Never Sleep Page 6

  “Having trouble sleeping?” he turns to me, his stick-like fingers curled around the paper.

  I let him shove the flier into my hands, and I force myself to give him only the slightest of second glances, my feet pounding the pavement with everyone else. Someone jostles my shoulder, and I gasp. My slippered feet grasp for a place on the sidewalk. The whisper of Odin’s hand on my elbow is the only thing that keeps me steady.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and don’t look behind me even though I desperately want to know if anyone has seen us and is following us down the street. My eyes flick to Odin. His face is relaxed and his stride is even. If it weren’t for the purple bags under his eyes and the blue slippers on his feet, he’d look almost normal. Almost. He still has the same pale skin I do, the same weary look in his faded eyes, the same stunted height for someone our age, and the same scar running down the back of his neck. His shaggy red hair covers most of it, but I can still see the bottom poking out.

  When we reach the end of the block, Odin steers me away from the heart of Union Square and down a side street. Noise drops away and the crowd thins. I can’t help but take a hurried glance behind us as we edge further down the street, and I’m relieved to see no one is back there following us. We dip into a doorframe, pushing our backs against the red brick walls.

  “Okay,” Odin says, blowing warm air on his fisted hands. “What’s it say?”

  I press my fingers down the crinkled page and read the words aloud to my brother.

  “For those who seek to destroy,

  Destruction will find you.”

  I stop. “Um. That’s kind of…weird.”

  “Just keep reading.”

  “For those who seek knowledge,

  Knowledge will find you.

  In the beginning, though miles of books.

  In the end, through hours of sleep.”

  “That’s not the right flier.”

  My head snaps toward the voice, fear screaming through my throbbing head. My first instinct is to push away from the wall, grab Odin’s arm and throw my feet down the sidewalk as fast as I can manage. They have somehow found us hidden in the brick folds of this doorframe, and they will take us back to the Clinic. Back to the life that is not a life at all.

  But instead, I find myself looking into the pale gray, red-rimmed eyes of another boy. I gasp, and the heel of my foot slams against the wall in my attempt to step back. It’s almost as though my eyes are looking into a mirror of themselves. Eyes so impossibly clear, like freshly Windexed windows. And they seem to dance in amusement as they rake over me, sizing me up like I’m doing to the short, smiling boy they belong to. There is no doubt in my mind he is just like me.

  “Hi,” I say, pulling on the cuffs of my long-sleeved gray tee with nervous fingers.

  “Hi yourself.” He keeps smiling, and I can’t help but smile back, despite all the fear and weariness I feel. “Name’s Aiden, and I’m assuming by the way you guys are examining that sleep flier you’re looking for the Cafe.”

  “Maybe,” Odin speaks up for the both of us since all I can do is stare at Aiden, with his sandy blond hair and endlessly gray eyes. I should have assumed we’d run into other insomniacs on this strange mission, but I’m still surprised. A part of me feels like Aiden could vanish if I glance away.

  And then I realize Odin is still talking. “Are you looking for it? Or do you live there or whatever?”

  Aiden narrows his eyes and crosses his arms before leaning against a parking sign, taking his time to answer as if he’s debating what to say. “Who are you guys? What’s your names?”

  It’s my turn to hesitate, and I glance to Odin before answering. He shrugs. “I’m Thora. This is Odin, my brother. And you didn’t answer his question.”

  “Yeah, I’m looking for the Cafe.” He pushes off the sign and takes a step closer to me. “And you have the wrong flier.”

  I was so distracted by finding another insomniac, I hadn’t really heard his original words until now. Holding the flier up so the streetlamp can illuminate the words, I read it over again with Odin looking over my shoulder, all too aware of Aiden’s eyes on me.

  “Looks legit to me,” I say. “Besides, if this isn’t the real one, then what is?”

  “It’s a fake.” Aiden reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a folded sheet of neon green paper. “This is the real one.”

  I snatch the flier from his fingers, my eyes tripping down the page. Every word feels like a bowling ball in my stomach. I don’t know which is real and which is fake. It’s identical to the flier Odin and I found other than the second to last line.

