The Sleep Experiment Read online

  “Whoa!” Jimmy said. “You okay?”

  Her eyes watering, she nodded.

  “Take a deep breath…”

  She swallowed the acid biting her throat and took a deep breath. “Whew…” she said, taking another breath.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea right now,” he said. “We’ve had a lot to drink. Maybe come back tomorrow—”

  “Shhhh!” Penny said, spotting Guru crossing the breezeway toward the old building’s front entrance. “There’s baldy! Won’t be much longer now.”

  ◆◆◆

  Dr. Wallis checked his wristwatch when Guru entered the observation room: 9:45 p.m. Guru’s head was as bald as ever, and he was dressed smartly in one of his new outfits, which consisted of a pink button-down shirt, navy jeans, and a pair of burgundy leather loafers sans socks.

  “I’m digging your style, my man!” Wallis told him. “You look just like me on my day off.”

  “You flatter me, professor,” Guru replied sincerely. “I owe all of my good fortune to you.”

  “Good fortune? Have you found a suitable wife already?”

  “No, not yet, though I am sure it will not be long now.” He held up his backpack. “Can you smell it?”

  Dr. Wallis sniffed. “I smell something, but it’s not McDonald’s.”

  “Not today! Look at this!” He set his backpack on the table and produced a paper bag with the Chipotle logo on it. “I present to you—Chipotle!” He pronounced the restaurant chain’s name Chee-pol-til.

  “It’s called Chee-poht-lay, Guru.”

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  Wallis raised his eyebrows. “Are you mad? It’s one of the most popular fast-food joints in the country. You haven’t heard of Chipotle before today?”

  “No, never. I have never paid close attention to restaurants. But when I went for a walk this morning, and I saw Chee-poht-lay, I thought to myself, Professor Wallis is right. I need to improve my diet. So I went inside and ordered a burrito bowl, and much to my astonishment and delight, I was allowed to select all of my own ingredients!”

  “That’s how they work, Guru. Sort of like a Mexican Subway.”

  “Subway? What is Subway? Ah! I got you there, professor! Of course I know Subway. But a big American sandwich never sounded appealing to me.”

  “But a big American burger did?”

  “No, I only ordered the chicken nuggets from McDonald’s.”

  “Every day?”

  “Yes, every day. But now I have discovered Chee-poht-lay, and I will never return to McDonald’s again.”

  “All right, I gotta get out of here, Guru, you’re blowing my mind.” Wallis stood and collected his messenger bag. “Chad and Sharon have been quiet for most of the day. They had an argument earlier. You can read about it in my notes. Looks like they’ve put their differences behind them. But if anything happens, you have my number.”

  “Do not worry about me, professor. I can hold down the fort.”

  ◆◆◆

  It had stopped raining, and the night was cool and wet, smelling of earth and rain. Dr. Wallis started east along Bayard Rustin Way when he heard heels clapping the pavement behind him.

  “Professor!”

  He turned to find Penny Park hurrying after him, sporting red pumps and a three-quarter-length jacket.

  “Penny?” he said, surprised. “What are you doing here? You don’t start until the morning.”

  “Of course I know that, professor,” she said, coming to stand next to him. “I came here to see you!”

  Dr. Wallis couldn’t smell alcohol on her breath, but he could see it in her eyes, and hear it in the slippery way she was speaking.

  “You look dressed to go out,” he commented.

  “I have been out. With my friend, Jimmy, and some others. But I got bored.”

  “So you came to see me?”

  “Yes.” She batted her fake eyelashes and took his arm. “Was that bad?”

  Wallis looked past her but saw nobody else nearby. He looked back at Penny. She was smiling expectantly at him. “Penny, I can’t go anywhere with you.”

  She sulked. “Why not?”

  “I’m your professor.”

  “So? Professors are allowed to go out with their students. I’m twenty-one.”

  “It’s not appropriate.”

  “Who’s going to care!” she said. “Nobody’s even going to see us! Nobody’s around Berkeley right now.”

