I Hope You Get This Message

by Farah Naz Rishi

  But when they rounded the corner toward Third, Jesse saw a figure sitting in the tiny park on the single bench. His breath nearly left him again. Even though the streetlight was out, Jesse recognized Ms. K instantly: tiny and tight-shouldered, wearing her usual crescent moon necklace and her harem pants she playfully called her “swagpants.” Long, wavy hair thrown into an unruly bun, the way she did only when she’d been in a hurry. She was using a large cardboard box labeled towels as a footrest and her eyes were closed, like she’d been sitting there for a while.

  And as though his recognition had summoned it, her eyes opened, and her attention landed on him in a sudden collision of awareness. For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

  “Jesse?” She stood suddenly, her face mirroring the same expression of disbelief. “What on earth—ain’t it past your bedtime, kiddo?” She was wearing glasses; she must not have been sleeping well lately.

  He scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

  No matter how hard he willed it to calm down, Jesse’s heart thrummed wildly in his chest. Just what he needed. His counselor. Right in front of Corbin, of all people. Not that he was particularly ashamed that he went to counseling. But it was only natural that Corbin would start getting curious about why Jesse needed counseling in the first place—so much counseling that he and Ms. K were, sometimes irritatingly, close.

  She was the one who’d given him the leather cuff, after all.

  Ms. K clicked her tongue. “I’ll stop calling you ‘kiddo’ when you stop calling me Ms. K. My last name’s really not that hard to say.”

  To be fair, he had tried, once, but she teased him over how he couldn’t nail the gutteral “kh” without sounding like a cat spitting a hairball. “I’ll consider it,” said Jesse, his lips curling at their edges, “when you stop stalking me.”

  “Ha! You sure it’s not the other way around?” Her smile spread sluggishly across her face, barely meeting her dim, dark eyes. The past couple days must have taken a toll on her.

  Are you okay? he wanted to ask. She’d looked a little tired the last time he’d seen her, a few days ago at the group counseling session. Now she looked drained. But she wouldn’t tell him; she never did. For someone so nosy, she was awfully good at deflecting anything personal: questions about where she was from, what her family was like. He’d long given up on asking. Maybe some things were better left unknown.

  “So?” he asked instead. “What are you really doing out here?”

  She stretched her arms above her and barely suppressed a yawn. Even in the dark, her crescent moon necklace glinted. “I was just at the church dropping off some supplies. Got an influx of people coming through from the desert trying to find shelter, and the hospital had some extra blankets and whatnot to donate.” She gently kicked at the box with her foot. “I got a bit of extra time on my hands since some people canceled their sessions on me.”

  She was subtle enough not to tip Corbin off to the nature of their relationship, but not subtle enough for Jesse to miss the jab. He looked away.

  Satisfied, Ms. K’s attention pivoted to Corbin. “Wait, you’re Mari’s brother, right?” she asked, casually changing the subject.

  Corbin appeared lost in thought for a moment. Then his expression cleared. “Oh! You were the counselor who talked with Mari at the hospital, yeah? First time I’ve seen her laugh like that since we moved here.” He smiled warmly. “Yeah. I’m Corbin.”

  So they already knew each other. Jesse suppressed a groan. Somehow that made it worse. His chances of running away from this awkward-as-hell situation had dwindled to zero. And even if he did run, it was a matter of time before Corbin put two and two together.

  “It was my pleasure, trust me,” Ms. K replied. “If you’re around the hospital again, let me know if you want to meet with me, too. I’m pretty much always there now for the volunteer program.”

  Corbin rubbed the back of his neck. “I might take you up on that. I think Alma’s put everyone in therapy these days.”

  Ms. K’s knowing gaze shifted back to Jesse, and a thick, dark eyebrow curled upward. “Well, look on the bright side. Impending global disasters inspire new . . . friendships.” The word held the lilt of a question.

  Jesse could feel himself shrinking, as if his body were considering a strategic retreat. “Aren’t you supposed to act like you don’t know me when we see each other in public?” he muttered. It was one of the first things she’d told him in their one-on-one sessions.

