Thirteen Days to Midnight

by Patrick Carman

  “Keep your hands off the smokes,” he said as I plunged my hands into the soft pockets and felt the pack and the lighter.

  I drifted back from the crowd, taking in the whole nightmarish scene as I watched thick smoke swirl grotesquely into a black sky.

  We did it. We saved these people.

  But with the smoke, the screaming, the spectacle, and Oh’s momentary fury—somehow it all felt… wrong.

  My phone rang, jarring me out of the stupor. “Milo? That you?”

  “Yeah it’s me. Where the hell were you?”

  His voice didn’t sound right, like he had a mouth full of peanuts.

  “Oh got into some trouble. There was a fire, but she’s okay. I had to let her have it.”

  Milo forgave me for leaving him in the lurch—he’s cool like that—but didn’t let me off without a guilt trip.

  “They were pissed, man.”

  “What happened?”

  “Tried to paint homo on my car door. Too bad for me I’m a light sleeper, and the sound of those shaking cans woke me up. By the time my dad woke up, me and Ethan were screaming at each other in the driveway.”

  “What’d they do?”

  “We wrestled around on the lawn but he got in a shot. Right in the mouth. Hurts like a mother.”

  “It’s okay—maybe it’ll calm him down.”

  “Doubt that,” said Milo. I heard him spit into a cup on the other end.

  “I got a hold of that can when my dad came out and broke things up. Sprayed the crap out of that fancy sports car of his.”

  What a stupid ass move that had been. Couldn’t Milo just take a punch and let it go?

  “You shouldn’t have messed with Ethan’s car. He’s crazy about that thing.”

  “He messes with my car, I mess with his. Simple as that.”

  “You need to learn to control your temper, man. I won’t always be here to protect you.”

  “So I just learned.”

  “This thing is escalating. Just let him get the upper hand and forget about it.”

  “Screw that. We’ve got something he can’t even begin to deal with. Let him run me over with his car. It ain’t gonna matter.”

  “Dammit, Milo!” It was 2:30 in the morning. My best friend and my new girlfriend were stirring a hornets’ nest into a frenzy. They just didn’t get it. “You better hope he doesn’t drive over your ass when you can’t find me for help.”

  “Jacob Fielding, cussing like a sailor. Glad to have you back.”

  “I gotta go. Oh’s coming over.”

  “Tell her she’s awesome. Flamegirl and all that. See you tomorrow.”

  The crowd was starting to thin into groups of four or five on the sidewalk. Some people were heading back inside Oh’s building as the flames came under control. One guy had brought out a lawn chair in which he sat and happily drank a can of beer.

  “They want to ask me some questions, and my mom wants me back inside. I just wanted to explain—I mean, I know I caught you off guard.”

  She ran a finger under her eye, catching a last tear.

  “We saved someone tonight.”

  I looked past Oh and saw the person she’d gone in after being loaded into an ambulance. The lady had an oxygen mask over her face and her chest was heaving as she coughed the soot out of her lungs.

  I was dying to grab Oh by the hand, pull her running down the street to a quiet place where we could whisper, our foreheads touching in the dripping rain.

  “How’d it start?” asked Father Tim, looking at Oh as if she were a miracle worker. He had a special way of drifting into a private conversation unnoticed. “Let me guess, one of these.”

  He held up his cigarette between two fingers, raising his eyebrows.

  “I don’t know how it got going,” said Oh. “But a lot of people smoke in this place. It wouldn’t surprise me. I think it started on the second floor.”

  Father Tim kept looking at Oh. He was avoiding the same question everyone else was—how did you get in and out of there without being injured?—but he wasn’t saying anything. It made me wonder how much he knew, what Mr. Fielding might have told him, and if Father Tim had seen something like this happen before.

  A mousy voice from behind Oh broke the moment.

  “Thank you.” The cat lady.

  “He was under a bed, not very happy to come out,” Oh explained.

  “It’s a she,” said the lady.

