Kindred Spirits

Part 1

"False teachers of life use flowery words

and start nonsense."

Lao Tzu, Tao de Ting

CHAPTER ONE

September 17, 1991

9:35 P.M.

Jason Dyer’s stomach churned and the muscles around his left eye twitched frantically. Although anxiety permeated his body, he couldn’t let it affect his thinking. Every second counted. He had to stay sharp, had to stay focused, composed. He couldn’t afford even the slightest mistake. Too much was at stake.

He pulled his black Honda Prelude into an empty parking lot, drove across the lot and stopped next to the warehouse on the other side. He pressed a button near the base of the steering column and the dash lit up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. The climate control panel slid up into the dash, revealing a small monitor, and a small keypad slid out from under the monitor. The monitor displayed the time and the date in the upper left corner and a menu bar across the bottom of the screen. Jason pressed a few buttons on the keypad and a map appeared on the monitor. The map displayed a three- dimensional image of the immediate area. A small arrow showed his heading and his current location. Next to the cursor, on top of the cube which represented the warehouse was a time—9:40 P.M. The clocks on the monitor and the center of the dash read 9:37 P.M. So far he was ahead of schedule. He pressed a few more buttons on the keypad and the map began to scroll down the road, following the path he had to take. It stopped scrolling and focused on another flashing dot near an intersection with 9:45 P.M. flashing over it in red. The time next to the dot was larger than the time on the warehouse and was flashing.

Jason put the car in gear and pulled up to the exit of the lot. He waited until a car in the closest lane passed then pulled out in front of a gray minivan and accelerated. As he neared the car he signaled and cut in front of the car that had been in his blind spot on the left lane. Still accelerating, he closed on two cars that were staggered slightly, but too close to allow him to pass. He cruised up on the bumper of the car in the left lane, but the driver did not accelerate. Jason noticed the clock on his dash—9:42. He grit his teeth and, stepping hard on the gas, turned the wheel as the car vaulted forward, moving into the left turn lane, narrowly missing the bumper of the car in front of him. He passed the car and jumped quickly back over into the left lane. As he looked in the mirror, he saw the driver behind him flick his high beams on and off.

Jason was ahead of the flow of traffic now, but as he approached the intersection, the light was already yellow and turning red. He noticed the parallelogram headlights of a police car in the lane directly opposite his and decided against running the light. He couldn’t afford a run-in with the cops. He looked at the dash clock—9:44. The dot near the intersection was now flashing, and the map scrolled down about another block, then to the right about two blocks to reveal another dot at another intersection. The time next to it read 9:50.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, left to right, right to left. He saw the flashing red hand replace the green man on the walk signal then stop flashing. His fingers stopped drumming and he clasped the wheel in a racer’s grip. The light on the intersecting road turned yellow. The driver of the car he had passed was staring at him through the tinted windows of the Prelude but he ignored him. A car sped through the intersection to beat the light—9:53. The light turned green. Jason stepped hard on the gas and his car launched into the intersection. He moved into the right lane as he approached the next intersection, then turned onto the intersecting road. The map on the computer screen rotated as he turned. He accelerated down the road, passed a car in the right lane, and then moved back in front of it. He came up fast on a wall of cars moving slowly toward the next intersection.

Damn, Jason cursed, more a sigh than an exclamation as he braked hard behind the cars. The traffic moved like cattle ushered to the corral by some hardened wrangler. Jason moved slightly to the right to see down the road. There were flashing lights, two sets of yellow lights tracking inward, a higher set of light fading between blue and red. And a set higher still flashing blue red, and yellow.

Accident.

There was a car turned on its side on the sidewalk. The front end was smashed against the wall of the building at the corner of the street and the stop sign was bent as though it were pointing in accusation at the automobile. The front of the car was charred black and gray, still dripping wet from the water the fireman used to put out the flames. Two paramedics stood around a stretcher and watched as the third zipped a black bag over what must’ve been the driver’s face.

The fire truck was blocking the intersecting road, otherwise Jason would have turned there, but as he passed the wreckage, the traffic picked up speed. Damn these rubbernecks, Jason thought to himself as he passed the wreckage. Jason looked at the dash clock as he turned at the next intersection—9:56. He floored the accelerator as he turned the corner, the monitor map turned with him and began to scroll. The 9:50 marker on the next intersection flashed bright red.

