by Chad Josey
Memories of her husband, Eli, flooded her.
This stupid game paid off, though. I remember we used to send these messages back-and-forth as we watched TV with Jacob in the room. He didn't even know we were talking about getting him his Evel Knievel bike for Christmas.
Liz smiled with the memory. In an instant, her pencil’s eraser tapping fell quiet. Liz shot up in her chair studying the rest of the matrix.
She wanted to believe this had to be the same type of coded message. But, who could have known how they played this game? Who wrote this message? And, most important to Liz, what did this message say?
Okay, so if this is real, then I start with the next row and a Z. Check. Next, I use numbers counting by 3 like with the letters until I get to 26, and then start over with letters.
So, the rest of the row is 3 6 9 12. The third row… 15 18 21 24 A…
Liz saw how her logic matched the letters and numbers written on the back of the paper plate.
There’s no way this can be a coincidence.
She was ready to take the next step in deciphering the matrix. However, with the game being over, the group of people filed out of the Rec Room passing her seated at the table outside the doorway.
“Sugar, you missed the game. Our Oilers, uh, I mean Tennessee won,” Martha said as she sat down beside Liz. “What are you doing?”
“Uh, um. Just thinking about Eli, a little. He loved the Oilers.” Liz did not want to share with her this strange set of letters and numbers she had found. Liz looked up at the faces of the people filing out.
Maybe someone will see me with this and give me a reaction?
Disappointed no one looked at her, Liz noticed how each face changed from smiling to a blank stare as each person headed to the front door. “Oh, this is so sad, Martha.”
“I know, Sugar. But, at least we brought some happiness for them today.” Martha stood from the table and grabbed the paper plate in front of Liz. “Here let me get that for you.”
Liz slammed her hand down on top of the plate. “Uh, that’s okay. I got it.”
“Just trying to help… Okay, I’ll be in the kitchen once your pity party is over, Sugar.” Martha always knew Liz sometimes needed tough love to push her along.
Liz stood holding the paper plate by her side. “Uh, I’m not feeling well.” Liz faked rubbing her forehead. “I’m going home if that’s okay?”
“Sure. I didn’t mean to—”
“Oh, not that. I’m fine. All this food and noise is giving me a migraine,” Liz said as she took her jacket off the hanger.
“Do you need Jim to take you home?”
“No, I’m good. I can make it okay. I’ll call you, tomorrow,” Liz said as she hurried toward the door to leave.
“Well, call me tonight if you need anything,” Martha said in a loud voice as Liz opened the door and walked out.
Liz followed the last in the group to leave closing the door behind her. Her face beamed as a smile appeared.
Only Eli knew about this puzzle.
Thoughts of a happier time consumed her as she walked home.
16-The Code
PRESENT - Stony Brook, evening
1,828 Days Prior to Impact
FOR THE PAST WEEK, Joe had walked through life in a haze. The information he had learned was too surreal. His lack of sleep had taken its toll.
But, Joe felt something new this evening. Real clarity existed. Gabriel's talk today had helped motivate Joe, which had been absent. Joe turned on the lights inside his home office and repeated his earlier method of sorting documents. The journals on this bookshelf had even a thicker layer of dust than those in his lab.
The reports Gabriel received said I ain’t been doing well… no shit, how does one take the news that a planet will destroy every—
A large, yellow book fell from the bookshelf interrupting his thoughts. Son-of-a-bitch.
He bent down to pick up the fallen book, flipped through its pages, and threw it into the nearby trash can.
Gabriel’s worried I will kill myself or tell someone… please... no one would believe me anyway… hell, I barely believe it myself.
Minutes had passed. After clearing the bookshelf, he looked under their red futon. This area was their hiding place to keep things out of sight keeping the room tidy.
The box of memories from Texas sat unopened since their move earlier this year. He wanted to review everything, so he ripped open the packing tape and pulled out one of the photo albums.
I’m not sentimental or anything, but I don’t want to throw these away. Surely, they can scan these, too.
The photo album pages crinkled as he flipped through one memory after another, a simpler time. Joe reached back into the box and pulled out his grandmother’s scrapbook. Old report cards, his achievement certificates, his many science project first-place ribbons, and various childhood crafts poured from the dusty book.
She really kept all this stuff? Can they even scan this stuff?
His macaroni necklace taped to a page amused him. Joe remembered Mary making fun of it when the box first arrived years ago from Texas. Damn, has it really been eleven years since Grandma died?
Joe had opened it only the one time when he received the box. He had failed to notice the date of March 1986 scribbled on the upper-right corner of the page. He rubbed his fingers across the handwritten date.
1986? This isn’t Grandma’s, this is Mama’s scrapbook… this must be her handwriting.
A smile erupted on his face below his bloodshot eyes. With each turn, he rubbed his fingers across his Mama’s dated pages: June 1986, November 1987, and July 4, 1989.
On the next page, the handwriting changed for December 1989. Gone were the elegant curves of the letters. In their place were handwritten, straight lines.
Oh, wow... Grandma kept up with this book after Mama died?
His eyes darted away from the pages. Painful memories flooded him.
It must have been so hard for Grandma. But, she was always there for me, that’s for sure.