  Dr. Wallis actually found himself considering her words. Then: No—no way!

  Penny, perhaps sensing his hesitation, pressed: “Come on, professor. We’ll go somewhere small and quiet.”

  “Sorry, Penny,” he said. “Not tonight.”

  “It will be fuuuunnnnnn,” she said softly, rocking forward on her toes to lean against him.

  “No, Penny,” he said decisively. “I’m going to call you an Uber.”

  “Awwww…” She hiccupped.

  “How much have you had to drink?” he asked.

  “Not much,” she said. “And you can’t call me an Uber.”

  He frowned. “Why not?”

  “I don’t trust them. You know how many girls go missing in them.”

  “They’re just as safe as taxis.”

  “I don’t trust taxis either.”

  “Then how did you get here?” He didn’t think the bus, dressed how she was.

  “Jimmy dropped me off.”

  Wallis’ frown deepened. “How did you expect to get home then?”

  She hiccupped again. “C’mon, professor. Let’s go have fun!”

  “I’ll drive you home.”

  “But I want to go out!”

  “Penny, you either let me drive you home, or you hang out here with Guru all night. Your choice.”

  “Oh, God! Fine! Where’s your car?”

  Wallis led her to where he had parked on nearby Crescent Lawn.

  “An Audi!” Penny said. “What are you, rich or something, professor?”

  “I don’t have kids to spend all my money.” He immediately regretted the remark.

  Penny seized on the opening and said, “So you’re not married, right?”

  “No,” he said simply.

  “Girlfriend?”

  “In the car, Penny.”

  He pressed Unlock on the remote key, then slid in behind the wheel and closed the door. Penny climbed in shotgun, her door thudding closed a moment after his.

  “Sporty!” she said.

  “What’s your address?”

  “You don’t have to put it into the GPS. I’ll just tell you. Turn left on Oxford Street.”

  Dr. Wallis followed the instructions, his car the only one tooling through the night.

  “So,” he said, thinking of a safe topic to discuss.

  “So?” she repeated mischievously.

  The girl’s incorrigible! he thought.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you,” he said. “What are your plans after you graduate next year? Workwise,” he added quickly, so she didn’t think he was propositioning her for marriage or something else equally ludicrous.

  “I want to be a K-Pop star.” She sighed. “But I’m not a great singer, so I don’t think that’s happening. Realistically? Something that lets me travel. I want to see Paris and London and Taiwan and Laos. I want to travel the world.”

  “You’re in the wrong major then,” he remarked.

  “Psychology, you mean?” She smiled. “Oh my, professor. That’s not my major. International affairs is.”

  Wallis glanced at her. “But you were in every one of my classes last semester. That must have eaten up most of your electives?”

  “All of them. Want to know a secret?”

  He wasn’t sure he did, but he waited expectantly.

  “I was in your first-year psych class too,” she said. “You probably don’t remember because that class was huge, like five hundred people.”

  He didn’t remember.

  “I really li
ked it,” she went on. “I mean, I only took it because it was one of those first-year classes every freshman takes. But, well, I developed a bit of a crush on you.”

  Wallis gripped the steering wheel more tightly. “Where am I turning?” They were approaching Bancroft Way.

  “Next street turn right.”

  “Durrant?”

  “Yeah, go straight on it for two blocks. Anyway, that was my secret.”

  “Right. Well, thanks for telling me, Penny. I’m, uh, flattered.”

  “Now it’s your turn,” she said. “Tell me a secret.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t have any.”

  She laughed. “Right! Everybody has a secret. Okay, stop! We’re here.”

  Wallis tapped the brakes. “Here?”

  She pointed out his window to a red, brown, and silver six-story student building. Above the double-door entrance freestanding letters spelled: VARSITY.

  “That’s where you live? It’s less than a mile from Tolman Hall!”

  “You don’t have to tell me, professor.”

  “What I mean is, you could have walked.”