Jason continued to accelerate as he approached the stop sign at the marked intersection. He checked for oncoming cars in either direction and blew through the stop sign without slowing. He no longer cared if the police saw him. Too much was at stake, because if he didn’t make up six minutes by 10:19, Michelle Long would be dead.

9:56 P.M.

As the Tiny Toons danced across the screen of her computer monitor, Michelle Long was not staring at them so much as past them. Past them into some dark dimension where all her problems jockeyed and haggled for attention. Phone bill, 45 dollars and 20 cents, due the 23rd. Electricity, 32 dollars and 15 cents, due the 21st. Visa Card 40 dollars, due the 20th. Physics paper, 15 pages, due the also on the 20th. Electrical Engineering exam, the 25th, E.E. problem set, due tomorrow. Too many bills, too little income—and the exam, paper and problem set didn’t help. Michelle pressed her palms to her face trying to keep her head from falling apart and inhaled deeply. She slid her hands down her cheeks as she exhaled slowly.

She pressed the space bar on the keyboard and the Tiny Toons disappeared revealing an incomplete answer to the first problem of the problem set. Michelle shook her head at the problem, saved it, and quit the program. The small clock in the lower right-hand corner of her monitor read 9:57 in faux LED. She pushed a few keys and after an obnoxiously loud dial tone and an obnoxiously louder screech, her computer connected to a bulletin board service. She waited as the computer retrieved her e-mail.

Four messages eclipsed the clock. One from Jon Avory, one from Daerick Bennet, a student at a school in Los Angeles who wrote sci-fi short stories, one from Franklin Chin, a guy from her electrical engineering class, and one from Greg Montreal—shit, what did he want? She read the message from Jon Avory; it was the usual, he got some funny e-mail, forwarded to her because he thought she would like it. The message from Daerick was about a new short story he had written. He had attached the story to the message as a file, which the computer saved automatically without displaying it. Daerick’s stories were usually good, but she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to read it now, so she saved the message. She skipped Franklin’s message, but saved it, because she already knew it was about tonight’s problem set, and she was avoiding dealing with that just yet.

Then she stared at Greg’s name as it stared back at her. The subject beside it read Hey… She could see him smiling that, cocky, oily smile, that smile that he only used half his face to make, the smile she had grown to despise in the past few days. She erased the message without reading it. She didn’t care what he had to say.

She pressed some more keys, logged off the BBS, and loaded her problem set program. As she was about to type more on the problem, the phone rang. She picked up the phone, Hello?

Hey Shell, look don’t hang up okay? It was Greg.

What do you want? Michelle breathed out with disgust.

Did you get my e-mail?

No.

Well, your phone was busy, for a while. You were on the modem, right?

Look, I don’t have time for this. What do you want?

We need to talk.

About what?

I don’t wanna do this on the phone. I’m downstairs. I’m coming up. He hung up.

Michelle went over to the window and peeked through the blinds. Greg was moving toward her apartment building from the pay phone next to the street, half jogging, half walking. From two stories up, she could see the mousse in his hair. From that height, the streetlight glistening off the light brown needles of hair. It looked like his hair had been stuck on his head like the Lego people she played with as a kid. She shook her head, Geez, that guy would get made up to go to hell. She turned away from the blinds. She had just begun to accept the situation. She really didn’t want to talk to him now.

She slid into her walking shoes without tying them and grabbed her book bag and her keys. He could come up if he wanted to, but she wasn’t going to be there.

10:03 P.M.

Jason was going too fast down a small back street and was still accelerating. The auxiliary digital speedometer on the panel on top of the dash read 62 mph, mocking the 25 mph sign as he passed almost too fast to see it. As he approached the intersection, a car turned onto the road in front of him. Jason grumbled as he pulled into the opposing traffic lane to avoid obliterating it. The sound of screeching tires and a blaring horn rattled his eardrums as he was bathed in light by the car coming at him head on. He swerved back to the right, narrowly missing the car coming at him and missing bastard who cut him off by even less, which caused another symphony of screeching of tires, blaring of horns and flashing of lights.

