Eye of Flame (21 page)

“So now you’re blaming it on our marriage.”

“You take me for granted. You don’t listen to me when I’m awake, so maybe I’m trying to get your attention when I’m asleep.”

She bridled at the injustice of his words. “That isn’t fair. I made three errors at the bank today, and if the customers hadn’t caught them right away—I have to get some sleep. I’m just about ready to move into the guest bedroom.”

Ted shook his head. “Oh, no. My mother always said that was the beginning of the end. First, it’s twin beds, then separate bedrooms, then appointments with lawyers.”

“She ought to know,” Carla snapped. “No wonder she had three divorces—her husbands probably never got any sleep.”

“Can’t you leave my mother out of this?”

“You brought her up!”

“Why don’t you go to bed early? I’ll be up for a while, and you can be asleep before I come to bed.” He glanced at the television screen, where Joan Collins, dressed in a silk peignoir and holding a champagne glass, was apparently preparing to retire.

Carla stood up and strode toward the bedroom.

She was unable to sleep, of course. She kept her eyes closed as Ted slipped under the sheets and wondered if he might be calmed by sex, but was too angry to make any advances.

Carla counted her breaths, commanding sleep to come, yet knowing that as soon as it did, Ted would tear the covers from her or bound toward the door. He lay still, snorting slightly at the end of each even breath. That was another thing for her to resent, his ability to nod off within moments of hitting the pillow, to calmly stack his z’s before beginning to plague her.

I know what you’re up to, she thought. Ted had implied that he regretted their marriage, but would never admit it outright. He had no conscious desire to follow in his parents’ footsteps to the divorce court. But his unconscious mind was craftier, would do its best to drive her away by interfering with her sleep. She would be forced to leave him just to preserve her sanity, and he could always believe that the break was not really his fault.

His unconscious mind, she was sure, was just waiting for the right moment to strike; she could almost sense it making preparations. It wouldn’t stop with forcing Ted to toss and turn; he might be propelled to the light switch and then sent on a search for monsters lurking in the closet or under the bed. Ted slept on; she felt herself drifting into oblivion.

The mattress bounced under her. Ted yelled, threw off the covers, and stumbled toward the light switch. Carla moaned as the room was illuminated. “There it is!” Ted shrieked. He dropped down and crawled toward her. “See it? There it is!” He pointed under the bed.

“Nothing’s there,” she responded as calmly as she could. He uttered a stream of gibberish and shook his head violently.

“I can’t stand it any more!” Carla screamed as she sat up. Ted sat back on his heels and stared at her. “You’ve got to stop it!” She was doing exactly what his mother had warned her against, trying to shock him into awareness instead of soothing him into calm. But then his mother’s unconscious was probably in collusion with Ted’s. Carla had always suspected that his mother had been dubious about their marriage; maybe if the woman hadn’t catered to her son, Ted wouldn’t have had this problem now. “If you’re not going to let me sleep,” she continued, “I’ll be damned if I’ll let you.”

He blinked as he gazed back dreamily. “That isn’t very rational,” he replied.

“I don’t care. If you insist on keeping me awake, you can at least keep me company.”

“That isn’t what I’d call a constructive attitude.”

She rubbed at her eyes. She could not even be sure he was awake now, and kept waiting to hear the indecipherable words that would prove he was only aping consciousness.

“You’ve got to get treatment,” she said.

“That won’t help. If I repress this, I risk cutting myself off from my creative flow, the thing that makes me able to do my work. My mind has to break out somehow. My sleep disturbances are the expression of—”

“I don’t care what they are! It’s got to stop!”

“I have a problem I’m trying to solve, and you’re only making it worse. You’re disappointed in me, you think you made a mistake, and I’m picking that up.” He got to his feet slowly. “You could ease me, but you don’t really want to help—you’re just thinking of yourself. You’d rather blame me for what’s wrong with you.” He turned off the light, stumbled back to bed, and lay down next to her; within moments, he was snoring softly.

She looked down at him, appalled. His unconscious had clearly spewed out that nonsense and had done so without a single cryptic word or demented shriek. His lips moved, as if he were confirming her suspicions.

Carla managed to catch up on some of her sleep that weekend during the day, while enduring Ted’s restlessness at night. Feeling somewhat restored, she decided to take Ted—or his unconscious—at his word. She would solve the problem by trying to soothe him before he slept.

Their evening routine changed. Ted was often home late, but she forced herself to greet him cheerfully and prepared foods that would not give him indigestion. She offered him Ovaltine or brandy before he slept and gave him alcohol rubs before helping him on with his pajamas. She brought a cassette player and tapes designed to produce soothing sounds for insomniacs. She had sex with him even when she wasn’t in the mood in the hope that this might drain some of his nocturnal energy.

Yet after a week, she saw no results. Ted cried out and sleepwalked through the house as much as before. She not only had the task of getting him up in the morning, but also the additional work of preparing him for bed, with nothing to show for her efforts except her own increasing fatigue. Her resentment blossomed, flowering fully inside her while she lay at his side, and somehow he sensed it. She would expect him to jump from the bed and he would leap to the floor; she would wait for his shrieks and incoherent babbling and then hear them. She was afraid of her own thoughts, fearful that the undercurrents in her mind were washing over him in spite of everything she did.

His unconscious, it seemed, was not going to let her off so easily. He had enslaved her, had her tied to a leash. She was exhausted by the effort of catering to him in the feeble hope of winning just a few uninterrupted hours of sleep. She had been making more mistakes at the bank and worried that she might finally lose her job. Maybe Ted secretly wanted that; if she were unemployed, she could sleep during the day and have more time to tend to him.

Her experiment ended nine nights after it began, when Ted leaped out of bed, picked up the cassette player emitting the calming sounds of a seashore, and hurled it against the wall.

