Any Second

by Kevin Emerson

  Thank you for telling me about what I said at the DOL. I didn’t remember, but there are weird gaps in that day for me. And it might have seemed like I was being really brave, but here’s the thing: I was totally terrified. And ever since, I’ve been pretty messed up. But I guess I did know that I wasn’t going to let go of your hand. I wasn’t going to die. (Though funny story: while we were standing there I also had to pee so bad that at one point I was considering asking the officers to, like, get a bucket and pull down my pants and how insane is it that I was thinking about that while we were stuck to a bomb and why wouldn’t my body just know that and shut up? Was pee really more important than survival?) Okay, I kind of wish I could erase those last sentences. Curse you and your ancient ink-and-paper technology! (That’s a joke. No curses. And paper is cool! It smells nice. Ah! More deleting!)

  Anyway I know what you mean about it feeling like it will never get better. I’ve kinda felt like that my whole life. Even the sun is going to die someday, and Earth will be gone, and all the stars will go out. I don’t know what to do about the fact that each moment will leave us and never come back. Sometimes it feels like what’s the point if everything is just loss? Ah, sorry, morbid! Also, maybe that sounds stupid. You’ve been through a lot more than I have.

  Okay, I am rambling! Hey, so I like being pen pals. I’ve never had one! Wish we could hang out, though. I saw you at Bauhaus again the other night and was trying to figure out how to get a message to you. Tucked in someone’s panini? Flung with some kind of slingshot? Mouse courier? I saw one in there once. Just a mouse. Can’t confirm its courier status. Okay, write back soon!—M

  P.S. Don’t be sorry about last year. I mean, if we were dead and in heaven together I’d definitely be giving you a serious guilt trip, but since we survived, no hard feelings. It’s not your fault I don’t have a thicker skin.

  P.P.S. Kinda want to delete that P.S.

  P.P.P.S. But then do you ever think about how many tiny things had to line up to put us in that exact moment that afternoon? Every single minute that had to go the way it did? For like hours and days and years? Sometimes on Doctor Who they talk about certain events being TIME-LOCKED, like you can’t change them, and on the show it’s really just a plot device so that you can’t fix everything, but what I’m saying is, quantum theory would state that there were infinite variables and infinite possible ways that afternoon could have gone, and I bet most of them would have ended up with us dying, but the way it went, no matter how hard it’s been, it got us out of there alive, therefore I hereby deem it TIME-LOCKED. (Did I mention I’m a Time Lord?) So no more apologies, okay?

  P.P.P.P.S. Jeez now you must think I’m the biggest nerd.

  P.P.P.P.P.S. Sorry this letter is so long!

  P.P.P.P.P.P.S. Bye!

  Eli had already read the note at least five times since he’d found it after lunch—though not right when he found it, because he’d been with Graham.

  Graham didn’t know about the letters. It had seemed better not to tell him.

  Eli folded it carefully and tucked it into the pencil pocket of his binder. Then he looked out the window and felt a rush. They were heading north and west and weaving through steep, sloping roads. Earlier, they’d passed a sign carved in a large rock welcoming them to the Blue Ridge neighborhood. The houses were massive, full of giant windows looking north, where the land fell away to the silver expanse of Puget Sound. High gray and lavender clouds mirrored the water, just touching the tips of the Olympic Mountains in the distance. He thought of Maya on a beach somewhere out there, looking at this same body of water. She would probably be able to describe it in some really cool way. Could they message by orca courier? She would like that joke.

  “I think this is it,” said Pearson. They pulled up to a light blue two-story house, large compared to Eli’s, but that wasn’t saying much. Smaller than the other houses on this street.

  “We’ll have an officer keeping watch,” Pearson said. “You have my number, right?”

  “Yeah.” Eli’s nerves buzzed. He hadn’t expected any of them to agree to the sleepover. But after Graham’s performance at the gym, Mom had actually made the call to his parents, glass of wine in hand. They’d gotten along fine, and after that it was just about assigning an officer to watch the house.

