by Cady Vance
Aiden stares at me for a long, silent moment before speaking his words slowly. “You two sure do act like you know each other. Really well.”
My face flushes even more, and before I’m forced to respond, Florence jumps into the conversation. And I want to hug her for it. “Whatever, he’s mysterious. What we really need to focus on is those assholes who just chased us across the LES. Lucas is right. We need to get out of here.” She finally catches sight of the Sleeper on the ground when he groans in pain. “Wait, what the hell happened to him?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” I shake my head, backing away from him, both glad and fearful by the fact his life hasn’t been snuffed out. “Speaking of, where are we going? What if he follows us?”
“I think we need to make sure he doesn’t,” Florence says. “And I know exactly how to accomplish this particular mini-mission.”
Sixteen
Insomnia may manifest after a severe trauma as part of post-traumatic stress disorder.
- The Chronic Insomnia Handbook for Patients
Do you know where we are?” I ask her as she begins to zoom down the sidewalk. I have to trot to keep up with her.
“You kidding me?” Her lips morph into a sly grin; her finger points to an alley we pass. “Had my first kiss behind that stinky dumpster.” She laughs. “Romantic, huh?”
“Very,” I say and begin to fill her in on what happened to me during the attack as we make our way down the sidewalk to who knows where. Aiden shuffles behind us, breathing heavily, and Florence spins to face him mid-step.
“You going to make it?” she asks. “Do we need to slow down? You look like you’re about to Collapse, emo boy.”
He smiles through his wince. “I’m not going to Collapse. Just winded and tired after all the running. I’ll be okay. I could use a little recharge though.”
Florence’s face brightens. “Food. We need food. We’ll grab a bite while we decode our clue.” She glances over her shoulder with a frown puckering her bright red lips. “After we make sure we’re not being followed.” She loops her arm through Aiden’s and softens her voice. “Come on, emo boy.”
Nerves rattle my brain, along with the throbbing headache gained from my recent slam against the concrete. As I follow Florence and Aiden through Lower Manhattan, I rub a sore lump beginning to form above my right ear and glance behind us. No sign of the Sleepers yet. That doesn’t mean they’re not there.
We walk quickly through the city night, moving though dark quiet streets where I wouldn’t be surprised to see tumbleweeds, and then down bustling, sparkling streets full of busy restaurants and still-open pet stores. Florence and Aiden are in deep conversation up ahead, and I take the opportunity to hang back and think over the clue from the show.
“You think you’re so very alone
You think you have no home
For your tireless fights
For your endless midnights
Guess what, your home is so near
There is no need for your tears
Look for a house built for dreams
It’s tall, lights up with red beams.”
What does that mean? It is so cryptic, so vague. A house built for dreams, lights up with red beams. Dreams, red beams. I wait for something to click, but I’m as lost as before.
Florence leads us down another block, this one full of tiny, dingy shops dedicated to everything ranging from world hats to furs to fragrances. She ducks into a shop creatively labeled Food Store. I follow, but not without a quick glance behind. Still no Sleepers.
“I didn’t know this is what you had in mind when you said we’d get some food,” I say when I join Florence and Aiden inside under the blazing florescent lights, who now, I notice, are hand in hand.
“It’s not,” she whispers, moving us past a table of packaged bread. “I said we’d make sure we’re not being followed first.” She drops Aiden’s hand and motions for us to follow, her gaze steady on a grizzly older man manning the cash register, who is paying us absolutely zero attention.
I feel the sudden need to be still and quiet, even though I have no idea what the hell we’re doing in this food store, whispering amongst ourselves. Florence tap-dances her way down a row of haphazardly-stacked canned vegetables. We follow her until we reach the back of the store where an ice chest sits looking grimy and abandoned. I cock my head to ask her our next step, but she moves like a flash to a dark steel door labeled Employees Only. I want to stop her the instant I see what’s about to happen, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins itches for her to keep going. Florence pushes down hard on the metal handle and shoves inside.
