by Cady Vance
Gemma. Somewhere in this concrete maze, my best and only friend is out there looking for people like us or has found people like us. I am not in this alone, not really. And no matter what, I know what she’d say to me now if she were with me. I can’t let them break me. No matter what. If I stop now, especially now, they’d win.
A taxi blares its horn, color and sight and sound blinking back in around me as if I’d been blind and deaf to New York City, for just one moment. With it comes a timid but building determination to bring truth to Aiden’s words and truth to Gemma’s pact.
I start walking again without another word. Aiden seems taken aback by the abrupt change, but he doesn’t comment on it and instead falls into step beside me.
“I’m not that kind of nerdy,” I say.
“What?”
“I don’t know where we can find Spiderman or White-Haired Man,” I say.
“Luckily for us, there’s a thing called Google.” Aiden digs into his skinny jean pocket and pulls out an iPhone.
“Google can be a magical thing sometimes,” I say.
Aiden’s fingers tap-dance on the screen as Union Square springs up before us. We walk the rest of the block and stop outside the subway station. I lean against the dark green railing and glance around, still on edge but relieved to be this far from the bookstore, the sidewalks flooded with so many people.
“Bingo,” he says, gently elbowing my side. “First search result says Midtown Comics.”
“Comic book store. Makes complete sense.” I watch as he scrolls around the home page to find the address.
“It’s on thirty-ninth street.” Aiden looks up at me, eyes silver under the bright city lights. “We’ll need the subway. Do you have a Metrocard?”
I think about my lack of funds and fight a grimace. “I do, but I don’t think there’s much money on it. And Odin had our…Odin had our money.” I close my eyes. “Any way to find out for sure if Spiderman lives at this store?”
“Let me try something, just a sec.” He clicks to the image search, and a photo of a lifesize Spiderman fills the screen.
“Looks like Midtown Comics is the place.” I lean back and stare up at the dark blanket of the sky, an endless navy blue without a single star in sight.
Aiden slides his phone into his back pocket and motions me toward the subway entrance. As we jog down the stairs, heat billows up around me, bringing the sharp tang of diesel fuel and lingering body odor along with it. I hold my MetroCard tightly in my fingers and gaze around for some indication of where to go. I’ve ridden the subway before, but only with my parents, and that was a long time ago.
Aiden takes charge, motioning me after him and toward the Uptown 6 platform. We slide our cards through the turnstile and bustle in with the mob.
“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to dream?” Aiden asks once we’ve taken post on the platform, a thick, stuffy humidity weighing down on us.
“I’ve dreamt, but they’re always nightmares,” I find myself saying, and instantly I want to take it back. It sounds too strange, too much like something a psych patient would say. “The ones I remember anyway. When I actually do sleep, I’m so out of it, I don’t remember dreams the next day.”
I look back up to see Aiden’s eyes on me, like I’m some sort of puzzle he’s trying to figure out. The ground rumbles underneath my feet as a steel train screeches into the station. I turn to watch the doors slide open, thankful I’m saved from saying more about my nightmares, my night terrors and anything else about dreams and sleep.
“Where are you from?” Aiden asks as we step onto the train just as an intercom proclaims, “Stand clear of the closing doors.” The doors whisk shut behind us. I grab a pole to steady myself as the train jerks forward.
It’s just enough time for me to wrap my head around Aiden’s question. I don’t want to talk about where I’m from either. If I talk about that, I’ll think about my parents, my old school, and I’ll think about the Clinic. I’ll think about Odin.
It’s too much. Too much all at once.
Fingers snap two inches in front of my eyes. I look up and glare at Brad Andrews and Jacob Samuels.
“I’m not blind, you know,” I snap. I contemplate throwing the apple from my lunch tray straight at Brad’s shiny bald head. Why anyone would ever choose that haircut is beyond me.
“No.” He laughs. “Just deranged.”
“If I’m deranged, then maybe you shouldn’t piss me off.”
I stand from the table, leaving my tray behind. I’ve had enough of this, of Odin’s stupid friends. I spot Gemma, the insomniac from the Clinic, sitting in the corner by herself. She has the right idea.
