Dead Sleep

I haven’t slept for 42 days, 18 hours, 36 minutes, 23 seconds. 24 seconds. I’m almost out of my pills. I only have enough to last me until tomorrow. Then what? I’ve been here in this room now for 16 days, waiting to die. They never did see this as a possibility and how could they? No one would have thought that sleeping could kill you. Since the dawn of consciousness, man has always viewed the unconscious as a state of regenerative vitality, of metamorphosis. Now, in the present, the idea of sleep has changed. It has become the assassin, the murderer of millions.

In the early part of the 21st century, mankind reveled in the newfound breakthrough of sub-conscious ‘swimming’. Through the application of mind scanners and virtual injectors, scientists developed a method of seeing into the mind of the unconscious human. The original concept was developed by the 42 year old Dr. Mark Campbell, a psychologist with the far-fetched vision of tapping into the secrets of the universe, which he believed lay dormant inside our very brains; billions of neurons containing a vast network of unrealized genetic knowledge. The idea was thought to be laughable by most of the top leaders in the field of psychology, and finding himself rejected by his colleagues, Dr. Campbell sought the support of independent finance. Three years later, the privately owned research corporation known as Lu-Sidity gave Campbell aid. The founder and C.E.O., Blain Meidosky, was an eccentric philanthropist who historically had taken interest in visionaries like Campbell. With unlimited resources, Campbell was able to create an interface that allowed him to virtually experience the inner thoughts and dreams of any willing human being.

Less than one year later, the very first test subject, Marilynn Carter, a 23-year-old cancer patient, died in her sleep. She had volunteered for the experiment under the pretense that they would find a cure for her lung cancer inside her very skull. The cancer went into remission only a few short days later and Campbell made headlines in every publication in the world. Eleven months after her procedure, her family reported that they hadn’t spoken with her in several days and were concerned. The police found her at home in bed, her body was crushed and twisted in an agonized parody of her once beautiful self. Authorities would have surmised that she’d been murdered by some unspeakably violent killer, except for one strange element that no one could explain. Her eyes still moved. They followed the movements of anyone in close proximity: a detached, blank stare that invoked a most horrifying visage. These were dead eyes rolling around inside a dead skull, unable to perceive the tragedy that had overwhelmed her in her sleep.

At first the police thought she was still alive despite paramedics confirming death. They rushed her to the emergency room. After several days of examination by dozens of specialists, they finally checked her background, tracing it back to the facility now known as ‘The Dream Pool Corporation’: the company that boasted the ability to swim into the mind of anyone and tell them anything they asked, headed up by none other than Mark Campbell. Of course, Campbell’s team of public relations experts buried the incident as circumstantial. Swimming had no known side effects and was pronounced ‘completely harmless’ by the National Committee for Ethical Sciences.

Since Ms. Carter, thousands of people flocked to the facility desiring to treat illness, expand knowledge and find answers to the secrets of life itself. Even after the accusations that Dream Pool was responsible for Ms. Carter’s death, people ignored the warnings and kept going.

I remember my first visit. I was skeptical about the claims and decided to go see for myself. The plaza inside the structure was unbelievable: a great marble dome covered the lobby, adorned with flying banners draped from the ceiling. Everything else was made of tempered glass, very clean and prismatic, shining a rainbow of refracted light across the gray and black Italian marble floor. As I walked into this marvelous building, I smiled. Maybe I knew then that it was everything they proclaimed to be.

My mother was the one who convinced me to go. She had gone several times. The times I was around when she returned were memorable. She would rant and rave about how enlightening it was to have such a wise and benevolent man as Dr. Campbell lean over you and, at almost a whisper, speak unto you the very vibrations that comprise our meaning. I chuckle now at how naive she was; how naive we all were. I still wasn’t quite sure I would follow through but as I walked up to the front desk, it was the attractive redhead that finally did me in. Filling out the paper work was quite the task, but all I could do was imagine what it would be like.