  “In heels? No, thanks! Besides,” she said, turning to face him, “I like being in your car.”

  “You should get some rest, Penny,” he said.

  “Do you want to come in?”

  “No.”

  “Just for a little bit.” She touched his arm.

  “No.”

  “Why not?” She leaned closer, the throat of her jacket opening to reveal her cleavage in her low-cut dress.

  “You’re too forward for your own good,” he said.

  “I like getting what I want.” She leaned ever closer.

  “Penny, you need to go,” he told her.

  Her lips pressed against his. She kissed him forcefully, and he found himself kissing her back. She rested a hand against his chest, then attempted to relocate her body over the center console to straddle him. This proved too difficult in the cramped space, and she settled for sliding her hand down to his groin—

  “Penny,” he said, his voice husky. He gripped her wrist. Her eyes were inches from his, glistening, wild, alive. “You should get some rest.”

  He was sure she would protest, and he was steeling himself for an argument, but she simply slumped back into her seat. With a subtle smile, she said, “See you tomorrow, professor,” and got out of the car and closed the door.

  Dr. Wallis watched her until she entered the building, and only then did he wonder if it had been Penny he’d spotted earlier from the window of his old office.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said in conflicted bemusement. He put the Audi in gear and headed home.

  ◆◆◆

  He didn’t go home.

  He wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Instead, he stopped by The Hideaway, a pirate-themed pub in San Francisco’s Fillmore District. The place might be decked out in Caribbean kitsch, but it was open late, always loud, and it boasted the largest selection of rum in the country.

  Dr. Wallis managed to score a recently vacated stool at the bar, and he was promptly greeted by Julio, the always-smiling proprietor and head bartender, who was probably the only person in the state more passionate about rum than he was.

  “Yo ho ho, Roy,” Julio greeted him, speaking loudly to be heard above the chatter. “What’s it going to be tonight? Your regular, or do you feel like continuing your voyage?”

  The voyage he was referring to involved Wallis drinking his way through all one-hundred or so drinks on the menu. He was about halfway there, having already tried everything from colonial tavern tipples to Prohibition-era Havana creations to complex ten-ingredient tiki cocktails.

  “What’s next on the voyage?” he asked.

  “I don’t believe you’ve had a Rum Flip yet? Whole egg, Demerara, freshly grated nutmeg, and of course a hand-picked premium rum.”

  “Dinner and drink in one. Sounds good, brother.”

  Julio went off to build the drink, and Wallis took out his phone. He opened the messenger app. The last text was from Brook thanking him for dinner the night before. He’d replied with a thumbs-up emoticon. It had seemed appropriate at the time, but now it seemed uninspired, underwhelming, and even a bit dickish, considering he’d also spent the night on her houseboat.

  This interpretation was no doubt fueled by guilt due to the bizarre encounter with Penny, but he nevertheless typed:

  Had a great time too. You looked spectacular. When are we going to do it again?

  He set his phone down. The woman on the stool to his left said something to him.

  “Excuse me?” he said. She was roughly thirty, dirty blonde, and had one hell of a rack.

  “Rascal, scoundrel, villain, or knave. Which one are you?”

  “All rolled into one,” he replied.

  She raised her elaborate cocktail in appreciation.

  Julio returned then with a yellow concoction that looked like something you would drink on Christmas morning.

  Dr. Wallis took a sip. “Excellent as expected, my man,” he said.

  Julio bowed with a flourish, identified the rum he’d used, and returned to serving other customers.

  “Come here often?” the blonde asked.

  “Where have I heard that before?”

  “A girlfriend of mine recommended this place to me for the atmosphere.” A smile lifted her lips. “She should have recommended it for the men.”

  Wallis studied the woman more closely. Her tight, knee-length green dress and gold stilettos straddled a fine line between slutty and elegant. However, her jewelry seemed real, and her makeup wasn’t over the top…and he couldn’t yet decide whether she was into him, or a lady of the night looking to offer her services.