Aiden shrugs and ushers me after Florence. I bite my lip. Why the hell not? I follow her through the door to see a large storage room with wooden crates stacked up in neat little rows, spilling with cans and ramen noodle packages and cereal boxes. Florence rushes through the wooden maze to yet another door. When we reach it, she puts a long, skinny finger to her lips and jerks her head to the side. I have no idea what she wants me to do, and even though she’s trying to be quiet, the blast of her music is enough to wake the dead.
“Turn it down,” I mouth to her, and her eyes go round before she nods and fiddles with the controls on her iPod. The music slips away, but I know she’s still listening to it.
Florence leans close and whispers into my ear. “We should wait sixty seconds to see if the Sleeper guys show up inside the deli, and then we should bolt. This door leads to safety.”
Safety? How does she know this? But instead of asking, I nod.
“Wait here.” She holds up two fingers and flicks them at the back door. It reminds me of a Tom Cruise move in Mission: Impossible, and I get the uneasy feeling Florence is having way too much fun with this.
Florence creeps through the stacks of wooden crates to the thick door leading into the food store. I watch as she pauses and places both palms against the steel. She leans all the way in, looking like a ballerina in a dramatic pose. Her cheek brushes the door as her eyelids flutter shut, one earbud dropping to her side.
Dark spots bounce in my eyes. I take a deep breath and lean against the exposed brick wall for support, glad Florence is the one on recon duty. The bouts of weariness are only coming in bursts, but I cannot completely stop them. I know I’m weakening as the night deepens; I know I’m closer to a Collapse. I meet Aiden’s understanding gaze, and I wonder if he feels as drained as I do.
I blink out the dark spots to see Florence is still in her motionless ballerina pose. I desperately wish I could hear what she hears. I didn’t see the Sleepers behind us during our several-block-long trek down here. They couldn’t possibly have been trailing us. We weren’t exactly moving at warp speed. We would have caught at least a glimpse of them…right?
I reach down to the cool doorknob and wrap a trembling fist around it. If Florence so much as blinks, I’ll be ready to throw open our escape hatch. Seconds tick by, and I begin to relax. It’s been longer than a minute. If they followed us, they would have come into the deli by now.
Florence jerks away from the door like it has suddenly morphed into a pair of murderous fangs. My heart thumps a painful beat as she dodges crates in her blind rush to get to us.
I grit my teeth. I can’t believe they’ve found us. Again
I turn the knob and throw open the door, blinking when my eyes are met with a similar storage room, racks of plastic-covered clothing replacing the stacks of wooden food crates.
This isn’t what I imagined when Florence said safety.
Florence slides up to us just as the deli door flies wide. I feel a scream build in my throat, and my fingers snatch at the nearest crate. Maybe canned carrots won’t stop the Sleepers for long, but they’re heavy enough to slow them down. But when the grizzly man from the checkout counter appears, I feel the tension whoosh out of me like oxygen out of a spaceship air hatch.
His white shaggy hair sticks up around his ears. A scowl mars his flushed, bearded face. “What the hel
l are you kids doing? I’ve called the cops. You think I wouldn’t see you go back here?” He points to Florence. “Stop coming ‘round here.”
I turn and raise my eyebrows at Florence, but she grabs my arm and drags me through the door. Aiden follows steps behind. She slams the door shut behind us, but I can still hear the guy yelling at a volume that makes me wonder if he’s going to beat down the door to get to us.
“We have to book it,” she says, bouncing on her feet once, then twice. “Not the Sleeper guys, but…he probably did call the cops so we don’t want to be around here when they show.”
We push away from the door and weave through racks and racks of moldy-smelling suits and generic, collared shirts.
“You’re going to have to explain this to us at some point,” I say.
“Sure, maybe at a better time.”
“The way this night is going, there isn’t going to be a better time,” Aiden says.
