Russian Sleep Project Novels & Stories

Except for the sound of her falling apart in the dark. Her breathing hitches again. A cough. Then silence. A long one. My heart strains listening for the next breath, afraid it won’t come. I know she's asleep when I don't hear any hiccups, nothing but her muttering incoherent Russian like she does most nights. Sometimes, it's as if she's reciting her little shows, expressing some regret for enjoying them.

Even if we’re in the house. I walk up to my room. I close the door and lay down on my bed. I think I might just take a nap. ========= “Sofia, Sofia…” Alexsei’s rough Russian accent has me jumping in fright. I sit up on the bed. “What’s going on?” I look out the window, it’s dark out. “Sofia, were you dreaming about something unpleasant?” he asks. I frown shaking my head. “I wasn’t having a nightmare at least…” I think back on the nightmares that have been plaguing me over the last couple of years.

For a brief, fragile moment, she lay still, listening to the muffled sounds of the house coming alive—soft footsteps, distant murmurs, the low hum of security systems recalibrating. She sat up, pressing a hand to her chest as she exhaled deeply. Sleep had offered little refuge. Her dreams had been crowded with shadows and unfinished conversations, with Viktor’s steady gaze and Serov’s unseen presence looming just beyond reach. There was no clear line between rest and readiness anymore; everything blended into one long state of awareness.

It should be morning already in Russia. Stalin picks up, quickly. “Dima, what’s good?” He asks in Russian. With the way he sounds; sleepy and mild, I know he’s just waking up. “I need you to research something for me.” I gush, not giving him time to ask questions, I continue. “Research about this man…” I parrot the name my prisoner just gave me. ** My skin is blazing, fire licking my veins from the inside, coating my tanned skin with beads of sweat which all but drops on the hardwood floor as I incessantly do push-ups. Akim’s voice is counting the number of times I’ve done the push-up.

He said softly, "I want to sleep." Then, he closed his eyes. His breathing began to turn slow. He'd fallen asleep already? Larissa was shocked at how quickly he fell asleep. The country had 300 million young people with sleeping disorders. Ross' ability to fall asleep quickly would've made insomniacs so envious. Larissa changed her posture and piggy-backed Ross instead. She hailed a cab and checked in at a random hotel. Larissa wasn't sure if she sensed things correctly. But she felt like someone had been watching them this entire time.

"Sergei isn't here. Nobody is here. It's three in the morning and we just had possibly the best moussaka of either of our lives and everything is fine." I almost smiled. "The moussaka was exceptional." "The moussaka was exceptional." He guided me back to lying down, shifting so I was against his chest. His arms wrapped around me. "Close your eyes." "I can't sleep." "You don't have to sleep. All I need you to do is close your eyes and breathe." I closed my eyes, his heartbeat steady under my ear but sleep was very far from me. "Talk to me," I said. "I don't care what. Just talk."

“Yeah but that″ she pointed over to him. “Is a fucking beautiful specimen of a man he has to be an exception no?” “No no exceptions.” “You’re crazy like seriously crazy. When was the last time you even had sex?” Her hand was on her hip now another grasped around a bottle. “Ages ago, but that’s irrelevant.” “No it isn’t!” She nearly shouted. “Give him your number, let him fuck you silly and go on your merry way. Where is he from? He don’t look like many of the others.” “Russia.” “Oh shit his Russian?! Seriously Harper, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

I don't leave the building unless I decide to grab lunch off-campus. After the fifth night, I took pity on Roman and told him he would be more comfortable sleeping in the guest bedroom. He initially chafed at the offer but eventually caved. Instead of a nightmare waking me up that first night, I barely slept knowing he was twenty feet down the hall from me. The last two nights have been better. Uneventful. The nightmares have abated. I hope the situation with the Russians will be resolved soon, so both of us can get back to our lives and away from each other. I'm not sure how much longer I can go on with Roman underfoot.

He was increasing the amount they were paid to sniff out ever less important items. "Mr. Russo," I started off hesitantly, "there's something you ought to be aware of. I've been doing some research, and I believe I've uncovered something that might be of assistance to us. Russo's eyebrows furrowed in surprise, and he looked at me with a mixture of wonder and doubt in his eyes. He encouraged her to continue. "Go on," he murmured. Is fatigue an illness?

‘I mean, they’ve been in a coma-like state for a while now, that means they don’t need quite so much food and water. ‘Like being in hibernation, you mean?’ offered Strauss. ‘Yeah. But the human body still needs sustenance to survive. And he looks pretty healthy to me.’ Bridget caught herself. ‘Apart from the obvious, of course.’ Strauss cocked his head. ‘It’s entirely possible. I guess we’ll see when I take a closer look at these samples, won’t we?’ What was concerning him more than that was Bridget’s comment from earlier. If these Sleepers, for want of a better word, were in cocoons, what would happen when the secretion had finished whatever it was doing to them? Would they really be replac