by Cady Vance
I blink, surprised, but then I realize she’s as worried about his reaction as we are. If he finds out she let us wander around the halls and eavesdrop on his private conversations, she won’t be in good standing with him. He might even fire her for it. She wouldn’t be the first nurse let go from this place. Sometimes I wonder if the Clinic has some revolving door policy that requires nurses to leave ASAP.
“Do you understand, Thora?” she asks when I don’t say anything.
“Yeah, alright,” I say. “Didn’t happen.”
“And you will stay in here?” She crosses her arms like she’s trying to show me she means business. “I’d rather not sit here and watch you all day, but I will if that’s what it takes.”
“We understand, Nurse Lucianne,” Odin says. “Thora felt like she needed to stretch her legs, and I didn’t realize it would be that big of a problem.”
Her frown lifts slightly. “And the listening at the door?”
He looks sheepishly at the ground. I can tell it’s an act because Odin never legitimately looks sheepish about anything, but I bet Nurse Lucianne can’t tell the difference. “I thought I heard Gemma’s voice in there, and I wanted to know if it was really her. I thought maybe they were bringing her here.” He looks up slowly, and this time the lost look on his face is genuine, the sadness real. “It wasn’t her though.”
“Oh,” she says. “Well then. That doesn’t make it okay, but well then. I guess I can understand that. But you know that girl has always been trouble, Odin. You should move on and find yourself a nice girl.”
“There really aren’t any options for me here in the Clinic, Nurse Lucianne.”
She frowns. “Yes, well, I guess that’s true. But maybe if you take care of yourselves, you’ll be healed soon enough and back out in the real world.”
“You’re pretty new here.” The words fly out of my mouth before I can trap them inside and swallow them down. “What, two weeks at most? So, you probably haven’t figured it out yet. And I know they don’t spell it out for you when you’re hired.”
“Thora,” Odin warns.
“No, she should hear it.” I cross my arms over my chest and jut out my chin. “You see, we never will see the real world again, Nurse Lucianne. With our condition? No one ever reaches twenty-five. We’re lucky if we even hit twenty, but you know what the kicker is? I’m not even Stage Three anymore, like a lot of people my age. I’m early-onset Stage Four. So, I’ve got maybe two years left to live, and it’s being spent right here.”
Nurse Lucianne looks genuinely shocked as she opens her mouth to speak, then snaps it shut, then opens it again. “If that were the case, they would have told me. I’m sure we are going to find you a cure. The doctors are working very, very hard at it, and both of you will be fine.”
“The reason they didn’t tell you is because they don’t want you to leave. They have a staff retention problem.”
“Well, I don’t believe it’s true,” she says, taking steps away from me like she’s worried she can catch the disease. “But even if it was, I wouldn’t leave.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s what they all say.”
“That’s enough.” She spins away, pauses at the door. “I’m going to be outside the common room. If you need anything, let me know.”
“So, instead of getting meds and information,” I say to Odin once she is gone, “we’ve gotten a babysitter. Even your flirting couldn’t convince her to leave us alone.”
“Did you have to tell her that?” he asks with a sigh, sinking into the couch. It almost swallows him whole. “She’s nice. The last one wasn’t. Who knows what the next one will be like?”
“She deserves to know she’s working with doomed kids. If she can’t handle it, she shouldn’t be doing it.” I lean forward and take a big spoonful of oatmeal, gritty and lukewarm from sitting out for too long. “Plus, I wanted to see if she knew. Don’t you think it’s funny Doctor Clark keeps so many secrets?”
“Speaking of, what do you think all that was about? In Doctor Demon’s office?” He kicks off his slippers, plops his socked feet on the coffee table and stretches. I give him a look and scoot my tray away from his feet.
“I think it sounded like a conversation not meant to be overhead,” I say, taking another spoonful. “Destructive to the goals of the Clinic? Use force if necessary? Well, it kind of sounds like—”
“It sounds like something from one of your scripts.”
