Thirteen Days to Midnight

by Patrick Carman

  It made me feel like I would do anything for her.

  “All right,” I said, “we take it slow, nothing too crazy. If we’re lucky Ethan will calm down and Holy Cross will stay open until we graduate. Who am I to stand in the way of saving a few lives along the way?”

  It was decided that Oh would be in charge of the police scanner. Technically it was against the law to listen in and share information you heard with someone else, so we would need to be extremely careful.

  I got up off the floor to stretch what should have been my broken back.

  “Doesn’t it feel strange, knowing you should be dead but finding that you’re not? It’s kind of, I don’t know, invigorating, don’t you think?”

  Oh’s question took me by surprise, because I really hadn’t thought of it that way. I was beginning to take the long view of death. The really long view.

  “Speaking of death, should we show her the Isengrim?” asked Milo. “I think she can be trusted.”

  Milo made a point of pronouncing it with an emphasis on the “eye”: the EYE-Zin-Grim. It was a superb name for an object of curiosity. I’d only ever seen the Isengrim a few times, and after talking to Mr. Coffin I had a whole new set of feelings about it.

  “What’s the Isengrim?” asked Oh.

  Milo was up out of his chair, heading down the ladder.

  “You have to see it to believe it. Come on.”

  Milo went behind the counter and flopped into his mom’s ancient La-Z-Boy. Below the cash register, there was a small safe with one of those dialing locks on the front. Milo’s parents were supposed to be the only ones who knew the combination, but Milo had found it long before I met him, written on the underside of the money tray in the cash register. He spun the dial from memory, and I knew he’d gotten what he was searching for when I heard the sound of jangling keys.

  “Your parents have a lot of things locked up,” said Oh, seeing the twenty or more keys on a silver janitor’s ring in Milo’s hand.

  “It’s all my dad’s doing. He’s like a magnet when it comes to finding weird old stuff.”

  “This isn’t the part where we find the axes and the hammers, is it?” asked Oh.

  Milo and I crossed the store and stood under the loft, where one of the bookshelves was held by monstrous metal hinges. They were painted black and hard to see in the soft light. Milo dropped the ring of keys in my hand and pulled on the side of the shelf, throwing all of his weight toward me. It swung open agonizingly slowly, groaning on hinges that seemed barely able to hold the weight of so many books. A hidden door was revealed behind the shelf.

  “This is so Munsters,” said Oh, watching Milo unlock and pry open the door. “You don’t really expect me to go down there?”

  Milo smiled and started down into the darkness, the stairs creaking under his small frame.

  Oh grabbed my hand like we were about to enter a haunted house on Halloween. She didn’t look at me, only down the stairs as the cold, earthy air drifted into our faces.

  “Is there a light down there?”

  The tinny sound of a chain being pulled against a single bulb echoed up the stairs and the dimmest light crept up toward us.

  “Depends on what you mean by light,” I said.

  “If you guys are setting me up to scare me—”

  “I’d never do that.”

  I guided her down the stairs, holding her hand tight as we passed under low beams. I could feel her tense as I tugged her deeper into the basement.

  “Trust me,” I said, gazing back up at her silhouette. “I haven’t gotten you killed yet, have I?”

  “Come on, you guys, it’s getting lonely down here,” said Milo.

  It was an old basement of cinder block and crumbling masonry. Two of the walls were lined with racks full of items a person might expect to find in a dungeon repair shop. There were shackles, ball and chains, iron bars, and maces. What looked like a portable guillotine on wheels sat in one corner, along with a box shot through with swords.

  Oh looked around the space in a state of nervous curiosity, her eyes scanning a concrete wall filled with posters and images. There was a yellowed and curled image of a man releasing a bird from a box, another of a man spouting a stream of water over a crackling fire, and a collection of posters for fantastic events at theaters around the world.

  “Is that what I think it is?”

  Her eyes had settled on the overpowering object in the middle of the room. All the oddities in the basement faded into oblivion in the imposing presence of the Isengrim.

