The Glitch in Sleep (16 page)

“You’re too late.” The way he looked straight ahead, Becker felt like an invisible man.

“Wasn’t anyone able to Fix it?”

“Po and Philadelphia neutralized the Glitch, but the Chains of Events had already slipped too far! Nature went offline first, then Weather, and from there it was like a snowball. The Plan was in shambles and before you knew it, Reality itself started to lose integrity . . .”

“But surely the Powers That Be—”

“There’s nothing they can do! Don’t you understand?” His voice dropped to a whisper of terrible defeat. “There’s nothing . . .”

Night Watchman #1 rose from the chair, handed Becker his headset, and slowly walked away.

“Take a look for yourself.”

Becker attached the headphones and stared at the monitor, and when he saw what was taking place in sector after sector, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

In Bangladesh, the monsoon rains were made of nails instead of water.

In Reykjavik, the temperature had reached 243 degrees.

And in Mexico City, Gravity had lost its hold, and everything that wasn’t tied down was sailing off into the sky. People were screaming and trying to hold on for dear life, and the wild fear in their eyes betrayed the unfathomable experience of being trapped inside a World gone mad.

The same numbness that affected the others began to settle over Becker. How could he have let this happen? His fingers mechanically found their way to the keyboard and punched in the numbers for Sector 33, Grid 514.

“Oh, no.”

Highland Park, New Jersey, USA

As soon as Becker stepped back through the Door, he dropped his Toolkit and ripped off his Badge and pedaled frantically back to 12 Grant Avenue. He was no longer a Fixer (for there was nothing left to Fix), but simply the son of Dr. and Dr. F. B. Drane, and the older brother to a little boy named Benjamin. And he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life.

While Becker pumped his feet as fast as they would go, cars and people were headed in the opposite direction, desperately trying to get out of town. But little did they know, there was no safe haven left. Bark was literally melting off the trees, while high above in the sky, the moon had cracked itself in two.

“Becker—you’re going the wrong way!” Dr. Kole was running by in his bathrobe, clutching a sack spilling over with his beloved books. “We have to get to higher ground!”

Becker wanted to stop and tell him that somehow this would all be okay, but he knew in his heart that it wouldn’t, so he sped on past without saying a word.

“Mom, Dad!”

Much like he’d done the day before, Becker dropped his bike on the lawn and flew inside the house. On the couch in the living room, his father was clutching Benjamin, who was crying like a baby, while his mother stared at him in disbelief.

“Becker, but—I don’t understand.”

“Mom, I tried. I swear, I tried the best I could. But the Bed Bugs, they knocked me out, and the Glitch—” As he stammered out an explanation, Becker had the distinct recollection of the time when he’d broken his mom’s favorite sunglasses, which he’d borrowed without asking. But unlike then, when she had reassured him “it’s no big deal, sweetheart,” no such relief was coming.

“How is this possible?” she said. “Who are you?”

“What are you talking about? I’m me!”

His parents looked at each other, utterly confused, just as Becker’s spitting image came scrambling from the kitchen. In the Me-2’s hands were a ration of canned goods, and it looked just as surprised to see Becker as Becker was to see it.

“What the heck are you doing here?” said the Me-2. “Why aren’t you Fixing the Glitch?”

“Because the Glitch can’t be Fixed!”

The Me-2 was about to ask why, when—

“Will somebody please tell me what on earth is going on around here!” shouted Professor Drane, as Benjamin’s wails increased to an ear-splitting shriek.

“I’ll explain everything later, but right now we have to—”

Both Becker and the Me-2 stopped talking, because they were saying the exact same thing at the exact same time (in the exact same voice).

“Shut up, Me! I’ll handle this!”

“Like you handled the Glitch? No thank you!”

Becker started to respond with anger, but he realized the Me-2 was right. He’d blown the Mission and cost The World dearly.

“I—I—”

Enraged, the Me-2 lunged at Becker and grabbed him around the throat. While they wrestled on the floor, his mom began to scream, matched only by the cries of horror that filtered in through the window.

“You’ve doomed us all, you incompetent fool!”

