Temporally Out of Order

by Unknown

  “You already have two dogs,” I told her. “That’s enough.”

  It felt easy, relaxed. It wasn’t. I could feel the tension in myself, in Jack, even in Max. Her words had kicked open a box we thought we’d closed, and neither of us was comfortable looking inside. Yelling stressed the munchkin, but it turned out not-yelling was stressing us, and that was stressing her too. Maybe having the box open would be better than trying to keep it shut. Maybe.

  Mercy was watching us when we got back. Not staring, nothing so direct or aggressive, just watching. Somewhere between the attention of a hawk and the paranoid awareness of a rabbit. Her arms were folded across her stomach, and her scarf was over her head, as though blocking herself off from being seen in return.

  “Your vehicle,” she said when we passed close enough to be shouted at. “It’s making a noise.”

  Everything—my fight with Jack, the things Max had said—got shoved to the side as I got behind the car, turning off the alarm and staring at the GPS display, now with full bells and lights.

  “Recalculating.”

  “How the—” Jack was standing by my open door, looking between me and the dash.

  “I don’t know. Shut up.” We held our breath as the GPS blinked at us, then displayed a route. Max had her hands full keeping the dogs under control, their stumpy tails wagging with our excitement.

  “You think we can trust it?” I asked.

  “How the hell should I know?” I looked over: Jack was biting his lip; three days of uncertainty against the memory of how it had screwed us over the last time weighing in his eyes. “No,” I said. “I don’t think we can trust it. I know damn well we can’t trust it, it got us here. But it’s what got us here. So odds are it’s what will get us out.”

  “You’re still on the magical time-traveling GPS theory?”

  My “fuck you” had more heat to it than I would have allowed, before. “Until you come up with a better theory …” I let the words trail off, and raised an eyebrow, waiting. He nodded, and I reached for the keys we’d left in the ignition, turning them cautiously, half-afraid of what might happen.

  The car started, making Elias—who had come within several feet of the car—jump back with a startled shout. I could empathize: my heart was racing, too.

  “Sorry,” I called out, but left the engine running. If I turned it off again, who knew if it would start back up again?

  The GPS’s faux-human voice told us, “Route plotted. Estimated time of arrival: ten minutes.”

  “Get the dogs in the damned car,” Jack snapped at Max, the same uncertainty and urgency I felt clearly drumming in him, too.

  “But—” Max looked over her shoulder, not at the dogs, but at Elias, and I felt a pang of guilt.

  “Get them in the damn car now, don’t give it a chance to change its mind!” Given permission to yell, Jack took full advantage, and Max and the dogs tumbled without further hesitation, abandoning everything we’d dragged to our makeshift camp. He raised a hand to wave goodbye to Elias, whose mother pulled him closer in a protective hug. Elias, poor kid, didn’t dare wave back.

  I hesitated. “How do we know it’s going to take us back to our time?”

  “We don’t. But look,” and Jack jutted his chin through the windshield. Past Elias, his eyes wide, his mother’s arm around him, pulling him away from the devil-beast vehicle kicking exhaust where there shouldn’t ever have been any in this air. Squinting, I could see the faint, foggy outline of other houses where the field and goats had been, a road—a blessed paved road—snaking between them.

  “Son of a …” I still didn’t put the car into drive. “Why now? What the hell changed?”

  “I’m the one without a theory, remember? Don’t know, don’t care, okay?” Jack raised his voice again, this time at me. “Jesus, Shan, now’s not the time to argue—drive!”

  I put the car into gear, and hit the gas.

  “Destination ahead,” Sondra’s voice told me, and I’d swear, she sounded smug.

  WHERE THERE’S SMOKE

  by Susan Jett

  “EEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeee! EEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeee! EEEEEEEEEE—”

  Jack’s thrown shoe connected with the smoke detector, silencing it abruptly. Either he’d managed to hit the reset button—unlikely—or broken the alarm entirely. He flopped back onto his pillow. So much for getting back my security deposit. It might be worth it, though, if the thing would quit waking him up at—he checked—“Yep, 2:43am.”