This can’t go on, Carla thought as she crept into the guest bedroom, feeling like a traitor. She had barely enough energy to set the alarm clock before she collapsed on top of the bedspread. She could get up and have Ted’s juice ready before he awoke, and he might not notice that she had abandoned him. She no longer cared what he thought about separate bedrooms; it was time for drastic measures.

They could, of course, separate. The problem was that she didn’t want to leave him. She still loved him, she supposed; she also did not care to give his mother the chance to say that she had been right about Carla all along. Her enemy wasn’t Ted, but whatever was buried inside him; she had to find a way to fight it.

On the other hand, she thought sourly, maybe she was simply going crazy from lack of sleep, was beginning to believe he could pick up every angry, unspoken thought. She curled up, already missing his presence at her side.

Feet pounded down the hall; the door was abruptly flung open. “What?” Ted cried out. Carla sighed; she should have known she wouldn’t escape him here. “What’s going on?” He leaped toward the bed and hovered over her.

Her mouth was dry, her eyelids gritty; she could barely lift her head. You won’t beat me, a voice inside her whispered; I won’t let you.

Ted cocked his head, as though listening to someone.

You won’t make me give up, the voice continued. If you break me, or force me to leave, Ted will deal with you. He’ll get depressed, and he’ll probably start drinking or taking tranquilizers just to put you in your place. You’ll be sorry you ever started this, and he’ll begin to hate you. And don’t think you can send him after me, either—I’ll hide out if I have to. See how you like sending him across town in his sleep.

She was surprised by the forcefulness of this internal voice; it hardly seemed part of her. Go to bed, she thought fiercely, if you know what’s good for you.

Ted suddenly turned and left the room.

She recalled what he had said about repressing what was in him, but barely had time to consider that, or to savor her triumph, before falling asleep.

Carla started at the sound of the alarm. She stirred, realizing that she had actually slept. She shut off the alarm before creeping silently down the hall.

Ted lay on their bed with one arm around her pillow. She touched his shoulder. “Ted, wake up.” She remembered how he had left her the night before, as if responding to her unspoken command, and shook her head; that had probably been a coincidence.

When she returned with his orange juice, he had actually opened his eyes; he almost seemed alert. He grabbed the juice and drank it in one gulp, then reached for her arm; his brown eyes gleamed. “We’ve got time,” he said. “How about a quickie?”

She was too startled to protest.

Her apprehension returned that night as they were preparing for bed. Ted had been unusually pleasant that evening, had even suggested that he might give up his football game that Saturday to view fall foliage with her and to take her out to dinner. The offer made her suspicious; perhaps his other self was simply setting her up, preparing to retaliate.

But she had a plan of action now. Her suppositions about the cause of his disturbances had seemed ridiculous during the day, but darkness gave them more credibility.

Ted pounded at his pillow, then stretched out next to her. Carla waited until she was sure he was asleep before summoning her thoughts. You’ll sleep soundly, she told him silently; you won’t be restless, and you are not going to disturb me.

He moaned, as if trying to fight her; she seemed to feel his resistance. You’re going to stay still, she thought firmly, or you know what will happen. I won’t let you ruin my nights any more; you’ll only hurt Ted, and then he’ll do something about you. See if he finds anyone else who’ll put up with this. It’s time you found out who’s in command, and it won’t be you. Wake me up once more, and I walk.

Ted moaned again, but more softly. He was struggling against her; she felt him straining at her thoughts. Lie still, she ordered. His head jerked, as though she had pulled an invisible leash, and then he was still.

Carla opened her eyes. Ted wasn’t next to her. She sat up and noticed that it was nearly time to get out of bed; as she shut off the alarm, Ted walked into the bedroom with a tray. “Good morning,” he said cheerily as he set down the tray next to her. Before she could speak, he had entered the bathroom. She stared at the tray in amazement; he had not only made juice and coffee, but had provided hot cereal as well.

By the time she had finished her breakfast, Ted was getting dressed. “Good thing I got up early,” he said as he buttoned his shirt. “I’ll have time to make some notes before I go. Listen—instead of staying home tonight, why don’t we go over to the mall and see a movie?”

She blinked. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“Never felt better. Maybe we can go to Chase’s after the movie—I heard the new band’s pretty good.” His brown eyes seemed alert—almost manic, in fact—yet his mouth hung open a little; she had seen similar expressions only when he was sleepwalking or babbling at her in the night. He pulled on his jacket. “Got to make those notes!” He bounded toward the door in a leap that made her think of one of his nocturnal jumps. She suddenly wondered if he was awake at all.

Doubt clouded her mind for only a moment. If Ted were going to sleep peacefully, it was only natural that he would be more lively during the day. Chances were that his problem had disappeared by itself; it was silly to think that she had caused this change.

She picked up the tray and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Ted sat at the counter with a note pad and a mug of coffee. As he looked up at her, she had the feeling that someone else was peering through his eyes. She recalled that he was going to have some sort of meeting today and that he was planning to ask for a raise. It had better go well, she thought idly; we can use the money.

“I’m pretty sure I’ll get that raise now,” he said, “and we can use the money.”

She started, then steadied herself. Something tugged at her mind; she felt herself gripping her mental leash. I’ve won, she thought. It didn’t matter how, as long as they were both happy. She had what she wanted, didn’t she?

He bolted up from the counter and grabbed her around the waist, swinging her across the floor with one arm. “Ted!” she cried.

“What?” he responded. “What?!” She heard the voice she had listened to so often during the past nights. “I think it’s time to cut loose a little, don’t you?”

She knew she should feel grateful for the victory, but as she thought of the energetic Ted who was likely to greet her that evening, she was already feeling exhausted.