Of Stars and Sleep

Of Stars and Sleep Part I Kalani Ruidas

Of Stars and Sleep |4

Chapter one “You take the grams, multiply by 3.46, like such. Working from the omega…to lambda,” Professor Herb Moreau‟s blue pinstriped shirt bunched up at the shoulders as he raised his arms to illustrate the equation on the whiteboard.

“There you have it, 7.98x104. Simple that way, yes?” With an air of accomplishment, he turned to face the auditorium of students behind him. It was dark. The only source of light came from the projector in the far back. But even in the dim lighting, he could see that of the 52 students in attendance, not a single one was paying attention. More than half were leaning in towards their laptop, faces illuminated by the screens in the darkened lecture hall. Several students were staring back at him with glazed over looks and glassy eyes. A handful were lazily pushing their pens back and forth across their papers, drawing as their minds wandered far away from the physics lesson before them. Professor Moreau sighed and proceeded to stroll over to a sleeping boy in the first row, his gaze concentrated on the boy‟s mess of curly hair resting on an empty page of what would have been notes.

He stood there, looking directly down at the boy watching him sleep. “It seems as Mr. Helm is doing some conversions of his own. See his eyes flitting back and forth that way? I can see he is now converting from resting to the REM or rapid eye movement cycle of sleep. Aah, yes. He must be having quite the dream. Perhaps he sees himself snowboarding down a hill of fresh snow on a fifty foot snake. Maybe he‟s surfing gargantuan waves of cola in the pacific,” He chuckled to himself, peering over his thin square framed glasses at the boy. “How nice it must be to check out of reality to have your mind create its own behind heavy eyelids. To have such great adventures without having to move a single muscle…just involuntary functions like breathing and blood pumping being the ticket to fantastic worlds. Sleeping and dreaming…such marvels. Simply thinking about it can take one away. Imagining your own dreams. Pondering the dreams of others. Wondering what they are seeing, experiencing. How real it must be for them.

Some scientists have come to the conclusion that dreams aren‟t just workings of the far gone imagination,” He stared more intently, not taking his eyes off the top of the boy‟s head. His speech began to change. It was as if he weren‟t only musing to himself anymore. His words

Of Stars and Sleep |5 toppled over each other, as if he couldn‟t get them out fast enough. The words of a new idea would form on his tongue just as he finished with the last few syllables of the one before. “Yes! Yes! They say dreams are a way of dealing with problems unconsciously. Like when one dreams of running through a forest for example. Some say these are dreams similar to those of our ancient predecessors. It would help them experience running from a beast of prey in the wild like a mountain lion or something of the like without harm actually coming to them. Dreams allow one to work through problems to better prepare themselves for situations that may arise in real life. To anchor such energy and gear it towards a specific problem without any real consequence…just working through to a solution in your sleep…my, my,” Professor Moreau‟s eyes fluttered in few hard blinks. There was a slight pause as he scanned the room, looking up to address the class. He shrugged dismissively. “The only ones who will suffer are poor Mr. and Mrs. Helm. Little do they know that they are paying for their son to have a three hundred seventy-five dollar nap. That said, let‟s not wake him.”

Professor Moreau continued on with the lesson for another hour, until class was finished.

“Alright, this is where we‟ll end for today. Thank you all.” He gave a small concluding clap with his old, weathered hands. The room erupted with the creak of chairs being emptied and thuds of footsteps exiting the room. A chorus of quiet murmurs floated along the ceiling above the heads of those walking out. The only student that remained in his seat was Parker Browne.

He sat in the very back row in the left corner. Parker‟s almond-toned eyes followed the professor as he hurried about the front of the class straightening papers and reorganizing his materials. Parker Browne was a very bright boy. Clever, observant, resourceful and strategic.

And although he didn‟t have much money, his parents loved him and knew it would be a waste to let his brilliant, beautiful mind rot away in a gray, monotonous car factory. He came from a poor family of Detroit factory workers. They could scarcely afford to send their children to a community college, let alone Bromell University. Luckily, Parker received a science scholarship to cover his entire tuition. Along with maintaining a 3.5 grade point average, it also required him to shadow and assist one science professor every semester that he was enrolled at Bromell.

This semester‟s model was Professor Moreau, the most deluded of all the science teachers. He had tenure, which allowed him to teach just two classes, dedicating the rest of his time to projects and experimentation. Professor Moreau‟s projects were that of school wide legend, or rather of school wide mystery. There would be bangs of small chemical explosions and

Of Stars and Sleep |6 wispy billows of smoke seeping from beneath his classroom door. His light would be the last to go out in the Levrich Hall of Science. But no one at the university had a full understanding of what he did back there. Not even the board at Bromell.

“So, Mr. Browne, I understand you‟re here because of your academic requisites?” The Professor asked, turning the lights back on. The room burst into a world of blinding white that bounced off the walls extirpating any shadows that the darkness brought when the light was shut off during the lesson.

Parker rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, actually. I am.” He lunged down to reach his books from the floor, stacking them onto his laptop as he began walking down the steps toward the professor‟s desk. “Is there anything you had in mind for me to do?” As he reached the bottom step, Professor Moreau put down his things and shuffled off to the backroom. Parker knew not to follow him. He tucked his hands into his front pockets, unsure how much longer he would be waiting for a response.

“No, no. It‟s quite alright Mr. Browne. You can go now.” The professor called. A sudden, sharp pop was followed by a low bubbling noise. Parker stood there still, thinking it over. What would he rather be doing than hanging out with crazy, old Moreau? The obvious answer: just about anything. But another wholesome trait Parker Browne was proud to emulate was morality.

“No. I really have to stay. But I can just sit here, if that would be better for you. You know, stay out of your way? I know you‟re busy.” He took a few steps forward in hopes to catch a glimpse of whatever was causing those strange sounds.

“Excellent. Very good, then.” Professor Moreau shouted back.

With that, Parker sat in Andrew Helm‟s seat in the front row. He took a book from the top of the stack he‟d made on his laptop and opened it to page one.

“Stephen King‟s, Misery, eh? Interesting.” A gruff voice said, shaking Parker awake from his literature induced sleep.

“Oh. Yeah. That.” Parker whispered groggily. He sat upright in his seat and pulled his phone out of his pocket to check the time. In small white letters beneath an alert of an unread text, read 8:02 PM.

