couch while the girls start a movie. Everyone seems engrossed in the movie and is almost done with their food, but I have barely touched mine. I am still shaken, wondering what on earth would possess me to paint black lines on my landscape in the first place.

  Well, you were sleeping and you had painting on your mind, so maybe you thought you were painting a masterpiece when in reality you painted three black lines. Nothing makes sense and I am nowhere near a resolution.

  7

  My mind is still on last night’s canvas incident and I am nowhere near figuring it out or remembering what happened. Hoping to turn my focus to something else, I turn on the tv while I drink my second cup of coffee. Luckily Marc is making my doctor’s appointment today, I don’t know how much more of this I can take. I need answers, good or bad.

  I turn on the news. Pushing away my thoughts, I make myself cozy on the couch underneath my favorite blanket, drinking my now lukewarm coffee. They are finishing up the weather report for the week when a breaking news banner flashes at the bottom of the screen, catching my attention.

  “The body found in Sugar Creek last night has now been identified as sixty-year-old Ken Woo.”

  I move to the edge of the couch. I don’t even hear the rest because I am looking at the picture on the screen. Seeing his face, I drop the remainder of my coffee on the floor; I don’t hear the crash when it lands.

  What the hell?

  I’m frozen in place. The picture staring back at me has the same face, and same eyes as in my nightmare.

  That can’t be right.

  When I can finally move again, I realize I have coffee all over the floor and my socks. I don’t bother cleaning it up. Instead, I frantically grab my phone. My hands are shaking so badly, it takes me three attempts to type in Marc’s number. When it finally goes through and starts to ring, I push the phone against my ear, willing him to pick up.

  “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I whisper frantically over and over.

  He finally picks up on the fourth ring. Thank god.

  “Hey, babe, what’s up?” he answers coolly.

  “It’s him… the same guy… he’s… he’s... dead!” I stammer out the words, finding it impossible to even explain what is going on since I don’t understand it myself.

  “Whoa, whoa, babe, slow down,” he says in a rush. “Who’s dead? What are you talking about?” He’s frantic on the phone, now fully invested in the conversation.

  “The guy… from my nightmare!” I tell him.

  “Babe, you need to calm down, breathe, and then tell me what’s going on.” He struggles to keep his voice even, and patient.

  I take a few deep breaths and move to sit down, pinching my nose between my fingers before I continue.

  “The man, the one I saw myself murdering in my dream, hitting him with the car and then holding him underwater, he’s on tv… as a real person. He’s dead,” I say as calmly and slowly as possible, trying to give him as much detail as I can.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, his voice full of confusion.

  “You know, the sleep paralysis dream!” I shout, willing him to get on the same page as me and remember. “That same guy I saw myself murdering in my dream? Well, he is the same guy they are showing on tv right now! They found him in the river!”

  I’m trying to stay calm, but I feel hot tears running down my face. The flash of my muddy shoes enters my thoughts. Bringing my hand to my mouth, I manage to stifle the strangled sob that threatens to come out.

  It was me! I did this! Why else would my tennis shoes be caked in mud? I was there! My thoughts are damning and I feel the walls start to close in on me.

  “Babe, it’s okay. Take a breath. Is there any way you’re projecting your dream onto this tragedy because they are similar?” he asks in a calm, careful voice. “I know how upset you were yesterday when you found out you sleepwalked. You’re probably still feeling it and trying to see something in this that isn’t there.”

  I try to focus on what he is saying to me instead of the muddy tennis shoes I got rid of. That last part of what he said really hurt, but maybe he has a point.

  No, I know what I saw, don’t I? Did I sleepwalk into some mud instead, and that’s how the shoes got ruined? I’m starting to doubt myself a little. I wipe the tears from my face as I try to calm down.

  “Babe? Are you still there?” he asks.

  “Yeah… I’m here, I’m just… He just… He looks exactly like the man I saw in my dream, Marc, I’m really freaking out here.” I stop myself before I can voice my next fear that suddenly infiltrated my mind.

  What if it wasn’t a dream? What if I was sleep-driving and actually killed this man? I already had the feeling of liking the way it felt to kill him, oh my god no! No! I did not. Could not do this! I shake my thoughts away. This is insane. There was no damage to the car and you’re not capable of something like that, besides, he was found in the river. They didn’t mention anything about his being hit by a car first. Did they?

  Before I can spiral any further with my thoughts, I need to get more information about the man they found, how he died, and when.

  “Babe, do you need me to come home?”

  I can hear the concern in his voice, but I don’t want to be a burden to him and keep making him miss parts of work.

  “No, it’s fine. I’m fine, I just…” I stop because frankly I don’t know what I need. “You’re probably right, it’s nothing.”