  This was the third night now and—if the detector hadn’t been so old its plastic had turned the same color as Grandpa John’s nicotine-stained fingernails—he’d suspect a computer chip had gone wonky. But this thing was way too primitive for a chip. Just a sensor wired to some demon’s larynx, he thought, rubbing his eyes. Maybe dust was triggering the sensor, or this was just the alarm’s inefficient way of reminding him to change the batteries. Though how it could go off at exactly the same time each night without an internal computer was beyond him. And far too much to think about at 2:44 in the morning.

  Jack groaned, rolling over so he wouldn’t have to see the time. If Neil hadn’t told him less than a month ago, in typical Neil-fashion, that trying to maintain their relationship was as hopeless as trying to construct a Theory of Everything, Jack might have called him up. Neil lived downstairs, though since he had grown up in this building, he had an actual view of the park. As a relative newcomer, all Jack had was a view of his neighbor’s kitchen window.

  If he went downstairs, and if Neil answered the door, they could talk. And look out Neil’s big living room window. If one had to be an insomniac, access to a wide-open, moonlit view seemed only fair. But that was obviously not happening tonight. As hopeless as the Theory of Everything, Jack reminded himself. Whatever the hell that is. No window-gazing tonight—or any other night for that matter. Probably no more sleep, either.

  The smoke detector’s light gradually grew stronger, a beady red eye staring at him in the darkness. I just stunned the damned thing. And now it’s healing itself. How else could it regain enough strength to wake me up again tomorrow night? Jack squeezed his eyes shut. Tomorrow I’ll replace the batteries. Or I’ll get one of those fancy all-in-one smoke/carbon-monoxide/heat sensing/monitor/nightlight things. Or maybe I’ll just buy a new smoke detector from Brothers Hardware that isn’t out to ruin my life.

  Not that there’s much left of it to ruin.

  Neil wouldn’t have sneered at him for anthropomorphizing a smoke detector, though wallowing in the emotional mud of their breakup might arouse his contempt. But Neil believed all kinds of weird-ass things—much weirder-ass than a smoke detector out to get someone. It came with being a physicist. The guy was scary-smart; he made Jack feel like an idiot without even trying. For example, no matter how much Neil tried to explain it, Jack had never really understood that business with the Theory of Everything, and Jack wasn’t a stupid guy. But even Neil’s assumption that everyone was as smart as him had been kind of endearing, once Jack realized Neil made even his grad students feel like idiots.

  Jack admitted he might never have given Neil a chance when they’d been in college. Neil might be good-looking in a hot-nerd kind of way—his body was frankly ripped—but he believed some seriously wacked things: time travel, alien abductions, not to mention his bizarre British TV obsession. Jack suspected Neil was hoping to be recognized as a long-lost descendent of the Doctor someday. It was one of the many reasons Jack’s friends—his normal friends—said he was better off without Neil. But honestly, being in the same room with the guy was bracing. Like waking up next to Sherlock Holmes, if Sherlock had been more interested in the mysteries of the universe than homicides.

  The smoke detector’s red eye winked, bringing him back to the present: awake in the middle of the night, alone. If I were a Time Lord, I’d never stick around for insomnia, Jack thought. I’d go back and try to re-do that last fight. Neil’s infuriating, but I was being a jerk.

  And with that admission,
his inability to sleep was confirmed. He spent the rest of the night squirming and replaying old conversations. He finally decided that he hadn’t just been a jerk, he’d been a complete asshole.

  oOo

  Jack dragged through work the next day. He usually enjoyed his job, and was good at it—when he wasn’t nodding off before he could accomplish anything. For want of anything better to do, he watched the YouTube ad for that fancy smoke/carbon monoxide/heat sensor he’d heard about. He actually made a couple of notes regarding the sales video—his own ad team could learn something from these guys. Even knowing it was way more smoke detector than he’d ever need, Jack was tempted, but backed out of the “buy” screen at the very end. A hundred dollars was too much.

  For one thing, he’d never be able to justify chucking a shoe at it.

