The cottony, head-full-of-cobwebs feeling of struggling to wake up was replaced by a bright spot of pain in Jack’s arm.
“Maybe now you’ll wake up,” Beth said.
Jack rubbed sleep from his eyes, blinking. It was still dark outside, but he could see his dreamcatcher, turning lazily. Beth had turned on his desk lamp, and the light was spilling through her sleep-mussed hair, making it look like it had in Hannah’s pictures.
“So… it worked?”
“You don’t look happy,” Jack said, glancing down at his arm, where she’d pinched him. It looked like it might bruise.
She sighed, and smiled, combing her fingers through her hair. Jack didn’t see any sparkling motes of light dancing around, so he guessed that was a good sign, as well.
“It was a good idea, but your execution needs some serious work.” She hugged Jack’s old robe around her, and padded to the door, opening it slowly, peeking down the short flight of stairs.
“Wait, where are you going?”
She yawned. “The Witching hour has passed, so now I’m going downstairs to get some real sleep.”
“But weren’t you—”
Again, the tired smile flickered across her lips. “You dream too loud, Jack.”
She shut the door.
Jack flopped back on his pillows, staring up at the dreamcatcher, watched it turn.