  “Babe, I have to go, I’m getting called into a meeting okay, but I’ll call you afterward.”

  We hang up and all I can do is sit in a state of shock as more tears continue to flow down my cheeks. When I can finally get up and look around, I remember I still have my spilled coffee mess to clean up. I pick up the big pieces of broken mug first before wiping the coffee up with a paper towel. With all the coffee cleaned up, I have nothing else to preoccupy my mind, so I walk around the house in a daze. I decide to start some laundry. I’m on autopilot, going through the motions, when I hear the door downstairs open. I freeze, cursing myself for leaving my phone downstairs, but remembering I can also make phone calls from my watch. I type in 9-1-1 and get ready to hit call, when I hear a familiar voice.

  “Babe? Are you here?” Marc calls from downstairs.

  Oh, thank god.

  I clear 9-1-1 from the watch and run downstairs to greet him, but mentally wrack my brain. What time is it; did I miss picking up the girls again? A glance at my watch tells me he is simply home early.

  “Oh my god, you scared me!” I say. “What are you doing here?”

  He sets his briefcase down, and begins to loosen his tie, “I came home early,”

  “But… what are you doing here, I told you I was fine… you didn’t need to come home.” I say, guilt heavy in every word. I have to look away from him so he doesn’t see the apprehension on my face.

  “I know, but you sounded really anxious on the phone, and I wanted to be here for you,” he says with a sly smirk, looking back toward me, “and… I took the rest of the week off too.”

  “What? Why? You didn’t have to do that,” I grind out. Great, he thinks I’m not sane enough to be left alone.

  “It’s fine, babe. I had some vacation time and figured now would be the perfect time to use it. Besides, the alarm system is getting installed on Wednesday and the girls are starting piano lessons the same day. I figured it would be easier on you if I were home to help with everything.” His embrace is reassuring, but his body feels rigid. I ignore it and melt into him, my tears flowing freely against his shirt.

  “Thank you, I really appreciate it,” I say between sniffles. “Did you happen to make the appointment yet? I think I really want to go now.”

  “I did, yes. They can get you in this Friday at ten,” he says as he rubs his hands up and down my arms.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course, babe.”

  He makes me some food while I sit on the couch with the tv off. I don’t want to chance seeing the dead man’s face again.

  “Here we are. Some food should help you feel a little better.” The sandwich looks unappetizing, but I smile and eat it anyway.

  “Thank you.”

  He devours his sandwich, glancing at me between bites. “Why don’t you go upstairs when you're finished and get some rest, I can pick the girls up today.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you, I could use a nap.” I leave the rest of the sandwich and head upstairs. “Goodnight.”

  “Sweet dreams babe.”

  In the privacy of my bedroom, I prepare myself to do some digging. How can I sleep if sleep is the root problem of all this?

  I set my pillows up to give me a nice backrest so I can sit up in bed to do research on what might be wrong with me. I’m not quite ready to look up details about Ken Woo, who I may or may not have murdered. Instead, I focus on figuring out what is wrong with me. This ends up being a bad idea since I get dragged down a rabbit hole. Sleep paralysis and sleepwalking are possible signs of sleep deprivation or interrupted sleep. The forgetfulness, however, can also be the result of sleep deprivation or a brain tumor, like Freya was telling me. The hallucinations, or vivid dreams, can also be a symptom of sleep paralysis or brain tumor as well.

  Ugh what a mess.

  All the symptoms I’m experiencing can all be linked from one extreme to another. There is no definitive answer. Of course, why would it be simple. My mind is reeling with the information overload when I hear the front door open. The girls are talking to Marc downstairs.

  They’re home already, jeez. Still feeling dazed, I close all the tabs on my phone and run down to greet them.

  The time with them goes by in a blur, and I hope they don’t pick up on my inner turmoil. The last thing I want to do is to worry them.

  As the night goes on and the girls are long asleep in their beds, I notice that Marc hasn’t even brought up the events of today. I don’t want to be the first to bring it up either. It feels like the largest elephant in the room pushing us farther apart. If he is feeling the same way, he never lets it show. I wait until I hear his breathing start to slow and become deeper, telling me he is fast asleep. Slowly moving the covers off, I climb out of bed, and head into the bathroom, closing the door softly behind me. I put a towel down on the cold tile, and lower myself onto it, sitting cross legged. Immersed in the dark, blue light emanates from my phone. I take a deep breath before typing the name of the dead man in Sugar Creek into the search bar. Multiple articles appear. I choose the first one on the list: Local Man Found in Sugar Creek. I take a deep breath before I read the article.

 

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