  Pearson reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “This will be fun.” She pointed behind them. “Officer Warren is right there.”

  Eli saw a white car parked a few houses up.

  “Have a good time, okay?”

  “Thanks.” Eli got out. Graham appeared at the door and waved as Pearson drove away. The swelling around his eye had mostly gone down. Only a slight purpleness with yellowed edges. The bandage was off his chin, just a scab there.

  “I was afraid she was going to come in,” Graham said as Eli came up the steps. “That would have been awkward.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Just, police are always looking at you weird, you know? Like they’re always on the job.”

  Eli cocked his head. “She’s not like that.”

  “Come on,” said Graham. “You don’t think every time she’s with you, every word you say, she’s not listening for a sign that you might be about to go bomber again? Hell, she’s probably taping your conversations.”

  Eli shrugged. That had never occurred to him.

  “Either that or they’re waiting for their bait to finally work.” Graham motioned to the car up the street.

  “Bait?”

  “Yeah, it’s obvious, isn’t it? The real reason they’re watching you all the time is because they’re hoping that Gabriel will come after you and they can get him.”

  Eli’s head swam. “They don’t think I’m bait.”

  Graham patted his shoulder. “Sorry, man, but they do. They don’t care about you. They care about him. Keeping you safe doesn’t get them promotions or news interviews. Catching Gabriel? That gets you played by Brad Pitt in a movie.”

  Eli’s heart sped up. It made perfect sense. How had he never thought of it? Had his mom? Melissa? Did they all know and they’d just never told him?

  “Think about it this way,” Graham said. “Did anyone really try that hard to find out your identity last year? No. All the news reports were about who Gabriel was. How he could do what he did. Criminal profilers, psychologists, and on and on. We’re obsessed with the criminal mind, because we all wonder if we’re capable of the same thing. If we’ve got a monster inside us somewhere. But of course we do. Because what we really like is thinking about how we’d do the crime better. How we wouldn’t get caught. Anyway, you were just the tool. And now you’re the bait.”

  “They cared about Maya.”

  “A little bit,” said Graham. “That’s another thing we like: heroes, especially ones that are a little sexy and vulnerable. Did you hear that rumor that she hooked up with Bob Borkner from King Five News?”

  “No.”

  “But even then, Maya’s like a feel-good sidenote. Gabriel is the headline story.”

  Bait.

  “Shit. I didn’t mean to upset you. God, I’m an idiot. Hey, screw them, right? I don’t think of you that way. So they hope Gabriel will come back. Maybe they’re even hoping he’ll show up here tonight. Course he’d better be ready if he tries to mess with us, right?”

  Eli pushed a smile to his lips. Hands in fists to keep from shaking. “Do you still have the gun?”

  “Of course. I put it back in my brother’s room. But it’s there if we need it.”

  Eli remembered the weight. The kick. “Can we shoot it again?”

  “Nah,” said Graham. “My parents are going to be around all night. Speaking of which, they’re standing around like dumbasses in the kitchen waiting to meet you.” He tugged Eli’s sleeve. “Come on.”

  Eli glanced up the street aga
in at the waiting car. Not watching. Waiting. He wanted to go over there and tell them to leave. Not going to be someone’s bait.

  We could take care of them together, Gabriel said. When I come back. We’ll show them.

  Shut up.

  “Hey, man, come on!” Graham called from inside.

  Eli entered and walked down the hall. There was a set of photos of Graham and his brother and parents on one side, Graham a little younger. Professional, taken at some bridge in the woods somewhere. Everyone smiling. On the opposite wall were framed pieces of artwork by Graham and Jules when they were little. The kitchen beyond was wide and bright, skylights, an open bar into a living room and dining room area. A bay window with a view of the sound. Everything clean.

  “Mom, Dad,” said Graham, “this is Eli.”