  “She’s got sharp claws,” said Oh, smiling at the woman. A police officer, jotting in a wet notebook, waved Oh over and she pulled away, our moist fingers slipping past each other. Her mom put an arm on her shoulder, and the two of them walked back to their own apartment with the officer.

  Oh glanced back at me, and I got one more fleeting look at her face before she turned and walked away. It had changed again, revealing something she was struggling to hide. If I didn’t know better, I would have said there was a craving in her expression, as if I had something she wanted more than anything in the world.

  “Crazy night,” said Father Tim, watching Oh curiously. He turned to me with an eyebrow raised, but when I looked away he seemed to let it go, focusing on the priestly work that would keep him out of bed for at least a few more hours.

  “I know a lot of these people,” he said. “Better stay awhile, make the rounds. You want to wait in the car where it’s warm?” He held the keys out to me, but I didn’t feel like sitting in the car waiting for the night to pass.

  “You mind if I keep this and walk?” I lifted the pockets of the heavy robe, feeling guilty for having asked.

  “It’s a pretty good hoof from here. You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  Father Tim ran a hand over his salty red beard. “I’ve got some provisions in the car. Come on.”

  Leave it to a priest in dreary Oregon to always come prepared, regardless of the time. We walked to the car and Father Tim clicked open the hatchback. A couple of tennis racquets, a metal basket of tennis balls, two umbrellas, a winter coat, at least two wadded-up sweatshirts that hadn’t been washed in ages.

  “Take this,” he said, handing me an umbrella and pulling out one of the old tops. “And this.”

  I peeled off the robe and put on a sweatshirt that smelled mildly of church incense. By the time I had the robe back on, there were three people standing nearby, waiting to talk to the local priest.

  “Don’t wake the old guys,” said Father Tim as he pulled on his coat. “They get cranky.” He held out his hand and I dug in the pocket of the robe, fishing out the Salems and a plastic lighter.

  “Good lighter?” I asked, thinking of the Zippo I’d gotten from Mr. Fielding.

  “I’m marking time, waiting till you give me the good one.”

  “You’ll be waiting a while.”

  Father Tim laughed softly, turning to talk to the people waiting.

  “You must have known him a lot better than he ever let on,” I added, probing for information.

  “I’m a safe bet. He could tell me a lot and knew I wouldn’t blab.”

  “That must be hard, keeping secrets all the time.”

  He eyed me cautiously. “Comes with the job. You get used to it.”

  “Did he ever tell you how old he was? For some reason he never told me, even though I asked him more than once.”

  Father Tim’s eyes narrowed as he looked up into the drizzle, wiped the water from his brow.

  “He never told me, but if I had to guess, I’d say he looked young for his age.”

  He shut the trunk of his car, and we both looked back at the group of people hovering close by. “I better get into the mix here, Jacob. Get back home and settle in. I have a feeling this is going to take a while.”

  I took a last look at the sizzling apartment building and started for the church house. There was something sorrowful but sweet about the stillness. As the smell of smoke thinned and disappeared, I thought about Oh, Milo, Father Tim, and Mr. Fielding. Those looks from Oh, the fire, E
than’s temper—the whole crazy mess we’d gotten tangled up in was starting to feel like we were in way over our heads. The trust between me and Oh and Milo felt fragile, like everything could break apart at any moment.

  If there was even a chance of discovering something that might help us, could I really wait another week to go searching for what Mr. Coffin had found? I’d been putting off going to the coast at all cost, because things happened on that last drive with Mr. Fielding that terrified me. Stuff I didn’t want to relive any sooner than I had to.

  The next morning, Father Tim caught me at the front door of the church house and asked me about his robe. I’d left it in a wet pile on my floor, where it was bound to smell musty by the time he got back, he pointed out. Sighing, I slipped back upstairs, taking care to avoid the kitchen scene. I’d had enough of Father Frank, Father David, and Father Joe standing around the coffee pot, scratching everything, blowing their noses and checking out the damage on their grubby handkerchiefs, and asking a string of pointless questions. Give them an inch and they’d gobble up twenty minutes without batting an eye.