He accelerated to 65 as he looked at the clock—10:04. As he approached the next intersection, the computer flashed 10:02. Almost back on schedule.

Several yards before the intersection, he tapped the brake, turned the wheel violently to the right and hit the gas. The car’s tires screamed as he slid into the intersection. The tires caught, and he vaulted down the road without losing much speed. His eyelid began to twitch faster. Fifteen more minutes and his entire mission would be shot.

10:05 P.M.

Michelle moved fast out the door to the back stairwell. She took long deliberate strides as if she were about break into a run at any moment. She wanted to put as much space between her and the apartment building as possible. Greg was many things, but he wasn’t dumb, and he wasn’t the type to give up easily. She kept thinking he was behind her, gaining fast, not running but floating behind her like the vampire he was, steadily closing the distance. But she knew that was impossible. Paranoia. But she couldn’t turn to look—to dispel her fears—just in case he was back there. She didn’t want to face him right now. She reached the corner and turned down the street toward the main strip of stores and restaurants just outside campus.

She headed toward Sparky’s, the small convenient store in the middle of the strip. She needed to be in bed by midnight because she had work early in the morning and she had barely begun her problem set. She looked down at her watch—10:06. I really don’t have time for this bullshit, she mumbled to herself.

10:07 P.M.

The tires squealed as Jason slid into the intersection. The computer flashed 10:06 on the map. Almost on schedule again. About a half mile down the road, the traffic light stared a Jason. Green, but for how much longer? Jason pushed the accelerator to the floor, his seat pressed suddenly into his back as the car sprung forward. The light turned yellow. He was almost to the objective point. If he made this light he would be back on schedule. Jason pressed the accelerator harder as if it could go through the floor. Cars in the parking lane whizzed past at an alarming speed. The light turned red. Almost there. No one had started moving yet. He could still make it through the light. Just a half-second more.

Suddenly a parked car pointed its nose into the right lane. Jason, slammed his foot down on the brake. The car’s tires protested with a loud squeal as he slid toward the nose of the car. Jason turned the wheel to his left, then quickly right. Jason’s car skidded inches away from the nose of the car, then slid halfway into the left lane, narrowly missing the other car.

Damn it! Jason cursed as he hit the steering wheel hard with the base of his fist. His left eye twitched faster as he looked at the dash clock—10:08 P.M. The time next to the intersection mocked him and his efforts as it flashed 10:08 P.M.

10:09 P.M.

Sparky’s wasn’t much of a grocery store, but it was nice to have this close to the student apartments and dorms. They carried a few toiletries, some essentials like milk, Top Ramen, and Vivarin, as well as all kinds of snack foods, dips, drinks, and candy bars—everything a growing college student needs. Michelle went straight to the ice cream section. Other than Greg being granted diplomatic immunity to the law of gravity and falling off the face of the earth, nothing could make Michelle happier than Big Ed’s Super Saucer right now. The Super Saucer was the treat of all treats—a thing of uncompromising vanilla and chocolate chip bliss. It was a testament to the fact that life was worth living. It carried the idea of the ice cream sandwich to heights transcendental. Two large chocolate chip cookies with extra-large chips made lovingly from the smoothest, most divine chocolate, with a more than generous portion of the creamiest, richest vanilla ice cream in between. The Super Saucer was like frozen sex in a bag. Michelle almost skipped to the ice cream chest at the other end of the checkout counter. She opened the door of the chest smiling, but as she opened it, her look of child-like anticipation turned to horror. She rummaged through the Klondike bars, Popsicles, and other ice cream sandwiches, but no Super Saucer. Michelle wanted to scream. She couldn’t even be afforded the simple pleasures in life. She swore someone, somewhere on the ethereal plane, beyond her conscious reach, for whatever reason, was out to get her. She reached into the chest and, forced to settle for the next best thing, took out and purchased two bastard ice cream sandwiches. Too many bills, too little money, too much homework, one too many ex- boyfriends, no Super Saucers—what else could go wrong.

