Eleven Twenty-Three (28 page)

Julie stands in the kitchen hovering over an
ancient Tylenol bottle that she pries open and reaches into for a
Xanax. Jasmine asks if she can have one and Julie hands her two.
They smile almost imperceptibly to each other and place the pills
on their parched tongues. Both girls turn to face me and I notice
that Jasmine’s t-shirt has been ripped at the shoulder and her
jacket is spotted not with blood, but with something green and
black and so foul-smelling that I can detect it even from here.

“What’s the plan?” Mark repeats. “Don’t we
need to know what’s happening exactly before we start making
decisions on the best way to handle it? I mean, all I’ve seen is a
bunch of totally random people lose it today twice.”

“At eleven twenty-three,” Tara says in
monotone from the table. “It happened at eleven twenty-three both
times.”

I sip my coffee, making numerological
connections. I’ve encountered the number 23 before while bored and
surfing the Internet at Kennedy High School.

The writer William Burroughs once related an
incident in Tangier in which a sea captain named Clark bragged that
in all his 23 years at sea, he’d never had a single accident or
lost a single crewman. That very same day Clark’s vessel sank,
killing everyone aboard, including Clark. That night while
ruminating on the captain’s poor luck and how cruel irony could be,
Burroughs just happened to hear a radio broadcast reporting the
crash of a certain Flight 23 back in America. There were no
survivors. As if these separate synchronistic incidents were not
enough, the pilot of the doomed airliner was also a man named
Clark.

And so the 23 enigma was born.

“What is it?” Jasmine is asking. “Like an
alarm going off or something?”

“We don’t know why or what it is precisely
that’s going on,” Hajime says. “But it
did
happen at eleven
twenty-three. The first time I’m not certain about but the second
time I checked and on the clock in my car it was eleven
twenty-three when Mitsu—when everyone lost it.”

Mitsuko offers her brother a half-smile of
gratitude. He nods.

“So we could probably assume that it will
continue to happen every time it’s eleven twenty-three,” Mark says.
“Right?”

“For now I certainly would,” Hajime agrees.
“This means that in about eight hours it’s going to happen again
and there’s no way to know who it will affect. It could be anyone
in this room, and probably will be. It could be me or Tara or Mark
or Julie—and don’t forget about all the other people in Lilly’s End
that we may have to contend with.”

“How long did it last?” I mutter. “How long
was everyone out of it? This afternoon it seemed like a long time
but it probably wasn’t. Just a few minutes maybe.”

“It couldn’t have been too long,” Mark says.
“When everything calmed down I looked back at the clock and only
about thirteen or fourteen minutes had gone by.”

“Maybe it lasts eleven minutes and
twenty-three seconds,” Tara says, looking out the window. “Maybe
that time is everything.”

“But why?” Mitsuko asks.

“Why what?” her brother says. “Why that exact
number? It kind of looks familiar to me, but who knows. Ask one of
the gas mask men standing on the outskirts of town. Maybe they know
and would be kind enough to fill us in.”

“Which leads to our second major problem,”
Tara chimes in. “Layne tried leaving from both the north and south
ends of town, and also the far west side past Mangrove Path. There
are soldiers posted and helicopters—it looked like the
48
^th
Parallel out there. They’re saying this is a
quarantine and that it’s for our own safety.”

“
Thirty-eighth
Parallel, Tara,” I
correct. “Well, they’re definitely not letting anyone leave. I
watched them open fire on a group that tried to make their way past
the barricade. It’s hopeless on the roads. I’m pretty sure they’d
be using heat seeking equipment in the helicopters.”

“But you don’t know?” Julie says, filling a
glass with water from the faucet.

“No,” I admit. “I don’t know. We should look
into it further. But I did see boats offshore and lots of mean men
in uniforms and dogs barking, so—”

“So what you’re saying is that we’re not
leaving. Right?”

“Not for the moment, no. We are obviously
dealing with a faction of our own government here—”

“Who must be wielding
unfathomable
power and influence, if they’re able to seal off the town, cut our
phone lines, sever our Internet servers, take over the airwaves,
and
keep the news stations at bay,” Hajime says. “So to be
honest, all political statements aside, I don’t know what we’re
expecting here, guys.”

