Inside, she locked the door, turned, and let out a startled burst of sound, a squeal. In the middle of the living room was a tall, filled-out shadow that her brain took too long to process as Heath. She pressed her palm against her spasming heart.
“Oh my God, you scared me.” She laughed nervously. “Sorry about the barking. Mack saw a deer or something in the woods.”
He said nothing, and the skin on her neck went prickly. Something was wrong with him. He stood silently, and for a moment, she thought the man in the middle of the living room in shorts and a T-shirt wasn’t Heath but a stranger who looked like him and had broken in.
Then her blood curdled. It was Heath, definitely Heath but his expression was blank and robotic, as if he was secretly a monster—someone she didn’t know at all, someone about to kill her.
Had she completely misjudged him all this time? Was he actually a dangerous person? Mack began low-growling, and she took a couple of steps behind the dog, ready to let his leash go if needed, hoping he might attack.
“It was my fault,” Heath said in an eerily flat tone. “It was because of me.”
Romy’s heart was battering against her chest. What was wrong with him?
Then, it dawned on her. With utmost certainty.
He was sleepwalking.
She pulled on Mack’s leash. “Mack, sit!” she hissed.
She vaguely remembered hearing or reading that you shouldn’t wake a sleepwalker. Why, she didn’t know. But what to do?
He was standing, with that zombie face, his eyes open but unseeing. It was the oddest look she’d ever seen on a human being—someone awake but not awake.
“Sit,” she hissed again at the dog, and Mack, seeming to comprehend that she was not playing around, sat. She let go of his leash and walked slowly towards Heath.
“Heath?”
“She did it for me,” he said.
“Okay,” Romy said cautiously, not wanting to startle him. She took his hand and began leading him out of the living room.
Thankfully, he walked with her. She walked him down the hallway, slightly in front of him as the hallway was too narrow to stand side-by-side with him. “Let’s go this way,” she said, gently but firmly, as if speaking to a child. “Back to bed.”
This was the strangest experience. He was following her, yet uncomprehending. However, once she realized what was happening, she no longer felt fear but concern and pity. A motherly feeling washed through her. She wanted to get him back to bed, to safety.
In the spare room, she led him to the bed, and to her immense relief, he crawled back in by himself, then closed his eyes. She pulled the blanket up around his chest.
“Good night, Heath,” she said, resisting the strong impulse to kiss him on the forehead. “Stay there,” she said, purringly, closing the door behind her.
She wondered if she should figure out a way to lock him in. What if he sleepwalked straight outside?