Two hours later and I was laid out on a table, bristling with wires and contacts, breathing deep the fumes of anesthetic. Small machines were mounted above me, scanning, scrying into my skull like a gypsy hovering over her crystal ball. As these luminescent 'wasps' buzzed around my head, I felt a knot form in my stomach: regret. I tried to justify that what I was doing was, in fact, a perfectly fine thing to do. What's the worst that could happen? An injection of microbe-sized robots took me out of my pondering as I winced with the stick of the needle. I wasn't sure, but I thought I heard the Anesthesiologist begin counting in Latin. Or was it French? It seemed like only seconds later and I awoke. I heard my name...

"Mr. Bitterman, Isaac Bitterman...Can you hear me?"

I blinked against the bright lights overhead. There he was, the fabled Dr. Mark Campbell. He hung over me for a moment like a saint and I could see in his eyes that he was pleased: an odd sort of elation that only came from possessing power; influence. I looked deeper into his eyes. He wasn’t Jesus Christ, after all. He was just another man filled with the fire of greed. I realized it all boiled down to control. I deduced then, perhaps through my conspiracy-tainted mind was that he was getting more out of it than any one of his patients, although I wasn’t sure how it worked out. He smiled brightly and asked how I was feeling. I nodded. I sat up and an orderly offered me a drink, orange juice, I think. As I drank, Campbell told me the answer to my question: what happens after we die? He said in an evangelistic tone that we transcend our bodies and join together in a convergence of soul energy that exists on a completely different plane. He told me that the traditional concept of God was a fallacy and that we, ourselves, were God broken apart and forever yearning to reconstitute into a final evolutionary form beyond anyone’s imagination. I had the impression that he had been asked this before as his explanation was well versed. I thanked him with as much honesty as I could muster, hoping not to betray my suspicions. As I left, I felt empty. What was the point of living anymore? There were no more questions to be asked and nothing more to fulfill. I was hollow.

The following year was very profitable for Dream Pool. Campbell had placed in the top five of the most wealthiest people in the world and soon, he would be number one. The impact on society itself was remarkable. Science was reinvented, religion transformed. Nearly the entire world population had entered the 'New Jerusalem' of The Dream Pool. The cost had dropped dramatically over time, most likely due to Campbell’s need to consume more and more brain waves from the masses. The process itself became more impersonal. One of the last times my Mother visited, she had told me that now the doctor spoke to her from behind a frosted glass wall and that she couldn’t even make out his face. The proverbial ‘commitment to customer service’ had failed. Crowds were ushered in and out as fast as possible as an endless line formed, day and night, outside the Dream Pool complex. As the obsession grew, so did the body count. Hundreds of individuals were found, just like Marilynn Carter, twisted into indescribable, boneless masses. All of them had seeking eyes, an obvious result of swimming. Yet still, our governments, the police, no one stepped forth to stop what was happening. I only went that one time, but that’s all it took. In 2012, they finally came to the conclusion that swimming wasn’t as safe as they had thought, but all of this was so far after the fact that it didn’t matter. At least 3/5ths of the population had been to the Dream Pool and millions were dying. Dr. Peter Wisp, one of Campbell’s operations managers, came forth in a press conference and stated that swimming was the cause of the previously unexplained deaths and that there was a temporary cure for the problem. Of course, the rights of ownership were held by Lu-Sidity. They said that something change inside our brains whenever we swam and that the only way to circumvent death was to avoid sleep. The media was in an uproar as was the rest of the world. How could anyone just not sleep? The average person can only survive without sleep for 14 days. Dr. Wisp provided an answer: the Anti-REM pill. This drug allowed humans to purge their neural necessity for sleep by re-configuring the neurotransmitters and hormones that made it a requirement to sleep. Every 2 hours, a person would withdraw into their mind and experience what would come to be known as ‘Accelerated Bio-stasis Induction’ or ABI. Natural sleep was forgone by speeding up the brain to one thousand times faster than normal. So this pill gave us the ability to stay awake and survive but there was one catch: the side effects of sleep deprivation, severe hallucinations and vertigo, still could not be avoided. After 13 days without sleep, our government decided that it was illegal to attempt to drive or operate machinery until a suitable alternative could be found.

