“It was creepy as hell.” The Keep Kit Kat Alive Committee had dwindled down to a choice few. Samson fumed that John Sebastian wasn’t there. Elvis responded, “You sure it wasn’t one of them… what do you kids call ‘em?” He tugged at Vesta’s shirt sleeve. “What do they call ‘em?” Vesta whispered, “Booty call.” Then Elvis nodded and continued, “Yeah, you sure it wasn’t one of them booty calls?”
Samson could feel the blood rush to his face and raised his hand to cover the red mark that was sure to be showing on his forehead. “No! This wasn’t anything like that. She was sleepwalking or something.” He had told them about her showing up at his door with no shoes and a half eaten muffin, but he didn’t tell them about how helpful her dream had been at solving his problem with the Tso Speed Tech. His grandmother had always said, “When someone sleeps with their eyes open, listen, for they speak the words of the ancestors.”
He had been up all night trying to stop hackers from taking over servers all over the nation, but only in some ISPs, not others. Just like the garage door in her dream, Tso Speed Tech was wide open to invaders. When her mother turned on the gas in the dream, it reminded Samson that the one thing that might be the same on all of those ISP’s was the firewall.
Roscoe interrupted Samson’s thoughts. “What worries me is that she was drivin’ in ‘er sleep. That ain’t safe.” An uncomfortable murmur spread across them. Dr. Chinsky suggested, “Should we take away her keys every night?” Elvis piped right up, “I ain’t takin’ ‘er keys away from ‘er every night. That’s just crazy talk.” Dora shook her head, “Roscoe’s right. We have to do SOMETHING.”
Samson stayed quiet and thought about Kit Kat’s serene face as she slept in his guest room. A few hours later, when she woke up, she hadn’t been so serene. She was embarrassed and apologetic. “I don’t think she was actually SLEEPING when she drove up to my house. She remembered the whole thing.” Was that true? Did she remember all of it? He had pulled the bedspread and sheets out from under her sleeping form and tucked her into bed. Did she remember that? He had watched her sleep for a full five minutes before becoming self-conscious at the joy of it. Did she remember that?
“Well, if she remembered drivin’ down, then she wasn’t sleepwalkin’. Maybe it WAS a booty call.” The committee laughed at Roscoe’s joke and Samson could smell his own sweat in his brown uniform. He tried to reply calmly, “She had a bad dream and wanted to see her old house, that’s all. I just think the Bowen house is starting to affect her. Where are Angie and Curly? We need to be MORE vigilant now, not less.” Samson bristled at the fact that John wasn’t there. If he really liked her, shouldn’t he be there? It just itched at him.
Roscoe asked, “How long she stay at yer house?” Samson shook his head, “I let her sleep in my guest room for a while. I think she woke up at about ten or so.” The mood in the room fell a decibel and Elvis let out a whistle. Samson looked around, feeling even more uncomfortable than before. “What?”
Roscoe shook his head and looked at Dora, but it was Vesta who spoke. “Guess it don’t matter if it was a booty call or not. Whole neighborhood’s gonna think it was.” The group nodded in agreement. Roscoe folded his arms and glowered, “It’s not good enough to BE above it all. You gotta LOOK like you are, too. Her car at your house overnight means ONE thing to every prying eye in Emigration.” Dora answered, “Do you think John has heard yet?”