Page 136 of Switch!
Taking note of which wall is touching his, I imagine the living room of my mother’s apartment, dreaming it into existence. I put so much effort into this creation that, once in familiar surroundings, I’m tempted to crack a window to air out the smoky interior. I walk to the front door, and when I open it, instead of imagining the apartment building walkway, I think of Patrick’s childhood living room.
And it works! The door swings open to reveal the same place I watched home movies an hour ago, except the holiday decorations are back. Night has fallen, the snow outside covering the windows in white sheets. Christmas carols play in the air, although I’ve been standing here long enough to notice a disturbing pattern.
Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright.
Like a skipping record, the first verse keeps playing over and over again. I had to sing the song in a grade school pageant, so I know the lyrics, but they never progress.
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child. Holy Infant so tender and mild.
Patrick has his back against one corner of the couch, his legs stretched out across the cushions. Serena is in his arms, face tranquil as she sleeps. Patrick’s eyes are closed too.
Sleep in heavenly peace.Sleep in heavenly peace.
“Sorry,” I say to him, “but we need to talk.”
No response. I move closer, noticing how cold the room is. I look from the twinkling tree lights to the flames in the fireplace, but they only give the illusion of warmth.
Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright.
“Patrick?” I try again.
He doesn’t stir.
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child. Holy Infant so tender and mild.
I’m standing above him now. I speak his name again with the same result. I reach out to shake him and immediately recoil. He’s frozen to the touch! No. It’s worse than that, more like the dry ice we used in tenth grade science class. I couldn’t resist pressing a bare finger to it, and I still remember the way it burned. So cold that it was like fire.
Sleep in heavenly peace.Sleep in heavenly peace.
The slumbering father and daughter remind me disturbingly of seeing Caleb’s open casket. I expect them to move, even if only to shift positions, but they never do. I don’t know what’s going on, or how to help Patrick, but I’m getting seriously creeped out. When I glance back and see the sunlight filling my mother’s apartment, the temptation to flee is irresistible. I race back to a world more familiar, slamming the door behind me. Then I press my back to it and wonder if, after everything, Patrick has found a way of taking his own life.
— — —
“Wake up, honey.”
I open bleary eyes to find Ruth sitting on the edge of my bed. She has a hand on my shoulder and is gently shaking me.
“Time to get up,” she says. “We’re going to church and still need to have breakfast.”
“Church?” I grumble. “Since when?” I check Patrick’s memories. The only occasions when his parents dragged him to church were around Christmas, and sometimes at Easter. Aside from that, his Sunday mornings were always free… which he woke up early to take advantage of. Feeling pressure to stay in character, I sit up and manage not to wince when I see that it’s only six in the morning.
“Do you have something nice to wear?” Ruth asks. “If not, I can ask your father if he has—”
“No!” I say, not wanting to wear a sweater during the tail end of summer. “I’m sure I have something.”
“Good.” Ruth stands. “Would you mind waking your friend?”
Trixie isn’t going to like this. I’m tempted to let her sleep, but I haven’t had a chance to talk to her since my weird experience with Patrick last night. I bring the gift of caffeine with me when waking her.
After we both get a few sips of coffee down, I tell her my news.
“You think he’s dead?” she asks me.
“Or in stasis. I stayed up late trying to figure it out. Whatever is going on, I don’t know how to fix it.”
Trixie attempts to take another sip but ends up yawning instead. “You said the door to your mom’s place was open during all of this?”
“Yeah.”
