Asleep

Prologue

It was snowing the day a two-week old girl was abandoned. Not at an orphanage or even a fire station, but in front of a grocery store. Her parents were never found, and she was adopted by a family with three other children, all adopted too. Eventually three younger children found their way to the rambunctious home. Nan was easily lost in the total chaos of a family so large. She was always the good kid, the one who kept her toys neat, loaded the dishwasher, and stayed out of trouble. Her siblings were constantly competing for the attention of their parents, be it good or bad. Usually bad, which made her B grades pale in significance when compared to broken windows and television sets reduced to tiny pieces because her brothers wanted to see how it worked. Her contributions to the family included folded laundry and dust-free knickknacks, and her needs gradually faded into the background while her overstretched parents dealt with the immediate problems instigated by the other kids.

Quiet housework and homework were her escape from the noisy family life that swirled around her, a deep eddy pulling her down. Slowly drowning, fading into the oblivion of anonymity. As she grew older she withdrew further inside herself and became so self-reliant that she remained largely unseen. She never asked for toys or clothes or help of any kind, but always materialized the moment her family needed her. The selfless teenager is a rarity, but the teen entirely lacking a sense of self is an unknown commodity. She was a seventeen-year-old mannequin, a perfect model of a person, hollow throughout.

Chapter 1

Unseen

Running through a sea of red tulips. They were everywhere, gently yielding to her, parting as she ran through. They anticipated her every move, separating just enough that her quick footfalls would not smash them into the ground. She lightly sprang through the field like a deer, whether she was running from something or racing to a destination she did not know. Her senses were alive. She smelled the fresh field, the sweet spring sky, so perfect and crystal, a fire of setting sun, She was sure she had never seen anything quite like it. Soft dirt under her feet, the breeze keeping her cool as she raced. She was unafraid, but anxious to arrive at her final destination. The freedom she felt was unknown to her, and even though she knew she was asleep she relished this untamed feeling. She was strong, confident, and alive, and running to…somewhere or someone?

Not knowing what else to do, Nan ran as fast as she could, exhilarating in her thumping heart, the feel of the wind on her face, and the aroma of the millions of tulips filling her senses and vision.

She didn’t know how long she ran, but she was never winded or tired. She had only one goal, but didn’t know what it was or how to accomplish it. She only ran, her whole heart, her life, depending on finding whatever it was she needed. Then she heard something new, far off in the distance. She increased her pace in her fervor to get a little closer, sensing that her purpose would soon reveal itself.

Her feet moved to a thumping she could sense, even feel. The sound pulled from her left, and she changed her direction as if it was a lighthouse beacon drawing a lost ship to a safe shore. Then she heard it: music. It was a rock concert, nobody she’d ever heard, but instantly loved it. She came to the crest of a hill slowing to a halt. Down below her, the sea of tulips was replaced by people, lots of them. Maybe 100,000. Probably more. They were all swaying to the music, enjoying the concert and focused on the performer in front of them. She looked around, and noticed that there was not even one person being arrested for one issue or another, no fights, or any other normal concert happenings. Her interest piqued, she sat down among the tulips to watch the scene below.

Delighting in the soft caress of the petals on her skin, she gently plucked a bud and tucked it behind her ear.

The singer was very good, and she could see why he attracted such a large crowd. What interested her, though, was the behavior of the group. A certain number of incidents were to be expected; any time that many people were in one space fights were bound to break out. Invariably, some idiot will smoke pot, and another will choose not to visit a restroom. None of that here. All peaceful, happy, and absorbed in the music. The freedom of the night overwhelmed her thoughts, pushing out further analysis of the strange behavior of the crowd.

She lay back, allowing the soft petals to caress her skin. It was then that Nan noticed her clothing; a blue tracksuit and the funkiest red running shoes she had ever seen. These were her clothes, but she never wore them. Her foster siblings had given them to her at different times, but since they were not brown or any similar shade, they were shoved in a box under her bed or in the back of her closet. Especially the shoes, which she would never wear. Ever. But it was just a dream. No harm done.