  “Is your girlfriend here with you?” he asked.

  “I’m alone.”

  Dr. Wallis was chewing on this when his phone chimed and vibrated.

  “Excuse me,” he said, opening the messenger app.

  The text was from Brook:

  Hi Roy. I didn’t work tonight. I made spaghetti and a salad earlier. If you want to come by, there are plenty of leftovers. But I understand if you’ve just got off work and are tired… Please let me know.

  Wallis smiled to himself. Typical Brook: genuine, timorous, polite.

  He felt worse than ever for what happened with Penny…and for the thought in the back of his mind that perhaps he should buy the woman next to him a drink.

  He stood. “Unfortunately, business calls.”

  “Business…or pleasure?” the woman asked.

  Wallis hesitated. “It was nice meeting you.”

  She extended a bony hand. “I’m Liz.”

  “Roy,” he said, shaking.

  “Maybe I’ll see you around here, Roy?”

  “It’s one of my favorite hangouts.”

  “Lucky girl,” she said, her eyes flicking momentarily to his phone in his hand.

  “No, lucky me,” he said, taking his leave then, and thinking, Luckier than I deserve.

  Day 7

  Sunday, June 3, 2018

  Dr. Wallis was having the dream that had stalked him throughout his childhood, adolescence, and adult life. He was seven or eight years old, walking down a street bustling with tourists and lined with dozens of kiosks all selling similar-looking jewelry, shot glasses, coffee mugs, and cheap magnets. A huge cruise ship, docked at port, loomed in the background like a modern-day castle.

  Roy couldn’t see what was following him, but he knew it was there. It was always there, and it always caught up to him. This was the reason for the cold terror in his gut: the inevitability and inescapability of his fate. The thing had caught him a thousand times before, and it would catch him another thousand times in the future.

  Still, he continued to weave his way through the cheerful crowd, continued to look back over his shoulder for his unseen pursuer, continued to fight the tears brimming in his eyes. He had an almost ov
erwhelming urge to approach one of the police officers in their meticulous uniforms directing traffic. He didn’t because he had approached one before, in a previous dream, and the police officer had been unable to help him and had, in fact, only slowed him down, expediting his pursuer’s arrival.

  Roy started to run. He bumped into strangers and knocked over tacky souvenirs from tables and called for his mom and dad, but they couldn’t help him either. They were dead. They had died here in the Bahamas. The capsized yacht had been discovered floating twenty nautical miles off Paradise Island by local fishermen. Their bodies were never found. This tragic event might not have occurred until Roy was a sophomore at UCLA, and he himself had never before visited any of the islands or cays in the archipelago, but chronology and logic mattered little to one’s slumbering mind.

  The throngs of tourists and locals thinned around him, and before he knew it he was alone on the street. On one corner rose the huge Roman Catholic church he used to go to on Sundays with his parents. He hurried through the gaping entrance into the structure’s cavernous belly. The interior was not as he remembered it. No pews spanned the hardwood floors. Great swaths of uninhibited ivy climbed the stone walls and smothered the stained-glass windows. Chunks of missing ceiling and roof created great big skylights opening to the blue expanse above.

  For some reason people had abandoned this church, leaving it to weather and fall apart, and God had abandoned it in turn.

  Which meant there would be no safety for him here. He had to go. He had to find someplace better to hide—

  He was too late.

  The doors to the church no longer led outside. They led only to blackness.

  “No,” he whimpered, and a part of him knew he had spoken that same word out loud in the bed where his adult self slept.

  The blackness beckoned him, and he moved toward it, unable to disobey. When he reached the doors, Roy could sense the size of the demon in the abyss beyond. He had only ever experienced it in spatial terms. Never a face or a body. No malevolent eyes or pointy teeth. It was only big. Monolithic. Making him in comparison feel no larger than a pebble at the base of a mountain—

  Dr. Wallis jerked upright in bed, swallowing back bile that had risen in his throat.