  In the beginning, though miles of costumes.

  In the end, through hours of sleep.

  “How can you be so sure the green one is real?” Odin asks as I try to wrap my head around the fact there’s even a fake flier in the first place. “Where did you get it?”

  “Over by the Barnes and Noble,” Aiden says.

  Odin sighs and stares down at the fliers. The throbbing in my skull rackets up another notch, and I close my eyes, taking deep breaths to steady myself. Things can’t go wrong already.

  When I look up, I’m glad to see the softness in Aiden’s expression as he watches me, as he watches Odin frowning at the papers. At least this guy didn’t mean to throw our night into the dumpster. At least he understands.

  “Why is there a fake one anyway?” I ask.

  “They did it.” Aiden’s eyes flick down the street in the direction Odin and I came from, and I can’t help but follow his gaze.

  “What do you mean?” Odin asks.

  Aiden clears his throat. “I guess that means you haven’t heard about them.”

  “Them?” Icy tendrils wrap around my heart.

  “Yeah.” He nods, and a strand of sandy hair falls into his eyes. “The kids at the Insomniac Cafe call them Sleepers. They’re a group of guys the Clinic hires as a kind of security team, I guess. They don’t want the insomniacs living on their own outside of a Clinic, like the members of the Cafe are doing. So, they try to do whatever they can to find them and to stop more insomniacs from getting into the Cafe.” He points at the yellow flier. “They really do whatever they can. Probably including flier forgery.”

  “Oh,” I say. An image of the guys in all black flashes through my mind. They must have been who Doctor Clark was talking to in his office, who Doctor Jeremy warned us about. “I think we saw a few of them at the Clinic.”

  “We broke out of a Clinic, “Odin adds, “and we overheard them talking about stopping anyone from finding the Cafe. I didn’t expect them to make their own fake breadcrumb trail.”

  I sigh and glance around us, wondering if these “Sleeper” guys are watching us now. But all my eyes can find is the occasional New Yorker scurrying past, gaze focused on the ground as their feet pound, pound, pound.

  I turn to Aiden. “So, what? They make fake instructions, and anyone who follows them is caught and taken back to a Clinic? Nice.” I shiver and not from the cool breeze or the overpowering rotting egg smell drifting along with it.

  “We can’t go back there, Thora.” Odin’s voice sounds hurried. “We have to make it to the Cafe.”

  “I know,” I say. “But all we can do is pick one of these and hope we’re right. Best case, we’re on the right track to finding the cure.”

  “Worst case.” Odin meets my eyes. “They take us back to the Clinic.”

  I can’t even think about that right now, especially knowing what we know about Doctor Jeremy and the task team readying themselves to descend upon the place.

  “Well, either way, if we do nothing, we might as well hitch our way out of here because we barely have the cash to make it, in New York City of all places.”

  “I hate to break up the party,” Aiden says, “but the green one is definitely not fake. I’ve figured it out, and I’m pretty sure this clue is saying we should go to New York Costumes.”

  “And this one?” I ask, holding up the y
ellow paper.

  “Miles of books. That has to mean The Strand. But if you go there, you’ll just get caught.”

  “There’s no way for us to know which one is fake. What if we’re supposed to go to The Strand and not the Halloween store?” Odin says.

  I nod. “Plus, I’m not sure I trust some random guy on the street, not after what we’ve been through. Give me one good reason why you think the green flier is our winner. Otherwise…” I trail off. Otherwise, what? Otherwise, I have no good reason to believe either is the right choice, except for my gut instinct trying to propel my feet toward the bookstore. The one telling me even if I’m wrong, we can be careful and avoid the Sleepers if they show up, and then book it to New York Costumes instead. Plus, this guy showed up out of nowhere. How can I believe a word he says, no matter what he looks like?

  “Okay.” Aiden holds up his hands in surrender. “You caught me. I don’t actually have any factual evidence here. Just a hunch. But trust me, my hunches are always right. You should come with me to the Halloween store.”

  “And you want us to trust you, a random guy we met on the streets of New York, and pick your green one, on a hunch?” I roll my eyes and hand his flier back to him. “No thanks.”