I sink into the seat across from her to see she’s scribbling furiously on a torn scrap of paper.
“Had enough of the freakshow?” she asks without looking up.
“They’re morons,” I say. “It’s only been five days since I’ve slept, but they make me feel like it’s been a hundred and one.”
“Dalmatians.”
I laugh. “Yeah. One of my favorite Disney films.”
“Cruella de Vil is way underrated.” She scribbles some more. “If I were going to be a villain, I’d be that one. You?”
“That’s hard to narrow down, but luckily, I have all this extra time on my hands at night, and I’ve thought about this one before.” I tap my chin like we’re scholars debating the literary themes of Shakespeare. “I’d be The Joker. The Heath Ledger version. He’s brilliantly insane.”
“Good one. Here, have a doodle.” She finally looks up, drops her pencil on the table and slides the paper across to me. It’s an alien tap-dancing on a rooftop.
“Thanks,” I say. “So, what’s your favorite movie?”
“Nothing you’ve ever heard of, I’m sure.” Gemma twirls a long strand of blond around her finger. “I’m surprised your brother hangs out with those assholes.”
“I’m standing right here, you know.” Odin’s voice rings out behind me, but I don’t look up. He plops down beside me and grins at the alien doodle. “Cool alien.”
“It’s Gemma’s.”
“Look, I’m sorry about those guys. They found out I have insomnia last week, and they’ve been complete asses about it.” Odin looks so sincere behind his mop of orange-red hair, I can’t stay mad at him. “I told them where they could shove it.”
“It’s alright. Hang with us?”
“Always.” He cracks a brilliant grin and turns it on Gemma. I can tell by the blush in her cheeks, she’s no more immune to it than any other girl. “If that’s alright with Gemma.”
“Yeah, sure.” She clears her throat. “But this place has crap food. Let’s go get some Chinese takeout and watch One Hundred and One Dalmatians.”
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in years,” Odin and I say the words as one.
“Thora?” Aiden asks, nudging me, and I realize I’ve been quiet for too long, and we’ve fallen into awkward silence.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“I asked where you’re from.” The concern in his eyes reappears. I hate that I can’t get a grip on myself and my emotions, but I’m also too tired to play the small-talk role and pretend I’m alright when I’m anything but.
“Nowhere.” I grip the metal bar tighter as the train squeals around the corner. The orange and yellow seats of the train look like sunshine, and I look at each face in this car, wondering what their stories are, wondering if they’re from somewhere else they’re running from like me, or if they’re part of this city. Part of something bigger and more alive than themselves. “Or I guess you could say I’m from New York now.”
Aiden smiles, but I don’t smile back because I didn’t mean it in a happy way. I have nowhere else to go, and I have no one at all unless I find Gemma somewhere in these streets. I’m part of the city now, whether I like it or not. I can only hope it won’t swallow me whole.
Eleven
Chronic insomniacs sometimes develop unhealthy dependencies and att
achments to people and/or objects. This is highly discouraged.
- The Chronic Insomnia Handbook for Patients
We stand on Thirty-Ninth Street outside Midtown Comics, looking up at the superhero posters plastered on the second-story windows, backlit by the bright neon lights inside. I glance up at Aiden, who turns to me at the same second. The streetlamps lining the sidewalk reflect both shadow and light onto his face, and for a moment, I want to keep standing here and feel the city pulsing around us with its chugging, rumbling noises, the blindingly bright lights and the scurrying people everywhere I turn. And let everything else fall away. Pretend the world is alright.
I feel Aiden’s hand close around mine as he tugs me forward.
“Come on,” he says. “We have another clue to find.”
I give him a weak smile, and we move from the corner of the sidewalk to the unmarked side door leading up a skinny flight of stairs into the store. My legs groan with each step; my muscles burn.
When we enter, I blink at the sudden onslaught of all things superhero. My gaze sweeps over the rows of comics before settling on the checkout counter. Or rather, the two people behind it. One is a girl in her early twenties donning a nose ring and a bored expression. The other is a skinny tree of a guy with bright white hair.
