Never Sleep

by Cady Vance

  “Don’t be taken by a pretty face. I have to admit that accent of his is pretty swoony though.” Florence picks at invisible threads on her tights before swinging her black leather purse into her hands and extracting a mashed cigarette pack. “I’m sorry. About your brother I mean. I know jokes aren’t what you want to hear right now.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I mean, what happened is not okay. But I don’t want anyone to tiptoe around me.”

  “Then, you won’t mind if I choose not to trust the guy.” Aiden shrugs his hands into his hoodie pockets, taking on a less confrontational stance. But the look on his face is still hard and accusing. I’m not even close to changing his mind about Lucas, but at least he hasn’t said anything about giving up and going home now that he knows what the Sleepers will do if we put up a fight.

  Odin twitching. Odin staring up with empty eyes.

  “You weren’t there.” I roll my head back to look up at the sky.

  “An excellent point.” Florence takes a long drag of her cigarette before glancing at her iPod and clicking the button to light up the display. “But we’re spinning in circles here. We need to post-haste for cupcakes. The line can be half an hour long sometimes. Especially on a Saturday night.”

  “You still want to go through with this?” I ask her. “Even after hearing what they’ve done?”

  “If anything, it makes me want to get to the Insomniac Cafe even more.” Something passes between me and Florence then, on this sidewalk in the middle of the city. She’s more like me than I thought. “You coming, emo boy?” she asks, throwing long blond strands over her shoulder when she glances back at Aiden. She drops her cigarette to the ground and crushes it under the heel of her spiky black boots.

  “Yeah, I’m coming.”

  “Listen Aiden,” I call over my shoulder before we meet a crosswalk. The bright orange hand tells us to wait so I pivot and turn, crossing my own arms over my chest to mimic Aiden’s body language. “I know you don’t trust the guy, but we’re a team, remember?”

  “I know. We’re a team.” The tenseness in his body seems to melt, his hands falling to his sides. The hint of a smile softens his face. “I just don’t want something to happen to you if this guy turns out to be the opposite of what you’re hoping.”

  “We’ll be careful then.” It’s all I can say.

  We turn to see the bright white walking man signaling us to cross the street. Silently, we make our way to the end of the block. When we turn the next corner, I spot what must be the dark blue awning of Magnolia across a busy Bleecker Street. A long line of customers stretches out from a propped-open door, weaving around the side street corner under building-high trees. I can’t even guess how many people are standing there, waiting for what apparently are the best cupcakes this city has to offer.

  Florence takes one sweep of the line before giving a satisfied nod. “Shouldn’t take long. Trust me. It’s been a lot worse. The line moves quicker than you’d think.”

  We move down the sidewalk to the back of the line, passing groups of girls shivering in party dresses, couples waiting hand-in-hand and tourists clicking their cameras at passing taxi cabs. After we take our place behind a couple of Mets fans, Florence starts to tap her foot and bob her head to a techno beat I can hear over the din of chattering cupcake consumers.

  “Do you ever take out your earbuds?” I ask loud enough for Florence to hear me. I could spot an over-attachment anywhere, and this girl is reeking of it.

  “Ah, I wondered how long it would take you to ask.” A brilliant smile lights up her face. She pries out one earbud, holds it in her open palm, and then slides it back into her ear. She repeats the motion with the other. “Only one at a time. Never both. Unless I’m home alone, and then I can switch to stereo. The parents have amazing speakers.”

  “How do you get away with that at school?” Aiden asks as we shuffle a little closer to the entrance.

  “Homeschooling. My parents aren’t crazy about the public school options around here, and the bank account balance can’t cover private.” She closes her eyes and flickers dancing hands in the air. “Plus, I have a condition.”

  “I know that word all too well,” I say.

  “What is that?” Florence suddenly asks, eyes flicking to my fingers and zeroing in on the yoyo Lucas gave me.

  “Oh,” I say, holding it up under the bright city lights. “Lucas gave me this yoyo…”

  Aiden sighs, but I ignore his verbal objections because I know returning to that argument will only get us nowhere.

