Sleep Tight

Sleep Tight by Danielle Lenaghan Sheets

“It seems like he’s everywhere I go, offering me a gas mask when chemical attacks are looming, or warning me about security breaches on campus, but I’m trying to keep Greg Moriarti at an arm’s length.” Adrian told her dad during their weekly phone call, “I feel like Molly frickin’ Ringwald in Pretty in Pink for Pete’s sake! What’s he like? His band plays benefits to support animal rescue and he spends most of his time with his grandma. Tell me, why does he have to go and do stuff like that? Don’t worry dad, I’m keeping him at bay.” “That comes from the French, Adrian. Hounds barking in the 14th century were said to be ‘at a bay’. If he’s a hound, you should have nothing else to do with this boy. Sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite. Tighten the bed ropes Adrian, so you don’t fall to the floor, and change the straw before the bugs hatch. It means be prepared baby cakes, don’t be taken by surprise! It only takes 18 days for bed bugs to hatch. Things get out of control quickly. I know you have a good head on your shoulders, just keep your eyes and ears open.”

Adrian was documenting her findings when her lab partner, Daphne, approached. “You gotta come with us Adrian. Didn’t you want new experiences in university? You’ve been talking about it for months, since that Rubik’s Cube disaster. We’re done for the semester, let’s go out!” Adrian reluctantly went along to the Norfolk Public House on Granby Street, featuring a live band, “Time Stand Still.” Before she could say déjà vu, Adrian recognized the band. Greg Moriarti was the front man, bass player and singer. Greg introduced his mates for the cheering crowd, “we have Moe Diddly on guitar and Stan Tastic on drums, and we are Time Stand Still!”. Stan was no Neil Peart, so Greg and Moe did all the singing.

“The universe has a plan

All is for the best

Some will be rewarded

And the devil will take the rest.” (Rush)

Greg made a beeline for Adrian after the show. She tried to keep the hound at bay, but he flirted, hard, as he helped her with the cushion, the pocket and the bank shot. Greg was slow but deliberate navigating the long shot… Adrian was buzzed from three pints of Devil’s Backbone, and completely smitten. She was thinking this night could not get any better when Greg offered to host an after party at his Grandma’s place. He played his 1963 Gibson Les Paul on the porch of Betty’s mansion. Spontaneous jam sessions and the sweet smell of honeysuckle filled the air until morning. The music took Adrian back in time, to summers at the lake. Douggie would book a cabin and the Moore family, mom included, would spend two weeks living like the other half. Adrian spent leisurely summer days drawing insect life, writing poetry and searching for proof of alien existence. That’s when she found the dead bedbug. Adrian studied bugs since she could read. She knew when bed bugs feed they inject the skin with an anesthetic to keep the host from feeling the bite. She was intrigued by this covert attacker. She preserved him in a clear resin and placed him in a heart shaped golden locket bearing her initials, ARM.

God was a recurring theme for Greg who spent a lifetime of Sundays practicing rites and rituals. The Moriarti family was deeply ingrained in the Episcopal Church. Adrian, the atheist, was hell bent on convincing him it was all propaganda and brainwashing, “so the sheep will follow the flock bullshit!” Greg was accustomed to repetition, devotion and duty. Adrian wanted to tear down centuries old practices and make way for Eden.

Sitting: Greg was passionate about his faith but remained calm, even when his beliefs were challenged.

Adrian could not sit for long.

Kneeling: Greg was devoted to Adrian, but he was dedicated to his faith, his family, and his boys.

Adrian was dedicated to survival. She had been looking over her shoulder at every turn in the road since she moved to the city after her parents divorced.

Standing: Greg would do anything for anyone. He had the most genuine of hearts, the obedient son, the sacrificing grandson, the loyal friend.

Adrian never wanted to burden anyone. Her struggle was her own.

“It was a freak snowstorm for Norfolk,” Adrian told her dad during their weekly phone call. “I woke up, smelled fresh coffee and heard the TV blasting. That’s when I realized he was watching that shit…”

“Won Sided News will return after this commercial invasion.”

“What are you watching Greg, those Martyrdom Ads?

Greg responded with “thank you lord for thinking about me, I’m alive and doing fine.”

(Five Man Electrical Band)

“Very funny, but do you think this crap is legit?”

“Of course not, it’s just entertaining.” “Hey Ade, here they go…”

And we’re back with renowned expert, Dr. Richard Krad and his book ‘Martyrdom’.

Great earthquakes shall be in divers places, and famines, and pestilences; and fearful sights and great signs shall there be from heaven.

Greg turned to Adrian, “Ade, anarchy isn’t looming in dark corners, it’s in our neighborhoods, in broad daylight with daily attacks by ISUC against people in major U.S. cities. I will do something, I promise you…” Greg pulled Adrian in for a deep kiss. She was lightheaded by the time he released her from his embrace.

“The world weighs on my shoulders, but what am I to do?

You sometimes drive me crazy, but I worry about you.”

