down there, an event that must not transpire, no matter what the cost of preventing it; at the top of the slope, Gwyn knew, she would find hope and a future; instead, as she crossed the brink, she discovered that the hill was capped by another black lake, just as evil as the stagnant brew below; then, the transparent woman caught up with her and, squealing in a voice filled with echoes, shoved her forward, off the stone rim and down toward the black water…
Gwyn woke from this last nightmare with a scream caught in the back of her throat, and she sat straight up in bed, flailing at the covers with both arms.
“Gwyn?”
Gasping, she looked toward the voice, saw Elaine and, blinking, realized the slope and the black lake and the transparent woman had all been parts of a dream.
“Gwyn, are you feeling all right?” Elaine bent over her anxiously, her pretty brow furrowed with concern. She felt Gwyn's forehead for a fever, and finding none she gently pressed the girl back until her head touched the pillow once more.
“I'm okay,” Gwyn said, barely able to spit out the words. Her mouth was terribly dry and fuzzy, the corners of her lips cracked, her throat parched and sore. She managed to ask, in a voice all feathery and strange: “May I have a glass of water?”
“Of course,” Elaine said. “But you won't try to get up while I'm out of the room, will you?”
“No.”
Elaine disappeared into the bathroom. A moment later, Gwyn heard the delicious sound of running water in the sink. When the older woman returned with the water, she took it and greedily drank it down, almost without pause, as if she had just spent a week in the desert.
“Better?”
She relaxed. “Yes, thank you.”
Elaine returned the glass to the bathroom, came back and sat in the chair beside the bed, picking up a hardbound book which she had been reading to pass the tune.
“What happened?” Gwyn asked. She rubbed at her eyes, as if the gesture would clear her memory. Not only her mouth was fuzzy upon wakening, but her memory as well. She felt dizzy and weak and awfully sleepy — even though she'd just gotten up from a long sleep. She could not seem to put her thoughts in order.
“Do you remember anything about what happened last evening?” Elaine asked.
Gwyn thought, hard.
It was so long ago… yesterday…
She could not recall what had happened.
“You thought that you'd seen Ginny — your sister,” Elaine said. Obviously, from her expression and the tone of her voice, she was reluctant to talk about it, put the sickness into words.
“You came to Will with a story about footprints on the beach, or some such…”
“I remember now,” she said, quietly.
“You were in bad shape, so we called Dr. Cotter.”
“I don't remember that — oh, yes. A gray-haired little man…”
“He thought you needed as much rest as you could get,” Elaine said. “He gave you a sedative.”
“What time is it now?”
“You slept all night and most of the morning, as Dr. Cotter said you would,” Elaine explained. “It's now 11:30 in the morning.”
“You didn't sit up with me all night, did you?”
“There wasn't any need,” Elaine said, “since we knew you'd not come around until sometime this morning.”
“I'm being such a bother.”
“Not at all. That's what we're for. That's what a family is for, to help one another.”
“I'm so tired,” Gwyn complained.
“That's good, because you need to rest as much as you can.”
Gwyn said, “Even though I just woke up, I think I could go right back to sleep again.” She smacked her lips, wiped a hand across her mouth. “But I'm also famished.”
Elaine smiled. “That's one problem easily solved.” She got to her feet and said, “I'll go tell Grace that you're ready for your breakfast. Is there anything you want, especially?”
“Whatever she wants to fix,” Gwyn said. “Anything at all. I'll eat every last crumb of it, no matter what it is.”
Little more than an hour later, when Gwyn had devoured a stack of flapjacks in sweet apple syrup, two buttery pieces of toast, two eggs sunny-side up, a cup of coffee, juice, and a raisin-filled sweet roll, she felt bloated but content. She used the bath and returned to the bed, weak-kneed and woozy but able to manage on her own. Beneath the sheets again, she felt sleep stealing over her the moment her head touched the pillows; invisible hands tugged at her eyelids.
“You rest, now,” Elaine said.
“I'm not good company.”
“That doesn't matter.”
“But I can't stay awake. I feel so…”
“Sleep all you want.”
“I will. I'll sleep… I'm so tired; I've never been as tired as this before. I feel like I'm coming apart at the seams.”
“You've been through a lot, Gwyn.”
“Goodnight, Elaine.”
“Goodnight, dear.”
And she slept again…
She woke.
She was alone.
The house was still and quiet, like a living being that encompassed her and was now holding its breath.
From the angle at which the sunlight pierced the thin under-drapes that had been drawn across the two windows, she knew that it must be late in the afternoon. She had slept nearly a full day, except for the brief period of consciousness when she'd eaten her breakfast.
They had let her sleep through lunch, which was especially considerate of them…
Thirsty, she got up again. Her legs were as weak as before, her head as light. Even the dull glow of the sun that came through the partially curtained windows was too bright for her, and she squinted her eyes as she crossed the room. She got a drink of water in the darkened bathroom, returned to bed, drew up the sheets and closed her eyes once more.
Her arms felt leaden. Her entire body seemed to have grown heavy and inert, like a lump of earth.
It was extremely pleasant to be lying there in the large bed with absolutely nothing to do… without cares of any sort… and with no tedious studying to be done, no important exams to be preparing for, no reports or term papers or speeches to be written… free from all responsibilities and commitments… Her two pillows were incredibly soft, and the starched bedclothes were soft as well — and the limitless darkness that lay behind her eyes, the beckoning world of contented sleep, was infinitely softer than anything else…
Abruptly, Gwyn opened her eyes and pushed the sheets away as if they were sentient beings trying to smother her; she had been chilled to the core by the memory of how she had once slept away entire days rather than face up to the problem of everyday life. Her problems now were a hundred times more confusing and complex than those which had driven her into her first bout with mental illness; how much more desirable they made escape seem than it had ever seemed before. However, she knew that if she gave in, if she had a relapse of the other sickness on top of her present ills, she would be utterly lost, beyond Dr. Recard's patient care, beyond anyone's help.
She sat up, perspiring, pale and shaken.
She shouldn't have slept all night and morning, and she should never have taken a nap after lunch. What's more, Elaine should have realized how dangerous too much sleep could be for her, considering her past…