  “Cute,” Florence says with a smirk. “You going to hold it like that all night?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know what else to do with it.”

  “Trash goes there.” Aiden eases his crossed-arm stance enough to point to the green metal can at the corner of the street.

  Florence rolls her eyes and pokes at the chess king lump under my gray tee. “Some sort of necklace, yes?”

  I nod, seeing her train of thought before she speaks it aloud. As we take a few shuffle steps closer to the entrance of Magnolia, I lift the chess king out from under my shirt, the white glistening under the blooming streetlamps.

  “Nice.” She flicks her hand at me. “Yoyo. Give it here.”

  I drop the yoyo into her open palm, and before I can react, she’s lifted my necklace over my head. My neck feels naked and exposed at the sudden lack of weight.

  “You can’t be serious,” Aiden says as Florence weaves the chain through the yoyo, adding it as some sort of charm to the necklace. When she’s done, she redoes the clasp and drops the chain back around my neck.

  I look down, the plastic yoyo looking vibrant and tacky and cheap next to the white king. They don’t match in any way imaginable.

  “Thanks,” I say slowly. “But I look ridiculous.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Aiden pipes in, body firmly back into his crossed-arm pose.

  “This is New York City. You’re not supposed to look normal.” Florence shrugs. “Besides, I think it looks cool. Rock that yoyo.”

  She grins, and I can’t help but return her smile. And then it seems as if only moments pass before we’re rounding the corner and entering the cupcake store through a white Victorian-style door, warmth soothing my chilled face as soon as we step inside. My eyes are assaulted by mint green walls dotted with retro signs. Over a tall counter housing mouth-watering cakes and pies, a large chalkboard sign lists a wide array of tea and coffee for purchase.

  We’re swept along with the crowd to a small corner table covered in cupcakes of all flavors and colors, but I don’t see anything even resembling “blood-red” on display. When I spot a small, cheery girl in a flowery apron hovering at the edge of the crowd, I motion her over with a small wave. She smiles and squeezes through the cupcake-snatchers to get to our side.

  “Can I help you guys?” she asks in a soft, friendly tone.

  “Do you guys have any, um, blood-red cupcakes?” I ask.

  The friendly smile falters. She eyes the three of us with such a careful scrutinization, it feels as if dozens of tiny insects are crawling along my skin.

  “Alright,” she finally says before gesturing for us to follow her to the display case. She lifts the mint green hatch and slides behind the counter. As she whispers to another apron-clad employee, I shift nervously in my slippers. They dip their heads together, occasionally darting quick glances at our group. I clear my throat out of some weird nervous instinct, and the two of them stop whispering, the other employee drifting off to a steaming coffee machine. The girl drops out of sight behind the counter, and when the top of her curly brown hair reappears, she slides three blood-red cupcakes across the glass.

  She wipes her hand on her apron as if the cupcakes are plagued with infectious germs she can’t bear to have touched. “Go outside and eat your cupcakes. They’re on the house.” Her eyes dart to the customers standing behind us. “Might be best for you to stand a couple doors down and out of the way. There was a sc
ene earlier with another one of you guys.”

  I wonder if she means Gemma.

  “What did the other one look like?” I ask, crossing my fingers behind me.

  She shakes her head, and my heart drops. “Sorry, not allowed to tell you that. Your people are crazy suspicious of the entire universe.”

  We all mumble a thanks and weave our way through the crowd outside. Even after that unsettling episode, I’m salivating for a snack. It’s been hours since I’ve eaten, and my stomach is eagerly grumbling at the sight of the soft, fluffy cake. When we’ve moved halfway down the block, stopping before a red-brick building with first floor windows protected by thick metal bars, I rip into the cupcake. My teeth sink into creamy, sugary frosting. As the velvety cake melts on my tongue, I peel back the waxy paper clinging to the flakey sides, looking for our next clue. The sweet flavor morphs into a sharp tang that trickles down my throat. A heavy anchor sinks in my still grumbling stomach when I find no hidden scrap of paper in the folds or tiny letters scrawled on the wrapping.