Becker was still struggling to take a breath when his hand finally found the dial on the back of the Me-2’s neck. He flicked it to “Off,” and instantly the doppelganger began to deflate—but not without a parting shot.

“This . . . is . . . all . . . your . . . faul—”

The Me-2’s voice eked to a halt.

Becker rose to his feet, but any solace he may have felt from the end of the fight was quickly wiped away by the sight of his mom fainting to the floor.

“Becker, please, what’s happening?”

“There’s no time to explain, Dad! We’ve got to get out of here!”

Becker figured if he could just get his family back to the Door, he might be able to take them to the safety of The Seems before it was too late. But suddenly, from outside his house, there was a terrible ripping sound, followed soon after by a blinding blue light—and Becker didn’t even need to look to know what it meant. He did anyway, though, and there it was: the Fabric of Reality, tearing like a piece of cloth through the middle of his neighborhood, to expose the In-Between behind it.

And as the ground beneath his feet began to rupture and shake, it hit Becker Drane like a ton of bricks. He knew exactly who was to blame for the end of The World. He was.

“Marty, you nincompoop!”

Laboratory of the Bed Bugs, Department of Sleep, The Seems

Seymour the Bed Bug was fuming.

“What’s it gonna take for you to mix a real Nightmare?”

Marty was crushed. Though the beta test for
YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE
had gone swimmingly ( judging by the gesticulations of the unconscious Taster in the chair), the Scaredy Cat said otherwise.

“But it made it to ‘White Knuckles’ . . .”

“White Knuckles! If I wanted White Knuckles, I’d take
MONSTER IN THE CLOSET
for the thirty-fourth time!”

Marty and the other Bed Bugs in the room dropped their heads in shame.

“You heard what the VP said—‘If you don’t deliver me a Nightmare that makes it to “Curled Up in the Fetal Position and Crying for Mommy,” you’re out and I’m bringing in Hubie’s team.’ ”

“Hubie?” cried the sweaty-shirted Dr. Glorp. “Hubie couldn’t mix a Nightmare if it hit him on the head!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Seymour threw an empty beaker at his colleague, which shattered on the wall. “Now go get me
OLD FAITHFUL
before this imbecile wakes up!”

In the chair before them, Becker Drane had finally started to stir. It had been a horrible Dream, worthy of its name, and he was still not free from its devastating spell.

“It’s not my fault . . . Mom, Dad . . . we have to get to the . . . Benjamin . . .”

“Don’t worry, munchkin. I’m going to take you far, far away from all this.” Seymour chuckled and leaned in to the semiconscious Fixer. “To someplace much, much worse.”

Just then, Glorp returned with a dusty old decanter.

“I don’t understand, Seymour. I thought we had retired
OLD FAITHFUL.
”

“I’m sick of these new-agey Nightmares. The classics are the classics for a reason!” Seymour dangled the last remaining milliliter of
YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE
over the crusty container. “And with one drop of this . . .”

The instant the two Nightmares combined, the liquid began to bubble and froth.

“. . . what’s old becomes new!”

Seymour raised the vial over his head, triumphant, and his partners roared with delight.

“Someone call an exterminator?”

The Bed Bugs whirled around to see a tall, lanky Seemsian come flying into the room. His body was draped from head to toe in Tools, and stamped on his chest was the block letter “B,” which he wore as proudly as all the Briefers who were ever named Frye.

“Now get your hands off my Fixer,” Simly demanded, “or else!”

The Bed Bugs stood stunned for a second before Seymour broke into a yellow-toothed grin.

“This it too good to be true! Two Tasters in one day.”

The others grabbed their nets and prepared to seize their second victim, but Simly was more than ready. He pulled a thin (ozone-friendly) aerosol canister off his Utility Belt and sprayed it in their faces. The Bed Bugs immediately began to cough and choke and fall on the floor, writhing about in agony. Simly made sure to soak each one a second time, then unstrapped his dazed compatriot.

“Becker! Becker! Are you okay?”

A quick slap to the face seemed to bring the Fixer back to this reality.

“Simly! What’s—what’s happening?”

“I’m trying to get you out of here!”

