Landis sleeps in fits and starts, waking up what feels like every few minutes to roll over, to throw the covers off or pull them back on. There’s a wild discomfort under his skin that he can’t place. The bed is too big, too soft, with too many pillows and no couch-back to press himself up against. And he’s having dreams again, not the usual nightmares, but strange, surreal images painted on the backs of his eyelids as he tries to keep them shut. A pair of glowing green irises, peering out from the dark crack of an open doorway. A neon motel sign, looming over a highway like an angel descending from heaven, asking HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE BACK?
Landisssss