91 - The Neon Machine (1) [August 2nd, Age 15]

I don’t much feel the need to go into the details of how our scouting went. It wasn’t particularly eventful. I made small talk with Cygnus and we repaired our relationship, somewhat. I made small talk with Bell. I did not make small talk with Ava—in fact, we didn’t speak to each other at all.

We were all on exactly the same page on what we’d do if Ava was ever in trouble, and she—as far as we could tell—wanted it that way. She dropped the torch on those bridges on purpose, and Ava did not do things in half-measures.

That, I guess, was a plus on her personality at least.

A day went by and we slowly arrived at the conclusion that nobody was entering or leaving the building. Many people walked around it, or in front or behind it, but nobody actually opened the doors and went inside. The walls around that first floor were concrete, and the windows were somewhat mirrored above that, so nobody could properly see inside the building, anyway.

I got this information from Cygnus, the morning after we arrived. He turned away from the window for a moment after he relayed it, facing me. “I think this is it,” he said, after explaining all of that. “Go ask the others in this cycle if they agree, but—I think this is it.”

The finality of his sentence chilled me.

I took a breath. “Are we going to go in there?”

“If you can unlock the door,” he said.

“I should be able to,” I replied, absently.

“Then—yes,” he said. “We are.”

Cygnus regarded me with a smile—a tight one, a forced one. I didn’t need to see him to know how it was, and I didn’t need to be a psychic to know how he was feeling.

On the precipice of our final battle—

“Chin up, Erika,” he told me. “We’re finally almost done.”

0  0  0

The others agreed with him. I played my part as the messenger to perfection.

That night at ten o’clock, we’d go inside. It gave us about eight hours to reflect on our lives in the dawn before battle, like so many good little soldiers had done before.

And just like the good little soldier I was, I tried not to think about it.

Cygnus told me this was the final battle, so I believed him. It was so easy to, after all—I mean, where was the harm in it? It would hurt if it wasn’t the final battle, and it would hurt if I knew it wouldn’t be the final battle. The only outcome where I left that building after our fight with a smile on my face was the one where it both was the final battle and I assumed it would be. That had to be it; it had to be so I could claim all that righteous warmth and success-glow that I was so dearly owed—so Cygnus, Bell, and I could return home to the Radiant with Neville’s head in duffel bag and raise it high over the rooftop. A little round misshapen mass too small to see from the highway—but we’d know, wouldn’t we? We’d know and feel good. We’d know and laugh.

And then, I guess, the scouting unit would set about finding the three of us some new friends.

All that longing surprised me a little bit. I hadn’t realized how much I wanted it to be over until I started yearning for it.

And as soon as I realized I was yearning, my heart dropped into the black pit of my stomach, my mind went numb-cold, and I took five deep breaths—fully aware of what I’d just done, fully aware of what I had just set in motion.

The stars I followed dripped out of the sky one by one and I could not catch them. Alone on that black tapestry was the brightest, and it was dyed red by my desire—and unlike the others who went out when they fell, this one did not—it simply stretched, a red line straight down the sky like a scar, a trail of blood—an evisceration.

I knew what I’d done.

* * *

[15: The Neon Machine / Sure as Stars (8/2, 15)]

No clock would strike ten, but that time fell upon my monitoring stretch with Bell.

We sat there in Bell’s room, her by the window and me on the bed, and we found that, for the first half of my visitation, we had very little to talk about. We’d already discussed everything we could that didn’t have to do with what was impending; which, of course, left us with only one option, now that the time was nigh and there was no longer anywhere to run from the falling sky.

“Are you scared?” Bell asked me, breaking the silence. She didn’t turn away from the window. If I wasn’t the only thing alive in that room (debatable, even that), I might not have acknowledged her.

But there was no one else. “I was,” I told her. “But now…”

Now I didn’t know what to feel. It was coming, wasn’t it? It was nine-forty-five. Fifteen minutes between us and the future we all knew we’d be marching toward. It wasn’t ever going to be anything else—that was the mantra, wasn’t it? Wasn’t that what I was always saying?

I’ve always been a bit of a broken record. I have my fixative tendencies, just like everyone else.

We sat still and listened to the distant sounds of the city—a mechanical howling of sorts far below us.

I listened to that great machine heave and turn and I knew where I was going.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” I said, slowly. Quietly. “It’s going to happen whether I want it to or not. We’re going to go in there, and we’re either going to die or not. And…and that’ll be that, I—I guess.”

“Bold of you,” Bell responded. Still, she didn’t turn to me.

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God—I wish I could have seen what Bell was seeing. It’s not often that I said that, especially with that much time removed from my disaster, but in that moment I remember thinking that I was missing out. That Bell was able to partake in some spiritual experience, watching unknowing passerby mill around in the dark like neon ants while we plotted our own demise. Could they possibly imagine the world of the people up here in that loft, staring down at them? Briefly I thought about that sight-line from one person to another, eyes locking consciousnesses together, and the web of thought we all occupied—how I couldn’t be in Ava’s head, and Ava couldn’t be in mine, and Cygnus couldn’t be in Bell’s and so on and forever, across all fifteen some-odd million people in this city, across some seven billion people in the world—everyone, everyone!

I turned my eyes down without knowing why.

“Cygnus is scared,” I said, after a moment.

“Is he?”

“He won’t say it,” I said, “but he’s gotta be. He—when I was there, he didn’t talk much. He was talkative yesterday, but this past time he barely said anything. Just short sentences. He kept touching his key. I think he took the nail gun out of his bag and messed around with it like six times.”

“Makes sense,” Bell said. “I’d be scared too, if I was him.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that. By the time I figured it out, it was via an angle that I wasn’t really ready for: “Would you be scared if you were me?”

