From: bcfan@shaw.ca   
      
   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.   
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
      
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    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)