  “Either of you find a clue in yours?” Aiden asks. “Mine’s coming up empty.”

  “Don’t tell me we ate our clue,” I say, crumpling the empty wrapper in my fist. “Florence, do you have it?”

  She flinches as she slowly licks the bright red frosting decorating her fingers. “That would be a negative.”

  Fourteen

  Thirty percent of young adults have been shown to experience at least some degree of insomnia.

  - The Chronic Insomnia Handbook for Patients

  My tongue feels dry and swollen, like I haven’t tasted water for days. Florence licks the last drop of frosting from her pinky finger and wrinkles her nose.

  “Mangolia’s losing their touch,” she says.

  Veins in my forehead throb a hectic beat. Every hair on my skin seems to lift of its own accord, as if they’re all trying to pull themselves as far away from me as they can get. As if I really am a disease.

  “Guys, I don’t feel so great.” I hold a shaky palm to my skull. “Warning, I might be about to have a sleep terror. I get them a lot these days.”

  “No, it’s not just you.” Florence smacks her lips together, scrunching up her tiny, water slide nose. “Maybe we really did eat the clue. Something doesn’t taste right.”

  “Yeah…” Aiden trails off as he massages the back of his neck. He reaches fingers down his hoodie and scratches hard enough to leave marks.

  I know exactly how he feels. A thousand tiny pinpricks pierce every inch of me. I roll my shoulders and wring my hands. I want to jump up and down or run around in circles or do something, anything, other than stand still. It’s like the cupcake is invading my body. A snake writhing through my bloodstream, its pointy fangs nibbling on my insides. Whatever this is, it feels like a waking nightmare, but if Aiden and Florence are experiencing it, too, then that’s impossible. I reach up and wrap both hands around the yoyo hanging from my neck, fingers digging into the plastic.

  Whatever happens next, go along with it.

  My eyes fly wide. Lucas knew this would happen.

  “Guys,” I say, watching Florence prance up and down, but this time, I know it’s not from her music. “I think we should try to stay calm. Maybe this is part of the clue.” But even though I say these words, I can’t still my racing heart.

  “Ouch!” Florence yells. She picks a sliver of metal from her cheek with her long black nails and flicks it to the ground. “What the hell?”

  I lean down and peer at the irregular gray object. It rattles on the pavement as if possessed by a demon of metal. I blink and step back but not before the object lifts from the ground to fly right at my face. My cheek stings where it slices into my skin.

  I scratch the metal sliver from my cheek and throw it to the ground, but it sticks to my thumb as if it’s been glued to me. Through bleary eyes, I see nothing more than a shaven scrap of twisted metal. I slide my index finger over it. The surface is smooth; the edges are rough. It’s just trash, but when I try to peel back my index finger, I find it’s as stuck as my thumb.

  “Um…” Aiden sounds strained. More slivers have appeared. They dot Aiden’s face like chicken pox.

  “What’s going on?” I whisper as a nauseating force rips me in half. I feel yanked to both my right and to my left. The force pulls each side of me harder and harder until I cannot feel anything other than the weight of a thousand moons. My arms begin to lift in the air as if I’m on invisible puppet strings. I grimace and struggle to pull them back down to my sides, and the feeling is like I’m swimming through a lake of mud. I’m left breathless, panting.

  A cloud of metal clogs my vision. Sharp beaks peck at my face, and I squeeze my eyes closed for fear I’ll go blind, so tight that white spots dance on the back of my eyelids. Another wave of nausea floods my skull. I double over on myself, wondering if this is some sort of poison, if Magnolia is another trick of the Sleepers. If this is all another scam. A way to slowly destroy our bodies until we’re left with nothing more than sliced skin and bones.

  Whatever happens next, go along with it.

  As the nausea subsides, I force myself to open my eyes through the fear. I choke at the sight of Aiden and Florence. Their bodies are speckled with screws and paperclips and metal flakes. A silent crowd has gathered around us. Even Florence, for once, is speechless. I’m too afraid to move. Too afraid I’ll cause another metallic assault.