“I think I’ve spent at least seventy percent of my time running,” I say, as we finally reach the next door. I have a feeling it leads into whatever clothing shop this storage room is for, and I’m really hoping we don’t find another angry storekeeper on the other side.
The back door to the storage room swings open with an angry creak. A loud, belabored huff follows. “Florence, I swear to god, I’ll come after you next time.”
“He even knows your name,” I can’t help but say.
We pile into the clothing store, and the tension rushes back into me as I glance in every direction for any sign of trouble. But the atmosphere is calm and soothing in here. Dark lighting, soft music, empty. The only unwelcoming aspect of the store is the overwhelming scent of moldy sewer. I can’t tell if it’s coming from the clothes or from an actual sewer. I’m glad we aren’t staying long enough to find out.
“The good news,” Florence says as she clicks the door shut behind us, “is the Sleepers didn’t follow us. Focus on the happy?”
“Alright, but don’t think this gets you out of explaining what just happened,” I say.
We move through the quiet aisles of the small store. Basic brown suits are on sale for $19.99. I wonder how many wears they have in them before they fall apart.
“Sure, sure,” she says. “But for now, let’s get some dumplings.”
The blast of cool, exhaust-ridden air is welcome after the sewage dump inside. I eye the run-down shops surrounding us, wondering where Florence will lead us next. We shouldn’t wait too much longer if we want to find the next location. If we can ever figure out where that is. House of dreams, red beams. It sounds more and more ridiculous each time I say it to myself.
We stride down half a block, stepping over discarded cigarette butts and beer bottles. We pass metal rolling doors decorated by colorful graffiti before stopping underneath a dark yellow awning that reads Dumpling House in both English and Chinese. My hand flies to my stomach when it emits a rumble that echoes all the way up to 121st Street. The meaty, greasy scent emanating from the open glass door is enough to send me into a dumpling frenzy.
“Dumplings?” Florence asks with a wicked grin that tells me she knows she doesn’t need to ask. This place smells like heaven.
The three of us step up into a busy, buzzing restaurant. Small tables cluster together in the left of the store while a chest-high counter hugs the right, a long line of customers propping their elbows on top as they watch the magic of dumpling-making before their eyes.
We step into line, and Florence says, “Don’t worry. This won’t take long. While we wait, we can puzzle out this clue. What was it again? Something about beams of light?”
I’ve memorized the clue by now, and I repeat it back to Florence and Aiden. It doesn’t make any more sense to me hearing it again.
“So, I don’t know…” I sigh and lean against the counter. “Either of you even know where to start with this one?”
“Yeah, my iPhone.” Aiden reaches for his cell. I watch him frown as he stuffs his entire hand into his pocket, like it’s somehow gotten lodged in the tiny patches of denim, and if he tries hard enough, he’ll find it. But I can tell by the look on his face it isn’t there. It’s gone.
“Hmm,” Florence says, tapping a black nail against the counter. “Let me guess. Your phone has mysteriously disappeared from your pocket. I’m going to guess the Sleepers grabbed it when they were shoving you around. They took mine, too, when I was too busy screaming about my iPod.”
Aiden narrows his eyes. “Dammit. Not cool. What do we do now?”
Florence holds up a hand in a motion for me to be silent, and I realize we’ve made it to the beginning of the line. With her prompting, we order chive dumplings and waters to go. We’ll be eating on our feet, though none of us know where our feet will be taking us.
After we order, we all prop our elbows onto the counter and watch the cooks easing the gooey dough into dumplings. I stare hard while they work, hoping I can find the answer etched into the white flour, hoping their poking and prodding will knock the answer loose from my brain.
“Red beams,” I say aloud. “Maybe we should focus on that?”
Aiden shakes his head and drops his head into his open palms.
“Florence?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, my friend, I am all out of ideas on this one.” She rests her head on the counter and sighs. “This has been such an insane day.” Her head pops back up. “So, I’m dying to hear your theory.”
“On what?” Aiden asks, picking randomly at a paper takeout menu. “The clue?”
