CHAPTER 2 — Somnambulism

  Pamela scooped a lifeless Jezebel from her bed and carried her towards the door. She struggled to leave the room, for Jezebel's pink bed sheet was partially wrapped around her legs. Thankfully, the sheet detached and settled on the hallway floor under Pamela's feet. She hurried along the hallway to the top of the staircase.

  Jezebel weighed quite a lot more now, thought Pamela, as in a daze of hurried steps she awkwardly descended the staircase towards the kitchen. Jezebel's limp body flopped about in her arms. Pamela's heart ached as she noticed this.

  "Flip'n heck!" she cringed. "Sorry, baby. We'll make everything alright again. Just hang in there, sweetheart," she moaned, moving off the bottom step and stumbling as she lifted Jezebel higher in her arms.

  She managed not to fall over as her husband Brian pushed open the front door. With his phone in hand, the tall, lean Brian stood there panting in disbelief at the unbearable scene before him. Pamela was red with emotion and effort; Jezebel, in contrast, was very pale, wrapped tight in her favourite light?blue dressing gown.

  Pamela ignored Brian's attempt to take Jezebel from her, continuing into the kitchen to land heavily on the closest chair at the table. Her protective arms held her sick child.

  "I didn't know what else to do, Brian!"

  "That's OK, love," he answered consolingly.

  "I couldn't just leave her like that in her bed, Brian!"

  "She's breathing, right?" asked Brian, gently placing his fingers on Jezebel's wrist.

  "Yes. She's breathing," panted Pamela.

  "I can feel a pulse," agreed Brian, offering a half?reassuring smile.

  "Oh good." Pamela frowned. "She doesn't seem to have a temperature."

  "Good. What the Dickens is it?" Brian opened Jezebel's mouth. "There's nothing blocking her... plenty of normal breathing. Hmm."

  "Look at her eyes, Brian!" They both realised something didn't look right.

  "They're not brown anymore. They're light grey!" gasped Pamela.

  "I'll call Doctor Hooper," said Brian. He scrolled through his saved numbers, found it, pressed call, and looked out the kitchen window, praying for the doctor to answer. He was put on hold, so he turned back to look at his daughter's grey eyes again.

  To his utter relief, Jezebel's brown eyes were calmly looking back at him. She yawned and stretched her arms in a relaxed but sluggish manner. Pamela and Brian embraced her lovingly, asking a million questions at once and pouring out their grief over how worried they had been.

  Jezebel slowly became aware she was not in her soft, comfortable pink bed, but slouching uncomfortably on her mother's bony knees in the kitchen. Pamela let out a short flood of tears all over Jezebel's dressing gown. Jezebel too felt extremely happy to see them, though she didn't yet understand why her emotions were so heightened. She cried with them. She loved her parents and needed them both.

  "What the blazes happened, Jez?" whispered Brian. "Was it something you ate? Raw sweet potato?"

  "We were starting to think the worst," agreed Pamela.

  Jezebel let out a short yelp and leapt up. She stood panting, staring wildly at her parents.

  "How did they do that?" she blurted, alarmed.

  "Who?" asked Brian, very concerned.

  "It's OK, baby," Pamela reassured her as best she could.

  Brian's phone rang. "Hello? Sorry, Dr Hooper — Brian York. Just having an issue with our daughter Jezebel. She seems a little worked up right now. We weren't able to wake her this morning. Totally unheard of..."

  Brian walked back to the window, explaining what had occurred. Jezebel continued staring at Pamela, aghast.

  "What, Jezebel? What happened?" begged Pamela, holding her hand over a clenched fist, teeth gritted.

  "My god. Fariddion, Mother!" Jezebel shook her head slowly in disbelief.

  Brian stood dumbstruck.

  "Sorry, doctor — what was that? You'll call back? As you wish." He placed his phone beside the clean dishes and returned to Jezebel's side.

  "It's alright," Pamela tried a smile. It wasn't there yet. "Are you in any pain?"

