Jackson stirs his noodles. “Would you relax?” he says, but he’s pensive, looking at the clock. At around six that night, Jackson says to hell with waiting and gives the old man a call. The gang looks on as the phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then four. On the fifth ring Mr. Hampton picks up the phone.

“I don’t know how you did it,” Mr. Hampton says. “I’ve never slept this good in years.”

“Tell all your friends,” Jackson replies, high-fiving Elliot and then making arrangements to pick up the check.

After he hangs up the phone, Jackson slaps me on the back. “You’ve done good,” he says. “Really good. Now we just need to deal with this.” He taps my head and winks.

I reassure myself that Mr. Hampton is our last client, and that surely no one will ever be foolish enough to call us again, but it doesn’t happen like that. Word spreads fast. We refine our process. Jackson takes the lead even more than before, and the money starts flowing. We don’t think much of it. We just keep going.

I get off the pills, like Jackson suggests. I’m not too happy about it, but Jackson insists there’s no other way. “We need to work as a team,” he says. “And those pills dull your senses.” We’re in the bathroom and he has my pill bottle poised over the toilet. With one nod, that’s all it takes, he tips the plastic bottle and all those beautiful colored pills plop in the water. Flush. Even though I know there are ways to cheat Jackson, I want to make him proud too. Maybe there isn’t anything to be scared of. Maybe the nightmares are all in my head.

More and more clients call. Our business grows. We even appear on the local news and get our photo snapped for the paper, though our smiling faces in the photo are unnaturally pale, making us appear ghoulish and out of place. The reporter asks us questions: “And what sort of training did you receive? Did your mother teach you everything you know?”

Jackson coaches everyone to sound vague, but motivational, so we don’t really answer any questions at all, and surprisingly enough, his plan works. For some reason unforeseen to me, everyone just nods and smiles, accepting what we do, even calling it a whimsical part of the community. Townsfolk shake our hands. “Good job,” they say, making our scheme seem almost okay, even harmless.