She leans closer and lowers her voice, hair curtaining her face. “What we are.”
“You mean what’s wrong with us,” I say, though her words give my arms a rash of chill bumps.
“Either. Or.” She winks conspiratorially. “So, theories, friends. What are they?”
Aiden lays his palms flat on the counter, his expression falling blank. “I think we’re born this way.”
“Hmm, not a very interesting theory.” Florence turns to me and raises her eyebrows. “Thora?”
The cook chooses that moment to deliver our dumplings in steaming white styrofoam containers. Aiden pays, we grab our food and our paper cups of water and head outside. As I slam my straw into the plastic lid, I use the extra time to think about my answer. The problem is, I’ve never been able to come up with anything that makes sense.
“We could have some sort of chemical imbalance in our brains that doctors have a hard time detecting,” I say as we step through the restaurant’s front door. I don’t waste any more time before I snatch the first dumpling from my container and let my teeth sink into the chewy, warm dough.
Florence rips open her container, chomps into her food and speaks around a mouthful of dumpling. “Bo-ring.”
“Fine then,” Aiden says, sipping his straw. “What are your theories? From the way you’re acting, I’m sure you’re dying to share.”
Florence’s smile morphs into a wicked grin. She plucks another dumpling from her container before continuing. “In fact, I do have a theory, and you’re not going to like it.” She meets his eyes. “Yeah, not one bit, emo boy.”
My stomach wages war inside me, both satisfied from the heavy food and churning from an uneasy dread. I’m almost scared to hear what Florence’s theory is, afraid it’s more terrible than anything I’ve thought of myself, afraid she’ll be right. For the first time, ever, I’m not sure I want to know what’s wrong with me.
“Robots,” she says.
I cough. “Robots?” I laugh, but my mind has begun to spin.
“Exactly.” She tosses her last dumpling into her mouth. “It makes total sense.”
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m not a damn robot,” Aiden says, anger harshening his normally smooth voice. “I’m flesh and blood. I think being devoid of veins and a stomach and all that stuff is pretty much a universal requirement for robots.”
“Maybe the reason we Collapse sometimes is because we’re out of battery power,” Flore
nce continues on without any regard to Aiden’s anger. “Who knows what happens when we pass out like that? They could be recharging us.”
“I think the more likely explanation is that we Collapse because we don’t sleep,” Aiden argues.
Florence’s words have sent my head spinning, and I no longer have any desire for the dumpling and a half I have left. It does make sense. I reach up and touch my face and wonder if there really is a beating heart inside me or if it’s some mechanical thing ticking like a clock.
“Think about it.” Florence slurps her straw. “How can we survive without sleep if we’re human? It’s medically impossible.”
Not human. The idea has never even crossed my mind. I’ve tried to think of everything, but I’ve always assumed there’s some weird medical condition making me the way I am and that someday a brilliant doctor will puzzle it out, find a way to fix it.
Aiden must see my entire thought process pass across my face because he turns to me. “Don’t tell me you’re losing your mind like she is. It’s crazy talk.”
“We turned magnetic, Aiden.” I look into those clear, gray eyes of his, now full of storm clouds.
“Alright, I’ve had enough of this,” Aiden says, throwing his hands in the air. “We need to find this house of dreams, and we need to stop this insane discussion. We’re human. Human. And the sooner we find out how to fix what’s wrong with us, the sooner we can all go about living our normal, human lives. We’re not robots, we’re not vampires and we’re certainly not aliens.”
Florence’s eyes light up, but Aiden holds out a hand to stop her. “I know what you’re thinking, but no. If you guys want to talk about robots and aliens, fine, but I’m not a part of it. I’m going to walk to the end of the block. When you’re ready to stop this and get serious about the next clue, meet me there.” And with that, he storms away from us. I’m left blinking at this weird, uncharacteristic display from Aiden. He’s been so calm until now. I had no idea he was so on edge about what’s wrong with us. I had no idea he was as frustrated as I am about it all.