  On my way back out, I squeezed past Father Tim and smelled the mossy air outside. “Did they figure out how the fire started?” I asked, stepping out onto the weed-infested cracks of the front steps.

  “I think the cat was involved,” answered Father Tim, his funny bone still active even if he looked like the walking dead. He patted me on the shoulder and added, “Pretty old wiring in that place. It’s amazing nothing happened sooner. Count our blessings no one got hurt.”

  “Yeah.”

  He pulled off his glasses and wiped them on a tiny rag he kept in the pocket of his black pants.

  “Amazing how Oh came out. No coughing, no burns, nothing. You could do worse than date a girl like that. She’s hardy.”

  He looked at me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have guessed he was looking for a reaction of some kind.

  “I’m not exactly sure how to take that,” I said. “You mean hardy like a Norwegian farmwife?”

  “No, I mean she’s got vitality.”

  He said it like he was really happy I’d found someone to take my mind off everything that had happened.

  “Plus she’s hot,” I said.

  “You got me there.”

  I started to walk away, but he wasn’t done talking yet.

  “Can we talk later, maybe after school?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure—let me check with Milo, see what’s up. Maybe you should take a nap between now and then.”

  “You read my mind.”

  I just hoped that Father Tim couldn’t read mine.

  Friday morning at school Oh seemed genuinely happy, one might even say bouncy. She was a hero (the paper would later confirm), and, better still, she was spending the weekend with her dad in Eugene to see the Oregon Ducks play USC.

  Every chance I had between classes I’d scan the circular hall, find her, and pull her into a private moment of whispering.

  You can’t run into burning buildings with a bunch of people standing around. People will talk.

  Father Tim is getting too curious. Let’s make sure we chill out for a few days, okay?

  You sure you have to go away this weekend?

  Twenty minutes after lunch, sitting in Miss Pines’s class talking about The Once and Future King, my phone vibrated to life. Miss Pines wasn’t as diligent about cell phones, especially when she was lecturing, so I pulled it out of my pocket and peeked down to have a look.

  Something huge. can you get out of class?

  I used one thumb to tap out the briefest of messages.

  Meet park lot

  I waited a few seconds, listening to Miss Pines ramble on about T. H. White and Thomas Malory and blah blah blah…

  Now, not later. right now.

  I raised my hand, asked to use the bathroom, and Miss Pines asked if I couldn’t just hold it for five more minutes, and she’d be done with the lecturing part of the class.

  “I don’t think I can wait, Miss Pines.”

  She rolled her eyes while the rest of the class laughed quietly.

  “Go on,” she said, motioning for the door and acting as though she’d probably just wait until I got back to continue what she was saying. “I’m timing you.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be quick.”

  Down the hall, past the bathrooms, turned to the right, and hit the bar on the door leading out to the lot. Oh was nowhere in sight. I started to head back, but my phone buzzed.

  I can’t get out! look at this face. her name is Lisa Moss. give it to her.

  What the…? Oh had picture-mailed me a photo of a girl smiling. It looked as if it had been cropped out of a bigger picture, maybe one in which she was posing with her family. Lisa Moss looked about my age.

  We’d never tested this before—a picture and a name, someone I’d never met. Where was she? Who was she? Why was I being asked to do this? It felt like I was a horse and Oh held the reins.

  There’s no way I’m doing this.

  My phone buzzed again.

  You’re hesitating. i know you. just do it. please.

  I tell her to take it easy and this is what I get. She’s out looking for places where this thing can be of some use in the world when she knows she should be laying low.

  Just do it. Please. I could hear the sound of her voice in my head, feel myself wanting to please her more than ever.

  I went back to the picture and stared. Who is this girl? A confident, athletic-looking teenager with curly black hair.

  Oh, what the hell.

  I took a deep breath, thought about what it was going to feel like to let it go again, and said the words out loud.

