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  67. 3:46 a.m.

Ewen’s words come rushing back: I haven’t spoken to Elena in over a decade. The last contact I had with her was just after 9/11. She was obsessed with something called Project Sandman.

I Google “Project Sandman.”

There are no hits for “Project Sandman,” though there are several for “Sandman.”

The first result is a comic book called The Sandman. The second is a YouTube video from a band called Metallica, some song called “Enter Sandman.” The third is from Wiki for “Sandman.”

I click on the Wiki link and read the first line:

The Sandman is a mythical character in central and northern European folklore who brings good dreams by sprinkling magical sand onto the eyes of people while they sleep at night.

Sandman.

Sleep.

Sleep Control Program.

I let out an audible huff.

My dad asks over his shoulder from behind a skillet, “What?”

I tell him.

“I could have told you that.”

Sometimes I forget my dad has 400,000 hours’ worth of knowledge rattling around in his brain, a stark comparison to myself, who has less than 15,000.

“Project Sandman must be something she was working on for the Sleep Control Program.” My eyebrows jump. “I bet that is what’s on the flash drive.”

He asks what I think might be on there.

“I don’t know. A list of names? Of people they experimented on? Of people they interrogated? A list of locations?”

The White Room.

“It could be a whole history of the program.”

It has to be.

But then why would President Sullivan have it? And why would my mother think he’d given it to me?

I need more information.

I continue reading the Wiki article.

The Sandman was a character from a folktale created in 1841 by Hans Christian Anderson. There were several instances of the Sandman in popular culture, from movies to music to books.

I click on the Metallica link and hit play on the music video.

I turn up the volume and my dad starts bobbing along. Soon he is singing the lyrics along with the song.

Say your prayers, little one

Don't forget, my son

To include everyone

Tuck you in, warm within

Keep you free from sin

Till the Sandman he comes

Sleep with one eye open

Gripping your pillow tight

Exit: light

Enter: night

Take my hand

We're off to Never Never Land

Something's wrong, shut the light

Heavy thoughts tonight

And they aren't of Snow White

Dreams of war, dreams of liars

Dreams of dragon's fire

And of things that will bite

Sleep with one eye open

Gripping your pillow tight

Chills run down my arm.

I stop the song.

“Hey!” my dad yells over his shoulder. “I love that song. It was your—” He stops and turns. His face is ashen.

“That song,” he says. “It was your mother’s favorite.”

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