  I slowly look down at my own body. Every inch of exposed skin has been attacked by bits of metal, but as I stand in the middle of a crowded New York City sidewalk examining the magnet I have become, the objects begin to detach and rain like meteors to the ground. I’m left standing in a puddle of iron.

  The crowd begins a slow clap like I’ve only seen in movies. My skin no longer feels as if it’s crawling away from me, and when I look to Florence and Aiden, their metal fixtures have abandoned them as well. My tongue is still stained with a copper tang, but if that’s the only remaining side effect of those devil cupcakes, I’ll take it.

  “You guys okay?” I finally ask when the crowd begins to disperse. A few figures wait at the edges of the sidewalk as if there will an encore to our bizarre circus routine.

  “Really, the only thing I can think right now is ‘What the fuck just happened?’” Florence brushes her black fishnet stockings and scowls at a rip that must have been caused by one of the sharper scraps.

  “You’re bleeding,” Aiden says to Florence. He strides over to her in two quick steps, looking mostly unharmed. Her scowl deepens, and she reaches up to touch her face but not before Aiden’s fingers find her chin. He lightly rubs his thumb over a small cut in her cheek and drops his face to hers for a closer look. Florence stills.

  I look away and stare at the metal scraps decorating the sidewalk, feeling as if I’m intruding on a private moment, even though it’s taking place in the middle of one of the largest and busiest cities in the world.

  “It’s nothing.” His voice comes out low and gruff.

  “Okay.” Her voice is so soft, I can scarcely believe it came from Florence. She coughs. “Anyway, emo boy, what do you care?”

  At my feet, I notice a small round ball with two bright red letters that have been painted on the rough, gray surface. I.C. I reach down and snatch it from the pavement. It’s lighter than I expected, and I trace the seam wrapping around its center. This can’t be a coincidence. I twist the ball open, and a slip of paper flutters from its metal cage on the night wind. I grab the paper from the air before it can drift away, a new hope upping the tempo of my heart and revitalizing my sore body after that bizarre, and frankly terrifying, experience.

  “What’s that?” Florence asks, suddenly by my side.

  We’ve found the next clue. It may have come on a storm cloud of metal, but right now all that matters is it’s here. I eagerly unfold the paper and read aloud the words.

  “Congratulations, you passed the first test.

  This is nothing compared to the r
est.

  Now is time for the darkness inside.

  At 10:30, Insomniacs and Pianos collide.”

  “Test?” I ask, looking up. “The whole cupcake metal thing was some sort of test? A test of what?”

  Aiden’s confusion mirrors my own. “Don’t ask me because I have no clue.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the spiky blond strands straight up. “What the hell was that?”

  “Don’t be so dense, emo boy,” Florence says, all softness zapped away. “It was a test. We passed. Now onto the next phase.” She grins and moves to the sidewalk with her hand held high as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened. “God, I love Pianos. It’s a live music bar. It’s amazing.”

  “You’re not even the slightest bit weirded out?” I follow her to the curb. “Or curious about why we attracted dozens of metal things to our bodies?”

  “‘Course I am. But it’s all part of the insomniac thing, and they’ll explain when we find them.” Florence looks at her iPod. “We don’t have time to stand around and angst and ponder the meaning of life. Pianos isn’t far, but it’s not like it’s a block away either. Shit, shit, shit.” She does a little dance to her words, as if they’re a song she’s making up on the spot. “Where are all the cabs?”

  “There’s one,” Aiden says, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

  “Excellent,” she says in a whisper, frozen as if she’s afraid of moving and scaring his chin off her body.

  When the cab swings to the curb, we all pile onto the weathered, cracked seat. Florence leans up to the clear plastic divide and directs the driver to our next stop. Somehow, I’ve ended up squished in the middle.

  “I don’t know about you guys, but even though we’re all a little on edge about this Sleepers thing, I’m pretty stoked we’re going to Pianos. Almost makes me forgive them for their little test they threw on us.” Florence pokes at her earbuds.

  “What’s your favorite band?” I hear myself ask without really knowing why. Maybe to distract myself from my thoughts, from my weariness, from everything.