Michelle grumbled as she opened one of the ice cream sandwiches and took a bite as she walked out. It wasn’t Big Ed’s, but it was hard to frown on a good ice cream sandwich. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as she savored the first bite. Just relax and take things in stride, you’ve been through much worse, you’ll get through this, she told herself. She figured she’d walk the long way around the block on the way home to make sure she had avoided Greg. She just hoped he wasn’t sitting outside her door waiting. She took another bite of the ice cream sandwich as she turned to walk down the strip.

Shell! A call cut through the air behind her. Only one person called her that. Hey Shell wait up!

10:11 P.M.

Jason’s first plan was already shot. Two minutes at that last light and he was three minutes behind schedule again. There was no way he could make it to the intercept point now. Not enough time to get to the cross street he had to get to in three minutes. He had to do it at the point of contact, and he had to do it on foot. Jason pulled over and parked on a poorly lighted street at the front of a row of cars. He took his book bag from the passenger seat and what looked like a VCR remote with a jog control from its place under the bag. He hopped out of the car and closed the door. He clipped the remote onto his belt and flipped the bag over one shoulder. He looked at his watch—10:12. The point of contact was 10:19. No time.

Jason ran down the block toward the main strip outside the campus. He reached the corner and he ran into the crosswalk. As he approached the curb, he heard a rumbling too close to his right. He leapt onto the sidewalk as the car, cruising too fast and blowing through the stop sign, barely missed him. Jason stopped and looked at the car—gray ‘90 Chrysler LeBaron, license plate number GWI-899. The target car. Jason furrowed his brow and continued to run down the street. He still had time to intercept him, but no time for any more setbacks. This was going to be close. Too close.

10:14 P.M.

What do you want from me? Michelle said with venom behind her words.

I just want you to hear me out. Greg took a step closer to her. There’s nothing you can say to me to make things any different, you…

How can you say that Shell? What we had was great.

"No, what you had was great, what I had was a 20 year old child."

What do you mean by that?

I mean, I was a bauble to you, some trinket you held by your side.

Now, that’s unfair.

Unfair? Unfair is when you tell someone something in the strictest of confidences, and they tell their friends as a joke.

Come on, you’re still upset about that?

Yes, I’m still upset. You knew how much what I told you meant to me, and if you didn’t, then why the hell was I with you in the first place?

Come on Shell, I told you I was sorry a bunch of times. Bottom line is I care about you very much, and I want to be with you.

No, the bottom line is, I can’t trust you.

Come on Shell, you don’t mean that

Look Greg, I have work to do, and my ice cream sandwiches are melting

As she began to turn, Greg reached over a grabbed her arm forcefully. Startled, by his sudden movement, Michelle dropped the half-eaten ice cream sandwich. She winced as Greg’s fingers pressed deep into her bicep. She tried to pull away, but he held firmly and pulled her even closer. You’re gonna hear what I have to say.

10:18 P.M.

Whether from anxiety, or exertion, or a combination of both, sweat ran from Jason’s brow, around the sides of his face, and down the bridge of his nose. But he couldn’t feel it. He could only feel his heart pounding hard against the inside of his breastplate, demanding to be let out of his body, and the twitching of his left eye.

He ran around the corner to the main strip of stores outside of campus, then ran to the center of the block. He stopped and looked around. Across the street he saw Sparky’s, the small family operated store from his briefing. In front of the store were a male and female student engaged in what looked like an argument. Instantly Jason recognized the female student from the many pictures he had also seen in his briefing—Michelle Long.

This was the point of contact. Jason slung his bag off his shoulder and pulled it in front of him. He took out two flat rods with small red buttons on top that looked bar magnets from high school physics experiments. He closed the bag, took both rods in his right hand, then slung the bag over his left shoulder. It felt like it his heart had given up on being let out of his breastplate and was now trying to escape through his throat.

Suddenly, with a slight screech of tires the gray LeBaron turned onto the intersection at the other end of the block and proceeded down the strip. At the same time, Michelle snatched her arm away from the guy she was arguing with and moved quickly toward the street.

Jason took in a deep breath, pressed the buttons on each bar with his thumb, and stepped into the street in front of the LeBaron.

10:19 P.M.

