"Good night," she said softly.
When he was gone, Gregory held Ivy close to him and rocked her for several minutes.
"Same old dream?" he said.
"Yes."
"Is Eric still in it?"
"The red motorcycle is," Ivy replied.
"I wish I could stop your nightmares," Gregory said. "If I knew how, I'd dream them myself every night. If only I could keep you from going through this."
"I don't think anyone can stop them," she replied.
He lifted his head. "What do you mean?"
"There was something new tonight. The same way the motorcycle got added on before, something else was added this time. Gregory, I think I might be remembering things. And I think I might have to keep doing this until I remember— something." She shrugged.
He pulled his head back a little to look at her. "What was added to the dream?"
"I was driving. The window was there, the one I can't quite see through with the shadow on the other side. It was that same window, but this time I was driving toward it, not walking."
She paused. She didn't want to think about it, think what the new part could mean.
He held her close again. "And everything else was the same?"
"No. I was driving Tristan's car."
Ivy heard the sharp intake of breath. "When I saw the window, 1 tried to stop the car. I stepped on the brake, but the car wouldn't slow down. Then I heard his voice. 'Ivy, stopi Stop! Don't you see. Ivy? Ivy, stop!' But I couldn't stop. I couldn't slow down. I pressed down the pedal over and over. I had no brakes!"
Ivy felt cold all over. Gregory's arms were around her, but his own skin was cold with sweat.
"Why were there no brakes?" she whispered. "Am I remembering, Gregory? What am I remembering?"
He didn't answer. He was shaking as much as she.
"Stay with me," she begged. "I'm afraid to go back to sleep."
"I'll stay, but you have to sleep. Ivy." "I can't! I'm afraid I'll start dreaming again. It frightens me! I don't know what will happen next!"
"I'll be right here. I'll wake you as soon as you start dreaming, but you need to sleep. I'll get you something to help you." He stood up.
"Where are you going?" she asked, panicky. "Shh," he soothed. "I'm just going to fix you something to help you sleep."
Then he took Tristan's photo down from the bureau and set it on the night table next to her.
"I'll be right back. I won't leave you. Ivy, I promise I won't leave you." He smoothed her hair. "Not until these nightmares stop for good."
"Ivy, stop! Stop! Don't you see. Ivy? Ivy, stop!"
But she hadn't stopped. Ivy kept telling Gregory the dream, and now he knew that she was remembering more. Maybe next time she'd remember it all — whatever it was Gregory didn't want anyone to know. If there was a next time.
Tristan lay still in Ivy's room. He had gone crazy, shouting and screaming at her. He had used up huge amounts of energy. For what? She sat fidgeting, frightened — and hoping for Gregory's return.
Tristan pulled himself up. He rushed out of the bedroom and down the main stairway of the darkened house, turning instinctively toward the kitchen, where Gregory was. Only the small light over the stove was on. Water hissed in the teapot.
Gregory sat on a stool at the counter, watching it, his skin pale and glistening.
He kept toying with a cellophane packet he had taken from his pocket. Tristan could guess what it contained and what Gregory planned to do next. And he knew that, even if he had his full strength now, he couldn't overcome him. He couldn't use Gregory's mind the way he could use Will's. Gregory would fight Tristan all the way, and his human body had a physical strength a hundred times greater than that of Tristan's materialized fingers.
But human fingers could still slip, Tristan thought. If a little red capsule — something that Tristan could manipulate — moved unexpectedly, Gregory might fumble.
Gregory had chosen raspberry tea, perhaps because its sharp flavor would cover the taste of a drug, Tristan thought. He moved steadily closer to Gregory. He'd have to materialize his fingers at just the right moment.
Gregory carefully undid the cellophane packet and picked up two of the three capsules. Tristan extended his glowing hand and began to focus on his fingertips. Gregory's hand hovered over the hot tea.
The moment he let go, Tristan flicked the capsules away. They skittered across the countertop. Gregory swore and flung out his hand, but Tristan was quicker and flicked them into the sink. The capsules stuck to the damp surface and Tristan had to work again to get them down the drain.
As he did Gregory dropped the third capsule into the tea.
Now Tristan reached for the mug, but Gregory wrapped his fingers firmly around it. He stirred the liquid with a spoon, and when the capsule had dissolved, he carried the cup upstairs. Ivy looked so relieved to see him. "This ought to help," Gregory said. "Don't drink it. Ivy!" Tristan warned, though he knew she couldn't hear him.
She sipped, then set it down and laid her head against Gregory.
He picked the cup up again before Tristan could touch it. "Too hot?"
"No, it's good. Thank you."
"Stop!" Tristan cried.
She sipped again, as if to reassure Gregory that the tea was fine.
"I chose the right stuff, didn't I? You've got so many kinds down there."
"Put it down. Ivy."
"It's perfect," she said, and took longer drinks.
"Lacey, where are you when I need you? I need your voice, I need someone to tell her no!"
Whenever Ivy reached to put the drugged tea back on the table, Gregory took it from her and held it. He sat on the bed with her, one arm around her, the other lifting the cup to her lips.
"A little more," he coaxed.
"No more!" Tristan cried.
"How do you feel?" he asked several minutes later.
"Sleepy. Strange. Not scared… just strange. I feel like someone else is here, watching us," she said, glancing around the room.
"I'm here. Ivy!"
Gregory offered her the last mouthful of tea. "There's nothing to be worried about," he said. "I'm here for you, Ivy."
Tristan struggled to keep himself calm. One capsule probably wouldn't kill her, he reasoned. Had Gregory found the other pack that Tristan had thrown behind the bureau? Was he planning to dope her up a little, then give her the rest?
"Lacey, I can't save her by myself!"
Will, Tristan thought, find Will. But how long would that take? Ivy's eyes were slowly closing.
"Sleep," Gregory was saying over and over. "There's nothing to be afraid of Sleep."
Ivy's eyes shut, then her head dropped. Gregory did not bother to catch her. He pushed her to the side and let her slump against the pillow.
Without realizing it, Tristan had begun to cry. He wrapped his arms around Ivy, though he could not hold her. She was far away from him, and drifting away from Gregory, too, sinking further and further into an unnatural sleep. Tristan cried helplessly.
Gregory got up abruptly and walked out of the room.
Tristan knew he had to get help, but he couldn't leave Ivy alone for long.
Philip. It was his only chance. Tristan hurried into the next room.
Ella became alert as soon as he entered.
"Help me out, Ella. We need to get him awake, just enough to let me in."
Ella climbed up on Philip's chest, sniffed at his face, then mewed.
Philip's eyes fluttered open. His small hand reached up and lazily scratched Ella. Tristan imagined how soft the cat felt to Philip. A second later, having shared his thoughts, he slipped inside the boy.
"It's me, Philip. Your friend, your angel, Tristan."