  She laughed at that, a sound filled with color. “As far as I’m concerned, when the world’s ending, rules go to shit.”

  Corbin nodded. “Amen.”

  “Speaking of shits . . .” Ms. K patted the bench. “Jesse, now that I have you here, can I talk to you for a second? Alone? If that’s okay, Corbin.”

  Fuck. She was definitely going to irradiate him, maybe lecture him to death, if he was lucky. Jesse shrank even farther away. He glanced at Corbin pleadingly, but he didn’t notice.

  “Of course. I actually wanted to check out a mural that popped up over on Fourth. I’ll wait there,” Corbin offered, smiling.

  Jesse cursed Corbin’s politeness as he watched him walk away, leaving him alone with Ms. K.

  She sat back down and patted the bench more forcefully.

  He perched reluctantly on the edge of the bench, his back tensed.

  “So, you canceled on me. Are you avoiding me or something?”

  “No,” he lied. “Just figured you needed more time with your other clients.”

  “Hmm.” Ms. K leaned back and closed her eyes again. “That old shtick again.”

  “What, is this an impromptu therapy sesh?”

  “And ruin your cute little evening?” Ms. K opened her eyes, but at least had the decency not to look at Jesse, whose face suddenly grew warm. “Nah. I just wanted to check in. I mean, things are hard right now. Stressful. Scary.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m keeping busy.”

  “Right . . .” She looked at him now, her gaze soft. The night shadows made the line between her brows just a little deeper than usual. “I did hear about your machine.” She chuckled. “Tom told me about it. He says people have stopped using his radio to try and find their loved ones because they think broadcasting messages to Alma is more effective. He sounded kind of bummed.”

  Jesse’s breath stilled. He wondered if she’d figured out the machine was a hoax. He’d been wanting to talk to her about the machine. Besides his mom, she was the only one he could tell, even though part of him knew she’d be disappointed. It’s why he’d been putting it off. She’d call the machine another kind of coping mechanism, an unhealthy one. But he also knew if she understood the extent of their money problems—and what he was willing to do to fix them—she’d be the first to try to help.

  Somehow, that was worse than her disappointment.

  Jesse was tired of needing help.

  He shoved his hands in his warm pockets. Above them, an entire squadron of fighter jets from the nearby base thundered through the night sky. It was unusual for them to be out at this hour, and something about seeing them now made Jesse chilly.

  “You’re still wearing it,” Ms. K whispered once the jets passed.

  He didn’t have to ask what; he knew she was talking about the cuff. “. . . Yeah. Haven’t taken mine off once. Dunno about your other clients, though.”

  He didn’t know why he added that last part. He knew he was the only one of Ms. K’s clients to get a gift from her. Self-sabotage, he was pretty sure Ms. K had called it: his inability to accept something good. A small piece of his depression.

  The thing about wanting to die was that people always assume it’s the constant pain that gets to you, the pain that convinces you to do something, anything, to make it stop. Jesse’s depression was painful at first, all sporadic tugs and pulls beneath his skull, like a stubborn specter that clung to his mind with sharp teeth. And with the pain came a parade of dark thoughts: like how his dad had left them behind
like it was nothing, weighing them with his debts, how he and Mom had barely enough to survive, how Jesse would be stuck in this dumpster fire of a town for the rest of his miserable life, buried in the dirt, where he belonged. But eventually, Jesse became numb to the pain.

  And soon Jesse became numb to everything.

  That was what got to him: the inability to feel.

  That was why he felt nothing at all when beads of red surfaced on his left wrist.

  It was also why Ms. K, gently wrapping the leather cuff around his barely healed wrist, had told him how happy she was that he was still alive, and that she hoped one day he’d feel something, too.

  “You remember what I said about the five-second rule?” she asked suddenly.

  Jesse sighed and recited: “‘Only five seconds of thought stand between you and a crap-ton of regret.’”

  Ms. K nodded. “Exactly. The world’s not exactly a warm and welcoming place these days. And I just want to remind you that you’re not alone, even if it’s hard to believe. Especially when it’s hard to believe.”