“But the Ripple Effect . . . it’s tearing The World apart!”

“It was just a bad dream, Becker. There hasn’t been any Ripple Effect. At least not yet!”

Becker didn’t believe him at first—it was all so fresh in his mind—but as the truth of Simly’s words rang home, his mind and body filled with newfound strength. There was still time to do his job and do it right.

“Now hurry up, sir,” said Simly, pulling free the last of the straps. “This stuff wears off after a couple minutes.”

“What did you use on those guys?”

“Something my grandpa gave me when he found out I was going to Sleep.”

He held up the can, which had a picture of a guy in a lab-coat inside a circle, with a red line through it.

“Bed Bug Repellent™!” shouted Seymour, dragging himself off the floor and gasping for air. “Very clever indeed.”

“But not clever enough!” issued Marty, color flooding back into his face. In fact, all four Bed Bugs had started to shake off the effects. “That might have worked back in Milton Frye’s day, but we’ve spent the last twenty years building up a resistance to his pathetic concoction!”

“Um . . .” Simly was at a loss for the first time that night. “I’m all out of ideas, boss.”

Becker normally would have busted out his Speed Demons™ at a time like this, but in all the hurry of his first Mission, he’d left them in the closet right next to his Chuck Taylor’s. With just his regular kicks on and the Bed Bugs blocking each and every exit, there was only one way left to go.

“Dude, put on your Concrete Galoshes™.”

“Why? What’s that gonna do?”

“Just do it.”

Snorchestral Chamber, Department of Sleep, The Seems

Directly below the Chamber of Horrors, on the eighth floor of the department, was a packed auditorium, complete with band shell, red velvet seating, and balcony boxes for the Powers That Be. The same legendary ensemble had sold out the show every night since the beginning of Time, and tonight was no exception.

“Shhh!”

In the fourth row, the Snoozemaster shoved his way past several annoyed patrons to get to seats 4D and 4E.

“I am sorry,
mon cheri
, but zis Glitch . . .” The young Scent Designer who was his date for the evening didn’t want to hear it. “You must understand, I had to rebuild ze Snooze from Scra—”

“Shhh!”

The rest of the second row didn’t want to hear it either, for up onstage, the Snorchestra was entering into its climactic movement. Musicians were playing a host of odd instruments—pots and pans, kettle drums, a piece of wood being sawed—while a chorus of noseblowers laid down a harmony of phlegm. In the pit below, a conductor waved his baton, while technicians recorded every sound of the awful clamor onto pancake reels destined for Central Shipping.

“Wonderful! Wonderful!” exhorted the Snoozemaster, as a particularly horrible cacophony erupted from the stage. Fortunately for him and the rest of the audience, protective headphones were issued upon entrance, which translated the harsh snores into sweet and dulcet tones. “And ’ere comes ze finale.”

The music swelled to a crescendo and the crowd began to rise to its feet, but before the Fat Lady could sing, a swarm of lab-coated freaks came crashing down from above.

“Bed Bugs!”

In a wave of panic, the concertgoers scattered for the doors, while the hapless scientists staggered to their feet. They had survived the fall unscathed but were now up against something that was far, far worse.

“No. Not the Snorchestra,” cried Seymour, clutching his hands to his unprotected ears. “Make it stop.
Make it stop!
”

But the Snorchestra could not stop, for Snoring itself was one of the oldest and most maddening sounds ever created, and the musicians who played it were devoted to its every note.

High above, Becker and Simly gently floated toward the ground. Only moments before, the combined weight of their Concrete Galoshes had caused the ancient floor of the Chamber of Horrors to collapse, sending all of its inhabitants plunging down below. Luckily, the Fixer and Briefer were far more prepared for a free-fall than the Bed Bugs—deploying their
Chutes & Ladders
™—but the successful stratagem did not come without a price.

“This isn’t good, sir,” said Simly, pointing to the chaos below.

“This is worse.”

When Becker held up his Blinker, the Briefer knew he wasn’t kidding, for the light was flashing red and a painfully simple text message was writing itself across the screen:

VIOLATION! FIXER #37 SUSPENDED FROM DUTY! VIOLATION!