She relaxed and let the music and soft scent of the flowers fill her. She loved the overwhelming sense of peace and completion filling her senses and her soul. She watched the stars, and not even an airplane invaded her sky. What a strange and wonderful dream, she thought. But then the music stopped. She rose to look down, and the people were all gone. No signs of a single person, not even a plastic cup remained. She sat down, suddenly overwhelmed and very puzzled. Where had the people gone? Why did they leave, and how did they do it so quickly?

All around her, the environment changed. It was all so wobbly and strange, and she felt a pull in her chest. Not painful, just a gentle tug. The tulips lost their vibrant red hue, flattening into her beige bedding. Her blue tracksuit softened into her blue satin nightgown, and the strange shoes disappeared entirely. In the box under the bed were a pair of red running shoes the sleeping woman had never worn, but had a smudge of dirt embedded in the right heel.

She realized she was sitting in her bed, but wasn’t sure why. She clicked off the alarm, reeling from her strange dream. Her dreams, when she had them, usually involved desire and exotic situations. She could write romance novels with the content of her dreams; some more lurid than others. With the closed off life she led, her dreams were the only release, erotic or not, she allowed.

Trying to shake off her odd dream, and not feeling at all rested, she turned on the shower and started to brush her hair while she waited for the warm water. With a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, she saw a red tulip petal in her hair. Fear overcame her senses as she pulled the fresh petal into her hand. Her mind desperately grasped for explanations.

A window is open, it had to be, she thought. She raced through the small apartment, and they were all closed and locked.

She must have been sleepwalking. She hoped her neighbors had not seen her. How embarrassing. At least she was fully covered, unlike most other nights. Tonight she would make sure she put a chair in front of the door. That should keep her inside the apartment.

Annoyed, she disentangled the appalling evidence of her night's walk and tossed it in the wastebasket. The shower soothed her, easing her back into her normal routine. She climbed into the bus, barely nodding a greeting to the faithful driver without making eye contact, and slumped into her usual seat. Nothing about her look gave away her concern over the night prior. She wore a pair of brown trousers and a neatly pressed cream blouse, hair in a tidy low ponytail, no makeup. Had she put a little effort into herself and gained just a touch of self-confidence, she would be considered somewhat attractive.

Nan. Even my name is ordinary, she thought, moving her lips and talking to herself. The clothes just add to the problem. She changed out of her beige and brown ensemble while standing in her closet, avoiding the view of the mirror. Her Monday had been completely normal and boring, but better boring than garnering attention from her boss. She quickly redirected her thoughts before the feeling of dread settling into her chest could ruin her night.

Her cat gazed on her in disdain, not hearing the only word he knew or cared about, food. She rarely spoke, and usually it was to tell him it was food time. Expressing his disapproval of this weird behavior from his human, he gracefully leaped to the back of the couch and proceeded to clean his bottom.

She closed her closet door, annoyed that her options included only shades of brown, yet too timid to buy something with even a hint of any color, especially red, her favorite color. Her shoes, only three pair, were lined up smartly on the floor. She had added a fourth pair, her sensible brown pumps she wore to work every day, to the end of the line. Slippers, sneakers, loafers and a pair of brown pumps. Always in the same order, each serving a unique function.

Her gaze briefly flitted to the box shoved in the back of the closet, the one she knew contained the more interesting outfits her brothers' families had sent her over the years. She had several sisters in law, but they had long since given up trying to touch up her look, or even form a bond with her. The thought of even opening the box sent a flush of fear up her neck, causing bright red blotches.

She passed by the mirror over her bureau, not even glancing at the plain girl walking parallel to her. If she didn't meet her own eyes, she didn't have to face the truth. Straight, thin mouse-brown hair, dull brown eyes, a figure so stick-like and childish that no man ever followed her, longing for contact. She yearned for the curves of a woman, the appreciative glances men stole when they thought no one was looking. Her hips did not sway, they did not tantalize. They just moved her from one room to another.