  "Yes," said Jezebel vacantly. "I mean — no, not at all. Sorry." She beamed. "I stood before the gate of Far—!" She snapped her mouth shut.

  "Yes, go on," insisted Brian. "Where did you go? Who with? Do we know them? Was it far?"

  "Let her talk, Brian," said Pamela.

  They watched each other for the longest time without speaking. All Jezebel wanted was to sit in her room and remember Fariddion. She made one strong effort to explain herself. Time to throw water on the fire — but that would cause smoke and a large hiss.

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  "Surprise!" Jezebel smiled, showing her hands as if she had nothing to hide. But she had a world to hide.

  "I'm so... sorry," she exaggerated. "I was pretending to be dead. Just acting. We've been doing lots of plays at school this past month, and I'm playing a dead person. I want to be an actress, that's all..."

  The look she got back said everything. They were both speechless.

  "WHAT?" shrieked Pamela, shooting out of her chair. Her voice carried throughout the spacious eight?bedroom Tudor?style white?rendered brick house, five minutes' drive from the small village of Bearing. It was a beautiful home, situated less than a quarter mile from three hundred acres of old woodland. If you exited the driveway in the opposite direction, an old discarded windmill stood ageing beside a river. You probably could have heard Pamela's reaction from there too.

  "Have you lost your mind?" demanded Pamela, plonking herself down again, the effort considerable.

  "Pretending?" Pamela burst into tears. "No. Impossible. You weren't pretending, Jezebel. I know you weren't. Oh please, Jezebel — what's going on?"

  "I... don't really know," said Jezebel. She could see Daddy's perpetual happy face was gone. Lying was a new lesson for her, and she was failing badly.

  "I'm so confused. I'm just embarrassed to tell you because... because you'll think I've gone mad."

  Jezebel loosened her dressing gown and ran a hand through her hair. As much as she wanted to tell them about Fariddion, she couldn't. It would be a disaster. And she knew her mother too well.

  "What?" sniffed Pamela, wiping her eyes. "Darling, you don't have to be ashamed. We'll be understanding. Won't we, Brian?"

  "Of course," said Brian. "You can tell us anything."

  "We have to know," demanded Pamela.

  Jezebel thought about her mother's reaction to her first lie. A more sympathetic story was required immediately.

  "It's alright. I'm sorry for freaking out — which you totally deserved, by the way. You were unresponsive!" Pamela continued, more controlled now. "You can't lie to me about this, Jezebel. This is—"

  "I'm sorry, Mother. But I think I went too far... in my sleepwalking. Yes, that's really the truth this time. I've been sleepwalking, and I think it's causing me a tiny bit of trouble waking up. Not that it's happened before. This is the first time. It's so odd. Surely you can see why I hesitated to tell you?"

  She held her breath.

  "I've heard similar stories from Mrs Plunket's husband," said Brian.

  "Oh... really, Brian?" Pamela asked hopefully.

  "Yes. She has a devil of a time waking old Bert. Apparently she's given up trying. Bert gets himself up now. He told me once even a bucket of cold water didn't wake him when he sleepwalked out the front door." Brian grinned. "Or so he said."

  "You'll have to see Dr Hooper this morning," said Pamela.

  "Speaking of Doctor Hooper — here's a message," said Brian, checking his phone. "Sorry, Pam. He's out all day. Sarah Mellon is on duty. She'll come. Book a time?"

  "Oh god, no. Not her. Sorry, Jezebel — you'll have to wait until—"

  Brian's phone rang again.

  "It's Doctor Hooper," he said. "Yes, Doctor? That's fine. Thank you. We'll see you then." He snapped his phone shut and shared a relieved smile with Pamela.

  "I'm so concerned," she murmured, rubbing her face.

  "I'm fine, Mother. Really," said Jezebel, pretending to be calm and not extremely excited.

  "Really?"

  "Yes, really. I'm awake now, and I'm sure it won't happen again while I'm awake."

  "Well, that will be up to what Doctor Hooper prescribes. When's he coming, Brian?"

  "Around three."