  “If you think it’s an electrocution device, you got it right,” said Milo. “It’s my dad’s prized possession.”

  “How did you turn out normal?” asked Oh, walking around the oblong, waist-high table. Each side was home to many wooden drawers, but the top was a dead giveaway.

  “Why on earth would anyone build something like this?”

  The top of the table was a sheet of brushed iron or metal. There were clasps for ankles and hands, levers, and wires running along the floor and disappearing under a shelf of junk.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal,” said Milo, the tour guide in him revving up to full speed. “You won’t believe this—hell, I didn’t even believe it—but according to my dad, this thing was Houdini’s idea, some sort of escape trick he was working on right before he died. The idea was he’d lie down and get all shackled to the table, right? Then they’d wire him all up like Frankenstein’s monster and turn this dial to set the clock for three minutes. Once the dial was set, there was no way to turn it off. So if Houdini didn’t escape in three minutes, well, he was toast. Literally.”

  Milo started cycling through the keys and inserted one into the keyhole of one of the many drawers on the side of the Isengrim.

  “See for yourself.”

  Milo had taken out a stack of old papers and laid them out on the metal top of the Isengrim. We all leaned over to look, casting head-shaped shadows from the bulb over our heads. The diagrams were very detailed, showing not only the making of the Isengrim, but the theatrics of the trick itself. The drawings included everything from a test subject to the final escape.

  “Eew,” said Oh.

  “I know, it’s gross, isn’t it?” I said. “First they had to show everyone that it actually worked. Who knew feathers would fly everywhere when you electrocute a chicken?”

  “I think that was part of the problem with the Isengrim,” Milo said, shaking his head. “If he doesn’t make it, everyone has to watch him fry in the theater.”

  “Sounds like something some folks would pay a lot of money to see, actually,” Oh commented.

  Milo put the papers back and shut the drawer, locking it with a key.

  “What’s in the other drawers?” Oh asked.

  “Other stuff my dad collects. Tricks, weapons, cards, old manuscripts, stuff like that.”

  After talking to Mr. Coffin, I saw the Isengrim and everything else in the basement in a different light. I wondered if Mr. Fielding hired Mr. Coffin to find some or all of this stuff. Why he wouldn’t keep it himself, though, was a complete mystery to me.

  “My dad would kill me if he knew we were down here,” said Milo. “Can you imagine what it would be worth if it were the real deal?”

  Oh glanced at Milo, trying to understand. “You’re telling me he built the Isengrim down here? I thought he found it on eBay or something,” said Oh.

  “He used a set of plans. That much I know is true.”

  Oh ran her hand along the sleek metal surface, intrigued. “Does it work?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Hell, no! But here’s the crazy thing,” said Milo, looking at the table and the wires leading away from it. “It could work, know what I mean?”

  We’d tinkered with the Isengrim before—despite knowing what Mr. Coffin would do if he caught us—and we had a pretty good idea what wires would have to go where in order to juice the thing.

  “My dad followed the plans to a certain point, then stopped.
But it’s close. Creepy, huh?”

  Oh seemed to have lost her voice, so Milo kept going.

  “You’d be surprised how much of this kind of thing goes on. There’s like a whole black market for artifacts and lost notebooks and manuscripts. Someone offered him fifty thousand for this thing, but he wouldn’t take it.”

  “I think Mr. Fielding might have known about it,” I blurted out, not really thinking about what I was saying. “It’s possible he even paid your dad to find or build it.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Milo agreed. “He used to come around a lot, before you, I mean. He and my dad were always talking.”

  I nodded, trying to piece things together.

  “What else are you two not telling me?” asked Oh.

  “I didn’t think it mattered before, but it kind of adds up, when you think about it,” I said. “If Mr. Fielding had this power before I did, and thought he could never die… well, then he’d probably have been fascinated with death.”

  Oh pulled out her notebook and began scribbling and mumbling. “You guys are full of surprises….”