“Grr.” I scrape the rest of the oatmeal from the bowl and wash it down with with a big gulp of orange juice. “This is not the time to bring up my horrible scripts again. I’ve told you over and over, I’m not a writer. I want to be a director, a producer, an editor, something like that. I only write the scripts so I can—”
“Have something to practice with, yeah, yeah, yeah.” He waves it aside. “My point is, in one of your scripts, why the hell would a doctor be saying these things to some unseen, mysterious people?”
“Obviously, it would be for sinister reasons.”
“He said patients. We’re patients.” Odin stares hard at the wall as if it holds all the answers. “So, he wants them—these people in his office—to use force against us if necessary. Why?”
“I hate to say it, but as much as I don’t like the guy, I don’t think he was talking about us.” I shrug and push the now-empty tray away from me, my stomach twisting and wishing for more food. I really never stop being hungry.
“Why not?”
“He was talking about stopping insomniacs because whoever went ‘there’ was never heard from again.” I shift on the couch so I can face Odin. “This may sound crazy, but I think I know what he was talking about. Do you remember Gemma telling us about the Insomniac Cafe?”
“Of course I do.” He laughs. “The magical place that keeps insomniacs safe and has the answers and cures to all our problems. It’s like the insomniac version of a fairy tale.”
“Yeah, but Odin.” I take a deep breath and say the thing I hope more than anything else in the entire world. “What if Gemma was right? What if the Insomniac Cafe is real?”
Four
Stage IV Insomniacs are prone to Collapse, which results in a comatose state, only resolved by intense neurological treatment at the Clinic.
- The Chronic Insomnia Handbook for Patients
Real?” Odin asks. “There’s no way the Insomniac Cafe is real.”
“Thora,” a deep male voice says from behind us. I twist around and see Doctor Jeremy, our resident psychiatrist, standing inside the common room in his brown blazer, jeans and Converse sneakers. He’s smiling, but there’s concern in his deep-set eyes. I forgot our scheduled session is today. “Are you up for our meeting?”
“Oh yeah, sure, of course,” I say. Nurse Lucianne is hovering in the doorway, looking small and fragile next to Doctor Jeremy’s mountainous frame. She clears her throat and moves past him, notices my trembling hands before I hide them behind my back.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” she says.
“It’s fine,” he says in a kind and gentle way Doctor Clark can only dream of. “I got the okay from Doctor Clark, and it’s probably a good idea for me to make sure she’s doing alright after this morning’s incident.”
Nurse Lucianne stares hard at me, sizes me up trying to find out how weak I am. The truth is, if she knew my head feels like it’s been through a meat grinder, she’d send me straight to my room. “Alright, fine. But I’ll be waiting outside your office in case anything happens.”
“If you insist,” he says with a smile and then holds out a hand toward me. “Thora?”
I stand and follow him to his office to the soundtrack of Nurse Lucianne’s huffing. There’s not much she can do though, as Doctor Clark is pretty hellbent on me having these psychiatrist sessions. And for that, I don’t argue. These meetings with Doctor Jeremy are the one thing about my “treatment” I can stand.
We shuffle into his office, and I sink into the familiar brown suede re
cliner next to a table housing a chess board and a timer. Doctor Jeremy closes the door and strides around behind his large mahogany desk. Awards and framed degrees line the wall, photos of the Doc with various Important People scattered among them. Well, I’ve always guessed they’re important in their sharp black suits and ties, but I don’t actually know who any of them are.
He drops his glasses on his desk and sinks into the straight-backed wooden chair on the other side of the chess table, its twin chair pushed up against the wall to make way for the recliner. I’m technically not supposed to sit in the recliner but the straight-backed chair instead. Something about it being the best “atmosphere” for conductive thinking. Doctor Jeremy changed the rules for me though when he realized this is where I feel most comfortable. Unlike Doctor Clark, it seems to make a difference to him what I want.
