Williams - If Souls Can Sleep

David Michael Williams

If Souls Can Sleep is a work of fiction.Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of theauthors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance toactual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, orlocales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2018 by One Million Words, LLC

Excerpt from If Sin Dwells Deeps copyright2018 by One Million Words, LLC

All rights reserved. No part of this book may bereproduced, utilized, transmitted, or stored in an informationretrieval system in any form or by any means, without prior writtenpermission from the publisher. Inquiries can be directed toonemillionwords@hotmail.com.

ISBN 978-0-9910562-9-3

Smashwords Edition

Cover art copyright 2018 by One Million Words,LLC

Cover design by Mary Christopherson ( mary.design )

Author photograph by Jaime Lynn Hunt ( jaimelynnhunt.com )

Written by David Michael Williams ( david-michael-williams.com )

Dedication

If Souls Can Sleep is dedicated to my friendsand comrades-in-arms in the Allied Authors of Wisconsin, whosecritiques make me a better writer and whose encouragement is muchappreciated.

Epigraph

Soul sleep, more properly known aspsychopannychism, is the belief that the human soul isuncomprehending during the time between bodily death andresurrection on Judgment Day.

The virtuous man is content todream what a wicked man really does.

Plato

Prologue

Vincent stumbled throughthe hospitals unexpectedly automatic door. A sudden blast of heatburned his bloodshot eyes.

The antiseptic air madehis skin twitch, his stomach roil. Though he hated hospitals onprinciple, he knew his nausea had more to do with a belly full ofwhiskey. All those hard-fought months of sobriety,wasted.

But am I drunkenough?

Vincent batted the thoughtaside and focused on walking a straight line to the elevators. Whenhe spotted a policeman leaning against the information desk, henearly lost his nerve.

Not a real cop. He doesnteven have a gun.

Keeping tabs on themiddle-aged security guard out of the corner of his eye, Vincentperformed his best impression of a model citizen as he crossed thelobby and waited for the elevator. Fortunately, the guy seemed moreinterested in flirting with the young brunette behind the counterthan scrutinizing visitors.

The elevator opened, andhe hurried in, letting out a big breath as his view of therent-a-cop was replaced by the shiny metal door. His relief wasshort-lived, however, when he considered what lay ahead.

Leaning against theelevators faux wood paneling, he wished he had some liquid courageleft. If he had brought a bottle with him, he wouldve emptied itfast.

But there was nothing fastabout the elevator. Why the hell wasnt it moving? Panickedthoughts about the sly security guard and a master control paneldisappeared when he realized he had never pressed the button forthe floor he wanted.

Focus, damn it!

He jabbed a finger intothe number three. The elevators sudden acceleration tightened hisstomach. When the door opened, he took a few steadying steps ontothe long-term patient observation ward. The vegetable garden.

As much as he wanted toavoid contact with hospital staff, he knew hed never be able tofind his destination without help. He had visited his brother onlyonce before, and that was eight months ago. The day Danny went intoa coma.

Vincent wiped his browwith the back of his hand, smearing sweat into his wild tangle ofhair. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes as he approached thefront desk.

A middle-aged woman withartificially blond hair and wearing a frumpy brown pullover lookedup.

He forced his mouth intowhat he hoped would pass for a smile. Hi, Im, ah, looking forDanny He cleared his throat. Daniel Pierce. Can you tell me whatroom hes in?

The womanSuzanne,according to her nametagregarded him warily. Her nose twitched,and he wondered if the stench of booze could ever be mistaken forcheap aftershave.

Mr. Pierce doesnt getmany visitors, she said. The statement might have been an offhandcomment or an accusation. What is your relation to thepatient?

Im hisbrother. Half -brother, actually.

The receptionistseyebrows arched. Youre Vincent. Eves other son.

He winced.

Eves othersonCain.

Yeah, Im Vincent. Wait aminute. Shes not here, is she? My mother, I mean.

No, not yet. Suzanneglanced at her watch. Mass wont be over for another hour or so.Youll have to sign in.

She pushed a clipboardtoward him, and he scribbled his name on the line. It felt likesigning a confession.

Its Room 307, she saidwhen he returned the clipboard. Down that hall and take aleft.

Vincent dropped the penand walked away. While watching his feet to make sure they did whatthey were supposed to, he almost collided with a big, grim-facedman in scrubs. Vincent muttered an apology and continued down thecorridor. His pulse quickened with each number. 301, 302,303

The door to Room 307 wasopen. He paused at the threshold.

Daniel Pierce lay on hisback, a tightly tucked blanket covering his lower half. His redhair, usually an untamed mass of curls, had been cut short andcombed. He looked pale, but then again Daniel always looked pale.Were it not the hospital gown and the many tubes connecting him tothe bedside electrical devices, Vincent might have believed hisbrother was just sleeping.

He is sleeping. Asleep and thensome.

Without realizing it,Vincent had entered the room and walked up to the bed. Looking downat Daniels peaceful expression, he remembered the last argument hehad had with their mother, who was still waiting for a miracle. ButVincent had sided with the doctors, trusting facts overfaith.

Daniel was a hopelesscase. He would never wake up.

Vincent would make sure ofit.

People always said pullthe plug, but there were a lot of wires and tubes. If he cut thewrong ones, would it alert the staff before he found the right one?Was it as easy as just yanking the power cord out of the electricsocket? He couldnt afford to make any mistakes. There was no suchthing as a second chance.

He reached a hand insidehis pocket and grasped something small and cold. Still staring athis brothers facehe half expected the intense blue eyes to openor the lips to curl into a smirkhe brought out the jackknife andopened it. The click echoed inside his skull.

Vincent held out theknife, his arm trembling. He wondered what would be quickest.Slashing the throat? Cutting his wrists? Plunging the blade intoDaniels heart, vampire style?

The thought was soridiculous he laughed out loud. Then he doubled over, gagging andgasping for air. Seconds later, the dry heaves subsided. When herighted himself, the room was spinning, but all he could see wasDaniel as a kid, playing with Matchbox cars and reading comicbooks. A teenager, snitching cigarettes from their mothers purse.A young man, holding his newborn niece for the firsttime.

Clementine

Tears streaming down hisface, Vincent took a deep breath and whispered, Imsorry.

Chapter1

He always knows thenightmare for what it is.

Even if the scenes thatpreceded itgetting hammered at a bar with drinking buddies hehadnt seen in years or sitting in a strange classroom, taking afinal exam in a subject he knew nothing aboutseem real at thetime, the spell is broken every time the screen doorslams.

Vincent jerks upright. Heis sitting on a faded brown couch, one leg tucked under him and theother dangling over the side. Slowly, inevitably, he turns his headtoward the door, knowing he will find Bella there, struggling withtwo overstuffed grocery bags. His heart pounds while he waits forher to speak.

Were you sleeping? Hertone is accusatory.