She saw herself as plain, uninspired, and acted the part.

She slipped through her one-bedroom apartment in ghost-like silence, her cat and only friend a solitary shadow. Nan had never been the popular girl in any situation, more like the butt of endless jokes. She never achieved a status of the dependable one or the top of mind when someone needed a designated driver. She learned early to keep to herself and her books, gradually withdrawing and preventing the exploitation of her insecurities and gouging of even deeper wounds.

No, an unseen existence was easier. At least, that was what she told herself. But on occasion the numbness wore off and she couldn’t help but wonder what she was missing. She would push away the desire to have someone, anyone, notice her. Just once.

Even though she yearned for a relationship of any kind, romantic or otherwise, at 9:00 on the dot every night she crawled into one side of her perfectly kept bed, clicked off the lamp, and turned on her book light. She didn’t use it as a courtesy to a partner, but because the LED created a bright, tiny world in which she was the center. It was her world, she the biggest fish in the pond. In her world she was the heroine in the books, the clever and beautiful spy, the woman desired and respected. Here it was safe, and all the endings were happy.

At 10:00 she turned off her light, both inside her heart and in her book, and went to sleep for the night. Never sure if she was awake or asleep, she met night after endless night with the same routine. In the morning, her alarm would buzz at exactly 6 o’clock, and for 10 minutes she would work up the courage to rise. Then she would shower and catch the 6:45 bus to be the first in the office at 7:15.

After a day of being only a quiet face, unseen but addressed by every visitor to McLaughlin Day, she would return to her safe harbor at precisely 6:30, watch Wheel of Fortune while she ate a microwave dinner (usually chicken casserole), and escape to her nighttime ritual of bookish escapism at exactly 9 p.m.

And that was Nan’s entire existence until an ordinary Tuesday in March.

Chapter 2

Tuesday

It started out a normal early spring day. Nan had stepped outside for a brief walk to drop off an errant envelope the mail room had missed. The tulips were just blooming, and she paused for only the tiniest of moments to admire the profusion of color against the late spring snow that had fallen the night before. It was then that she noticed a stem that had broken under the weight of the heavy bud and the winds that whipped through the streets. It was red, a color she loved but never dared to use. Her stuck to shades of brown throughout her apartment and wardrobe.

She picked up the flower, broken in the prime of its short life, and brought it inside. Nan was not one to keep a vase handy as there really was no reason to clutter her drawers with something she never used, so she cleaned out her diet Coke can and hoped to coax the flower into full bloom.

It was that seemingly routine act that broke the pattern of Nan’s life. It wasn’t a mystical flower, or special in any way. Nan had finally chosen to leave the safety of her habit, remove the blindfold from her eyes, and experience something new. And she didn’t even know it.

Nan peeked at the red tulip all day, allowing herself only brief glimpses. Tiny moments of happiness, moments she knew would only last today, tomorrow at the latest. She wouldn’t get used to the tiny luxury of something so beautiful, yet so easy to create a niche for in her mundane life.

Sign for a package, peek.

Type up a letter for the boss, peek.

Direct an irate customer to her least favorite customer service rep, peek. That’ll show her for coming in late from lunch, I know what you were doing with the Executive Vice President. Seen it before, you’re just one in the long line of office bimbos, she thought laughing quietly to herself. Peek.

Idle chatter with Dean, an accountant, who noticed the tulip but wasn’t quite sure what to make of the departure from her routine. Today he came to ask if she would order a special box of pens from Office Mart, which she did because she liked him more than anybody else. Not a lot, but enough. She couldn't say that she really liked anyone. Yesterday he asked about a package, and on Friday he let her know that he would be out on the following Friday. Seemed like every day he came to talk to her, but she wasn’t really sure why. His office had only a small window that overlooked a street on the west side of the building, and the reception area overlooked a river and area hills. March is an especially pretty time of year, and she thought he probably just wanted an excuse to catch a glimpse of what he was missing. Peek.