Of Stars and Sleep |7 “Yes, that. I‟m not certain you are aware, but interestingly enough Misery came to King through a dream. He was nodding off on a flight to London when he was overcome by a gruesome nightmare of a writer held hostage by a manic fan.” The professor pushed his glasses higher up onto the bridge of his prominent nose.

Parker made eye contact with the professor for the first time that he had been in his presence.

“In the most unassuming way possible, professor…it seems like you have an affinity for dreams,” A long pause of silence filled the space between them. One of Professor Moreau‟s brows was slightly raised as the other lowered into a sort of half frown.

“I suppose you could say that. Even assuming.” He said through nearly pursed lips.

“Right. So I‟ll be seeing you tomorrow then?” Parker began to gather his belongings and come to his feet. Just then a phone rang, shattering the tension that hung in the air with ear splitting trills.

“Just one moment Mr. Browne. I want to go over something with you after I take this call.” In long, heavy strides Professor Moreau hulked up the stairs and out through the door.

Parker was left alone in the lecture hall. Spurting and spewing noises continued to emit through the open doorway of the backroom. What was more poignant than Parker‟s moral code was his insatiable curiosity. He glanced over to the door for a moment and quickly walked over to the backroom. Inside was the most elaborate display of machinery. There were glass vials, bottles and dishes of all sizes. Some were filled with clear liquids while others were teeming with frothy, brightly colored substances. There were gadgets and papers and notes that looked as if a tornado that swept through the world‟s largest library had danced over the soapstone countertops, and the pages there were the remnants of its wake. Parker walked over to the shallow circular dish that was on a burner near the corner of the cluttered room. There was some sort of metallic element simmering and swirling in it. To the left of the suspicious fluid was a pile of pastel colored tablets. They reminded Parker of candy necklaces his sisters used to string and eat at the dinner table when their mother made meatloaf. He leaned in, taking one and turned it over in his fingers. What if this is Moreau’s stash? That makes sense. I wouldn’t doubt if he was chronically buzzing on hallucinogens. Sure, his best friend Brett smoked marijuana like THC was oxygen, but he‟d never really seen drugs other than that. He shook his head, remembering that his time here was limited. He took six from the pile, plucking them upward into his fingertips and prompt-

Of Stars and Sleep |8 ly dispensed into his front pocket. Smoothing out his jeans and running a hand through his short brunette mane of hair he coolly walked out of room, back to where the professor left him. He stood there for a few minutes silently regaining his composure.

“I apologize for that. Look at you, just standing there. You‟re like a dog. If I left my dog that way he‟d just stand there, waiting, like you are now. Then again, I don‟t have a dog. But I imagine he would do so. You know, if I did have a dog. I used to have one. He wasn‟t like that though. No, he was a demonic little beast. But still, I like to think of dogs to be loyal. Aren‟t they?

Yes, man‟s best friend. Just like a dog, Mr. Browne.” He made his way down the aisle of stairs and strolled over to his desk at the front.

“Now, let‟s discuss the terms of your obligatory time with me,” He leaned back slightly, sitting at the edge of his long rectangular table, his arms locked to support his long body there.

“For your credit in being here, I won‟t ask for very much. Honestly, if you didn‟t want to show up at all, it would be fine by me. I‟d see you in class and I would know you were in attendance and you could be free to go. But I know you‟d feel guilty. Because I know you‟re an honorable young man. Just one of the many positive traits you possess, as recited to me by my various colleagues. From what I hear you are also exceedingly pleasant. So, you may keep yourself busy here in the classroom while I work. After you‟ve been here for two hours, you may be dismissed.” Professor Moreau took a sip from the mug that was sitting beside him on the desk. As he lowered it, his face pulled itself together into a look of grave seriousness.

“Never under any circumstance, and by that I do mean any; even if you are seeking refuge from a fire, or a hurricane, or trying to escape a squadron of Royal Canadian Mounties persecuting you for shoplifting a bottle of syrup from the border‟s gift shop, never step foot into the backroom. I don‟t think I need to give any more warning or take any precautionary measures.

You seem harmless enough. But I can‟t be too sure. In fact, upon further reflection, I‟m not sure at all. In any case, know that I am an introvert and extremely paranoid. I would hate to see you leave because of your eager mind getting the best of you. That will be all.”

As soon as their intense eye contact was broken, Parker rose from his seat, scooping all of his things into his arms in one swift motion.

“See you tomorrow, Professor.” Parker walked up the steps and headed out the door. He reached for his phone in his back pocket. 8:59 PM. There was still an unread message. He pressed down on the center key to open it. “I‟m having some people over. There will be fresh-

Of Stars and Sleep |9 man and booze. You have been warned.” Parker read. The text came from his roommate and best friend, Brett. Brett O‟Leary was every frat boy from every college in the US. His hobbies consisted of playing football, playing video games, downing gallons of various alcoholic beverages per 6 PM to 6 AM as well as practicing and perfecting fornication. Although Parker and Brett couldn‟t have been a better example of polar opposites, their friendship had been sealed at the end of Fort Street in front of their apartment building in Michigan. They had been inseparable since childhood and their evolving interests weren‟t a factor in breaking their bond.

Parker could hear the thumping of bass from the apartment‟s elevator. He could eventually feel the vibrations through the floor as he stood outside of room 3A. He opened the door causing one very hammered girl to fall flat on her back at his feet.

“Whoa, hey. I‟ll take that.” Brett stepped over to the blonde that lay in the doorway. He looked up at Parker. “Hey bud. Are you joining us tonight or are you gonna hit the books? Or hit the hay? Because uh, I know what I‟m hitting.” He propped the girl up against his side and laughed at his own lewd joke.

“Yeah, I‟m just gonna go to my room.” Parker crossed the threshold into the hazy living room. Brett‟s dad bought them the two bedroom apartment last year and fully furnished it as well. Mr. O‟Leary was a successful lawyer in California. He bought the apartment with earnings from a case he won when he represented a child star suing his manager. On the day he turned 18, the recently legal star sued his manager for squandering the millions the star made before he was old enough to touch it. Ironically, his manager also happened to be his father. It made Mr. O‟Leary think of his own son and their estranged relationship. He‟d abandoned Bret‟s mother when Bret was 10, leaving them both for his pregnant girlfriend who was another partner at the firm. After going missing for a decade, the apartment and half of Bret‟s tuition was his way of saying sorry.

Parker dodged miscellaneous bodies flinging themselves left and right. He carefully tiptoed around the people on the floor and just evaded a stream of beer that was being poured onto the ground by a girl standing on the dining room table. Once he found his way through the mess, he pushed through the door of his room.