  When she was finished, she ran her hands along the Isengrim like she was thinking about making an offer to buy it.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said. “It’s getting late.”

  Milo pulled the chain on the light, and Oh fumbled for my hand. Thanks, Milo, I owe you one. The only light that remained flooded in softly from the store above, showing us the way out. Milo started up the stairs as Oh put her arms around my neck and pulled me into a hug. Her cast lay stiff and heavy on my shoulder.

  I felt her soft breath on my neck and pulled her closer.

  “Get up here, you guys!” Milo yelled down the stairs.

  Oh pulled away and we locked eyes on each other.

  “Foiled again,” I said.

  NINE

  DAYS TO

  MIDNIGHT

  FRIDAY, OCTOBER 12TH

  On Friday at two AM, all hell broke loose.

  I woke to the sound of my phone vibrating. I’m not in the habit of sleeping with my phone, but Oh insisted. She wanted to make sure I could respond if something really bad came up on the police scanner.

  I stared into the blue light of my cell phone.

  Fire. Get up!

  I bolted out of bed and sat on the windowsill, where the cold window touched my bare shoulder blade. I started typing out an answer, but couldn’t finish before the phone went off in my hand, a call coming in from Oh.

  “Give it to me!” she yelled into the phone.

  “Slow down, Oh—what’s going on?”

  “You’re going to be too late! Just send it! Now!”

  My head was receiving confusing signals. She needed the power, something was wrong, I wanted to trust her…

  But I didn’t want to give up what I had.

  “Please, Oh—just tell me where you are. You’re scaring me. What’s the situation? Is everyone safe?”

  “No, everyone’s not safe! I’m standing in front of my building and it’s on fire. Give it to me!”

  “I can be there in ten minutes if I run. I’m fast—”

  “Jacob—God—ten minutes and it’ll be too late. I’m going in. Do whatever you want.”

  “Is the fire department there?” I asked, pulling on a pair of jeans.

  No answer. Oh had hung up.

  “Dammit, Oh!” I yelled. This turned out to be a terrible idea in a quiet house full of retired priests. There was a knock at my door as I pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of shoes, locked my mind on Oh’s face, and said the words.

  You are indestructible.

  Father Tim opened the door looking sleepy-eyed and worried.

  “What’s going on? Bad dream?” he asked.

  “Come on,” I said urgently, and brushed past him. “I need a ride to Oh’s building! Please?”

  Father Tim knew me well enough to know something bad was going down. As we walked along the hallway, a door opened and one of the old guys peered out, wondering what all the fuss was about.

  “Back to bed, George—everything’s fine,” I heard Father Tim say.

  We raced to the parking lot, and I tried to call Oh back, but got nothing but her flirty voice mail greeting.

  “You got Oh—leave a message or don’t—I’m good either way.”

  “Jacob, what’s this all about?”

  Father Tim was digging in his robe pockets, searching for a pack of Salems as we backed out of the parking lot.

  “Oh’s apartment complex is on fire. She just called me.”

  Father Tim lit a smoke and hit the gas harder than I thought was prudent for a priest with something way shy of 20/20 vision. The cigarette dangled from his lips, and I felt the first overpowering sting of secondhand smoke in my nose.

  “Did she call you? Is she in the building?”

  “I’m not sure where she is,” I said, rolling down my window and letting the cold misty air swirl into the car.

  I kept calling for ten blocks until we arrived in front of the apartment complex and saw flames licking up the side of one of the buildings, black smoke rolling on white siding.

  My phone buzzed with a text message. Milo. Why in the world was he texting me at two AM?

  In trouble. send diamond

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said.

  “What? What’s wrong?” asked Father Tim as he slammed on the brakes in the parking lot and we both got out. Fire trucks and cop cars lined the street.

  My thumbs flew over the keypad. Can’t. call me!