  "Can I go to my room now, please? I've told you all I know. Besides the sleepwalking stuff, I'm feeling really good."

  "Well... I guess there's nothing else we can do until Doctor Hooper arrives, so... yes," said Pamela, at a loss.

  "Don't worry — I'm fine," yawned Jezebel.

  When Pamela reacted to the yawn, Jezebel laughed.

  "Sorry. It's not like I'm at death's door."

  She waited at the kitchen entrance for Brian.

  "Alright, Jezebel," he said, joining her. "Just no going out until you've seen Doctor Hooper. Other than that, we'll wait and see. You'd deserve an Academy Award for that performance if you were pretending." He laughed. "Of course it's some kind of sleep issue. I'm going to get dressed."

  He chuckled to himself, mostly overjoyed that his daughter was not at death's door, as they headed upstairs.

  "Sleep apnea is when you stop breathing while asleep, Brian," Pamela called after him. "And a BAFTA!"

  "Hold on, Jezebel!" Pamela called, relaxing somewhat. "I need to talk to you about your rabbit."

  Jezebel stopped halfway up the stairs and came back down, apprehensive, while Brian continued on.

  "Did you eat anything during the night?" asked Pamela.

  "No."

  "Was Rabbit hungry during the night?"

  Jezebel widened her eyes.

  "Why?"

  Pamela spoke quickly.

  "Well, I think there must be a real rabbit living in your room, and he must like my sweet potato, because one was taken from its bowl here in the kitchen — and look at this chewed?up mess under the table on my clean tiles."

  "Did Tibbar do that?" asked Jezebel, surprised.

  "No. Tibbar's a toy. I hope you didn't eat any of that raw sweet potato, hmm?"

  Jezebel saw the concern in her mother's eyes and realised she would have to lie again.

  "No, I didn't eat it. I... I broke it up and pretended to feed Tibbar. Sorry, Mother. I'll clean it up."

  She swept up the mess and emptied it into the metal kitchen bin while Pamela watched her like a hawk.

  "There we are," smiled Jezebel. "All done."

  Pamela stooped to inspect the floor, then nodded with a smile.

  "Where is Tibbar now, anyway?" asked Jezebel, rubbing her eyes.

  "Your toy rabbit... Tibbar?" Pamela turned — and stopped. Tibbar was no longer beside the fruit bowl. He was lying comfortably on his side on the soft blue carpet just inside the lounge room entrance.

  "I don't understand. This toy is never where I put it. How did he get there?" she murmured. She turned back to Jezebel with a slight laugh. "How odd. I didn't know you could move his arms and legs around. Brian?"

  "He's not a boy," Jezebel muttered for the hundredth time. "Or is he?"

  "Coming!" Brian called, making his way downstairs in a white dressing gown and slippers. He was about to shower. "Would you mind waiting a moment?" he asked into his phone.

  "Jezebel just finished cleaning up that sweet potato under the table, and I said to her I thought it was funny how you placed Tibbar on the floor like that," said Pamela.

  "Who?" asked Brian blankly.

  "Tibbar. Jezebel's toy rabbit."

  "Oh. I didn't put him there," said Brian plainly. "You didn't eat any of that sweet potato, did you, Jezebel?"

  "No, Daddy," she said, refastening her dressing gown.

  "Oh good. Well, we can rule that out then. You've scared us both half to death!" Brian spluttered. "Shower, then I'll get dressed."

  Jezebel and Pamela heard the crunch of car tyres on the white pebbles covering the driveway. They looked through the kitchen window to see a yellow sedan stop near the front door.

  "That must be Cathy. She's a little early," said Pamela, glancing at the grandfather clock chiming eight o'clock.

  Jezebel seized her chance. She hurried to Tibbar, scooped him up, dashed out of the kitchen, opened the front door, and ran to greet her aunt.

  Pamela watched her through the window for a moment before turning back to the kitchen. She shuddered with relief, shook her head slowly, rubbed her cheek, and began thinking about Cathy's visit.

  "Thank god she's alright," sighed Pamela.