“Sylvia,” my dad says firmly. “You shouldn’t have gotten into a car with a stranger. Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t have my phone,” I say weakly. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“My God. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you had been . . .” His voice trails off, and we avoid eye contact, each of us thinking about what could have happened.
“You’re my heart,” he whispers, and I’m startled to see that he’s crying. I reach over and wipe away a tear that’s trickled down by the side of his mouth.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m okay.”
He manages a shaky smile.
“Is it okay if I go up to bed now? I’m exhausted.”
He kisses my forehead. “Of course, honey. Go get some rest.”
I leave him alone on the couch. He doesn’t follow me up to bed. That’s good because I have no intention of resting right now. Not after the night I’ve had.
Upstairs, my phone is right where I left it, on my nightstand. I grab it and punch in Rollins’s number. He answers before the phone even finishes its first ring. He sounds frenzied. “Vee! So glad you called. The show was so amazing. You listened, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, you were really great. But I’m actually calling about something else . . .”
Rollins is suddenly all business. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I suppose I can’t blame him for assuming the worst after the craziness I put him through six months ago. I called him one night, begging him to help me save my sister from the killer who’d already murdered one of her friends.
“I’m okay,” I say, making my voice calm, trying to reassure him. “I just . . . kind of . . . crashed my father’s car.”
“WHAT WERE YOU DOING DRIVING YOUR DAD’S CAR?” Rollins bellows into the phone. I have to hold it a few inches away from my ear.
“I don’t know how to explain it. I fell asleep listening to your show. And then I thought I was having that dream again . . .” I swallow. “But it wasn’t a dream.”
“What are you saying, Vee?”
“I thought I was dreaming about riding in a car, but this time I was driving . . .” My breathing becomes labored as I find myself living through it all again. “I pulled the wheel to the right and went off the road. Right into a telephone pole. Slammed my head into the window.”
“Wait. So you woke up driving your father’s car?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think this is a symptom of your condition? Like sleepwalking or something? Sleepdriving?”
“It’s never happened to me before,” I say, pulling at the hem of my sweatshirt. “It was so strange, how I blacked out and found myself in the car. It was almost like—”
“Like what?”
I shut my eyes tight, knowing how crazy I sound.
“Like someone slid into me. Like someone forced me to get into that car.”
I can almost see Rollins frowning. He only recently learned about my sliding. I suppose it’s a little much to expect him to believe there are others like me out there, much less those who live in Iowa City.
“That doesn’t make any sense,” he says. “Don’t you have to be touching a physical object that someone’s imprinted on in order to slide into them? If what you’re saying is true, someone in this town with the same power as you would have had to touch something of yours to force you to take your dad’s car. And they’d need a motive to do such a thing. It just seems a little far-fetched to me.”
“I know it doesn’t make sense. It’s just a feeling I had.”
He rushes to say, “It’s not that I don’t believe you. I do. I’m just wondering if you’re misinterpreting exactly what happened tonight. I know you haven’t been sleeping well. Maybe you started to have that nightmare about Zane dying, but this time you acted it out. In your sleep.”
I think about it. Rollins’s explanation seems plausible, but I just know that’s not what happened. Something deep down inside me keeps insisting that I was manipulated somehow tonight.
“So how did you end up getting home?”
“That’s another weird thing. This woman . . . Diane, she said her name was. She happened to be driving by and she gave me a ride home. But . . .”
“But what?”
“But I don’t think I gave her directions. She just seemed to know where I live.”
Rollins digests this information. “Are you sure? You did hit your head in the accident, right? Maybe you forgot about telling her.”
“Maybe,” I say.
After getting off the phone with Rollins, I lie in bed with my eyes wide open for a long time.
I peek at my phone. The text is from Rollins.
U AWAKE?
My thumbs fly over the keypad as I respond.
YEAH. BE READY IN 10.
Rollins texts back that he’ll see me soon. I pull on some jeans and slide the phone into my back pocket before heading downstairs. I find my father sitting at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Do you have whiplash? Feel like you want to see a doctor?”
I grin. “I’m seeing one right now, silly.”
The anxiety in his eyes melts away, and he snorts. “Ha. But really. How does your head feel? Any dizziness? Nausea?”
Patting my father’s hand reassuringly, I say, “I’m fine. Promise.”
I sit down at the table, and my father pushes a glass of orange juice my way. I drink half of it in one long gulp.
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. I know you don’t want to go to a doctor, but if this is a new symptom, we should really get you checked out. We can’t have you sleepdriving at night. You could have been killed.”
Sleepdriving. Is that even a thing?
“I seriously think it was a fluke, Dad. But if it makes you feel better, you can lock me in my room at night.”
He rolls his eyes. “I might take you up on that. Now can you tell me where I might find my car?”
“It’s a little off Highway 6. About five miles south of town,” I say, remembering the road signs I encountered on my hike.
“Ugggggggggggggggggggggggh.” My sister shuffles into the room, looking even more disheveled than I feel this morning. She must have been having nightmares about dead girls again. “Thank God it’s Friday.” Mattie grabs a coffee cup and fills it to the brim. I look on with envy. Perhaps I could have just a little caffeine to get through today.