The lamp on the bedside table was on dousing the girl reading on his bed in warm orange light. She looked up, startled by the noise of the party flooding through the crack of the door where Parker stood. She was small and pale. Her nails were painted a deep blue to match

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 10 the blue doll-like dress she was wearing. She pushed her black side swept bangs out of her eyes displaying both the tattoo on her wrist and her haunting gray eyes. She swung her legs to the side of the bed to face Parker.

“This must be your room, right? Unless you‟re just trying to get some quiet too.” Her voice was calm and even. Dimples appeared on her cheeks as she spoke.

“Uh…um…yeah. I…yeah. This is my room.” Tiny beads of sweat began to precipitate from his palms and upper lip. He didn‟t know why he was so nervous. He‟d had girls in his room before. He‟d had girls in his bed before. But none that looked like her.

“I‟ll just get going then. Thanks for letting me use your space. Well, you didn‟t actually let me use it, but you know. Thanks.” She smiled and pushed herself off the bed, the top of her head just leveling with Parker‟s chin. She advanced towards the door and began to turn its handle.

“Wait! No, you don‟t have to go,” He dropped onto the bed and turned to reach the book behind him, holding it up, showing her the cover. “Thoreau! We could talk about Thoreau. And Walden. We could talk about Thoreau and Walden. Tell me, what do you think about nature?”

He patted a place on the bed next to him and held his hand there as an invitation, still holding contact with her piercing gray eyes.

“Nature?” She laughed.

“Yeah. Nature. You know, the great outdoors. Trees and leaves and rivers. That sort of thing.”

She squinted sideways at him. “I‟m almost certain you don‟t care about my opinion on leaves. But I‟ll bite.” She sat down in the spot he made for her.

“So what‟s your name?” He asked as he moved his legs onto the bed. Both of their legs were crossed so they were directly facing each other.

“I don‟t know what that has to do with anything, nature boy. But my name‟s Macie.” She offered her hand, the one that was marked with a tattoo just above it.

“I‟m Parker.” He said taking it and shaking it firmly.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 11 “Parker. Like a park. That goes with the nature theme quite nicely.” She pulled away, looking up from their hands into his eyes. “So Brett‟s your roommate, huh?” Her head cocked slightly the left.

“Yeah. He is. He does this every once in a while, has little parties in the middle of the week. How did you end up here?”

She laughed, her eyes shifting up and to the left, recalling the memory. “It‟s a funny story actually. My friends and I were at the school bookstore looking for this obscure book for our psych class. He came from all the way across the store and just started chatting us up. But the things is, he left the same time as we did, not buying a single thing. So I figured he must do that a lot. You know, stalk, waiting for unsuspecting prey.”

“You‟re right,” Parker smiled. “That‟s typical Brett for you. He‟s not a bad guy though.”

Lines of a bemused frown crept between Parker‟s eyes as they narrowed slightly. “If you knew what he was doing, why‟d you come?”

“I don‟t know. Something to do I guess. I‟m not really the type to get completely wasted anyway, so I knew I wouldn‟t be the victim of a freshman-rape horror story.”

“Wow.” “What?”

“That‟s pretty cynical of you.” He stared at her even harder, as if he could see into her mind with just his eyes. He would‟ve given anything to see what she saw or feel what she felt.

He just wanted to know her more.

“Well that‟s what it comes down to.” She said simply. Her hands were folded, each of her thin fingers interlaced with one another. Her palms were faced up forming an ivory little basket.

“So you‟re a Gemini?” Parker asked, raising his eyebrows twice, looking at the little marking on her wrist. It was the symbol for the zodiac sign, two vertical parallel lines between two shorter horizontal, parallel lines, one on top and one on the bottom.

“Well, sort of.” She took back her hand and rubbed the back of her neck. She turned her head towards the wall. She had the most amazing profile he‟d ever seen. Her nose and chin were so delicate, pointing slightly. Her eyelashes reached up, curving to frame her eyes just so.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 12 “Sort of, huh? Alright.” Parker drank in the whole of her. Everything about this girl read mystery. He knew this might be the last time they ever spoke. He didn‟t know where she was from or if she even went to Bromell. In addition to getting to know her, more importantly, he‟d have to find a way to see her again. But he could tell that it would present a fair amount of challenge.

“Are you into all that? Stars and signs?” She asked. Her arms were now in behind her, holding the top half of her body up as she leaned back.

“I don‟t know. Not really. I mean, I like to read my horoscope once in a while. I‟m a Capricorn.” He said.

“Practical, determined, stable.” She posed. “Do you think that fits?”

“Well, I guess I –” Parker was cut off by a cacophonous crash on the other side of the wall. Macie hopped off the bed, opened the door and poked her head out. Jagged pieces of white ceramic covered nearly every inch of the floor. In the kitchen, someone had pushed all of their dishes out of the cupboard. Parker maneuvered from behind her out into the living room.

“Oh wow.” Macie went to Parker‟s side. “I‟m sorry. I‟d stay and help, but I‟ve have some cleaning up to do too. I‟ve got to scrape my friends off of the walls and get them home.” She soundlessly went into Brett‟s room. Parker heard groans of protest, but finally he saw her emerge with the blonde hanging onto her shoulders. Parker went to get the broom and dustpan as Macie moved throughout the apartment gathering bodies.

With all of them draped over her as a support, she carefully sidestepped out into the hall and shut the door quietly behind her. Parker looked at the dustpan and broom in his hands and decided that he would deal with it tomorrow morning. He put them both down next to the mess and returned to his room.

He lowered his body down onto his bed, spread his arms out and tucked his hands beneath his head. Parker pictured her face as he laid there. And as he thought more, he saw something that he didn‟t initially recognize while she was there just a few minutes ago. He noticed that there was a sort of sadness about her. Her eyes were surrounded by a barely noticeable rim of purple as if she hadn‟t slept very much or were somewhat bruised. In his mind‟s eye, he recalled there was a slight slack in her shoulders, like there were unseen weights resting on them. Maybe that was the charm that made her seem so enigmatic – an underlying melancholy

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 13 tinge overpowered by her natural beauty. Whatever it was, Parker couldn‟t stop thinking about her. He brought his hands down to his side and closed his eyes. He then remembered the pills that he pinched earlier that evening from Professor Moreau‟s. Parker ran his hand over the front his pants‟ pocket, feeling six little lumps. He took them out and propped himself up onto one elbow. Well, let’s think about it. I’m in a safe environment, my state of mind’s pretty good and no one’s around. That stack on the table was pretty big. So Moreau must take them by the dozens.