(Rush)

Billions around the world bore witness to the travesties broadcast on the 24-hour news channels, including Darren Shayme. He knew all about the rapture insurance, that was the brainchild of his great grandfather, Montgomery Shayme. Rapture Protection ©, was worth trillions, “It’s finally my chance to shine. All I need to do is attract the social misfits, and there are plenty to go around. I’ll make it ‘no-cut!’ Every religious zealot and nonbeliever will pay cash to prevent impending doom.” “You don’t have to be a Christian martyr, atheist, transgender, polygamist, no worries, all are welcome!” Darren would rely on the news to create the state of panic and just sit back and cash in. Cha-ching. He laid the plans.

Adrian was fast asleep, so Greg clicked the remote and scanned through channels. The TV blasted attacks throughout the world on every network.

Don’t fall victim, you control your own destiny, the commercial beaming multi-colored lights ran through the options.

Don’t leave it up to fate, design your afterlife, it’s your eternity.

Caligula can help!

Not a Christian?

That’s okay, our experienced advisors will put your plans into action today!

“This is Greg Moriarti, I saw your ad on TV…”

Greg answered the front door still donning shorts and a tank from his morning workout. He found a polished gentleman, fortyish, with jet black hair, slicked back, accentuating a very prominent widow’s peak. Dracula donned a crisp ivory button down shirt, a black pinstripe suit, a crimson necktie, and a treasure trove of gold and diamonds on his fingers. “My name is Darren Shayme, I’m your personal representative from Caligula.” “I’m Greg Moriarti, please have a seat.” Greg offered Darren a coffee as the TV exploded…

“With the destruction within the past 1000 days around the world, treasured historic monuments and houses of worship have been completely ruined. Cities remain on fire and survivors are awaiting rations, their neighborhoods abandoned.”

Darren saw his opportunity and pounced…“Think of what your loved one might need if there is a systemic collapse. Every man has a duty to consider in advance the needs of others. You’re a smart man. If you had the opportunity to plan before tragedy struck, would you store supplies, make preparations?”

Greg responded with “It’s a hard rains a-gonna fall”. (Bob Dylan)

Greg was driving back from his gig in Alexandria. He hit his regular rest stop near Williamsburg off I-64. He saw the attack coming before it happened. Greg charged with fists pounding. He bloodied his attacker’s nose and managed to get him into a headlock. That’s when then the gun went off. Greg’s ribs were grazed. While he was momentarily stunned, he was cuffed, thrown into the bed of a 1965 Chevy El Camino and chloroformed. When Greg woke up he was bloody and bruised. He stood abruptly, and falling forward, knocked the small end table into the wall, smashing it into splinters. He tried to run but quickly found that he was outnumbered by eight. Greg was roughed up while the gang of thugs subdued him, drugged him, and took him to a smaller room. He came to about four hours later, but this time he was only outnumbered by one.

He looked back and forth at the two guards and a flicker of memory made his decision. He waited for the lead guard to exit the room and struck. “Brian, Brian Hathaway? Is that you?”

“Greg, I didn’t think you would remember me man…”

“How could I forget? You got my ECSC trophy in High School!” As Brian approached Greg lowered his voice. “Let me out of here buddy, unless you can give me a good explanation why I am being held against my will.” Brian paused, surveilled the room and lowered his voice. “I don’t know Greg, we’re just hired muscle, no questions asked. You were supposed to die at that rest stop in Williamsburg, but you put up a hell of a fight. What did you sign up for?” Greg turned a little green before he confessed everything to Hathaway.

Adrian laid out her uniform and ran the shower. She washed and conditioned her hair, shaved her legs and pits, and applied an in-shower lotion. She put on her black trousers, white tuxedo shirt and black bow tie. She applied mascara and eyeliner, and a soft tan shadow to accentuate her sapphire eyes. Her final touch was a crimson lip stain with clear gloss to seal the deal. She blow-dried her hair, tied it back in a ponytail with a black ribbon, and applied a dust of hairspray. She gave herself a final inspection and nodded. Grabbing her wallet, keys and nametag from the bedside table, she bolted for the door.

Brian Hathaway made a bold move. He untied Greg and unlocked the back door. He asked Greg to give him a knock on the head, and Greg happily obliged. Greg raced to the parking sphere at Norfolk Waterside. Her knight in shining armor was so close, he sang to her…

“And the men who hold high places,”

Greg ran like the wind. He could see Adrian’s golden hair glistening in the sun.

“Must be the ones who start,”

She tilted her head slightly, taking in the view of the sparkling Elizabeth River.

“To mold a new reality,”

She walked slowly and watched the sun setting as the American Rover sailed by.

“Closer to the heart.” (Rush)

The gunman was in place. One shot was fired and it was dead on. Greg ran to Adrian’s side, crumbling onto her lifeless torso, his eardrums echoing the blast of the roaring bullet. Tears streamed down his reddened cheeks as he touched her heart shaped locket and ran his thumb over her initials, ARM. Adrian’s life flashed before her eyes, but all she could focus on was Greg. She thought she could see his face. She could hear him sing …

“Blind man in the market

Buying what we're sold

Believe in what we're told

Until our final breath

While our loving Watchmaker

Loves us all to death” (Rush)