  “You are indestructible.”

  “Don’t I wish.”

  I spun around and saw Miss Pines, arms folded, staring at me.

  “Oh crap.”

  “Yeah, oh crap. You take me for a fool, Jacob?”

  “No—not at all Miss Pines. It’s just—”

  “Just what? Spit it out.”

  But I had nothing. I felt the power leaving my body. My head turned dizzy for a brief second, like I was falling, and I touched the brick wall of the school to steady myself.

  “You taking drugs? Is that what this is?”

  “No, honestly Miss Pines—I just needed some air. I wasn’t feeling very good.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? Come on, I’ll take you to the office, and you can lie down, get some water.”

  “It’s okay, I’m feeling better. The fresh air helped.”

  She gave me that sideways look, her expression split between concern and suspicion.

  “You sure there’s nothing wrong? You can tell me, it’s okay.”

  I nodded, said I was fine, and we started back to the classroom.

  “Do me a favor, will you?” she asked. “When you leave my class, go where you say you’re going, okay? You’ll get us both in a lot of trouble if you keep wandering off like that.”

  “Got it, no problem.”

  “I’m keeping you after class for an hour, for lying to me.”

  “But Miss Pines, I won’t—”

  She put up a hand, smiling lightly as we approached the door.

  “No consequences, no change in behavior. That’s the way it is with me, you should know that by now.”

  It was a worse punishment than she knew. Oh was leaving on a bus to her dad’s right after school. I was planning to drive with her and Milo to the station downtown. We both bugged her about how slumdog a bus ride was, but she loved it. Her dad had offered to come get her, but an hour and a half of watching farms roll by was exactly what she wanted.

  “Can I make this up to you some other way?” I pleaded. “Or maybe, I don’t know, next week?” I asked as she opened the door and I heard people grab-assing inside.

  “Look what you did to my class,” said Miss Pines. “I’ve lost my momentum.” Returning to an unruly class had put her in a rare, sour mood, and she wasn’t b
udging. “How much T. H. White you all wanna read this weekend?” she barked at the class. The Once and Future King, while a decent book, was about a million pages. She could assign enough to keep us shackled to the book all weekend if she really wanted to.

  I slumped down in my seat, the heat of a whole room of eyeballs boring down on me for starting trouble on a Friday afternoon.

  My phone buzzed three times, but there was no way I was taking the chance. If I got caught checking my phone, it was over. I’d be reading T. H. White until my fillings fell out. It buzzed again. And again.

  “Give it,” said Miss Pines, holding out her hand from the front of the class. Everyone shuffled nervously in their seats, but the slight vibrating sound had come from only one phone and everyone knew whose it was.

  “Jacob Fielding,” Miss Pines said evenly, frighteningly. Oh man, I had rarely heard her use that kind of tone in front of a class. She was pissed. “Give me that phone.”

  I didn’t know what to do. She’d check the texts. That’s what teachers did. She’d check the pictures. They did that, too. There was a trail of bizarre information that would blow everything wide open. I felt like I was perilously close to working at the CIA protecting the president or walking into a bunker full of terrorists in Afghanistan.

  My phone began to buzz again. I slid the battery off the back and handed the phone to Miss Pines as politely as I could.

  “I’m really sorry about this,” I said.

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Miss Pines jerked the phone out of my outstretched hand and returned to her desk. She could see I’d taken off the battery, but I got the feeling she didn’t want to fight it out in front of the class.

  Now that the phone was gone, I was dying of curiosity. What was this all about? When could I get the power back? It was scratching harder than before, more like it was biting my skin to get back inside. It was incredibly hard to concentrate.

  Twenty-five long minutes later, the class filed out. Miss Pines waited until everyone else was almost gone, and then she came up to my desk and looked down at me. She did not look happy to be stuck with me for another hour.

  “Stay put, big man. I’ll be back.” She followed the students out, carrying my battery-less phone in one hand and a copy of The Once and Future King in the other.