Maybe I’ll just take one and see what it does. Parker placed one of the pills at the end of his tongue and closed his mouth. He let it sit there for a moment and felt it dissolving. He bit down on it and found that he was easily able to chew it. He swallowed the morsels slowly. So what does it do? After one full minute of waiting, Parker didn‟t feel any differently. He put his head back down onto his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. There weren‟t any colorful shapes cavorting around the room. He didn‟t hear any voices speaking to him in devilish whispers. He felt completely fine. Unsatisfied with the results of his little experiment, Parker closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 14

Chapter two The icy air bit at his skin as a breeze blew by. The cold penetrated each pore, plunging into him with millions of frozen steel needles. Stems and sharp wooden fragments prodded into the soles of his bare feet. But the bed of soft earth that lay below cushioned his indolent steps.

A multitude of trees towered over him, reaching infinitely into the heavens. Their branches eclipsed the sun, letting in only scant rays of light between leaves. On a passing gust of wind, he heard a faint song of laughter. Then he heard it again, now surrounding him, echoing all around him, reverberating through the trees. Several feet away, the leaves before him picked themselves up in pillar-like whirlwind. They materialized into a familiar human form. Macie?

He tried to move towards her, but his feet were anchored to the ground. They were numb of feeling, holding him up by some unknown force. Slowly, she drew closer to him. He saw that she was wearing a long white gown. The hem of the dress just barely brushed over the forest floor. It was ripped and mangled. The edges where the ethereal fabric was torn furled and were discolored with dirt. He could see past the parts that were shredded, bearing thin, dirt covered legs. Nearly every inch of her was covered in earthy clay. She stopped directly in front of him, extending her arm to him, taking his hand in hers. Her fingers were impossibly cold. It was like holding a small, fleshy piece of ice. Finally she lifted her chin to look up at him, meeting his eyes. In them tears welled at the brim of her lower lash line. A single tear spilled over. In it, he saw a reflection of himself also smudged with dirt. That first tear rolled along her face and was followed by a stream of bigger, steadier tears. He jerked one leg forward, willing himself to move. Then together, they ran. Her ragged dress flew back against the wind. They moved together in synchronized strides. With each downward bound, they landed deep and hard into the ground. As they pushed off into ascending leaps, they were momentarily suspended in time and space. The universe rotated around them, unable to touch their perfect coalescent existence. As he looked on into the distance, there was only woods. It was an immeasurable continuum of trees. Their lines and edges began to melt together blurring into aberrant realm of browns, yellows, reds and greens. He still felt her frigid hand pressed into his. The world was soundless aside from the thundering pulses of his heart beating and long pulls of breath. His eyes fluttered

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 15 in a series of erratic blinks. Once they opened again, he found himself in his bed, lying in the chill of a new dawn.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 16

Chapter three A faint streak of sun burnt through a cloud of early morning haze and into the glass window. It shone onto the back of Professor Moreau sitting at the empty counter of 34th Street‟s Bakery and Sandwich Deli.

“I don‟t know what to do.” The professor‟s voice was thick with fatigue.

“Didn‟t you have a plan? Did it not occur to you that this sort of thing could happen?” The response came from the man standing opposite from the professor on the other side of the counter.

“It‟s almost funny,” He rubbed his bushy gray brow pensively as his head hung just above his lukewarm cup of coffee. “But no, it didn‟t. I became so accustomed to a life without consequences. This is what I was working toward to begin with. My experimentation has at last come to superlative fruition. But it seems as if its perfection is its only flaw.”

“Well, since there very well might be very real repercussions upon us, I think now would be the best time to come up with some sort of plan.”

“Yes. That. The only thing I can do is to keep a watchful eye on him. The effects will become apparent fairly shortly. From what I‟ve observed, the boy tends to keep to himself. My fear is that because of his isolative tendencies, it‟ll be all too easy for it to consume him. My fear is that he may get lost within his own mind,” His fingers were laced with his index fingers up forming a steeple. He thought deeply. “Of course, I wouldn‟t let it get that far. I couldn‟t. So we‟ll wait.

To draw any attention to myself or the situation unless it was absolutely necessary would be foolish. Beyond foolish, it would be detrimental.”

The man stopped wiping the counter. The dishrag in his hand paused mid-swipe. His eyes narrowed into those of Professor Moreau‟s.

“It could be the end of us both.” ***

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 17 Parker dragged himself into the kitchen. The mess from the night before had been taken care of. The receiver of the apartment‟s handset phone flashed with a red, digital one. He pushed the play button.

“I hope you get this message before I get home, man.” The tinny mechanical voice that came through the machine was Brett‟s. “Listen, I cleaned up all the crap from last night. And I was almost late for class. So since I know you‟re not gonna be doing anything „til later, I was thinking you could get some stuff from the store. Plates, for example. I made a list. It‟s under my card next to the cup of pens, here. You owe it to me anyway, bro. If you kept a better handle on your girl last night, I could‟ve gotten it in. But unfortunately for the both of us, that didn‟t happen.

So think of this as your apology mission. Alright, see ya.” He flicked Brett‟s credit card to the side. Plates, deodorant, gel, condoms, instant ramen, frozen waffles, foil, gum. Okay.

He took a quick shower, threw on some clothes from a laundry basket of clean clothes and ran his fingers through his damp hair. After shoving the list and the credit card in his pocket, Parker set out to accomplish the task before him. He started the car and drove out of the parking garage. The day was particularly bright. They lived in a small college town where more people walked than drove. There were streets lined with coffee shops and bookstores, an intellectual‟s paradise. There weren‟t many parties off campus at the apartments where Brett and Parker lived. The real ragers took place in the dorms and Greek housing. Their living arrangement was planned this way in joint agreement by both Mrs. Browne and Ms. O‟Leary.

The superstore was just outside of the city, 37 miles away. The road was winding and included hills and dips of countryside terrain. He found a parking space right in front of the entry doors and took with him an abandoned shopping cart as he walked in. Parker tossed in each item in the cart, mentally crossing them off the list. He headed toward the health aisle and stopped in front of the condom display, contemplating his options. He could feel someone watching him and then heard an audible giggle.

“At least you‟re being safe.” The voice said. Parker turned to see Macie smiling back at him. Her arms were folded across her chest. Her eyes were shaded with green pigment matching the green of her flowing top. Yet for some reason, he couldn‟t completely convince himself that she was really standing there, or if it was another vision that he‟d created.