  His eyes flick away, almost like he’s hurt by my words. “Do you have anything better?”

  I feel myself taking a step forward with a strange desire to prove him wrong. “I bet my hunch is better than your hunch.”

  He laughs, but it sounds kind of forced. “That might be the worst comeback I’ve ever heard.” For a moment, he hesitates and the smile falters before the light sparks in his eyes again. “You’re not going to budge on this, are you? Fine, you’re on. We can meet back here after we check both places out. And whoever finds the next clue wins the prize of being Hunch King.”

  “No, I’m not going to budge because the truth is I just don’t trust you.” My heart hammers at my chest, and I hope I’ve made the right choice. “You could be one of them. Let’s go, Odin.”

  Eight

  Those with Stage IV Insomnia are at risk for high blood pressure, low immune system health and heart problems.

  - The Chronic Insomnia Handbook for Patients

  When Odin and I step inside The Strand, my eyes sweep the store. I almost expect to see someone inside, hard gaze focused on every person who enters. But everyone is too engrossed in their own world to notice me and my brother, and I feel my shoulders relax, my attention shifting to the towering shelves rising up to a vaulted ceiling. The strong aroma of musty pages fills my nostrils so much, I feel as if I’m walking through an old storybook, sheets filled with impossible adventures and fantastical far-off places.

  “What should we do next?” I whisper to Odin, whose gaze is tripping around the store.

  He keeps his voice low when he answers, edging me forward with the slightest push against my elbow. “Find Gemma. Find the clue. We just need to look around.”

  I grit my teeth and keep moving forward, sure we’ll somehow be spotted. But, at the same time, I’m starting to feel a little better, a little more hopeful. And the sharp bitterness stinging my insides has faded, like its tiny knives have been dulled by hope.

  Pushing through the crowd milling around the tables of featured books and staff picks, my gaze is pulled up and around in an unsuccessful attempt to drink in the sight of so many books. They crowd every spare inch of space, stuffed shelves creating a maze of words and crinkling pages.

  Odin’s hand becomes a vise grip on my elbow. Dread weighs on my head, but before I can turn to see what has caused my brother alarm, he pushes me up the red staircase. My feet feel like lead weights, but I don’t dare slow down.

  “Those guys are here. The ones in black. The Sleepers,” he says into my ear when we reach the landing halfway between the first floor and the next. “Keep moving. One of them is standing by the exit so we’ll have to find another way out of here.”

  My heart twinges again. “Another way out?”

  “There’s gotta be another way out.”

  “Did they see us?” I ask, stumbling as we hurry up the rest of the stairs. My fingers slide along the banister to steady my wobbling knees. The stress of the chase and the lack of sleep is having a serious effect on my body, but I don’t want to say anything to Odin, knowing there’s nothing he can do for me right now anyway.

  “There’s a lot of people in here.” We reach the end of the next floor, and I brace myself as we finally take a look down the stairs behind us. Breath whooshes out of me. There’s no one else there other than browsing book lovers. The Sleepers didn’t see us after all.

  “Maybe there’s some way off this floor. A fire escape or something.” My eyes sweep across the store as we inch away from the staircase. A few women browsing at a table of art books glance up and give me and my brother a once-over before hesitantly returning their attention back to the books. One of them frowns and whispers to her friends. I have an eerie feeling they’re talking about me.

  “We’re attracting too much attention,” Odin whispers.

  Something in my peripheral vision turns my spine into a popsicle stick. Two boys stand at the back edge of the store, hovering by the wall. They aren’t the ones from the Clinic, but they’re dressed the same, and even though they look completely normal other than their all-black ensemble, I can tell by their stiff, bouncer-like posture, they aren’t.

  One, wearing black-rimmed glasses, takes a step forward when he sees me. The other stays rooted to his spot, and the look on his face sends a bucket of ice over my heart. Dark brown, shaggy hair, the most intense blue eyes I’ve ever seen contrasted against sun-kissed skin. Dark, dark jeans. Black tee. I take a step back, stumbling into Odin. The boy is staring at me so intently, I cannot find my breath. His hands are fists of anger at his sides.