  A wet shoe. Trudging home, he winced when rain seeped through his socks only a block from home. Shouldn’t have stopped for the bibimbap. New York comfort food, Neil called it. The guys at Kim’s Diner still asked about him even though it had been more than three weeks since they’d been in together.

  Jack didn’t mean to punch the seventh floor’s button in the elevator; it was just habit. Although, if he thought Neil missed him, Jack would be perfectly willing to be the one who apologized first. I’ll bet he’s not eating take-out alone in his apartment tonight.

  But of course no one was there.

  Jack’s shoulders sagged. He hit the button for his own floor.

  The bibimbap wasn’t quite hot anymore, but it was still filling and familiar. Almost five years I’ve been eating there, Jack realized. He tossed his half-empty bowl into the recycling can and shoved the plastic bag into the cupboard with all the others. He looked around his tiny kitchen and sighed. His life wasn’t awful. Smoke detector—and lack of a view—aside, the apartment was fine, and he liked his job, even if it wasn’t going to change the world. He had some good friends. But this still wasn’t how he’d thought he’d be living at this point in his life.

  Armed with a screwdriver and a new battery, he turned. “I’m coming for you, smoke detector.” Saying the words out loud made him feel like an idiot. I don’t even have a cat. If I fell off the chair and broke my neck tonight, I wouldn’t even make a good cautionary tale. Jack wondered if he should sneak a cat in, or just admit that he talked to himself.

  He climbed up on a kitchen chair, stretching on tiptoes and wishing for about the millionth time that he wasn’t so fucking small. Neil would make short work of this job. Short work—get it? A cat wouldn’t appreciate his puns any more than Neil had. But at least a cat would notice if I were dead. Eat my eyeballs to mark the sad occasion, maybe. With a grunt, he twisted the smoke detector off its bracket and levered off the cover. He yanked out the old battery, then hesitated. I don’t even cook in here, and I certainly don’t own an iron. Screw it.

  Before he could hear his mother’s voice in his head, he snapped the cover back on, admiring the smoke detector’s completely darkened sensor light. Black is the color of a good night’s sleep, he thought smugly. He twisted the alarm back onto its bracket and returned the chair to the kitchen.

  From the bed, he glared up at the smoke detector. “Got you, you little bastard,” he muttered before falling into a deep sleep.

  oOo

  “EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeee! EEEEEEEeeeeeeeee! EEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeee!”

  He leapt out of bed, his body tingling with adrenalin. “What the hell?”

  He dragged the chair in. Just as he ripped the bracket’s screws through the drywall, cursing and blinking powdered gypsum from his eyes, the alarm fell silent. He peered up, looking for stripped wires. Nope.

  Wearily, he repeated, “What the hell?”

  Pulling off the mounting bracket, he checked the empty battery compartment, then tossed both parts onto his nightstand.

  If Neil were here, he could confirm that Jack wasn’t losing his shit.

  Jack glared at the clock, his heart still thundering. 2:48. Two-fucking forty-eight.

  oOo

  Morning came too early and after another slow day at work he didn’t even notice he’d punched the seventh floor again. Unlike yesterday though, Neil was waiting for the elevator when it stopped. Neil grinned, and Jack felt his mouth stretch in an answering smile that he hoped might somehow make him look cooler than he felt.

  “Going down?” Neil asked.

  Jack shook his head. “Just getting home. You want to come up?” Jack pulled his hands out of his coat pocket, trying to look a little taller, and both nine-volts fell out. Stooping for them, he said quickly, “Never mind. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just … there’s something weird going on with my smoke detector that you should see.”

  He was so tired he didn’t immediately understand why Neil started to laugh.

  “Dude,” Neil said, shaking his head. “That is the worst line I ever heard in my life.”

  Jack smiled wryly. “But you’ll come up and have a look?”

  “For a few minutes. It’s good to see you, even if you are a terrible conversationalist.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  “Yeah.”

  Neil stood too close in the elevator. It was all Jack could do not to close his eyes and just breathe in the smell of Neil’s soap and shampoo and the cedar-y smell of that hideous handknit sweater Jack had spent last winter ripping out and starting over. The sweater wasn’t warm enough to wear outside in this weather, and he certainly wouldn’t have been wearing it down to the gym in the basement. It occurred to Jack that Neil might have been coming up even before he’d invited him.