  They stood by the counter waiting to greet him. Graham’s dad in khakis and a black sweater, his mom in jeans and a nice plaid shirt. Both introduced themselves by their first names, Darren and Heidi, shook his hand in a weirdly formal way. Maybe just like he was an adult. Or like they were being careful not to make him blow up.

  “Graham said you guys have been having a great time on Tech Squad,” said Heidi.

  “Yeah,” said Eli.

  A pause.

  “I’m glad you two found each other,” said Darren. “We’re always encouraging Graham to be more social.”

  “Aw shucks, Dad,” said Graham. “I can’t be Mr. Straight As and Mr. Popular.”

  A half smile from Darren. “When was the last time we saw straight As, again?”

  “Eighth grade, third quarter,” said Graham.

  “The good ol’ days,” added Heidi.

  “Back before I realized that school was just a tool of the plutocracy!”

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Darren’s smile had dimmed.

  “Anyway, I told you,” Graham went on. “Eli’s just…different. It’s a relief from all the other kids.”

  “There’s my sensitive sweetie.” Heidi reached over and ruffled Graham’s head.

  “Yup, that’s me.” Graham made a sheepish grin that reminded Eli of when Graham met his mom.

  “Well, we don’t want to keep you guys,” said Darren. “I know Graham is anxious to show you the new Xbox prerelease I brought home from the office. We’ll do dinner in two hours or so, okay? I’m grilling salmon. Do you eat that, Eli?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Perfect,” said Heidi. “Well, have fun!”

  They headed downstairs to a carpeted basement room, with an L-shaped couch and a huge TV.

  “We can blow up some alien hordes”—Graham lowered his voice and reached behind the couch—“while we hit this.” He held up a slim rectangular bottle of Captain Morgan spiced rum. “I’ll go get Cokes. You up for that?”

  Eli nodded. Sure.

  Graham hurried out, and Eli sat on the couch. Looked at the small window high on the wall.

  Bait.

  “Here we go.” Graham returned with two cans and put one on the table. He popped the other open, drank a few gulps, then poured the rum in. He handed the can to Eli and prepared the other one.

  “Cheers,” he said, “to pulling off this sleepover right under their noses.”

  They clinked cans and drank. The rum had a spicy-sweet smell. Eli winced at the burning sensation.

  “Have you drank before?” asked Graham.

  “Not really.” There was one time, sort of: when his dad made a rare appearance on his birthday. He’d already been drinking—as usual—and at one point handed his half-finished beer to Eli. Might make you feel better, he’d said, opening another. Eli had only taken a few sips before pouring it out. It had tasted terrible. And stressed him out. His mother’s wineglass did the same. He couldn’t help feeling like they were all drinking because of him.

  This was different, though. What normal kids did.

  “We’ll take it slow and steady,” said Graham.

  They started the new game called Colony 17. You were part of a squad of Metrotroopers that got ambushed by these cyborg alien creatures while investigating a destroyed colony on another planet. They ducked and soared and fired their way through exploding rooms, gore, screams, and now and then, beautiful space vistas.

  Eli could feel the alcohol seeping into him. By the end of the second spiked Coke, his vision had streaks. His thoughts became surprisingly uncluttered and floaty. As they torched a nest of aliens with an upgraded flamethrower, he thought, Fuck bait, fuck Gabriel, and it brought a smile to his lips.

  “Here,” Graham said sometime after that, handing him an unopened can. “Seltzer water. Gotta sober up a bit before we eat. You good?”

  “Good,” said Eli.

  He was nearly silent through dinner, a slight headache setting in. No, he wasn’t doing any clubs yet. Yes, he liked the Seahawks. What his mom did, where his sister went to school…

  Darren and Heidi talked a lot about this family trip they’d recently taken to Thailand. Heidi was a history professor at UW, and so they’d toured ancient Buddhist sites.

  “So boring,” said Graham. “Buddhists just sit around trying not to feel anything.”