“Before we get all competitive here in our chess game, I want to make you you’re okay,” he starts out, leaning back and crossing his arms over his large chest. “You don’t look quite as perky as you usually do.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I usually look perky?”
“Wrong choice of words, I’m sorry.” He runs his hand over his buzz-cut hair like he always does when he’s thinking. His hair is just another reason why I’ve always thought he looks more like a nerdy football player than a PhD. “You do look very tired, though, Thora.”
“No, it’s okay.” I wave my hand at him, fingers slightly trembling until I bring them back down to my side. “I know what you mean, and yeah, I don’t feel so hot right now. A bit drained and shaky since it happened.”
“What have you eaten?”
“I had eggs and toast a few hours ago for breakfast, and then Nurse Lucianne brought me a bowl of oatmeal while I was in the common room.” The mere thought of food makes my stomach growl.
“Oatmeal?” He shakes his head, sighs. “You need a large, fully balanced meal packed with plenty of nutrients.” He slides his pen out of his shirt pocket and jots down a note on his ever-present notepad. “Give this to Nurse Lucianne when we’re done here.”
He slides the paper across to me, and my eyes leap down the list of food. Chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, carrots. I smile. He’s not joking about eating, and the thought of an extra meal lifts my spirits a bit, especially after the horrible night and morning.
“Now, one more thing,” he says, pulling my attention away from the food list. “How’s your head? Are you having any trouble with thought processes? Do you feel confused at all? Sluggish?”
“Well, I have a pounding headache, but other than that, I think I’m okay.” I look down and pick at the hem of my t-shirt. “You don’t think I’m going to…I don’t know…have brain damage or something?” My voice hikes up on the last word.
“No, no.” Doctor Jeremy’s voice is soft. “But you’ve reacted to last night’s tests negatively, and I want to make sure we’re doing all we can to keep you in the best shape possible. Precautions.”
“Precautions.” I look up and meet his eyes, free of the streaking red that haunts mine. “You don’t trust Doctor Clark to do that.”
“Thora.” His voice holds a warning.
“I just don’t understand,” I say. “You’re not like the other doctors. You seem to care. And even though you work here, you don’t really approve of what they do to me. You wouldn’t do those tests, would you? Tell me the truth.”
Doctor Jeremy leans back, crosses his arms and stares at me across the chess table. His jaw is clenched, and I can’t help but notice how the skin of his chin twitches from where he’s grinding his teeth. He closes his eyes, puffs out his cheeks and then slowly shakes his head.
“Thora.” He finally relaxes his arms and shoulders, but there’s still a tense wariness hiding in his eyes. “It doesn’t matter what I would or wouldn’t do, and it’s not smart for us to sit here arguing about it. You’ve had a bad morning, and the best thing for you is rest. Just relax for once.”
“I can’t relax knowing I have to go through it again tonight.” Tears sting my dry eyes. “What if the same thing happens? It’s made me feel worse than I normally do, and I can’t take it anymore.” I hold up my hands to show him the shaking, show him how weak I am. “Look at my hands. I’m trying to hold it together, but I don’t think I can go through another night of tests.”
I take a few deep breaths to steady my pounding heart and fight the urge to reach up and pull out my hair. This place is driving me crazy, and I feel like my emotions are exploding within me. I pull a chess piece from the table—the white king—and clutch it tight against my jeans. The smoothness of the piece is familiar and strong and something about it slows the panic away from full throttle.
“I understand.” Doctor Jeremy’s own voice sounds rough with emotion. “I’m going to talk with Doctor Clark and do whatever it takes to convince him to give you a night off. I think in light of the circumstances, he’ll agree.”
I feel something I haven’t truly felt in a very long time. Relief. My heartbeat slows, my hands steady, and I let the pent up air inside me eke slowly from my nose. A night off. A break from Pavor Nocturnus and tests and pain and fear and waking nightmares.
“Really?” I ask.
“Really.” He reaches out a hand, and I drop the chess piece into his palm. Now that I am calm, I don’t need it, and he places it back in its spot on the chess board. “I promise.”