  With that thought, he gave in to the impulse, closed his eyes, and, for a minute, everything was all right. Neil’s voice cut into his reverie. “We’re here, dude. You wanted to show me your, uh, smoke detector?”

  But even though his words were obviously aiming for world-weary ennui, Neil sounded, if anything, as shy as Jack suddenly felt. The smoke detector from hell was suddenly the furthest thing from Jack’s mind.

  oOo

  Even if that conversation needed more bourbon than I knew we could drink, Jack decided, it wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be.

  He had snapped awake a few moments ago, which should have been annoying. But it was so much easier to stomach being awake in the middle of the night when his sleeplessness hadn’t been initiated by a screaming alarm. Or dull regrets. He was glad they’d talked. And Neil made a lot of good points, he admitted. I don’t even realize when I’m pushing him too hard, sometimes. But I can work on that. I can do better.

  He looked over at Neil’s sleeping face, lit unevenly by streetlights filtering in through his blinds. The bourbon certainly made the sex funnier. And I think having someone to laugh with was the best part of the night.

  Jack had always liked watching other people sleep. It was soothing, even when he couldn’t rest, to be near someone who could. Actually, having company right now might be the best part of the night. I hate sleeping alone even more than I hate not sleeping. He smoothed a bit of hair away from Neil’s eyes, so it wouldn’t flutter with every breath, then glanced past the disabled smoke alarm on his nightstand to his clock. He whispered, “2:43 and all is well. Gotcha, you little bas—”

  “EEEEEEEeeeeeeeeee! EEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeee! EEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeee!”

  Jack threw himself backwards as Neil heaved up, wild-eyed and staring. Reaching past him, Jack grabbed the possessed smoke detector and stuffed it under a pillow, then grated, “This. Is. Not. Possible.”

  Neil groped for his glasses then flicked on the bedside lamp. He dragged the smoke detector out as soon as it stopped shrilling. Interest tightened his drink-slackened face, and the sight made Jack smile, even though his heart still thumped painfully. He asked, “You’re not seriously going to try to figure this out now, are you? It won’t start up again until tomorrow night at 2:43. Trust me. This has been going on all week.”

  Neil’s eyes narrowed as he poked at the empty battery compartment. He didn�
�t look at Jack. “Once is annoying, twice is wild coincidence, but three times—and you say it’s always at the exact same moment?”

  “Actually, this is more like the fifth time …”

  “And you’re not dying from curiosity? Philistine.” But Neil’s slightly slurred voice sounded fond, not totally exasperated.

  Jack yawned, wincing as his jaw cracked. “Tired Philistine. Exhausted Philistine. Completely drunken Philistine. I’m going back to sleep. How about we figure out the mysteries of the universe tomorrow?”

  “If there is a tomorrow. Dude—what if you’re trapped in a time loop?”

  Without opening his eyes, Jack said, “Like Groundhog Day?” He shook his head. “Nothing else has been the same.” He thought about the evening they’d just spent together and smiled, before a twinge of irrational fear made him reach for Neil’s arm. I’d better not wake up all alone.

  “So maybe it’s the smoke detector that’s trapped in a time loop.” Neil sounded like he was actually considering this theory.

  Jack only opened one eye—to show Neil that he refused to take this seriously, at least not at this time of night. “Then I suppose it’s time for a new goddamned smoke detector. It can loop all it wants to at the bottom of the harbor. Which is where we can toss it tomorrow.”

  “But what if there is no tomorrow?” Now Neil just sounded drunk again.

  Jack smiled. “Because my smoke detector has breached the space-time continuum?”

  “Are you making fun of me? The world is a mysterious place, dude. Sometimes I don’t think you appreciate that.”

  Three hours ago, Jack might have worried he’d hurt Neil’s feelings or overthought things until he managed to convince himself his own feelings should be hurt. But after all the drinking and the talking and the making up he felt certain Neil was only teasing him.