The AC unit in the room kicked on and for a second we both sat there just listening to it, as though it was its own sentient entity with things to say.

Bell said softly, after the AC unit had its piece: “I’d be the most scared of all.”

I frowned. “I feel like I’m supposed to be scared, but…I don’t know. I’m just—I’m just tired, Bell. I just want this to be over.”

“Don’t force yourself to feel something you’re not feeling naturally. It’s a good way to psych yourself out.”

And Bell still wouldn’t look at me.

I finally put it together. “Are you scared?” I asked her.

Slowly, she turned to face me—expressionless, empty, as always—and then she turned back to the window. “No. I’m not.”

“I—” I swallowed. Forced myself to say it. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not going to die here,” Bell said to me. “And neither will you.”

“You just said I should be the most afraid of everyone.”

Her tone did not change. “There are things to be afraid of beyond death.”

I could not see what was behind the window, but I could only imagine the building we were spying on had closed the gap—it was leaning right up against us, cold concrete on cold glass, peering down at the two sad souls in this hotel room instead of the other way around.

I certainly felt watched. Spied on. I couldn’t possibly have said who or what or why—but every word felt planned, every twitch catalogued, every breath indexed in its proper place.

Hyper-aware, maybe, of what was going to happen in thirteen minutes.

I asked Bell: “Are you going to leave us?”

She replied: “No.”

And maybe it was just the pit of my stomach making the time go slow, but I could swear she paused for just a second too long. In any other situation I would have missed it—but there I was hanging on her every word again like I always did, droplets cupped around her face searching for anything vaguely resembling a feeling. There had to be something there I could know. Something inside Bell had to make sense.

Nobody was a monolith, and she couldn’t have been either—but I wouldn’t have been surprised to find her in some museum in Europe with the other Roman statues—perfectly frozen, perfectly preserved; serene and lifeless forever.

Towering skeletal and looming over us silly mortals.

Bell was not going to die here. That much was obvious. Her word was law.

I was not going to die here, either. That much had been made painfully clear by the actions of our enemy.

That left only Ava, who deserved it, and Cygnus, who did not—and suddenly the pit in my stomach yawned wider and my grip on its edge loosened.

I knew what was going to happen but I was too afraid to vocalize it. It lived on only in my head: a singular thought stark-white against the void-swirl: I didn’t want anyone to die. I didn’t even want Ava to die. I wanted the four of us to go back home to Prochazka and resume our rightful places in our own little world until existence imploded around us like it was so-often prophesized to do.

I wanted it—I yearned for it, and as soon as I became aware of what I was doing I swallowed and I yearned for it harder.

What choice did I have? The time would creep forward without my permission. I would walk between the double-doors of that building and meet my future regardless of how I felt about it. Choosing to feel nothing had gotten me this far—and it was there on the bed in Bell’s room that I knew that it wasn’t good enough.

I had to try something else.

For the first time in my life, I let the droplets fall. I took a deep breath and let go of every tiny splatter I held and plunged myself into senseless darkness. I did it to be alone. I did it to look inside myself with the utmost clarity.

Erika Hanover—what is it that you desire?

I wanted Bell to stay with us. Everyone around us was so dead-set on her running away but I knew she wouldn’t do that. She wanted to be there with me. She’d said so, hadn’t she?

Or was that just what everyone else had said?

And in the bubbling black back-rooms in my head I knew that I was wanting for something again. Something that’d get thrown in my face just like everything else. You want everyone to like you—they turn. You want Cygnus to love you—he can’t. You want everyone to survive—they die. You want Bell to stay—she vanishes without a trace when she thinks you’re not looking, dissipates into thin air. Nobody ever sees her again. She simply no longer exists. Her memory is yours alone, and everyone you tell doubts you.

Nobody that powerful and ephemeral could possibly exist—nobody but you. There’s only you. You have no equal, Erika.

And certainly no superiors. No mentors. It’s not a group of six that you belong to—it’s a pentagon with a dot in the center. The dot is isolated. And as each point on the outside dies, the shape closes in around you—pentagon, square, triangle—into a single line connecting me to one other—

Into—

I sucked in a breath and picked up the droplets again and surged them towards the window. I couldn’t stay quiet. I had to make sure—and there she was, in exactly the same spot, still looking out the window.

Bell said to me, quietly, “I’m still here, Erika. You don’t have to worry about that.”

I waited until my heartrate slowed to respond. “Please don’t leave us.”

“I won’t,” she replied.

And just like with everything else Bell did—I believed her, mind, heart, and soul.

Bell would never lie to me. She had nothing to gain from it.

Outside, the traffic buzzed. Distant horns.

Erika Hanover—why is it that you desire?

I didn’t want to simply survive. I wanted to live. I wanted to be happy. Didn’t I deserve that much? After everything I’d done?

I wasn’t asking for money or fame or love in exchange for saving the world. I just wanted to be happy—all of us, together, happy. Bell and Cygnus and I and maybe even Ava, if she’d get over it.

Passivity would let my friends die. The tide was crashing down and it was up to me to decide if I wanted to dig my hands in and hold. The choice was mine and mine alone. I could not sit idly by and let the future come to me.

I did not want to get swept away.

I wanted to live.

“I want to live,” I said to Bell, without looking at her—just as she’d done with me.

“So do I,” Bell replied, in kind.

I sucked in a breath and let it out, slowly, and with it I exhaled a silent prayer: for me and Cygnus and Bell and our continued future, together.

Just on the other side of those doors.

Outside—sirens.

I turned to Bell and found her facing me. Waiting.

“Then let’s live,” I said to her.