  “Thought you said this wasn’t going to turn into a therapy session,” he said stiffly.

  Ms. K stood and gently ruffled his hair. “I’m telling you this as a friend, not a counselor. I’m telling you this because loneliness tends to make people do shitty things. Things you can’t take back. And I don’t want you to ever find yourself in a position when you’re in too deep, when you’ve said or done something you’re going to regret. Now’s not the time for that.”

  Jesse didn’t know what to say. His throat had grown thick and the world spun beneath him. It was all he could do to grip the edge of the bench. He hated how easy it was for Ms. K to say exactly what he didn’t want to hear. How easy it was for her to see right through him and make him spill all the fears he kept locked up inside.

  How easy it was for her to make him feel when he didn’t want to.

  “Anyway, I don’t want to take too much time from your hot end-of-the-world date,” she teased.

  “Ha.”

  Jesse lifted the box by her feet and handed it off to her.

  She took it with a smile and stepped back toward Third. “Don’t be a stranger, ya hear? And tell Corbin I said bye.”

  “I will.”

  As her footsteps grew farther and farther away, Jesse exhaled, relieved without quite knowing why.

  But suddenly, Ms. K called him back. “Hey, Jesse?” she said, spinning on her heel to face him again.

  “Yeah?” he asked, his nervousness flooding back.

  Ms. K bit her lip, then shook her head. “Just . . . stay out of trouble. Promise?”

  His head throbbed with a thousand things he wanted to say to her. He couldn’t shake off the prickling feeling that this was some sort of goodbye. But all he heard himself say was another lie:

  “I promise, Ms. Khan.”

  One of his customers had spray-painted a giant red heart on the side of Jesse’s shed, and it seemed to mock him. His fingers hovered over the shed door’s fat metal padlock, grazing the cold steel. It felt like hours since he’d seen Corbin and Ms. K, since he’d stood in front of the shed, his eyes boring holes into the peeling wood.

  Tonight had been long. Too long.

  He couldn’t get Ms. K’s words out of his head, the stuff about loneliness and regret. Stuff that made it sound like she knew something he didn’t, and it was pissing him off. What the hell did she know? She had no idea what it was like to grow up your whole life in a broken family, barely struggling to survive. Loneliness was for people who were stupid enough to want to rely on other people. You’d be better off asking for a monthly indefensible ass-kicking from behind.

  And regrets? Jesse had no regrets. Everything he did, he did because he was the kind of person who’d do whatever it took to pay off his family’s debts and finally get rid of his dad’s ghost once and for all. He had no doubts about the machine—about his plan, either. For once in his life, he had the opportunity to do something good for his mom, an opportunity that he’d made for himself. He wouldn’t feel so useless anymore. He wouldn’t be like his old man. In just a few days, he and Mom would be free.

  If that meant he had to keep up a lie and push someone like Corbin away, then he wouldn’t hesitate. He couldn’t.

  He pulled his hand away from the shed’s lock and held his wrist in his hand. The wrist Corbin had almost touched.

  If he had any regret—and it was a big “if”—it was pulling his hand away so fast. He let himself imagine, for just a moment, what Corbin’s touch would have felt like.

  Something cracked behind him.

  Jesse whipped around. The hair on his arms stood straight.

  “Who’s there?”

  Footsteps, rushed footsteps, and then a burst of pain exploded in his cheek. Before he could raise his fists, a foot came flying into his stomach.

  “Not such a tough guy now, huh?” The guy attacking him had a clean-shaven head, pale under the dim moonlight.

  Jesse doubled over, gagging. Another kick to his legs sent him on the ground. His body felt like lead. Another guy emerged from behind the bushes, but Jesse’s eyes felt like they were spinning in his head. He couldn’t see straight; he could only make out a black beard.

  “What do you want?” Jesse spat, finally finding a breath of air. His face was pressed on the driveway, and pebbles embedded into his bloody cheek. Someone pinned his arms behind his back, and he could feel his shoulders pop in protest, imagined them ripping out of the sockets with just another hard tug.