Factories closed, businesses went bankrupt due to the fact that most could not afford to rehire and retrain employees who had not yet contracted the affliction within 13 days. All life froze in the midst of despairing times. Economies crumbled leaving nations defunct and unable to provide for its population. All eyes turned to Dream Pool. Campbell was at the center of it all. Pill distribution began worldwide. Any cost for the drug was eventually nullified but you had to be in an area where they offered the drug. They couldn’t afford to bring them to you. This left millions still without any options but to wait until their mind and body finally succumbed to the ‘dead sleep’.

20 days ago, I walked through Phoenix. The bodies filled the streets in various stages of decay but still their eyes wandered. It’s hard to explain how it feels to walk through a desolate city with thousands of dead people staring at you as you walk by. The eyes. That’s what I remember the most. As I stepped into a pharmacy, now controlled solely by Dream Pool, I saw a particular body, a young woman lying in the aisle, who had not made it to the counter in time. I imagine that the clerk, who had most likely witnessed her death first hand, had found it difficult to concentrate on anything else in the last few days. In the beginning, state officials worked within the communities to remove and dispose of the dead, but that too became monetarily inefficient. So, the dead remained where they had fallen. It used to bother me, but in the past weeks I have seen so many die from the new plague, I've become desensitized to death. After all, my own mother was the first for me. That’s really all it took.

I remembered opening the door. I called out to her. When she didn’t answer, I made my way through the kitchen and into the back bedroom where she slept. I heard her voice finally reply in a weak rasp. She had tried to stay awake as long as possible but the elderly were not strong enough to maintain, even while using Anti-REM. The last thing she spoke was my name.


"Isaac..."


Sleep overcame her and at once her body began to writhe and contort. I could hear her bones crack as they broke from the muscular strain. She screamed and I couldn’t help her. That was the first and last time I remember crying. The final images I could pull from my fading memory before running out of the house and into the sunlight were her eyes. They looked right at me, into me, as if to say ‘Why didn’t you do something, anything?’ She watched me as I backed away. I wondered if somehow, she still knew what was happening. Maybe she was still alive in her mind and the pain had now become eternal. They never did prove whether or not the victims were aware of what they experienced after death. Besides, who said physical death was the end? Even Campbell never really answered that one.

I have realized my purpose and, in my struggles, I’ve managed to come this far. The only thought in my mind is to find Campbell...and kill him. He alone is responsible for this apocalypse and the only reason why I lasted this long is to see him burn. I am beyond the pills’ necessity. Unmitigated retribution fills my veins now. He will be here eventually and I will be waiting. All it takes is one second of focus and concentration, one bullet. And in that final second, I will allow myself to slip away like the rest of them. For this task, I purchased a rifle with a high-powered scope from an arms dealer in Mexico 24 days ago. He told me that the gun could stop a charging elephant but that I wasn’t worried about. Come to think of it, I‘ve never been so free of anxiety. After contacting a close friend inside the Dream Pool organization, I learned that Campbell had planned to make an appearance yesterday to proclaim his sympathy for those who had died in Phoenix in the last few weeks. He conveniently didn’t make it. The speech was delayed for one day due to rioting in the entire metro area. That should have been a sign. It seems everyone knows they are going to die soon. No one wants sympathy. For Christ’s sake, find a fucking cure, you bastard! The last thing I want to hear as my skeletal structure crushes into meal is some fat cat saying he’s sorry for capitalizing on my eventual demise. But isn’t that what they all say? 'Sorry to tell you this, but there is no God, there is no Devil. We just said that so you would give us your money.' Typical. So many innocent victims suffering, dying for one man’s conquest of El Dorado. The City of Gold.

I looked out the window this morning. The sun’s harsh light burned across the sand. My eyes hurt but I couldn’t stop staring at its beauty. Thousands of flinty, ghost-like images became prismatic through my hallucinations. I have been in this desert for too long. My room stinks of liquor, sweat and pain but it’s only mildly uncomfortable, almost like a coffin would be. I pictured my world lined in plush velvet and walnut. What would be my eulogy? 'Isaac Bitterman, Our savior from tyranny.' Maybe I’ll leave a note just in case I’m famous. Or maybe I’ll die in obscurity and it won’t matter. Check the clock. Check your rifle case. Wash your face and eyes. You need to see and look presentable. Almost time to leave. I picked up the phone, called a taxi and then lit a cigarette. Faces were laughing at me in my smoke. I smiled back. Soon I would know what was so funny to them.