Michelle turned as she took another step away from Greg and another step into the street. She was breathing hard now, and her sentence oozed out with one long exhalation, If you ever touch me like that again I’ll kill you. Greg took a step toward her, but…

But ass, I don’t ever want to see you again. She turned away from him and ran across the street.

There was a loud screaming of tires as the driver of the gray LeBaron going too fast down the strip became aware of the man in his path, only a few feet away. Greg saw the man dive as the car slid toward him, and his body spin awkwardly as the car slid past. He saw Michelle was only ten feet away from the car and it was careening toward her. Michelle look out! he screamed.

Whether it was Greg or the screeching of tires that alerted her, Michelle turned to see a guy dive as the gray car narrowly clipped his legs and slid toward her—too fast to stop. Her legs locked as she stared at the car, barely understanding what was happening.

Suddenly there was a bright flash, a high pitched squeal, and the sound of metal grinding against metal. Michelle shielded her face more against the car than the flash.

Jason landed on his side and rolled away from the car as he heard the high pitched squeal. He rolled and stopped, facing the car. The car shimmied violently then slid to its right toward the sidewalk. The front end of the car jumped as the car went over the curb with a loud thump then slammed into the wall of the building alongside the sidewalk.

Michelle knew she was dead. She couldn’t feel her legs and couldn’t see at all. Slowly, the scene came into view as her pupils gradually let more light into her eyes. The car she was sure had hit her was on the sidewalk, front end lodged against a building. The hood of the car looked like a playing card that had been folded between someone’s forefinger and thumb, the right front wheel was bent under the car with the tread on top clearly visible, and the whole front end dipped awkwardly to its left. Steam or smoke or maybe both spewed out from under the crumpled hood, and some strange mixture of liquid crawled from under the car toward the street through the tiny nuggets of glass that glimmered under the streetlight. And there was a loud erratic hissing sound like the car had not been powered by a conventional engine, but by hundreds of snakes that were now desperately trying to escape the wreckage. Michelle felt cold—a pure, knuckle-whitening cold that radiated from within her. She felt like she wasn’t standing before the wreckage, but floating above it, looking down on it and herself.

Suddenly, Michelle felt something on her arm. The touch brought her back down and she could feel her feet again, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the smoking wreck. She could feel a numbness throughout her body and all her senses. It was like everything was happening under water. The touch became a grasp and a tug. Come on Shell, get out of the street. She looked at Greg as he ushered her to the sidewalk opposite the wreck. Sparky was standing outside of his store slack jawed as Greg sat Michelle down on the curb next in front of the store.

I’ll call 911, Sparky said turning towards the store. He turned his head to Greg as he stepped in, Is she okay?

I think so, I’m gonna check on the guy in the car and that other guy.

What other guy?

Greg looked around. There was already a handful of people around the car. Someone had opened the door and someone else was screaming Don’t touch him!, and more people were walking toward the wreckage, but he didn’t see the guy who had been hit by the speeding car. He was nowhere in sight. Not in the street, not on the sidewalk, not near the car. Nowhere.

Jason limped back toward his car, taking the long way. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the accident. Every step felt like someone was holding a lighter inside his right ankle. The bumper of the car had caught the bone that stuck out where the foot met the leg, and pain screamed through his foot and lower leg, but he had had worse, and he knew he could work through it.

His ankle, however, was the least of his worries. Michelle Long was alive and unscathed, but that was only the beginning. Everything until this point was laid out clearly in the briefing, but from this point on, nothing was clear. No more checkpoints, no more time frames. It was all up to him. He tried not to think of what rested on his shoulders. Tried not to think about what all this meant because he needed to think clearly. Needed to think clearly because he didn’t know what to do next. All he knew, was that before this was over, Maximilian Powers had to die. And failure was not an option.

CHAPTER TWO

September 18, 1991

Maximilian Powers awoke with sweat on his brow. He could feel heat on his face and chest and he was lying on his back. As he slowly opened his eyes, he realized the source of the heat was the blinding light shining in his face. He moved his hand up to shield his face from the light as he turned away to gauge his surroundings. As he slowly turned his head, he could feel what he imagined were demons strip-mining the inside of his skull. It felt like the left side of his brain was pulsating in sync with his heart, rubbing against the inside of his head with each beat.

