Free Sleeping Beauty by Elle Lothlorien

with me.”
    Now I’m creeped out. Why did West let this guy in here? And why in the world would he think I would snuggle up to him on my couch? I inch my way to one of the chairs next to the sofa, wondering how long it will take before Davin comes to check on me.
    When I don’t sit next to him, Charmant looks–I can’t quite put my finger on it. Hurt? His demeanor changes abruptly, and he sort of folds up, taking his arms off the back of the couch and leaning towards me. “Claire–”
    My pique rises. “Dr. Charmant, I barely know you. And I don’t understand why you’re here. Did Dr. Pickering send you?”
    Now he looks just as stunned as I feel. “Wow. That sounded weird. First of all, you’ve got to start calling me Brendan again.”
    “‘ Again ?’ What do you mean ‘again?’”
    He clears his throat, stalling. “Uh, well, you haven’t called me Dr. Charmant for…well, since the sleep lab, so it sounds really strange to hear you say it now.” He chuckles half-heartedly “C’mon, Claire, you’re acting like you don’t have any memory of anything that’s happened since then.” He stops. “Wait…that’s not what you’re saying, is it?”
    “You and my brother are all BFF now, why don’t you let him fill you in on how this usually works?”
    He purses his lips, in that way he does when he’s amused. “I tried that.”
    “And?”
    “He shared a very interesting parable about a lampshade that I didn’t fully understand.”
    “I don’t remember anything, okay?” I say, slashing the air with my hand. “I never do. All I know is that my brother took my cell phone and I don’t know what day it is and–and–” I grab a handful of hair. “You see this? My hair grew!”
    When I’m done with my tantrum he leans back against the cushions, cool as a cucumber. “Hmmm. Well that’s going to make this difficult.”
    “You mean more difficult than waking up and not knowing what day it is? What exactly is your difficulty?”
    “This.” He puts his fingers on the manila envelope on the coffee table and slides it towards me. “This could be difficult.”
    I pick it up. “What is it?”
    “Open it.”
    I bend the metal prongs up, unfold the flap, and let the contents slide out onto the coffee table.
     
EVENSONG
FADE IN:
 
EXT CHURCH, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS – EVENING
 
FOG shrouds the street. ECHO of footsteps approaching. CHURCH BELLS toll in distance.
     
    My head jerks up. “How did you get this script?”
    “I told Charley I’d get it from Andy and bring it to you. I wanted you to have it as soon as we were sure you were out of the woods. West said yesterday that he could tell it wouldn’t be long.”
    I perch my elbows on my knees, close my eyes, and press my temples, stopping only when I think my fingers will poke right through the soft spots. “I don’t understand what’s happening. How did you know about this movie?”
    “You told me.” He stops. “Well, actually your brother told me first, said you wouldn’t stop talking about it every time you opened your eyes.” He looks around. “Didn’t you see the card?”
    “From Andy Gordon.”
    “Oh, good, you did see it. Shooting begins on the twenty-fifth. That doesn’t give you much time. I don’t know exactly how this works, but I thought I could help you memorize your lines.”
    Eyes still closed, I shake my head a few times, trying to break free of the alternate universe I seem to be trapped in. “What–what exactly is the connection between you and Evensong ?” I open my eyes. “Or you and the chicken card for that matter.”
    “Andy Gordon is a…professional acquaintance.”
    My mouth pops open and goes slack. His expression changes from neutral to high amusement.
    “You know Andy Gordon,” I say. “The director.” I point at the script. “Director of Evensong . You know him.”
    “This is so weird that you can’t remember,” he says, shaking his head, still humoring me. “To answer your