The room goes quiet after Hajime’s assessment
and everyone lets the gravity of the situation settle in. Mitsuko
takes a hit from the pipe and begins coughing fitfully.

“So what the hell?” she chokes. “Forget about
the dark government shit for a second, Hajime. What do we do about
the impending situation eight hours from now?”

“What
can
we do, honey?” Mark says.
“We can’t stop time. If this whole disaster revolves around it
being eleven twenty-three, we’re going to have to just accept that
in a few hours, some of us in this room are going to go crazy and
probably try to start some shit.”

“Or just kill themselves,” Tara whispers.

“We have to contend with that too,” Hajime
adds. “When those affected can’t find a victim, they immediately
turn on themselves. We saw it at the funeral this morning.”

“You mean yesterday morning.”

“Whatever, Tara. Spare me.”

Lit cigarettes. Julie asks for a hit from the
bowl. Chloe turns the television off, sighs.

“That’s
bullshit!
” Mark suddenly
yells, stomping away from us and into the living room. “That is
fucking bullshit!”

“Yeah, well, what do you want to hear, bro?”
Hajime asks steadily, exhaling smoke through his nose. “I didn’t
think we would need to sugarcoat it for you.”

“Then we are in a completely hopeless
situation, guys,” he says, pacing. “Do you realize that? You don’t
know who it’s going to be that goes after you, so you can’t just go
around and tie them up or put them in a straight jacket at
eleven-fifteen or something. And then, even if you manage to get
away from someone who’s trying to kill you, as soon as you get out
of their reach they kill
themselves
? Is that what’s
happening? Is that
really
the situation?”

“It looks like it,” someone says from the
kitchen.

“Then it’s pointless to even try and fight
it. This town is dead where it stands.”

“I’ve been calling it the still point,” Tara
says.

“How can you say that?” Mitsuko asks her
husband, stunned. “How can you make some sweeping judgment call
like that when I’m still standing here now? When Layne is still
standing here now?”

“Because next time,
honey
, it may be
me
going after
you
. That’s why. It may be your own
brother over there. It may be Tara or Jasmine or Layne. It could be
all of us at once. Don't you get it? Even if you manage to escape
from me and I don’t gouge your eyeballs out, then I may smash my
head into a wall instead. If any one of us escapes and isolates
themselves from anyone else, then we can’t be there to protect them
when they turn it on themselves.”

“That’s what makes this impossible to deal
with,” Jasmine says, getting it now. “You can’t isolate yourself
from the ones you care about, but you can’t be around them when the
time comes either. It’s a totally hopeless scenario. Your husband
is right.”

“It’s a paradox,” I whisper to myself,
glancing down at the briefcase.

“So what then?” Tara says, standing up from
the table. “I listened to this same rant a few hours ago after
Layne had seen the blockades outside of town, so I’m really not in
the mood to hear it again. Layne is still here. Mitsuko is still
here. This…situation…can be dealt with. It
can
. We just have
to learn the ins and outs. Then we can form a plan to get out of
here. This is
our
hometown, guys. Who knows it better than
we do? There’s definitely a chance.”

“Yeah, you go draw up the schematics on
that,” Mark says, waving her off. “I’m going to sit on this big
comfy couch and ruminate over just how ass-raped we are.”

He plops himself down on the sofa and
inspects one of the bruises his wife left on his arm.

“It’s almost four in the morning,” Julie says
quietly. “If this thing is going to happen in a few hours, I’d like
to pretend like I can sleep first. I’d rather deal with this
tomorrow—in the daylight.”

“You mean today,” Tara corrects again.

“Tara, don’t be a bitch,” Julie warns.

“I’d be apt to agree with her about the sleep
thing,” Jasmine nods.

“What if the power goes out?” Mitsuko asks.
“What if it goes out and we wake up and it’s already time?”

“I’m not worried about that,” Julie says. “I
don’t think this girl will be sleeping much tonight. I just want to
lie down and not talk for a while.”