  The air was already heavy with rain, and the fire made it feel thick at the back of my throat. There were four free-standing buildings in all with the parking lot in the middle. Oh’s building hadn’t caught fire, but the one right next to it was in serious trouble. Gawkers were standing everywhere, but I didn’t see Oh.

  “Is anyone in there?” I yelled.

  “Just stay back!” yelled a police officer. “They’ve got it under control.”

  “My cat’s in there,” a lady in a ratty coat mumbled.

  “Screw your cat, lady!” said an overweight older man in a T-shirt, boxer shorts, and black socks.

  “Hey! My cat matters to me, okay?” the woman barked back, her voice shaking.

  Father Tim, used to taking some level of control as a man of the cloth, stood between the two of them, speaking softly. “Are there any people inside?”

  “My daughter is!” I whirled around and saw Oh’s mom, a look of terror on her face.

  “Ms. Henderson ain’t been seen,” said another man. “I told her not to take a room up there. She can barely make the stairs.”

  “How many are in there after them?” I asked.

  “Don’t know, three, maybe four firemen went in a few minutes ago,” commented one of the onlookers.

  My phone rang. Milo. I couldn’t deal with this.

  Meanwhile, the power wanted back in. I could feel it, burning my chest as if it was heating up. I knew Oh was in there because I could feel it was in there with her. But it was still all I could do not to say the words and get it back.

  The phone stopped ringing. Whatever trouble Milo was in, he’d have to figure it out on his own.

  The crowd erupted in shouts, and I glanced at the second floor where a hose was firing water into a window. Oh’s head poked out from the flames, inexplicably untouched. She stared out into the night like a phantom, then disappeared as if she’d been pulled back inside.

  As smoke billowed from the window, my phone buzzed three times with a text. I looked numbly at the screen.

  E and B came after me. they’re gone. it’s 2 late. keep it. thanks a lot bro.

  No way. A two am run on Milo’s house? Insane. And besides, what could I have done? This was life or death—if I take the power from Oh, she’s dead in there. And I was completely useless to help him without the power. No diamond, no protection.

  The crowd lurched forward and right past the police officer as Oh emerged out o
f the smoke on the exterior stairs leading to the first floor.

  “Oh my God,” shrieked her mom, running past everyone until she was stopped by a fireman directly in front of the building. “Let me go!” She was wailing for Oh, punching and kicking the fireman who wouldn’t let her get any closer. A police officer stepped in and wrapped his arms around Oh’s mom, holding her still as she sobbed.

  “It’s okay, Ma! I’m fine! Calm down!” Oh shouted.

  Two firemen approached her as she crept slowly down the outer stairwell, holding hands with an old woman who was holding a cat in one arm. The cat leaped free and ran into the brush beside the building as the firemen grabbed for Oh and the lady, pulling them out into the open parking lot. Three more firemen poured out of the building, one of them signaling that the place was now empty.

  “Oh!” I yelled, breaking through the crowd and running past her mom. No one tried to stop me. Oh’s shirt was scorched, her bra exposed. I pulled off my sweatshirt and approached her bare-chested and shivering.

  “You’re okay,” I said.

  I put the open circle of my sweatshirt over Oh’s head as her mom came running, finally free to embrace her daughter. Her mom sobbed and kept saying “Are you okay?” and “Why did you do that?” over and over again. Looking over her mom’s shoulder, her face wet with tears, Oh mouthed two words:

  Thank you.

  I nodded with a light smile, pulling the power back into myself and feeling its force surge through my veins.

  When I looked at Oh again, I was surprised to find her gaze had changed. There was a kind of simmering rage in those flaming eyes of hers, like I’d taken something precious that belonged to her.

  I pointed gently to my chest and whispered, “I have it. Don’t go in there again.”

  She nodded and the angry look vanished as she clung closer to her mom. They’d just survived another catastrophe.

  I felt the warmth of clothing on my back and shivered, awakened to the fact that I’d been standing in the drizzling rain without a shirt on. Father Tim had taken off his frizzy blue robe and draped it over my shoulders.