Eduardo, my taxi driver, dropped me off at the conference grounds. I was very early but I needed to plan this out thoroughly. No room for mistakes in this game. I scanned the area and noticed several guards were being posted in nearby buildings. Only two towers remained unoccupied and I had to move to one of them before that happened. I tried to appear inconspicuous but, with a large case slung over my shoulder, I wasn’t very successful. I heard a voice boom from behind me and I instinctively ran into an office building right in front of me. I didn’t see who it was but, if I had to kill more than one person to get to Campbell, so be it. I charged up the stairwell in hopes of losing my pursuer but I could hear them gaining. Floor seven...Floor eight. Floor nine. I stopped. No sounds came after me. Had they left? No. They were still there but farther back than I suspected. I opened the side door into an office hallway. Luckily, I was in the front of the room, near the windows overlooking the square. Although, it wasn’t a good idea to try and shoot someone point blank with a sniper rifle, it could be done and it’s what I would do if necessary. I opened the case nimbly and screwed on the stock. Loading the weapon took no more than 2 swift motions: I’d been practicing. As I pulled the gun to my shoulder, I crouched down and leaned back against a support beam behind a toppled cubical wall. This vantage point gave a clear shot to the door. Drops of perspiration formed on my forehead and cheeks, my hands were shaking. I never knew it would be this hard to stay in control. Taking several short breaths, I held in the last of them and listened intently. Were they still out there waiting for me to make a move? We could be stalemated here for a long time and, if so, I could miss my chance to take Campbell. What would become of me then? Too many thoughts coursed through my head all at once I couldn’t see straight. Everything began to waver like surrealistic water pouring into the room, drowning me in colors. Then, I snapped. The door opened slowly and I could see a hand brandishing a 9-millimeter handgun. Training my scope on the arm, I followed its length up to the emerging face of a police officer. He wore a beard and his dark, sunken eyes narrowed as he glanced cautiously around the room. For a split second, I felt bad for the guy, he didn’t have anything to do with Campbell’s desecration of the human mind or his dictatorship over the remaining populace. He was just doing his job, but then again, so was I. I gave him a few seconds to look around, thinking that perhaps he would just leave, giving me no reason to kill him. After he was satisfied, he would surely go on to another level. As I relaxed just slightly, I shifted my back leg making the slightest shuffling noise. Damn. He perked up, turning my direction

"Who’s there? Come out of there. I won’t hurt you, I just want to talk."

He stepped fully into the room and slowly swung his gun from left to right. I knew I had no choice at this point. The world was over-flowing with casualties, all dying for a purpose whether peaceful or malign, whether meaningful or worthless. He just happened to be in that proverbial ‘wrong place at the wrong time’ and I was the Angel of Death. Nostrils flared, dust, blood, old dreams and emptiness. I smelled them all, flowing from me. As I squeezed the trigger, still unsure if I wanted to be a murderer like Campbell; a devourer of innocence, I whispered something. What did I say? I whispered to this man, this lost soul as I inhaled the poison air he would never have to breathe again. A blast of light exploded from the muzzle of my weapon. He never saw anything, not even a look of surprise on his face before the back of his head burst into streams of thick red. I fell into a slump. Maybe now, when I die, I will go to hell. I never thought so before, but I’ve changed my mind.

I waited for 2 hours. Alone, I counted the minutes for an eternity. I had been listening to a crowd gather outside for at least an hour. Their voices blended together to form a kind of hum that reverberated throughout the square. I wondered if someone else was out there, holding a gun or bomb or something, harboring the same notions, the same contempt that I myself had. If so, I wouldn’t be surprised. In fact, I would be grateful. I pictured myself embracing some faceless hero amidst a mass of flashing lights and cries of joy. Never the less, I still planned on being that hero. My companion and I waited, he more patient than I in his pool of crimson humility. Finally, after some time, I could hear voices begin to cheer. How blind they were. I pushed myself up and took one last look at the dead policeman still bleeding on the floor. It’s amazing how much blood a person really has. I wonder how much will pour from Campbell. Will it be as rich and pure as the man I’d slain only 2 hours ago? Clinging to my ‘sword’, I stepped to the window.