“Julie and I have enough room for everyone, I
think,” Tara says on cue. “There are blankets and sleeping bags in
the hall closet, and Layne can grab pillows from Miranda’s room. We
have a foldout couch here, the recliners—”

“Maybe we should go home,” Mitsuko says to
her husband. “What do you think?”

“
No
,” Hajime says. “Not tonight. You
can go back to your place tomorrow if you want, but tonight
everyone is staying in the same place. And it’s not up for debate,
Sis.”

“Well…there it is,” Mark says. “Do you want
to take the fold-out in here, honey?”

I shamble off to Miranda’s room and slip
inside. I try to close the door behind me but the briefcase blocks
it and I have to pull the bulky thing completely into the room.
There’s still blood coagulated on the floor and on the otherwise
very comfortable-looking bed. The room is lit in blue and the
little gimcracks and trophies and stuffed animals seem to weep
pensively to themselves. I grab the pillows that aren’t speckled
with blood (and one with only a small stain on the corner) and
immediately evacuate the room, knowing that no one will sleep here
tonight. The door closes against the briefcase again and in my
exhaustion mumble a non-existent swear word. I think it’s a cross
between “shit” and “cunt.”

“Chloe is going to sleep in our room tonight,
okay?” Tara says when I meet her in the hallway.

“That’s fine,” I nod. “Let her share the bed
with you.”

“We can all fit in there if we need to,
Layne. You don’t have to be so valiant. Besides, don’t you think
you need some sleep? It’s been just a bit too real today.”

“I’ve already slept. I was asleep when my
mother died, remember?”

“That’s not the kind of sleep I was talking
about, Sunshine. Look, are you going to be one of those guys that’s
hell-bent on blaming themselves for something terrible they had no
control over, in addition to always making worst-case scenarios out
of every situation that arises? Is that what this is? Because if
that’s the case, I’d just like to know now so I can find a new
source of emotional support. My parents died too, Layne.
Remember?”

“I tell you what, Tara. The day that we
escape from this mess and are sitting on a plane bound for
somewhere far away from the End, I will grant myself full clemency
from what happened tonight and always see the glass as half-full.
Until then, let the self-loathing begin.”

“Do you intend to bring that damn case with
you into bed tonight?” she asks, looking down at the handle
clenched in my grip and the coil hanging limply between the metal
plating and my wrist. “If you do, then go ahead and grab another
sleeping bag, because you
are
taking the floor.”

“Let’s just see what happens the next time
it’s eleven twenty-three,” I mutter. “If I still lose it like
tonight then I’ll get someone to take it off.”

“And if you don’t? I mean, I definitely think
that thing is bad news and you’re just as liable to turn later as
anyone else. But
hypothetically
, what happens if somehow the
text messages were right and that briefcase spares you from
succumbing to whatever it is that’s making people lose it?”

“If I don’t go crazy but everyone else still
does, you mean?”

Tara nods.

“Then I’m probably going to die anyway and it
won’t matter. Let’s just wait and see.”

I head back into the living room and hand the
two salvaged pillows to the couple, both of whom are attempting to
unfold the bed from under the couch. Mitsuko inspects her pillow,
spots the small bloodstain on it, and immediately trades Mark.
Jasmine follows Julie to her room to share a bed and we can hear
their whispers like mice scratching inside the walls. Mitsuko
groans and looks at her older brother.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

“In the recliner,” he says. “But not yet. I’m
going to stay up for a bit.”

“You’re going to be tired tomorrow,” Mark
says.

“Before today all I did was sleep. I have
reserves.”

Mark notices me standing uselessly in the
middle of the living room, looking at Hajime and back to Mitsuko
and Mark and then down at the floor, at my singed shoe laces.
Mitsuko and her husband climb awkwardly into the pullout bed, the
metal supports creaking and clunking underneath them.

“Layne—are you staying up too?” Mitsuko asks.
“It makes me nervous for you to stand over me while I’m unconscious
and everyone is killing each another. Label me paranoid, if you
want.”

“Yeah, man, you should get some sleep,” Mark
suggests.

I take a deep breath, gaze idly past the
confines of the house to the darkness outside.

“Layne? What’s the deal, man?”