“I…these aren‟t for me. Well, I guess they could be. I got a list, see?” He held out the square strip of paper for her to read herself.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 18 “Oh right. Doing a little shopping for the house. I‟m guessing Brett made the list, huh?”

How did she know that?

“When we first met him at the bookstore, he whipped out a pen and wrote down your address on Emma‟s hand. Em‟s that girl he was trying to get at. Another classic Brett move I‟m guessing.”

Is she like, a private investigator or something? Who remembers that kind of stuff?

“I don‟t know. I guess I‟m just observant.” She laughed a little.

“So, what kind of condom guy do you think Brett might be? Twisted pleasure? Ribbed?”

She cocked her hip and tapped her fingers against her chin as she exaggerated a look of deep deliberation. “Hmm. Just get him the basic. If he doesn‟t like it, tell him to do his own dirty work.” She casually knocked over a box into Parker‟s cart. “There you go. Simple as that.”

“Where would I be without your logic? I think we should stick together on this.”

She scanned him with a once over. If only he could read her thoughts as easily as she did his. “Alright. Let‟s do this.” She stepped with one of her green sneakers onto the bottom bar of his cart and pushed off with the other leg, raising it into a ballerina pose and glided away down the aisle.

They continued on throughout the store gathering all the things on Brett‟s list. They soon reached the check out.

“Okay, great. It was nice seeing you. Maybe I can help you make some real waffles some time.” She patted Parker on the shoulder before turning around to walk away. The lights around him darkened and suddenly they were in the woods. Coldness swallowed him and briefly paralyzed his muscles to keep him from going after her.

“Wait!” He called out. The leaves rustled below his feet as he struggled to move forward.

A large wind blew across his face. They were standing just outside of the store.

“I don‟t want to leave it to chance. Do you really want to hang out?”

“Yeah, sure. Whenever.” She smiled and turned to leave again. He reached out to touch her shoulder.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 19 “Like Friday?” He locked onto her eyes with his. She stood there for just a moment, staring back at him.

“Well, I don‟t know. I could swing by for a bit. Maybe at eight? It‟s just that I uh, have a huge paper that‟s due and I haven‟t really started.”

“Sure. I‟m looking forward to it.” He said resolutely. Even if he didn‟t know exactly what she was thinking, he could sense a lot of apprehension from her.

She smiled and finally, they parted ways.

“Hey, bro.” Brett was sitting on the couch watching something on television.

“I gotta talk to you,” Parker set down his armful of bags down near the door. He walked over to a chair at the dining room table, turning it to face towards Brett. “I had this really weird dream last night.”

“Oh yeah? How weird? Like you have fifty heads and someone‟s trying to kill your mom, but none of your heads can talk? Don‟t worry. I‟ve had that dream too. Your mom‟s gonna be okay.” Brett kept his eyes on the tv.

“No, it wasn‟t like that,” Parker was hunched over, hands clasped together with his elbows resting on his knees. “It was about that girl from last night.”

“The blonde one? Yeah, she was hot. That‟s not weird.”

“No, not that one. The other one. The one in the blue dress.”

“Oh, you meant the one you were with. Okay, go.” Brett turned off the tv, the picture shrunk into a small square picture, being replaced by a blank black screen.

“Anyway, she was there. And we were running through this forest. It was like I was trying to save her or something, but there was no way out. It was just like, an endless vortex of trees,” He paused for a moment to check for a reaction from Brett before continuing. His brows were furrowed, but it was hard to read his expression. Brett almost always looked as if he was in a state of stupor. “But the thing that was so weird about it is that it seemed so real. Like, you know when someone‟s next to you, you can feel their presence, their energy right there? It was like that. But when I woke up, I was alone. And I know she left even before I crashed. And every-

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 20 thing else in my dream seemed so real too. Like all my senses were heightened, as if I were really living it.”

“Maybe she‟s a psycho and she came back in the middle of the night and crawled into your bed. I think I saw a movie like that once.” Brett leaned forward speaking in a low, serious voice.

“First of all, I saw that movie with you, and that girl murdered the guy before morning.

Second of all, even though I sort of thought I was still dreaming a little into the day, I‟ve established that this is real life, which is one thousand percent different than a movie. Third, I ran into her again today at the store and she seemed normal, she was still cute and not the least bit psycho.”

“You never know, man. That‟s all I‟m saying.”

“I have a date with her on Friday. She‟s coming over.”

Brett pulled at his jeans, adjusted them and lay down onto the couch.

“Good. I think I should properly meet this girl and give her the Brett O‟Leary seal of approval. I‟m just lookin‟ out for you, bro.”

“I‟m telling you, this isn‟t like that at all. Besides, that movie was stupid.”

Parker flipped the switch of the lamp beside him off and got into bed. He lay there for a few sleepless minutes as he tried to calm his restless mind. However, it was proving to be more of a feat than he anticipated it to be. A date with Macie. What could we do? Dinner? I don’t want to be so cliché. Movies? She probably only watches foreign films. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard. It has to be something that’ll matter. Something that’ll make an impression. But what? The possibilities darted through his mind at a mile per minute.

That’s it. He pulled out the drawer of the side table and popped open the little mint tin that was hidden in the back corner. In it were the pills from Professor Moreau‟s back room. Maybe these’ll help. Parker chewed one up and lay his head back down onto his pillow.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 21

Chapter four “That‟s it! You have to get up, man,” Brett yanked away the covers that encased Parker‟s prostrated body. Brett pushed back the thick curtain that had covered the sliding glass door between Parker‟s room and the balcony.

“What‟s going on?” Parker‟s eyes burned from the sunlight that flooded into the room.

“What‟s going on is, you haven‟t left this bed in four days. And that wouldn‟t be so bad if you‟d been with someone, but you‟ve been alone this entire time just sleeping. I know because I‟ve been checking in ever y so often to make sure you‟re not dead. It‟s Wednesday and you‟ve got class. I mean, I‟m not your mom, bro, but this is me having your back here,” During Brett‟s lecture, he‟d been walking around the apartment making small preparations for his friend. “I turned on the shower and there‟s some pizza in the microwave that‟ll be waiting for you when you get out. You already slept through Monday and Tuesday‟s classes. I have no idea what you missed. I hope you didn‟t miss any tests. It‟s 7 o‟clock and you, my friend have an hour to get yourself together before your first class today. I‟m gonna get out of here because there‟s no food in the house and I‟m starving. Don‟t forget the shower‟s running. If you don‟t get up, you‟re gonna be wasting water that could‟ve gone to like, whales and little, skinny kids all over the world. Don‟t be a jerk, bro.”