Quite a significant crowd had gathered since my arrival, but I still could not see Campbell. I sought throughout the audience to see if I could spot that hero I’d dream of earlier. All of them looked like cattle waiting to board the truck headed to the slaughterhouse. A world filled with cowards! Thankfully, I was not afraid. I had been able to justify every action I’d taken up to this point. This was the moment I would shine. My body ached but I held to my resolve. Nothing could stop me now. I looked down again, closer. It was time. Campbell stepped to the podium. The microphone screeched as he cleared his throat, a throat I would soon puncture.

"Dearest patrons, it is my honor to announce to you that we have found a cure."
Gasps stirred the air. What kind of new cruelty was this?

"We have spent countless hours in the labs researching our database to find some answer to the tragedy which has befallen our world because of my vision." What am I hearing? This has to be some sort of ploy to alleviate the fear and regain support.

"I will cut to the chase. After examining our records of those who have visited our facilities, we came across one and only one mind scan of an individual with the knowledge of ending this plague that has covered our world for the last year. This is wonderful news, however, we need to find this person, if they are still alive, and rescan their mind so we can accurately extract the information we need to develop this cure for what has been the greatest tragedy in our entire history. I implore each and every one of you to come forth if you have any information pertaining to the whereabouts of Isaac Bitterman. He was born here and it is my hopes that someone among you knows who and where he is."

A shock fell over my body. I couldn’t move or even think. Was there some way he could have known my intentions and he was using this as a way to draw me out? I questioned my contact at Dream Pool. Did he slip and divulge my secret? What should I do? Take the shot, take the shot, Isaac. I took aim.

"Please, anyone who knows this man, come forth. This could mean the salvation of us all!"

I shook with a tremor never known to me before this moment. Take aim and shoot. All I could do was focus on his heartbeat. I could see it in my scope. I could taste his blood. I hated him, but a part of me wanted to believe. Then, I realized, there was someone pushing through the crowd. It was Eduardo. I’d forgotten that, out of lack of sleep and ego, I foolishly shared with him my plan to assassinate Campbell. Without thinking, I targeted him. It must have been out of reflex, some sort of survival instinct that drove me to pull the trigger. Eduardo fell into the crowd as a fine red mist surrounded his back and chest. I reloaded. The onlookers spread apart, running in all directions, scrambling to take cover. Then I saw Campbell pointing to my position. And the guards came running. I knew I had no hope of living beyond this moment so I stood up and walked to the edge of the window so everyone could see. I screamed to Campbell.

"You fucking liar! I’m the Angel of Death! Behold, Campbell, your reign slips away!"

As I pulled my rifle to my chest, I smiled. He could not escape and I was free from guilt. I knew that I was doing the right thing. Instead of taking cover as I expected him to, Mark Campbell stood firm at his podium. He spoke into the microphone once again.

"Isaac, I know that’s you. I can see you. I am not a liar. I made a mistake. But, if you come down here, I promise that together we will save this Earth. Put down your weapon. All I want to do is to make right what I’ve wronged."