He was in what looked like a hospital room. There was a door to a small room in the corner that must have been the bathroom. The blinding light must have been the morning sun shining through the window. And diagonal to that was another larger door that must have been the door out of the room. Against the same wall, at the head of the bed, was a small table with a flower arrangement and a telephone. Next to the table, between it and the bed was a chair, and in the chair was Cindy. Standing next to her, closer to the bed was Marty, Cindy’s husband. They were both smiling.

I see you’re finally up, we were a little worried about you. Cindy said as she stood and walked over to the bed.

What happened? Maximilian groaned as he put his hand to his head.

Cindy took his other hand in hers. The doctor said you had a mild concussion, a few bruises, and some lacerations from the glass. All-in-all you fared better than your car.

"Yeah, I saw the car, the right side of the front axle and half of the front right wheel are gone. When I say gone, I mean gone—I’ve never seen anything like it."

Enough about the car Martin. How do you feel Max?

My head feels like one of those glass balls with the lightning in it.

Marty put his hand on Max’s arm. God was with you. Judging from what your car looked like, I’d say it was a small miracle you faired so well.

Cindy looked at Marty. Honey there are no small miracles, she looked at Max, the members were so worried about you.

Max sat up abruptly, sending a pain through his head that felt like it split his skull. The members, oh no…

Cindy grabbed his hand, What, what’s wrong."

Despite the pain in his head he looked around frantically. The package, I had a package in the car. I needed to get it to the courier before 10:30. Where is it?

Oh that, they gave it to me when I saw the car. I took it to the courier myself. When I talked to Brother Brinkman this morning he said a Mr. Davenport asked about it. When I told him I’d sent it, he said to tell you that… wait a minute… Marty closed his eyes, tilted his head downward, and put his thumb and forefinger to his temple, …he said that, uh… Mr. Davenport said you were more important than the docket, and uh… as long as it got to him by tomorrow morning… some adjustments would have to be made, but uh… everything would be okay. Marty took his hand down and opened his eyes. I hope that makes sense to you, cuz I’m clueless.

Exhaling with relief Max lay back on the bed. God be praised. You did well.

Cindy grabbed Max’s hand again. The doctor said they had a few more tests to run, but you’d probably be able to go home this afternoon. It’d be great if you could make it to Mid-week service tonight—Marty’s preaching and giving testimony tonight. I’m so excited.

Max squeezed her hand. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

* * *

Jeff Brinkman was waiting in the lobby when the nurse wheeled Max around the corner in a wheelchair. You’re free to go Mr. Powers, everything’s taken care of, she said stopping at the edge of the lobby. Max saw Jeff and smiled as he stood. Jeff walked over and hugged him.

Holding his shoulders in either hand, Jeff looked him over. We were all worried about you.

How do I look? Max asked, smiling despite the sharp pain behind his eyes when he did.

Better than I expected. When Marty told me your car was totaled, I feared the worst.

God was looking out for me. Come on, let’s go.

As they left, the nurse waved, You take care of yourself, Mr. Powers.

When Max looked at the sunlight, it felt like the rays were burning holes in his forehead. He closed his eyes and buried his head into the headrest as they drove out of the hospital parking lot. So, Davenport wasn’t too upset? Max asked, eyes still closed.

He wasn’t happy, but he said that you were the most important player on the team, and he wished you a speedy recovery. He said that a few minor adjustments could be made to put everything on schedule again.

Jeff saw Max was clenching his eyes shut and opened the armrest compartment. He took out a pair of sunglasses and tapped Max’s shoulder with them. He opened his eyes, took them, and put them on. Thanks.

Jeff began chuckling as he continued to drive. You know what Mr. Davenport told me. He said he forgave you. Jeff laughed out loud.

"That selfish Barbarian. I almost killed myself trying to meet his unrealistic deadline, I lose my car, and Marty almost sees the Docket. But everything’s going to be okay because Davenport forgives me. Stupid sodomite. I wish we didn’t need that jerk as much as we do. If only he knew."

It will be a great day when we no longer live under the shroud of Babylon, Jeff said, turning into the parking lot.

God be praised, it will be a great day indeed.