Parker heard the door open and shut, followed by the clicking of the lock‟s tumbler system. His body felt heavy and lethargic. He schlepped into the bathroom. The steam from the shower caused the mirror to fog up. He rubbed the condensation away with the palm of his hand creating a small circular image of himself. Through bloodshot eyes, he could see that there stubble had begun to grow over his lip and chin. He made a grimacing face at himself and stepped over into the shower. The water thawed his muscles, releasing the tiredness from inactivity. Soap spiraled down the shower drain taking with it the haze of dormancy that had been blanketing him. He shaved, brushed his teeth, got dressed and strolled into the kitchen to see about that leftover pizza. The stove read 7:32. While chewing, he collected his things scattered

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 22 about his room, tossing them into a black book bag. He reached into the side table drawer to check how many tablets were left.

One? How did that happen? He didn‟t want to use the one pill he had left jest yet. But he didn‟t feel like he could figure out a way to get more without taking it. In any case, the matter needed to wait because it was now 7:45. He walked briskly along the sidewalks in town. The sun shone brightly down on him and felt good with the crisp morning air.

A group of girls were walking in the opposite direction. They pretended not to notice him, laughing ostensibly; all but one. She wasn‟t looking at him at all. She had dark hair and was small and pale. The light around him dimmed, turning into night. The rest of the girls dissipated into a mist of salty air. Only Macie stood there in the sand with him. The chilling sea lapped against their ankles.

“Macie, I –” “What are you doing?” The girl pushed him away. It was day and the pack of girls was staring at him, shooting daggers with their livid stares.

“Um, hello?” She snapped her fingers just inches from his face. This girl‟s eyes were as dark as the night that surrounded him just a few seconds ago. They weren‟t gray. It wasn‟t her.

“Oh. Wow. I‟m really sorry. I thought you were someone else.” He said apologetically.

“Yeah, I know.” She brushed him off and continued on her way. The rest of the girls trailed along behind her, huddling closer and looking back at him over their shoulders.

At the end of the day, he entered Professor Moreau‟s class.

“Aah, Mr. Browne. How thoughtful of you to grace me with your presence,” He did a small bow and looked back up to Parker. “I was wondering when I‟d get to see you again. I meant that you didn‟t have to come in to work. That didn‟t apply to your class attendance.”

“Sorry about that professor. I feel awful. But I‟ve been uh…sick for the past couple of days.”

“Sick? I see. Yes, I believe there has been somewhat of a pesky little virus going around.

I hope you‟re fully recovered. It would terribly irresponsible of you to expose the rest of us wellpeople to you and your disease-ridden germs.” The professor lowered his glasses to the edge of

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 23 his nose. “Only joking, Mr. Browne, only joking.” He clapped a hand over Parker‟s shoulder and then wiped it on the front of his shirt.

“I‟m sorry. Yes, I‟m doing much better now. Top shape.”

“Good. I‟ll see you in two hours time.” Professor Moreau turned away.

“Oh professor!” Parker called after him.

“Yes, Mr. Browne?”

“Gosh, I feel like I really should be helping you with something now. I mean, I‟ve just been MIA for the last few days. I know it‟s not so much of a problem if I‟m sick and missing class, but with the whole shadowing thing, I feel like I have more of an obligation to you. So to make up the time I‟ve missed, I‟m offering my full service to you. I‟m sure there has to be something that you need help with. I can do anything, really.”

Professor Moreau cast him a discerning frown. “Alright. Let‟s see then,” He walked over to his desk and a few miscellaneous papers around. He opened a few drawers, finally heaving out a colossal binder. Their pockets were overstuffed, the corners of the pages curling over.

“Your job for today will be to organize this hodgepodge. They‟re a collection of notes and observations, past course syllabi, assignments that I‟ve suspected of plagiarism, medical forms, papers I‟ve been meaning to recycle and doodles that I‟ve been shoving in here for the last few years. It could quite possibly take your whole life to sort through it. Just stop when the selfinflicted guilt wears off.” The professor gave Parker a small nod, clasped his hands together of his belly and disappeared into the back room.

Parker‟s plan didn‟t work as well as he‟d hoped. He‟d spent nearly the entire day scheming up ways he could get back into the Professor‟s experimentation lab. The pills that he‟d pinched were amazing. If sleep alone was able to produce interesting dreams, the pills opened a portal of extraordinary dreaming. These dreams felt even more true and real than his waking life. All of his senses were heightened. Colors were more vivid, everything glowed. He felt each microscopic molecule of water in the air, beading on his skin. And every element and atoms praised his existence. He could bend his dreams into any shape, the limits of possibilities dictated only by the extents of his imagination. It was beautiful and wonderful. To give it up was laughable. It made no sense for him to waste any more time simply asleep when he could be living in a world that was better than reality. But down to his last pill, it almost seemed like he

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 24 just might have to spend it dreaming up a solution. Unfortunately, just then the only thing he could do was complete the task at hand. He cracked open the binder to find an empty bag of chips, hole punched, at the top of the pile. As he muddled through the papers, he found numerous more interesting pieces such as unpaid parking tickets from France, classified ads and judging by the plethora of receipts, Professor Moreau had an addiction to chocolate covered profiteroles from the bakery on 34th street. Parker persisted in his sorting. He then came across something even more peculiar than anything he‟d previously seen. It was a handwritten paper completely in Russian. Scrawled in the margins were floating equations and capricious numbers. At the bottom of the page was written “успех!!!” circled and in extra large characters. Parker felt an overwhelming sense of curiosity wash over him. For whatever reason, his intuition told him that this required his attention. Carefully, he folded it and slipped it into the side compartment of his book bag. Parker cleared his throat and went on with organizing.

Two hours later, Parker picked up his bag and hustled up the stairs to the door.

“I‟ll be seeing you Mr. Browne,” Professor Moreau‟s goggle covered face poked through the backroom‟s doorway.

“Yeah. I‟ll be back tomorrow. Thanks.” Parker pulled open the door and headed to the campus library

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 25

Chapter five Bromell‟s library easily contested that of Alexandria‟s. It was a monumental cathedral built to worship the gods of knowledge through scholarly study. Parker made a straight path to the foreign language section. Portuguese, Romanian…Russian. He flipped open the dictionary.