I believed him. I don’t know what it was but I truly thought he meant what he promised. Perhaps it was my longing for vengeance that caused me to hold my cross-hairs over his heart. I heard feet trampling up the stairs and I knew I didn’t have much time. I was falling victim to Campbell’s charisma like everyone else. But, hope remained within me. I slowly lowered my gun. What the hell was I thinking? Was I destined to become one of Campbell’s pawns in his quest for global domination? So be it. Someone would take my place eventually and I, the fool, would be martyred for my actions. The Police flooded the room and forced me at gunpoint to drop my rifle. So, I did. I was handcuffed and pulled out of the office by my hair. I cursed my foolishness. Through the flock of sheep, I was drawn, heading directly to the front of the square. Campbell looked down upon me with almost fearful eyes. He then surprised me by reaching out to me: a gesture I did not expect from a tyrant such as him. It seemed as though he really did need me to make everything right again. I flushed with a sense of hope and joy. Maybe he really was trying to correct all that he has done. A bright light shone down upon me as I was escorted through the reverent masses to the height of the stage. It was to be my destiny to be exonerated as the one man that saved humanity, only in a different way than I had first envisioned. I looked up to Campbell, gazing into his emotional eyes tearful and caring. He reached out to me. I was truly happy and I felt nothing but love for this man that I have hated for so long. As I stretched out to take his hand, to join him in his journey to heal the world, I heard a snap. I fell. I couldn’t feel my legs. Then, several cracks and pops followed the first. I felt a pain that could not be described. I looked down and saw my body folding in upon itself, crumpling under the strain of spasmodic muscle. My view twisted around until all I could see was the dirt beneath my broken legs. That moment, I felt the tears drip from my convulsive eyes. I could hear the screaming and commotion as my body crushed together. Here was this hero, this savior dying right in front of them. And with me, died the hopes of all humankind. Campbell leaped from the stage and removed a device from inside his coat. Throwing several straps around my chin and forehead, he flipped a switch and I felt a nauseating wave of energy begin to yank and pull at my brain. He leaned close to my ear.

"You will stay alive long enough for to me go back in there, you fuck. I need the information in your head to keep these sheep alive. Can you imagine how powerful I will be then? All I need is the cure and then I'll be finished with your useless husk. Or maybe, I'll keep you alive in a museum, spending every agonizing second being pointed at by school children and people you'll never know. You belong to me, all of you."

I was terrified. I knew all along, I was the fool, the coward. The audacity to think that I, one faceless maggot in a world of feces, could make a difference. Campbell stood and brushed the dirt from his suit. A guard helped him back to the stage and began to speak once again to the murmuring audience.

"People of Phoenix, do not worry. We have secured a way to keep Mr. Bitterman alive until we are able to uncover the formula for ending this plague. I want to thank each and every one of you for your participation in capturing him. The guards will be posted on this very stage to hand out the money we promised after I have left the area. And, of course, you will all be at the top of the list to receive treatment. Thank you again, God bless!"

The mass of traitors erupted in cheers and exaltation as Campbell, the devil himself, waved and walked down the stairs to an awaiting helicopter. I was finished. My fate was to die under the scalpels of Campbell's machines or worse, to be hung up in a display case and fed intravenously for the entertainment of all those we betrayed me. I prayed to a deaf God. My body was mangled and unusable. It was only my mind they wanted. I felt myself being lifted up in a stretcher and carried toward the awaiting vessel. My eyes focused on the people, some laughing and pointing, proud of themselves. Somewhere embracing each other, child and parent, brothers together, triumphant. Then, my gaze fell upon one man, or rather boy. His burning glare pierced the very heart as his fingers clenched into fists and released. A terrible mask of hatred draped over a sweet, youthful face. Through the child’s flowing hair, I could see a boy forced to be a man in a world full of pain and injustice. When I saw him, I thought of myself when I was but a child. I never had the worries he had, nor did I suffer as much. I drifted away from him but I took one final look. It took me a moment to notice that he was now yelling. I couldn't quite make it out over the general noise that filled the air around us. But, then the sounds seemed to yield to his small voice and I heard him say Campbell's name. Campbell had heard him, too. I struggled to crane my broken neck, now numbed by the drugs pumping from the machine on my head. I managed an inch or so and I say Campbell's attention be redirected to the boy. In the interest of public approval, Campbell stepped from the throng of guards and extended his hand to the boy in a hearty greeting. The boy leered up at Campbell and I could see that's when something was wrong. With a strong and determined hand, the boy swung open his dirt-stained trench coat to reveal an elaborate detonation device strapped to his chest. This boy was a walking time bomb. Campbell's guards rushed forth as the young man, no longer a child, grabbed a hold of Campbell and held out the remote detonator in his other hand. The guards froze. I smiled. This was the hero I fantasized, the savior whose name would echo unto infinity.

I finally managed to lean back. I didn't need to see anymore. I was free. After all I had done and all I had meant to do, nothing was in vain. I'd given this boy a chance to get close and make his move. The sky was deep blue, much like the ocean, and I felt myself floating towards it, into its endless depths. The warm sun kissed me for the last time as the heat from the explosive thrust through the air, consuming everything.