CHAPTER THREE

Jason hadn’t slept in two days. Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was even a little fear. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. He had wanted to sleep the night before his assignment, but his mind churned with the thoughts of all that rested on his success, and all that would collapse in the event of his failure. He had tried to sleep in his car last night, parked across the street from Michelle’s apartment building, but he couldn’t stop thoughts from spinning through his head long enough to get to sleep. His mind jumped from one point to another. Should he approach Michelle? If so, then how? Would she be threatened again? And what was he going to do about Max? Could he do it all in less than three weeks? All these thoughts leapfrogged in his mind, occasionally overshadowed by an image of the earth, misshapen and burning, hurtling off its path through the solar system, reduced to a lifeless, smoldering comet.

Despite his lack of mental pause, his body seemed somewhat rested. When the sun came up, he wrapped his ankle with gauze, got out of the car, and limped across the street to the front of Michelle’s apartment. His ankle had tightened up overnight, and it burned continuously. He felt like he could walk normally, or even run if he needed to, but he was sure either of those options would be accompanied by a considerable amount of pain. Besides, the less he stressed it, the faster it would heal.

He had sat on the bench near the pay phones reading a newspaper, waiting for Michelle to emerge from her apartment. He had circled the apartment the night before, and saw that there were two rear exits, but all the campus buildings were on the side of the main entrance. After about 10:30, he was beginning to think that maybe she had left through one of the rear exits, and by 12:15, he was sure she had somehow left without his seeing. He had walked across the street and sat there, in front of Magnesson Lecture Hall and walked back twice, before she walked out of her building at 12:20. She was wearing gray sweatpants, an oversized blue and white striped flannel shirt, and blue canvas sneakers. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders both to the front and back, and her bangs hung over her eyes somewhat. She walked looking straight ahead, but her eyes seemed to barely focus on anything she looked at. She looked like she hadn’t had much sleep.

As she walked by, Jason saw her face clearly—or at least as much as he could see through her bangs—for the first time. He had seen her picture several times in the briefing, but even without sleep, hair covering her features, she was much more beautiful than in those two-dimensional printouts. There was a life, even under the shroud of near-death that hung over her expression, a look of innocence overshadowed by something else, something Jason couldn’t quite put his finger on, which conveyed something a mere photo could not.

As she reached the sidewalk alongside the street Jason felt a feeling like he had felt two days ago, if only momentarily. A feeling like when you can’t find something you need desperately and immediately, then suddenly discover it. A feeling like the first gasp of air filling your lungs after you have been suffocating. A moment of triumph came over him as he watched Michelle walk away, even if all else failed, he could have some comfort in knowing he had provided someone—this beautiful girl—with more opportunities than fate had originally afforded her. But he didn’t let the comfort overwhelm him. He knew all too well that it wasn’t until you made it to your feet again and were about to take the first step, that the rug got snatched from under you, and you found yourself back on the ground again—yesterday he’d learned that lesson well.

Jason waited until she was near the corner of the block before he got up and followed her. He had been her savior, but now, if his efforts were to not be in vain, he had to be her guardian and her guide. He had won the coin toss, but the game hadn’t even begun.

* * *

Michelle had already missed work and her psychology class today. She hadn’t finished her problem set, and she hadn’t gotten any sleep. She hadn’t gotten home until 1 A.M. She had sat on the curb, in front of Sparky’s staring at the road until campus security had arrived. She couldn’t remember what she had been thinking about, only that she had felt very numb, like the dentist had left the nitrous oxide mask on for too long. The numbness hadn’t fully worn off and she could barely feel her feet moving underneath her. Security had called the paramedics. When they had arrived, they got the driver from the car and ran a few tests on her while security took a statement which consisted of, ‘I stepped into the street, a car came flying down the road at me, something exploded, and when I opened my eyes the car was wrecked and I wasn’t dead.’

Greg had stayed around, attempting to console her, and perhaps a few weeks ago, before they had broken up, before he had, as a joke, told his friends what she had confided in him about the strange dreams she had, he could have comforted her. But then, in front of Sparky’s, under the lime-green light of the street lamp, his duplicity was insufferable, and he was nothing more than an