Parker was able to identify the characters on the paper as Russian from his brief interest in the natural scientist, Mikhail Lomonsov. Успех…success. He decided to try his luck with a few more words near the top of the page. Ясный…lucid. Спать…sleep. This is the formula for those pills. Holy crap. Parker checked out the book and returned to his apartment. He spent the rest of the night slaving away, toiling to translate the mess of scribbled instructions. The sun was well past raised by the time Parker was finished. He hadn‟t slept a single wink that night. But he knew that by the успех of his interpreting, he‟d have more than enough time for that. Not only had he worked out the formula, but he‟d also come up with a way to concoct the pills himself. Parker was ready for the task that lay ahead. *** “Good morning Professor Montgomery! Nice to see you again.” Parker shrugged off his bag onto a nearby desk. He extended an open hand and winning smile to the elderly women that stood before him.

“Oh Parker, you sweet, sweet, boy! How are you? Goodness gracious, it sure has been lonely without you here.” Professor Celeste Montgomery took his hand and shook it with all her frail might. She was a kind, shriveled old woman. Her spinal cord had been actively shrinking for years, bringing her down to Parker‟s mid chest. She was far past the state‟s age of retirement.

But her husband, Mr. Montgomery had died three springs ago. So not wanting to be completely alone, in a home or a burden to her children, she stayed at the university occupying the chemistry position she‟d held for 35 years.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 26 “Well, I think I can fix that,” Parker said warmly. “I had a special project that I wanted to work on…a little chemistry experiment. And I was wondering if maybe I could use your backroom and couple of things from your inventory back there.”

Her face crinkled into a worried expression. “Oh, dear. I didn‟t know. I wouldn‟t want to get in any sort of trouble with Professor Moreau if you were to be here all the time. You were so helpful to me and I wouldn‟t want to deprive him of that.”

“Not to worry, professor. I‟ve got plenty of time. I‟ll be sure to honor those responsibilities first and do this as well.”

Professor Montgomery stared deeply into his eyes for a few moments. “Okay. I suppose that‟ll be fine. Parker, have I ever told you how much you look like my husband when we were first married? Why, I could just stick a tie and tux on you and I‟d have my wedding pictures right here.”

“Thank you, professor. I‟m excited to be back.” Parker headed out the door. *** “Mr. Browne. I wasn‟t expecting to see you until later this afternoon.”

“Professor Moreau, I was wondering if I could possibly take care of my hours now. I have a commitment to attend to this evening.”

“I understand. Well all you‟re doing is sitting around anyway. I do have a class in four minutes. But it‟s not very big. So if you‟d like to take your usual seat near the back that will do.”

Parker stepped towards his seat. He resurrected Misery from the depths of his bag and began to read. “No matter how much he strained, it was a good nine inches above the tips of his fingers but he reached anyway, unable to believe Fate or God or Whoever could be so cruel…”

The door creaked open to let in several students lackadaisically straggling in.

“Mr. Archer, Mr. Burbidge, Ms. Shaw,” “Hey Professor.”

Parker looked up from his barrier of a book. She strolled to Andrew Helm‟s seat in the front of the class. Her back was faced toward him, but he knew it was her. He‟d know that voice anywhere; it had been ringing in his mind for days. She hung her pink purse from the back of

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 27 her chair and removed her pink jacket, hanging it as well. Her pale fingers brushed through her obsidian hair as she tied it back. Even from the distance at which he sat, he could see the dark green markings at the back of her neck. DMS? He propped his book up in front of his face in case she happened to look back and caught him staring at her. Every few minutes Parker would glimpse over the top of t he pages in her direction. It was so odd that they‟d been thrown together so many times by pure coincidence. He couldn‟t help but wonder if she‟d been there the entire time. Why was he only noticing her now?

“And with that, this concludes today‟s lesson. I hope that you were able to take something from it. Your exam will be coming up shortly. Thank you all.” The 14 students began to file out. Parker looked towards Macie‟s seat, but she was already gone.

“Hey.” Parker felt a light tap on his right shoulder. He spun around to meet her face just inches from his.

“Oh, hey. What‟s up?” Parker said coolly, leaning his elbow back onto his desk.

“What‟s up with you? Since when were you in this class? Unless you‟re like, stalking me or something.”

“No! No, I definitely wasn‟t doing that. Actually, I have this thing where I have to help out different science teachers and uh, this time around it‟s Professor Moreau.”

“Oh. I see. Well, He‟s a pretty interesting guy. Which I‟m sure you already knew.” Her gaze shifted over to Professor Moreau at his desk where he sat assembling a sandwich with mashed potatoes and pickles.

Parker laughed. “Yes. That I did.”

“So, about our date; that due date for that paper I was worried about before got postponed until next week Friday. So if you‟d like to adjust our grand adventure, feel free to do so.”

A smile took form on her perfectly pink lips.

“Grand adventure? Is that what you were thinking? Oh wow, sorry to disappoint. I was thinking that we‟d, you know, get some ice cream and watch a DVD at my place.”

Her smile widened. “No, you weren‟t. I know you‟ve got it all planned out, Parker Browne.” She turned and skipped up two steps to the door.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 28 “Hey, I never told you my last name.”

“Goodbye, Parker Browne!” Macie sang from the hall.

Professor Moreau took a bite of his lunch. He rested his chin on his hand as he chewed and watched the combination of Parker‟s proud body language and giddy facial expressions give away his thoughts.“I know that it isn‟t any of my business,” Professor Moreau said, putting down his sandwich. “But I‟m going to interject anyway, because I feel that it‟s important. Ms. Shaw is an exceptional young woman. Very talented and bright, she is.”

“You don‟t say,” Parker‟s gaze lingered on the door.

“I do say. The class that I just taught? It was made especially for that group of performing art majors per Ms. Shaw‟s request. She didn‟t have to take it. It was because she didn‟t get into that heinously full class you‟re in now. But she wanted to take this course so badly. She persuaded me to create a new class for her and her friends. I‟m almost certain that her peers are regretting it now; but not Ms. Shaw. She has the most voracious hunger for understanding that I‟ve ever seen. It‟s really quite fascinating.”

“Wow.” Parker didn‟t know what else to say. The more he learned about her the more of a conundrum she became.

“Wow indeed. From what I hear you‟re a forthright young man. And for her sake, I hope that it‟s true.”

“It is, it is. Don‟t worry about it, professor.”

“Oh, but I do,” He muttered under his breath. He gave a small cough and speaking at his usual level addressed Parker. “Mr. Browne, I‟ll see you tomorrow.”