I smile a real smile, like a normal girl would smile, and he smiles right back at me.
“Please don’t ever leave the Clinic,” I say. “At least not until…” I can’t say the words, but they echo through my brain. At least not until I die.
His smile slips a bit before he can recover it. “I’m not going to leave, Thora, but I don’t want you to depend too much on me, or on anyone else. Unexpected things can happen. Things I have no control over. You know that.”
“Just tell me you’ll never leave me here with them.” My head swims just thinking about him gone. “That you won’t quit. That if you get fired, you’ll make sure someone else like you comes here.”
My emotions are getting the better of me. They always do when I’m in this room, where I feel safe to let my inner walls drop away. But now my over-attachment instinct is running wild, another trait gifted to me by my chronic insomnia condition. It can happen fast, it can happen slow, it can happen with an object, with a person, with a song, with an idea, with anything. It’s always intense. Usually Doctor Jeremy talks me down from the attachment. He says it’s bad for my emotional stability, except in the instance of the white king chess piece, which he encourages as a trinket purposed to center myself. I don’t know how he’ll react if he realizes I’ve come to depend on him more than I’ve ever depended on my parents, more than anyone other than Odin. Of course, maybe he’s always known. I’ve never been good at hiding my attachments.
“Thora,” he says with a sigh. Glancing behind him at his desk, his eyes fall on a square of folded notepaper. A range of conflicted emotions flicker across his face, that twitch in his jawline returning. “I’m afraid your trust in me is misplaced.”
“What do you mean?” I ask. “You aren’t like them at all.”
“No, I am worse than them!” He slams his hand on the chess board, the pieces tip over and scatter across the table, some falling to the floor around our feet. I sit stunned. I’ve never seen any emotion from Doctor Jeremy other than calming kindness. Immediately, he looks horrified and rubs his hands against his hair. “Thora, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Are you okay? Have I upset you?”
“I’m not sure,” I say slowly. “Tell me what you mean. How are you worse than them?”
He stands, paces over to his desk. Placing his palms flat against the dark wood, he leans over it and lets out a long exhale. “You have to understand. I’m in a tough position. There are things…I’ve been struggling with what to do about you for awhile now.” He looks up now, right at me. “I started this placement only a short time before
you arrived. Most of my sessions were a here and there with the visiting insomniacs. No long-term patients at the time. Then, you were booked, and you snuck up on me. Odin, too, though not as much, since our sessions are further apart.”
“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say.”
“I’m trying to say I’m in a difficult position, and my loyalties are torn.” He presses away from the desk and snatches up the note he was eyeing earlier. “Because I care about you, Thora. And because caring conflicts with the things I know.”
And suddenly I understand. He knows things. About the Clinic. About my tests. About what they’re doing to me and why. He’s always said he doesn’t know, but now it turns how he does. He has the answers I’ve been dying to find out, and he is torn because the answers must not be things I want to hear.
My breath catches at the weight of it all. I’m right. There’s more going on than anyone has ever said. Doctor Jeremy is fiddling with that note, and I feel almost anchored to it, knowing there is something on that paper I’m not supposed to see but that I should see. Something he’s going to let me see.
A knock on the door. Nurse Lucianne pops her head inside, and her glance takes in the whole scene in less than a beat. The tension in the room crumbles, and I’m left wanting to pick up the pieces and glue them back together because the tension meant something was finally happening.
“Is everything okay? What happened to the game?” She points at the scattered chess pieces, which look like they’re fallen victims of a real battle.
“I got tired, and all I could manage was destruction,” I deadpan.
“Hmm, well your session should be over with now anyway,” she says. “You and Odin have visitors.”
“Visitors?” My eyes return to the note in Doctor Jeremy’s hand. I don’t want visitors. I want that note.
“Your parents are here. They were briefed on what happened this morning and wanted to see you for a few moments.” She pushes the door open wider, as a hint for me to get up and moving.
