“Good. Chris. Any issues?”
Chris starts to stand, then realizes he doesn’t really need to stand and sits back down. He smooths out his mustache, the same red as his thinning hair. “We’re just trying to keep the ground clear right now. Working on the drive, but as soon as we clear it, it’s like we barely touched it.”
As if on cue, the lights in the room give a little flicker. I point a finger to the ceiling.
“And what the hell is that about?”
“Still trying to peg it down. I think there’s some faulty wiring somewhere but I don’t feel good about ripping the walls apart. Last thing I want to do right now is knock out the power with this many people here. Even if it’s just for a few minutes, it’s going to cause a panic.”
“Keep an eye on it.”
Chris raises his hand, like he ran out the clock but needs a few more minutes. “Also.”
“Yeah?”
“You know we have dinosaurs in the basement, right? Should we call the CDC or animal control or something?”
Lord, I actually managed to forget about that. And it’s a good question. I was so worried about getting the dinosaurs contained that I didn’t consider what we were going to do with them. Can’t exactly just give them to a zoo.
“They’re small,” Reg says. “Can we just, you know, put them in a bag and throw them in the lake?”
“We are not killing them,” I say. “They’re fine for the moment. Now listen, everyone, the next two days are going to be a huge pain in the ass. You come across a problem—something, anything—you let me know. I don’t need to be missing things right now. As for the guests, in the spirit of hospitality, I’m not saying you have to tell them to fuck off, I just think that you should.”
“Do not tell anyone to fuck off,” Reg says, raising his voice.
“Fine. Okay, everyone. I’ve got a million other things to do, so…break.”
They all get up. Mbaye leaves the room like a shot. Everyone is very specifically moving away from me except Brandon, who practically pushes me into the corner. “I couldn’t get in the ballroom,” he says. “What’s going on? Something with the sun?”
I run him through the basics of what Popa said, and he nods, taking it in. After mulling it he says, “You know what this sounds like?”
“What?” I ask.
“Like being Unstuck. Like…the way time slips for you? Something happens a little before it’s supposed to happen? It sounds like that. Except, with all of us.”
That’s a fair assessment.
Also, not fun to hear.
* * *
—
I need to eat something. But more than that, I need the peace of my own bathroom. I need five minutes where I don’t have to look at someone. I stop into the security office and after Ruby returns to its perch I tell it: “Stay.”
“Where are you going?”
“Jealous? Do you think I have a date with a tablet?”
“It’s just helpful for me to know where you’re going.”
Sigh. “I need a minute. And you need to focus on the pile of crap I’ve given you. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
I leave before it can respond, wend my way through the lobby, and get to the Atwood elevator. I punch the button for the fifth floor, lean against the back wall, and close my eyes. Feel the small lurch in my stomach and the press of gravity as the elevator moves up.
All day long, I’ve been hearing the dull chatter of past or future conversations, to the point where it just generally sounds like radio static to me, but a familiar voice cuts through and grabs my attention.
“You’re sure you can make this happen for me?”
Drucker.
Interesting.
I wait for more, but that’s all there is. It pings my radar enough that I pull out the sheet of paper in my pocket and scribble it down, then almost immediately forget it as the doors open and I feel a buzz radiating in the air.
It draws me toward the room with my maybe-dead friend. But the buzz seems to get a little stronger before I even make it there. As I’m passing the storage closet between rooms, something seems to grab at my skin.
Something magnetic.
It’s just a closet. Painted dark gray, compared to the doors of the rooms, which are a light gray, set against the beige walls of the hallway and the blue carpet.
I punch the code into the door: 5-4-9-2.
The room is small, able to fit four people, and even then they’ll all be best friends by the end of the ordeal. The walls are lined with industrial shelves, laden with toilet paper and individually wrapped soaps and towels and anything else you might find in your hotel room that isn’t bolted down. I step inside and move some things around, look at the back wall. Nothing looks different about it. It’s just a closet, like every other closet.
Except, I can feel something.
This little tug at the core of me. At first I thought it was nerves or anxiety. The feeling of being stressed out, and in a place alone, and looking for something, though you’re not sure what. But it’s not that. The more I think about it, the more I can feel it.
A physical sensation.
It’s got to be the dead body in the room next door. Except, again, it feels a little different. Like electricity on my skin, moments before a thunderstorm.
I step out of the room, and as I do, brush against the doorframe…
…The floor of the holding cell is cold and hard underneath me. It makes me feel bad for all the people I’ve put in here. Not that it’s been a whole lot of people. Mostly just drunks who need a little while to cool off, or that one time, a guy we found beating on his wife at three in the morning, and we needed to keep him contained until the cops showed up.
Not just cold and hard, but gritty, too. Like someone spilled sand in here before painting over it. I wish there was a bench. Even just a chair. I should put one in here. I reach my hand out and press the white painted wall, find there’s blood on the back of my hand. Crimson red. Fresh. I check my hands and find no wounds. The blood isn’t mine.
The blood matches the color of my blazer.
What is this?
Wasn’t I just somewhere else?
The green door at the far end of the holding room opens and Allyn comes in. The look on his face is so grave it may as well be etched. Here lies the career of January Cole. He stands for a few moments, unsure of what to say. He keeps his distance, like I’m a wild tiger chained to the wall. After a beat he steps forward and leans down so he’s more on eye level with me.
“I need to know why you did that.”
The words spring from my mouth like a script. It’s like watching a movie of myself. I want to say, Allyn, what the hell is going on? But it’s like I know what to say, even though I don’t know I’m about to say it. “I don’t even know if I can trust you. I don’t even know who you are.”
What?
“January, it’s me. I am here to help you. But after what you just did, I’m not sure if I can. You’ve been holding shit back since I got here. I know that you have been, and I let you, because I trust you. Now I need you to trust me.”
What did I do? I don’t even know.
“You didn’t see it?” I ask.