“Look, White-Haired Man,” I whisper to Aiden and squeeze his hand. He follows my gaze before letting out a relieved-sounding chuckle.
“Now we just need to find Spiderman.”
“You think he’ll show us his web-shooters?” I ask as we inch our way through the store, past a glass case full of DVD box sets of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Star Trek and Battlestar Galactica. My words fall flat on my ears. I can’t believe I’m in a comic book store, making a joke about Spiderman when my brother…I flinch and scuff my feet against the floor as we pass by the new releases.
“Yeah, and I have a hunch he’ll have something very important to tell us.” Aiden’s smile vanishes, and his voice takes on a mock serious tone. “With great power comes great responsibility.”
Through the shelves, I see another set of stairs. So far, Spiderman is nowhere in sight. I tighten my grip around Aiden’s hand as we make our way to the stairs, knowing the second story might be our only hope. If he’s not there…
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, I take a quick glance up and feel a burst of adrenaline shoot through me. A life-size statue waits for us in a web-shooting pose on the landing halfway up.
I drop Aiden’s hand and plod up to where the statue waits, wondering what we’re supposed to do in order to get the clue. I stare into the statue’s lifeless, non-blinking eyes, waiting for…something, though I don’t know exactly what. When nothing happens, I crane my neck behind the statue to see if there are any papers stuffed between him and the wall. Nothing.
“Obviously we aren’t being smart enough.” I sigh and step back from the statue, nibbling on my lip as I try to think. Leaning against the railing, I glance down at the first floor below. My eyes sweep across the shelves, across a group of guys browsing new releases, across to the front desk where the white-haired guy is watching us. Shivers run along my skin, and I flinch when my heart does its twinging thing again.
“He’s watching us,” I whisper to Aiden. “Like the clue said he would.”
Aiden leans over to look past me, and a bit of hope lights up those gray eyes again. “So…he saw us come up here to the statue. Maybe we’re supposed to go talk to him?”
“I think it’s worth a shot.”
We make our way back down the stairs. At the bottom, I glance back up at Spiderman one last time to see if there’s anything at all we could have missed. But Statue Spiderman is still his frozen, lifeless self. His wrists still flick out to cast invisible webs. His eyes haven’t blinked. His mouth isn’t opening to impart wisdom or rattle off some hint of our existence.
So, with a sigh, I hop down the last step and aim my sights on the guy waiting behind the cash register. His arms are crossed over his chest. The top corner of his lip quirks up. He’s staring at me and Aiden with a hint of knowing in his eyes, like he knows exactly who and what we are, and he’s waiting for us.
Fear snakes its way around my heart. This could be another trap. He could be one of Them, not Us. I shake my head to rattle those thoughts out of my head and wince when I’m blinded by another aching throb in my skull. But instead of turning and running right out of this place, I force myself forward. I have to be strong now.
I find I am suddenly standing at the register, before White-Haired Man. My heart has become a jackhammer against my ribcage, and I cannot find my breath to speak.
“Aren’t ya’ll buying anything?” the guy asks, drawling out his words in a southern twang.
“Er,” I say. “Are we supposed to?”
“That’s usually the idea.” He tilts his head to the side as if he’s puzzled by me, but an amused tugging at his lips says otherwise.
“Fine.” Aiden quickly snatches a random comic from the seventy percent off shelf to our left. “We’ll take this, thanks.”
“Fraggle Rock?” I raise my eyebrows when he slides the comic across the counter. “I didn’t know we were living in the 80’s.”
“Oh come on,” he says. “You know you want to read it. Fraggle Rock is classic.”
I nod, silently watching the guy with bright, white hair punching numbers into the cash register. I snatch at the ends of my sleeves, not sure what to expect next. The white-haired guy’s face has gone completely blank. The smug knowing has been replaced by nonchalance. He isn’t letting on that we’re all involved in some underground home for on-the-run insomniacs. Once he hands us our bag, he gives us a brief smile before shifting his attention to the customer behind us.