She was right about him wanting to see what he missed, but she had no clue that it wasn't the view out of her window.

And so her day proceeded, nothing interesting except her little flower that she could swear was smiling at her. That night, as she was the last out of the office, locking down and cutting the lights, she was torn about bringing the little flower home. Would it still be alive tomorrow? She could enjoy it just a little longer if she took it home tonight, but on the other hand, she might have to carry it back to work tomorrow. After much internal debate, she decided to take a chance on enjoying it the next day.

Nan had a car, a sensible beige four-door Ford Taurus. Just a 4-cylinder, no frills, but it got her place to place. Rather than drive it to work, she took the bus. Though she closed herself off to the humanity and all the interesting lives around her, she still preferred the company for the final few moments of her lonely day.

She rode home, jostled and cramped, no more involved in her environment than usual. Yet, for some reason, her mind continued to wander to her little red tulip waiting for her to come back to work tomorrow. So uninteresting was her life that the broken tulip commanded her thoughts.

Fireball the cat was waiting for her at the door, she could see his little face through the sidelight on the right as she climbed the 17 steps to her second floor apartment. The curtains ruffled as he swished his tail, leaving for his post of non-caring on the arm of the sofa. He would pretend to be asleep when she came in, yawn lazily, make a big issue of stretching, as if to tell her he hadn’t even noticed she was gone. But she knew better.

As she ate her chicken casserole and watched Wheel of Fortune, she noticed that all three contestants wore at least one red article of clothing. Vanna wore a red dress, Pat a red tie. The wheel kept landing on a red spot, and the winner solved the final puzzle Little Red Riding Hood to win a red BMW. Her mind continued to wander to the red tulip on her desk. As Pat and Vanna signed off, they mentioned again that this show was a benefit for women’s heart health, hence all the red in tonight’s episode. Thank goodness, she thought. I must have missed that at the beginning of the show and it seemed awfully weird. Her mind strayed to the tulip on her desk, alone in the darkened office.

She cleared her plastic dinner tray, fed Fireball, for which the cat was no more grateful than usual, and settled down for her normal schedule of television programming. It seemed like everything on TV tonight was titled with the word red. Red Dawn, Blood Red, Lady in Red. Even her normal crime dramas had some kind of red theme. She thought it must be related to women’s heart health week, but it was kind of creepy.

At 8:55 she turned off the television, glad to end the night. Nan did have one very secret vice, the only glimpse into her deeply submerged personality. Half of her closet was filled with lingerie. Plus several drawers and underbed storage boxes. From sweet and virginal to downright scandalous, Nan had it all. It caressed her skin like no man, it comforted her like no family, and through it she held on to the secret desire that someday she would have a man to appreciate the collection. In it, she felt beautiful, daring, wanted. So she chose a sky blue satin floor length slip, the farthest hue from red she could find, and climbed into bed.

She dove into her current novel, a mystery novel titled The Red Valley, until precisely 10 p.m., turned off her book light, and snuggled into her side of the bed with Fireball curled neatly against her. Same routine, same position, nothing new or out of place. But that night, sleep evaded her. She could not stop thinking about her red tulip, and hoping she would have another day to enjoy it. She even entertained the fantasy of keeping potted tulips on her balcony for next year, but that was almost an entire year away. So empty was her life that a flower was what kept her awake at night. When sleep finally descended on her tired mind over an hour later, she did not find sweet release, but a restless and confusing night of strange images.

Chapter 3

Wednesday

She saw it even before she rounded the edge of her desk. Brilliant, opening wide to greet her, the little red tulip from the day before was in full bloom. Nan mused that it must like diet Coke, just like her. She settled into the drone of her daily routine, quietly amused by her sunny friend. It seemed to be facing her, watching her, from every angle. Not in a creepy horror-movie way, but more like a curious, benevolent observer. Like it was learning, and at any minute it would be able to answer the phone in a perfect imitation.

