[ WP ] `` I do n't sleep . '' He/She said .

Arthur Harwell paused mid-sentence and looked over the top of his glasses at the woman in the chair. “ I ’ m sorry, could you repeat that, Ms. Briggs? ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t sleep, ” she said, still staring at the floor. “ And please, call me Jessica. ” 
 
 “ Very well. ” Harwell made a note on his clipboard. “ Now Jessica, what do you mean by that? ” 
 
 “ By what? It ’ s pretty straightforward, isn ’ t it? ” 
 
 “ If you could just tell me more about— ” 
 
 “ What ’ s there to tell? ” 
 
 “ There are many factors that can interrupt the sleep cycle, ” Harwell continued, his voice even and calm. *Patience is the key to the whole process. Without it, I ’ ll be lucky if I learn anything useful. * “ Have you had trouble getting to sleep recently? Do you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night? ” 
 
 “ No no no, nothing like that, ” Jessica said. 
 
 “ Nightmares, perhaps? ” 
 
 “ No. ” 
 
 Harwell looked across the table again, eyebrows raised. “ Ms. Briggs, everyone sleeps— ” 
 
 “ I don ’ t. And it ’ s Jessica. ” 
 
 “ Forgive me, Jessica, ” Harwell corrected himself, “ but you have to understand my confusion. What you ’ re suggesting is simply impossible. ” He watched her carefully, anticipating the reaction. His accusation was met by motionless silence. 
 
 “ How long has it been since you last slept? ” Harwell asked, breaking the tension. 
 
 “ Six years. ” 
 
 It took all of Harwell ’ s concentration to keep the shock from showing on his face. *Six years! * The longest documented case of sleep deprivation topped out at eleven days. *If this is true…* But he couldn ’ t worry about that now. He had a job to do. 
 
 “ And what caused you to stop sleeping? ” 
 
 “ Dunno, really. ” Jessica shrugged. “ I just woke up one morning and that was that. ” 
 
 “ And you haven ’ t slept since? ” 
 
 She shook her head. “ Positive. ” 
 
 “ How can you be so sure? ” 
 
 For the first time since he ’ d entered the room, Jessica looked up. Her eye sockets were sunken pits, hollowed out enough for Harwell to see space between the lids and the eyes themselves. Each eye was so horribly bloodshot the psychologist could barely make out the pupils in the crimson mess. All manner of color had long since departed from their cores, leaving nothing but pinpricks of the deepest black. 
 
 “ Because, ” Jessica Briggs replied, fidgeting with the fabric of her orange jumpsuit, “ I remember everything. ”