  “Stairs,” I manage to breathe out.

  Odin and I whirl to the stairs. My slippers slide as I throw myself up the first step. White spots scramble into my vision. I look up and see Odin has reached the landing before I’m even halfway up the stairs. He holds out a hand. I grab it, and he pulls me up the rest of the way.

  We turn, practically falling up the next half-flight. I don’t dare look behind. I know they will be there. I wheeze when my feet land on the third floor. It’s the only sound in this quiet, empty room filled with rickety tables piled with books. Old wooden shelves are crammed with hardbacks that as if like they were made centuries ago.

  There is no one here. A computer terminal sits abandoned. It’s the only sign we haven’t stepped into some old professor’s personal library.

  “Move to the window,” Odin’s voice is steel. He motions to a floor-to-ceiling window draped in red velvet curtains.

  Before we make it halfway there, heavy footsteps sound from behind us. I whirl and grab Odin’s arm, carving crescent moons into his pale skin. It’s the two boys from downstairs, and they’ve picked up a third friend on the way. They look like they belong in the military with their fit frames and I-mean-serious-business expressions.

  “Stop trying to get away,” the new one says, crossing his arms over his gym-membership chest. My eyes are drawn again to the blue-eyed boy at the back of the trio. His intense stare could bore holes through my skull. “We’ve got to take you back to the Clinic. Doctor’s orders.”

  “Get behind me, Thora,” Odin says, shifting sideways and angling his body in front of mine. “We’re not going back.”

  “It’s not worth it, mate,” the brooding, blue-eyed boy in the back says, words drawn up in a British accent.

  “I’m not kidding.” Odin curls his hands into fists, his voice shaking with emotion. “We’re not going back to that place.”

  Gym Boy sighs and does some sort of flick with his fingers at the other two. I open my mouth to warn Odin or ask him to stop or I don’t know, something, something at all to avoid the inevitable fight that’s about to happen. But I just stand here mute and frozen, watching the three Sleepers come at us.
>
  They reach us. I take a step back. Odin swings out his fist and connects with the jaw of Glasses Boy. Eyes wide, he falls back, smashing his head on a table. The glasses slide off his face. Books tumble from their stacks, raining down on the ground as the boy rolls to the floor, eyes closed. My lungs shudder, gasping for air I can’t seem to gulp down fast enough. I want to believe the boy is okay, but I can’t help but feel glad my brother punched him into oblivion.

  I take another step back toward the window just as Gym Boy reaches for my brother. Strong hands encircle my wrists. My heart jerks, jerks, jerks. I try to spin around, but the strong arms hold me in place. My head whips to the side. Through my blurred vision, I see the British boy standing behind me, holding me still. I try to jerk again, try to get away, but I hear Odin grunt in pain.

  “Odin!” I whirl back to see my brother doubled over, holding his stomach. Gym Boy grimaces with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. No matter how much Odin has put up a fight, there’s no way we’re going to beat these guys. Three against one. And I’m useless.

  “Give up now,” Gym Boy says through his gasping breaths. “You’re pissing me off, and you’re going to the Clinic whether you like it or not.”

  I half-heartedly try to pull myself out of the British boy’s grasp, but his hold is as strong and steady as ever. I stare down at my slippered feet, hope sinking out of me and joining them on the floor.

  “Odin.” I close my eyes, the reality of our return to the Clinic hitting me hard. I don’t know why we ever thought we could escape that place. “Maybe we should give up.”

  “No.” He grabs a heavy hardback from the table and throws it at Gym Boy’s head. It smacks hard into his face. I hear a crunch, and when the book tumbles to the ground, I see blood streaming from his nose and dripping onto his lips. He smiles; the red stains his teeth.

  “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.” He launches at my brother, and I scream. I surge forward to stop them, but British boy pulls me back.

  They throw themselves at each other, blurring into one writhing mass as my heart threatens to throttle its way out of my ribcage. Tears fill my eyes. Fists connect with flesh. Grunts echo in the dusty room. Gym Boy pulls a black, gun-like device from his back pocket and aims it at my brother’s heart.