Around 9:30 she pushed back from her post to run a quick copy. She was gone less than five minutes, and when she returned the tulip had been relocated to a small bud vase. Somehow, it seemed even happier than a few moments ago. And, oddly enough, it was facing the corridor to Dean’s office. There was no sign of Dean, so it couldn’t have possibly been him. But who else?

Not knowing any other option, and unable to venture down the hall, Nan went back to her pedestrian day. Phones, idle chat, fax this, copy that. Dean made his usual visit shortly before lunch, this time to compliment her flower.

I like your tulip, it's nice to have some color up here, he said, gesturing around the drab waiting room. The focal point was the window overlooking the river, but the sterile waiting room furniture and color scheme overpowered the natural beauty.

I found it yesterday and brought it up. I didn't have a vase, so I used what I had handy, a soda can. Somebody was nice enough to bring up this vase. You wouldn't happen to know who did that, would you? she asked, eyes down and focusing on anything but Dean.

I'll admit, I'm the culprit. It's too pretty to be in a soda can, and with the vase you can put it on the counter rather than hide it below. He spoke more about her than the can, but she was oblivious to the subtle innuendo.

Nan figured that he wanted a more suitable ornamentation at the front desk, not recognizing his true meaning. She didn't dare hope that he might have noticed her, wanted to do something nice for her.

He hung around the desk, awkwardly waiting for his perfect chance to invite Nan to lunch. As usual, Nan paid no notice as his opportunity slipped away. He walked away with some sense of triumph that morning, as she had talked to him more than usual and even smiled shyly. Maybe tomorrow he would get eye contact, and after that she would someday look into his eyes and smile.

For a change of pace, Nan donned her jacket and took her ham and cheese on Rainbow bread sandwich down to the fountain by the tulip beds. Other than the absolute beauty of seemingly hundreds of tulips all blooming at the exact same pace, there was nothing terribly unusual about them. This observation was much to her relief, as she thought she might need to utilize some of the company’s employee benefits for mental health. At the rate she was going, she thought an in-patient facility might be in order.

Ludicrous as it might seem, to Nan, this was a special little friend in her world completely absent of any type of camaraderie. Swallowing a tiny lump of sadness clumped with sticky white bread, and writing off her observations to silly and childish whimsy, she finished her sandwich and headed back to the office. She gave her little friend a half-smile, and threw herself back into her drone of a job.

The afternoon passed without incident. She was glad to see the funny courier from Speedy today. He didn’t come by every day, just once or twice a week. He always had an easy laugh and some ridiculous joke, but was one of the few people who could bring a smile to Nan’s face.

He liked the way her eyes turned up at the corners, and that her giggle was so secretive, like she would be cut in her tracks if anybody heard her. Truth be told, her boss tended to not have a great personality and relate well to his employees, so she might not have been too far off base.

Flynn had watched her co-workers and other runners come and go, picking up packages and messages without even casting a quick glance in her direction. In all the times he’d been at her desk, not once had he seen anybody ever talk to her.

At any rate, today’s joke was especially entertaining to Nan. He thought she looked a little tired today, which would make her more apt to a bout of the sillies.

A little boy wrote a letter to God, asking him for $100. He addressed the envelope ‘God’, put his return address on it, and dropped it in the corner mailbox. The postmaster thought this was such a nice gesture from a young child and decided to send this letter on to the President. The President was so touched by the little boy’s sincerity that he told his secretary to send the boy $5. When he received the money, the boy wrote the following thank you letter: Dear God-Thank you for the money. I noticed you sent it through Washington D.C. and of course, they have deducted $95. Love, Joey"

She was still laughing so hard when he left that she didn’t hear him humming, just below his breath, the song she heard in last night’s dream.