  “You know damn well what we want, you little shit,” the guy growled.

  One of the guys—the shaved guy, maybe—pushed his boot on Jesse’s head. He could squish his head like a grapefruit if he wanted, Jesse thought fearfully. He could die right here, alone and in the dark. He thought of the wolf, then, the one that had crawled onto the highway to die.

  “Emmit, go easy.” Bearded Guy nudged Jesse with his foot. “We’re here to collect for what you did to our friend.”

  “Come on, Samuel. It’s nothing he doesn’t deserve.”

  “Friend, what friend?” Jesse asked breathlessly, squirming under the shaved guy’s weight. “I don’t know who you’re talking ab—” But another kick in the ribs silenced him, and he choked on his own tongue.

  “Marco Castillo. My best friend. Like a brother to me. You might remember him as the guy behind the counter at the gas station you tried to steal from.”

  Marco. Of course.

  He’d almost forgotten him. Forgotten what he did to them.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Jesse. He truly was. He felt sick and ashamed and hurt. God, everything hurt.

  “Sorry isn’t going to do shit. And poor Marco, you know, he’s pretty injured. He’d love to see his grandmother. Maybe his sister. And they sure would love to see him in the hospital. Only problem is, they’re stuck in Mexico.”

  Samuel bent down so his mouth was mere inches away from Jesse’s throbbing ear.

  “But you’re going to fix that. You’re gonna pay for some plane tickets.”

  “What are you talking about . . . ?” said Jesse weakly. “They shut down . . . airspace . . .”

  Samuel chuckled. “They might not be running now, but once all this alien bullshit dies down, you and I both know things’ll go back to normal. And you are going to give us all the money you made from that stupid machine of yours, you hear me? Every fucking dollar. Don’t even think about trying to run out on me, or I swear to God”—his voice went lower, guttural—“I will find your dear little mom, and I will make her pay for your crime.”

  Jesse was fading in and out of consciousness. For how long, he couldn’t tell. But he was alone now. He could swear he heard a wolf howl in the distance.

  “We’ll be back in three days,” growled Samuel. He took Jesse’s chin in his hand. Jesse saw a wheel of blurry skies behind his head. “It’s the end of the world, kid.”

  Three Days Until the End of Deliberations


  TRANSCRIPT

  EXCERPT FROM TRIAL

  SCION 12: Rest assured, terminating the local population of Project Epoch has never been a task taken lightly. But we have also invested countless reserves modifying the planet’s climate and ecosystem to be compatible with our microbiomes. To spurn this resource when we need it most is unthinkable.

  SCION 13: Do our investments in the planet outweigh the value of all human life?

  SCION 12: I am merely suggesting another consideration.

  SCION 6: We have considered enough. The reality is that Alma has long surpassed the peak of its vitality despite persistent efforts to maintain its biosignature. But in the right hands, Project Epoch can remain habitable. We may yet still restore its equilibrium temperature. The answer here is clear. We are wasting time.

  ARBITER: May I remind the grand jury we must deliberate for the full length of eight days. Propriety demands it.

  SCION 6: What value is there in propriety when our time runs short?

  SCION 3: Our scientists determined Homo sapiens to be the only species with intelligence adequate enough to create civilization remotely comparable to our own. The Arbiter is right. We owe them the respect of a full-length deliberation.

  SCION 8: Have we not further considered revisiting the division of Project Epoch’s reserves? With our technology, better allocation of reserves could provide an opportunity for both species to create an unprecedented planetary union.

  SCION 4: Share the planet? With our own specimens? And how do you suppose they would welcome us when they discover our scientists have implanted a biological agent that could inoculate them at our will?

  SCION 2: I agree. Their own history reveals that the specimens of Epoch are often unreceptive to change. If we disable the Anathogen diffuser and allow their species to remain, they would likely interfere with any attempt to cultivate the planet’s habitability.

  SCION 6: These specimens are worse than children—utterly incapable of sustaining their own planet.

  ARBITER: Scion 6, your tone is not constructive here.