Paige didn’t respond and he figured she had gone back to sleep when all of a sudden she sat up completely straight and draped her legs over the side of the bed.
“You all right, sweetheart?”
No response. Brett rubbed his eyes with his fingers, he could make her out through the moonlight coming through the window, but just barely.
“Paige?”
She abruptly stood straight up and began walking towards the door.
Did she hear something? Was she freaking out because he was in her bed? A number of things could be going on in her head. Should he give her privacy?
But something in how she was moving seemed strange, stiff. As she went completely out the door, Brett grabbed his pants from the chair by the bed and pulled them on. He followed her out into the hallway.
“Paige, just let me know you’re okay. If you want to be alone that’s fine, but just talk to me for a second.”
She didn’t even slow down.
But when she got to the door of the room she wouldn’t show him earlier, she stopped. Then opened the door and went inside.
Now Brett really wondered what the hell was going on.
He quickly walked down the hallway and followed her through the door, determined to get some answers. But what he saw made him stop in his tracks.
This wasn’t some messy storage room or closet like he’d thought it might be. This room was perhaps the cleanest in the whole house. It had a sofa and coffee table in one corner and an easel with art supplies in the other, with an artist’s portfolio resting against the wall next to it.
Why wouldn’t she have wanted him to come in here?
Brett watched as Paige walked over and stood in front of the easel, grabbing a colored pencil from a package on a nearby table. Once there, she didn’t move for a long time, so Brett circled around her so he could see her face. Her eyes were wide open, but unfocused, obviously not seeing him.
She was sleepwalking.
He felt better. Sleepwalking happened a lot. One of the twins had walked so much in her sleep as a kid that their parents had put an extra lock at the top of the front door to make sure she didn’t go outside to play on the swing.
They’d found Lydia on the swing, sound asleep, multiple times before putting in the lock. She’d never hurt herself, but it had freaked them all out a little bit to see her ready to play, in her pajamas, eyes open, but unseeing.
Just like Paige was now.
On one hand he was glad she wasn’t upset or trying to run away somewhere where she could freak out privately, overwhelmed by what had happened today. Or tonight.
On the other hand, what was he supposed to do with her? Let her stand here at her easel until she came back to bed? She wasn’t doing anything. But surely this couldn’t be restful for her body.
“Paige? You want to wake up, sweetheart? We could go back to bed,” Brett said it softly, not wanting to jar or scare her. You weren’t supposed to wake sleepwalkers up, right?
Brett gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders and began easing her back from the easel. She took two steps without any fight before jerking free from him and stepping back up to the easel.
He was surprised by the violence in her movement, but was about to try again when the hand holding the pencil moved up and began drawing.
It was spooky to watch, he had to admit. Her hand moved with grace and precision, not stopping at all once the drawing began, except to change colors. But her face never actually looked at what she drew. Whatever it was, however it was happening, it was not because Paige was carefully watching and controlling every stroke.
As a matter of fact it was almost like she was just a puppet and someone else was using her hand to draw.
Brett didn’t want to stop her. He wasn’t sure he could anyway. Soon it was obvious that she was drawing a woman’s face on the large paper attached to the easel. The detail was remarkable, almost like it was a photograph.
He grimaced. Exactly the same style as the one she’d drawn of herself from the hospital. Was this how she’d drawn herself — while she was sleeping? She hadn’t mentioned that.
Of course, nobody would’ve believed her. Hell, he was standing right here watching her draw in her sleep and couldn’t really believe it.
Brett’s relief was palpable when it became obvious that the woman Paige was drawing didn’t have any bruises on her face. It was a testament to Paige’s talent —if you could call drawing without even being awake a talent— that she captured the woman’s expression so precisely.
The woman was smiling. But as Paige added more detail, Brett realized the smile didn’t reach her eyes. She was slightly apprehensive, as if something was causing her concern, but not enough to cause real worry to cross her face.
Paige continued to add more detail with different colored pencils, never hesitating or unsure, reaching for the next pencil without even looking at them.
She drew for at least an hour. Every time Brett thought she must be done she would go back and add another layer of detail, her arm in constant motion. After she was finished with the face, she began to draw in some of the background. It didn’t have nearly as much detail, but he could tell the woman was in a parking lot of some sort.
Paige kept drawing.
If she was awake, she would have to be exhausted. There was no way she could keep her arm moving like that for so long without stopping to stretch it or rest it or something. And it was obviously having further effect on her physically, the pallor in her face grew and at some point her nose began bleeding.
He needed to stop this. Whatever was happening was hurting her. No drawing could be worth the physical price she was paying.
But before he could figure out the best way to wake her, she stopped herself as abruptly as she’d started. Her arm dropped to her side and the pencil fell from her fingers. Brett came closer, waiting for her to do something else, but she didn’t do anything. Just stood there facing the easel.
Brett once again wasn’t certain what he should do. Would she eventually wake up? Go back to bed? Fall in a heap on the floor? She looked like she was about to collapse.
“Paige, are you done drawing, baby? Why don’t you come back to bed?” He realized she was cold, her legs were covered in goose bumps, the arm she hadn’t been using chilly to the touch. He wrapped an arm around her. “Let’s go back to bed.”
She didn’t resist as he turned her from the picture and began walking towards the door. The same visionless gaze still filled her eyes.
Brett walked slowly down the hall with her, in case she stumbled or woke up, but she never faltered. He helped her back into bed and as her head touched the pillow her eyes finally closed. He grabbed some tissue from the bathroom to wipe her nose then wrapped the big comforter around her. He stepped back and watched as she curled up on her side, hugging a pillow, trying to get comfortable. Her body was stiff, obviously in pain. The hand she used to draw rested curled unnaturally against her chest.
Brett realized her fingers were cramping from holding the pencils for so long. He could see her fingers spasm every few seconds. He crouched down so he could take her fingers in his hand, gently rubbing and stretching them, helping to ease the overworked muscles.
Paige relaxed into the bed under his ministrations and was soon obviously deep asleep. Brett released her hand and laid it gently against the pillow she was clutching.
It was after five o’clock now, the sun would be coming up soon. He knew there was no way he’d get back to sleep. He sat down in the overstuffed chair by the bed and looked at the woman lying there. In peace, finally.
He had no idea what he’d just witnessed in that room. All he knew was the more he knew about Paige the weirder things got.
Chapter Thirteen
Paige woke up a little groggy. She seemed to have aches all over her body. In her elbow where she fell yesterday, but also… other places.
She had to admit those aches didn’t bother her one bit.
But she was totally exhausted even after sleeping all night. She peeked out from under the covers to see what time it was on her bedside clock. After nine. She needed to get up.
She rolled over to see if Brett was still in bed, maybe she could take advantage of him again, despite her soreness.
He was there, but wide awake, sitting up against her headboard. A cup of coffee in his hand, one leg stretched out in front of him, one leg hanging over the side of the bed.
“I made you a cup too,” he gestured with this head towards her nightstand. “But I think it has probably gotten cold by now.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks. I’ll just go warm it up in the microwave.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll go get you a fresh cup. Cream? Sugar?” He was already getting out of bed. His jeans were on, as well as the light blue button-down shirt he’d had on last night, although it wasn’t buttoned.
“Neither, thanks.”
He grabbed her mug and was out the door without saying another word.
Was she crazy or was Brett acting a little weird? She didn’t know exactly what she’d been expecting, but he just seemed distant.
Or maybe that was just how things were the morning after. It had been years since she’d had one.
Then she saw it. A little bit of blood and traces of colored pencil on her pillowcase where her hand had rested. Her eyes flew to her hand. Yes, even more evidence on it.
She had drawn again while she was sleeping.