  “They’re not trying not to feel; they’re trying to observe their feelings without being controlled by them.”

  “To stay neutral,” said Eli.

  “Yes,” said Heidi. “That’s exactly right. Have you studied Buddhism, Eli?”

  “I’ve just talked about it with my doctor.”

  “Mmm.” Heidi and Darren both took big bites of food.

  “I don’t know,” Graham blurted into the silence. “The Buddhists would rather die in peaceful protests than fight back. They light themselves on fire for no reason.”

  For the Purpose. You will be light.

  “It’s symbolic,” said Heidi.

  “Lot of good it’s doing them.”

  Darren opened his mouth to reply, but Heidi touched his arm. “You thought the temple ruins were cool.”

  “Well, duh, yeah,” said Graham. “Except we weren’t allowed to explore on our own.”

  “Silly safety rules,” said Heidi with a smile. “Well, it’s our job to get you some culture, whether you like it or not.”

  “Not,” said Graham, but again he flashed that smile.

  “Okay, be that way,” said Heidi. She took their plates. “Brownie sundaes for dessert?”

  * * *

  ***

  “Sorry about them,” Graham muttered as they stumbled downstairs.

  It was nice. “Thailand sounded pretty cool,” said Eli. So did having two parents at the table.

  “I guess. My parents are at that awkward point in life where they haven’t realized yet that they’re totally boring. And my mom with the Buddhist stuff…she’s like a zealot. I mean, there we are in Thailand with all these cool beaches and snorkeling and super-hot chicks in, like, the tiniest bathing suits and she had us going off to look at dead people’s things almost every day.”

  “My family would never go on a trip like that.”

  Graham shrugged. “Yeah. It’s just that they’re so clueless. So bought into the system, like this world is perfectly fine. They could never understand how we feel, you know?”

  I guess. “You’re good with parents,” said Eli.

  “The key is just to give them what they want, and they stay out of your way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Haven’t you ever noticed that when something’s bad in your life, your parents always get stressed out and mad?”

  Yeah.

  “That’s because they all wish they were still young and free and mattered like us. What they really want is for you to be fine so they can go back to thinking about their own dumb lives.”

  “Your parents seem interested in your life. Like it�
�s important.”

  “Yeah, but they’re only interested in the good stuff. So that’s all I give them. That way, they stay out of my business. Be right back.”

  Eli sat on the couch again. He wondered if his mom wished she was free of him, and he felt certain that she did, like he’d already known this somewhere inside.

  “Round two.” Graham returned with two more Cokes and a small glass jar of bright red cherries. He prepared the cans, then dropped a cherry in each. “Classy now, like mobsters.”

  They watched a movie called House of Slaughter, where these teens take a dare to stay overnight in an abandoned mansion, and then get killed off one by one. Graham paused at a point just as one of the girls was having her head sawed off. She was on her knees, topless in just her underwear, back arched. Neck sliced open beneath wide glassy eyes.

  Screaming in Eli’s head.

  “You’ve gotta see this porn she’s in,” Graham said, scrolling on his tablet.

  “That’s okay. Can we just keep watching?” Melissa was never in that room. Except Dr. Maria had pointed out that thinking of her when he saw these sorts of images was unfair to her, or something. Besides, he had to be tough. Normal kids watched stuff like this all the time and it was no big deal.

  “In a sec. It’s this one where she’s a cop and pulls these three guys over but then bangs them all at once. Crap, looks like it’s been taken down. Oh well.” Graham unpaused the movie, and the girl’s final scream choked away in a spasm of blood.

  Eli’s next thought surprised him: Maya would probably hate this movie. Although who really knew? He nearly texted her—why not?—but remembered that it would show up on his phone record, and Melissa had said she’d be watching.

  Near the end of the movie, the killer had the last girl chained up in a barn and said, “The only point of this life is to get to death, to the other side.”

  Eli thought that sounded familiar. Where had he heard that?