Parker hurried back to Montgomery‟s. She wasn‟t there, but her room was unlocked and so was the backroom. The tidiness of it was astounding. It couldn‟t have been more different than Moreau‟s. Parker got to work. He dashed around the room, meticulously taking measurements, turning on heating devices and cooling mechanisms to the precise temperatures as dictated by the Russian formula. He melted and ground elements together in hopes that their chemicals would blend together, their microscopic bonds attaching as they should, their unseen reactions taking place. His sweat dripped down onto the countertop as he worked in a maddened flurry. His fingers nimbly moved over gadgets, pouring and tapping and fine-tuning. He

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 29 was three quarters of the way completed when Professor Montgomery stuck her head through the doorway.

“Parker, is that you? Have you been here all night?” She asked walking over to his side.

He heard her speaking, but he hardly made any sense of it until she held her wrinkled little wrist below his nose, showing him her watch.

“Sweetheart, its 8 o‟clock in the morning. You can do this some other time. I won‟t touch a thing. It‟ll be right here waiting for you.” She reached up to take his shoulders and ushered him through the door.

“Take care. And take a shower, dear.”

His brain was beyond fried. He was almost in a state of comatose. But somehow he managed to get back into his apartment. He fell onto the couch, flat onto his back. He lay there, staring at the ceiling. He knew that those pills were responsible for the four day long trip that he‟d been on. He could already see the marvelous dreams that awaited him as soon as he was finished. Suddenly he sprung to his feet. Tonight was his date with Macie. Between dreaming and desperately trying to get back to them, he‟d practically forgotten. He spent the rest of the day getting together what he needed to recreate the dream he had of this night. He‟d already seen it play through in his mind. He knew what to do.

Brett walked into Parker‟s room where he was pulling a sweater over his head. “Even if she is a complete psychopath, she‟s definitely the hottest psychopath I‟ve ever seen. Like, I doubt that I‟ve ever seen anyone that looks like her convicted of murder on channel two.”

“She‟s here? I didn‟t even hear a knock.” Parker turned to look at Brett, confusion and panic contorting his face.

“Oh well, yeah. I was watching through that little hole on the door, in case she tried to pull any funny business. Like, I don‟t know, shove a grenade between her boobs before coming in. But uh, no. She‟s clean. You look good, bro.” Parker pushed past him to where Macie was sitting at the dining table.

She was wearing a simple, sleeveless red dress that set her small frame ablaze. They matched her lips and her patent peep toe pumps which were the same shade of smoldering red.

“Wow. You look goo– you look grea–…I…I didn‟t know you wore glasses.”

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 30 “Oh, yeah. I do.” Macie laughed. “Blind as a bat. I usually wear contacts. But I don‟t know. I wasn‟t feeling it tonight.”

“You know, I uh, usually wear sweater vests. But, I don‟t know. I just wasn‟t feeling it. So I went for the full sweater look.”

She smiled. “I like it. Good choice.”

Parker gasped dramatically, looking over at the kitchen and then back at Macie. “Well what do we have here? Looks like someone got a waffle iron” He stepped over to the refrigerator and embellished a sweeping motion as he opened its door. “And it seems like the waffle fairy dropped off some eggs and butter to make waffles from scratch. That sure was thoughtful.”

Brett looked up from the text he was working on. “Dude, did you just call me a fairy? Not cool, man.”

“So you‟re really taking up on that offer I made at the store, huh? Well then, let‟s get to it.” She tied back her hair with the red elastic that was on her wrist. She cracked the first egg into the mixing bowl.

They got more ingredients out as they went along, pouring in flour and sugar.

It began to get messier than Parker originally anticipated. Macie dabbed a bit of batter on Parker‟s chin. In return he flicked a bit of sugar at her. A food fight would have ensued if it hadn‟t been for the mixer whirring out of control and splattering batter all over the counter.

“That smells unbelievably delicious,” Macie groaned as she collapsed onto a chair at the table. Parker closed the iron over the liquid batter.

Macie continued gushing. “I wish I could bottle that smell. I‟d just want to breathe it in.

Not that I‟d want it as a perfume or anything like that. It‟s kind of dumb, but I don‟t really like the idea of smelling like food.”

“I know what you mean. It‟s like when a girl passes me in the hall or something and suddenly there‟s a rush of cotton candy assaulting my poor, unsuspecting nose.”

“And then the rest of the day you‟re left wishing the carnival was in town so you could actually have some.” Macie said sadly.

“Exactly.” Parker opened the press to reveal a fluffy golden brown grid.

O f S t a r s a n d S l e e p | 31 “That looks amazing.” Macie said.

“Hold it!” Parker put a hand out over the waffle, guarding it like pirate‟s treasure. “This will come with part two of this whole deal.” Her removed the cooked waffle from the iron and placed it into a plastic Tupperware container.

“Mmm, the grand adventure begins,” Macie exhaled, raising her brows.

“Just let me finish these and we‟ll get going.” He poured and pressed more and more waffles until the batter was gone. Then Parker shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and toes reaching to the top most cabinet of the cupboard. He opened the door just a slight bit, slyly looked back at Macie, then pulled out a picnic basket.

“Mr. Browne delivers.”

“Yes, I do. Now close your eyes.” She did as he said. She heard the refrigerator door open followed by bottles clanking. She peered through her lashes just the slightest bit.

“No peeking! You know what? Cover them too.” Parker said, not continuing until she complied. She grinned as wide as she could as her hands quickly flew over her eyes. She heard more banging and bumps and things slamming shut.

“What are you doing?” She laughed.

“You know what, Macie? I don‟t think you can handle all this suspense. And there‟s gonna be a lot of that tonight.” Parker said still gathering things together. She could hear him moving. His voice sounded further away.

“Fine. I‟ll just trust you.” Suddenly she felt a pair of warm hands cover hers, taking them off of her eyes, where they met Parker‟s.

“That‟s all I‟m asking.” He whispered.

Part I Parker Browne, a student at Bromell University, has been assigned to shadow the quirky Professor Herb Moreau. When his curiosity leads him to meddle with the Professor’s experiments, Parker is soon launched into a series of odd and beautiful lucid dreams. The ability to discern actuality from his imagined reality begins to fade fast. However, things his waking life also take a turn when he meets the mysterious and captivating Macie Shaw.

Things get very strange when only half of his mind is in the present while the other is hungrily feigning to return to his perfect world of dreaming

To be continued.