“Well, that was anti-climatic,” Aiden says as we make our way through the shelves of comics and to the exit.
A girl with long, sweeping blond hair rounds the corner, cell phone to one ear, an earbud stuff in the other, while one earbud dangles across her leather jacket. Her gray eyes are wide and circling the store as if some sort of bee attack is about to commence. For a moment, I freeze, one thought echoing through my head. Gemma. But then I blink and see it’s not really her at all.
“Seriously, swear to god this place has a life-size Spiderman. If you are wrong, I am going to come find you and kick your ass back to Brazil.” Her swirling eyes land on me and Aiden. A wicked a grin stretches her pink lip-sticked lips. “Nevermind. I’ve got this.” Her skinny fingers shut the phone with a snap.
Aiden and I glance at each other, the same thought going through both our minds at once. Insomniac. I know I shouldn’t be surprised to see another one, but something about this girl has made the breath whoosh out of me. Maybe it’s the fact she looks eerily like my best friend. Or that she carries an intense confidence like a well-worn, familiar jacket.
“Hello, my friends. Puffy eyes, short stature, pale face, hunched shoulders. If you two aren’t insomniacs, I’ll eat my iPod,” she says, sidling up to us. I take in the fishnet tights, the leather jacket, and the raccoon eyes she’s sporting. The whole image gives the effect she’s some sort of otherwordly creature. One that, I have to admit, scares me a little. She’s staring so intently at us, I feel like holes are being burned into my skin.
“Hello,” I say, because I can’t think of anything else. I’m distracted by the pounding drums I can hear from the music seeping out of her dangling earbud.
Her eyes fall to our comic book bag before they slide up the full length of Aiden. By the perky quirk to her smile, I can tell she likes what she sees, and a sudden needle of suspicion pokes at me. I don’t know why, maybe it’s after what happened to Odin—but I feel wary of everyone, including this girl.
She nods her head at the bag. “You get the clue?”
“Yeah,” Aiden says slowly. Out of the corner of my eye, I can tell he’s appreciating her the way she’s appreciating him. It’d be hard for any guy not to notice this girl.
�
�Then, what are you doing just standing there?” She tosses her long hair over her shoulder. “Come on, then. Take out the clue, and let’s get this show on the road.”
I hesitate, but she does’t seem to notice, too focused on Aiden and his light, spiky hair. Too much has happened for me to take her for what she is, and I feel the need to verify her sleeplessness somehow before we share our secrets with her. What if she’s one of them? But Aiden is already digging through the shopping bag.
“There’s just the receipt.” He holds up the small scrap, and the new girl snatches it out of his hand.
“Hey!” I throw out my hand to grab it back from her, but she waves me away like I’m some pesky, non-threatening puppy.
“I’m not going to steal it. God.” Her eyes scan the tiny lettering. A moment later she nods. “Clue’s here. It’s in small print at the bottom. Under the address of the store.” She suddenly closes her eyes. “Oh my god, I love this song. Anyway, it’s at the bottom of the receipt which is why you didn’t notice it.”
I resist the urge to snatch it from her while she’s distracted by her blaring music. “What’s it say?”
“Some nonsense.” She stuffs her other earbud into her ear, spins around and waggles her fingers at us. “Anyone in the mood for some cupcakes? It says we need to go to Magnolia. Come along, friends.”
Twelve
Stage III and Stage IV Insomniacs often develop a tolerance of benzodiazepines (sleeping pills).
- The Chronic Insomnia Handbook for Patients
We need to get on the 1 train,” the girl calls over her shoulder. Aiden and I follow behind. I’m silent as we trek out onto the sidewalk, blasted once again by the sights and sounds of nighttime New York City. The jingle of a pedicab whirring by. The thick, sweet scent of the fried bakery cart on the corner. The tall, brightly-lit buildings stretching up to meet the moon. The world completely unaware by what has happened to my brother. Everything speeding along like it always has. Even me.
Suddenly, the girl stops and turns, yanking an earbud from one ear while making no move to remove the other. “What are your names anyway? If we’re going to be chasing this place down together, we should probably know what to call each other.”