NEW:  Sleepless Town


by bcfan


CONTACT: bcfan@shaw.ca


SPOILERS:  This story takes place between 'Ascension' and


'3'


NOTES at the end.


SUMMARY:  Sleepless Town demands sacrifice.








There have always been sleepless nights in cheap hotels.


You pay the piper.  You get on with it.





On the road, though, a night of video porn takes the edge


off.  Follow with a hard run and you've got some measure of


peace, some way to deal until the case is solved.  Then,


it's back home where you're tucked in safe and sound - a


good little fibbie with a sofa where lumps are in the right


place and take-out can be counted on.





It's when safe home is no longer safe that you know you're


in trouble.





Thirteen days ago you heard Scully's screams of terror and


confusion.   Lucky thirteen?  Only if you're dead by day


fourteen.  And if you do that, if you give up, you fail


Scully all over again.





xXx





Another night jerking awake in Sleepless Town.  You use


your t-shirt to wipe off the sweat, breathe deep to slow


your heart.  Nothing to hurry about.  Try to distract


yourself by shuffling through last week's mail one more


time.  Nothing new.  No sudden clue to pierce your brain


and carry you to where you need to go.





You think about t.v., but infomercials don't cut it


anymore, so it's outside, where the noise and stink of


others can distract you from your own noise and stink.





Your feet take you to the twenty-four hour side of town,


and soon you're adrift on malignant streets.  It's crowded


here.  Some are like unredeemed ghosts who wander, clothed


in muted colours, fading before your eyes.  Others are


predators.  They remind you of vampires with their sly eyes


and shallow smiles.





But everywhere, you are the outsider.  Even here.  Even in


your special corner of hell.





Head down, you step over garbage and pass a half-ripped


poster tattered around the edges.  Year of the Dog, it


blares.  You grimace.  Time is grinding so slowly, it might


be Year of the Dog forever.





A neon sign assaults your gritty eyes, and you slide inside


the restaurant.  You might have been aiming to go there,


you don't remember.





The tables are small, the aisles are narrow, the menu


almost unreadable in the thin light.   There's a scarred


sushi bar.  Dingy paper lampshades.  Seaweed and rice are


being rolled in a kitchen that spooned out chow mein only


three weeks ago.  When Scully was around.  Not lost.





You sip tepid tea and order something raw.  Close your eyes


and begin to drift.





Behind closed lids, Scully is leaping out of a car in slow


motion.  You reach out your arms, but all you catch is a


flurry of floating white paper.  You bite the inside of


your cheek - hard.  The sharp tang brings you back, and you


see blood-red sashimi on a rectangle plate.  You pour soy


sauce in a cup, stir in wasabi, and then some more.  You


crave the harsh taste.





You break apart the cheap wooden chopsticks, rub them


against each other automatically.  The waitress offers more


tea and you accept, grateful.  Tea washes you into another


vision.





A car is magically filling inside with snow.   You remember


wishing for snow in a Scully hot tub fantasy.  You ask for


your tea to be reheated, and when it is you scald your


tongue.





Far off in the distance, you see a bleak, snow-covered


pier.   A rowboat, tethered with an impossibly long rope,


makes it hard to squint, to see who's inside.  Your snore


surprises you awake.  Again.  To face the night.





Sleepless Town demands sacrifice.

















NOTES:  This story was inspired by the title and noir


images of the Japanese film, Sleepless Town.  My thanks to


MaybeAmanda for the quick beta.





Tesla asked for an insomnia story for her "let the good


times roll" ficathon, but les bons temps refused to rouler.