Joe turned the brown, construction-paper pages. Happy memories chased his sadness away. Joe remembered his grandma’s facial expressions when he would bring her things from school. Never asking what she did with them, Joe now realized where she hid her treasures.
In the next pages, Joe found his high school graduation program, his college orientation notice, and a letter he had written to her his first week at Stony Brook.
Oh, I remember this... I felt so guilty leaving her and wanted to tell her how much I missed her.
On the last page, his grandma had written, Thanksgiving Day 1997. The only item there was a small picture of Grandpa Eli.
She must have been missing him on this anniversary?
Joe turned the page and reached the end of the scrapbook. Written by his grandma on the bottom of the book’s cardboard backing was, Our Story Continues in the Next Book.
Joe immediately threw open the flaps of the box. A noticeable sigh escaped him.
Empty... She must have started another one? Maybe, Mary’s seen it?
He stood and placed the photo album in the keep pile on his desk. What do I do with this? He held the scrapbook over the trash can. Hell, I can’t throw this away. I’ll ask them to scan it or take pictures of everything.
Joe sat the scrapbook down in the keep area; its bulging pages prevented it from closing properly. The weight of the book caused an avalanche of papers to slide across the desk. His graduation picture was no match for the onslaught as it fell.
Last night’s discovery of the mysterious paper fell to the floor from under the fallen picture frame. As Joe picked up the frame, the paper recaptured his imagination.
What the hell? This has to mean something for Grandma to tape it under the desk, out of sight. Shit, not to mention her cryptic note in the Will?
No matter how much Joe persuaded his mind with the numbers and letters, they kept their secret safe. Before Joe could finish with the files in his desk
, he heard keys rattling outside the front door.
“Honey, I’m home… where are you?”
“In the office.”
Mary stood in the doorway of their home office. “Have I got news for you.”
She entered the room and kissed him on the top of his head. Mary seemed to bounce as she walked by him to sit on the red futon. “So, at the planning meeting tonight... guess who will be the new chairperson for our branch of the teacher’s union?”
As Joe opened his mouth to answer, Mary interrupted him. “Me, that’s who. What this means is now, I can go to Albany and talk to the administration about improving the funding for our school.”
“That’s… that’s great, Mary. Where is the other scrapbook from my Grandma?”
In disbelief, Mary stood. Her face turned red as she released a noticeable huff. Heavy pounding footsteps replaced her once light entry into the room. A few seconds later Joe heard the refrigerator door slam shut. Mary came back to the office doorway. She held one earring as she worked to remove the other.
“Joseph, can you not at least be happy for me? I come home with what I think is great news, and you just sit there, and—”
“I’m sorry, Sweetie,” Joe said trying to diffuse the situation. Anytime she called him Joseph he was in trouble.
“Sorry. You’re always sorry, Joseph. How about ask me questions about the news I just told you?”
“Okay… so how often do you get to go to Albany?”
“Dammit, Joseph that’s not even the point. The point is now I can voice the changes I see that need to happen at our school.”
“Oh, uh, I just mentioned Alb—”
“Well, you did at least listen enough to hear that part I guess," she said sarcastically. "There are two meetings a year there…”
Mary stopped to concentrate to finish removing her last earring. “If you don’t mind, I may need your help to listen to me as I practice any speech I may need to give.”
“Sure, I’ll be happy to.”
She stepped back over to him and kissed him again. “Joe, sorry I snapped. I’ve had a long day… I don’t know how you put in those long hours every day at the lab.”
Joe sensed Mary was no longer upset. “Because it’s me and my work. I don’t have students coming to me throughout the day, like you do, draining all my energy.”
She disappeared from his view for a few moments as she walked back into the kitchen. Water ran for a few seconds and stopped. She returned in the doorway holding a glass of water.
“Okay, love you. I’m going upstairs to bed, now.”
“Love you, too.”
The wooden steps released a moan with each of her steps. The creaking stopped too soon.
From halfway up the stairs, Mary shouted, “Joe, there is no other scrapbook. Remember... that was the night we came home and thought someone had broken into our apartment.”
That was so long, ago.
“That’s the day that box came from your grandma. And, remember I had thought there were two scrapbooks, but there was only one.”
Joe looked at the scrapbook sitting in the keep area. He heard Mary laugh.
"Maybe that’s what was stolen?”
The creaking returned with her sarcastic laugh as she continued upstairs to their bedroom.
“Okay, thanks,” Joe shouted back to Mary.
Well, one book it is. She must have not started another one, I guess?
Joe heard the bedroom door close. He sat alone in the office with his thoughts staring at the book and holding his discovery from last night. Joe unfolded the paper. His gaze captured again by the numbers and letters with its tantalizing mystery.
There are twenty-five letters and numbers on this paper. There are twenty-six letters in the alphabet... It couldn’t be as simple as replacing the number with it matching letter, can it?
Joe pulled out a blank sheet of white paper, which sat under the scrapbook. With a nearby pen, he recreated the same pattern of numbers and letters on the paper.
The first row is all letters K N Q T W, but the second row is both Z 3 6 9 12... out of curiosity... if I change the 3 to the letter C... the 6 to F... 9 to I... and 12 to L.
He had reproduced two rows of letters: K N Q T W and Z C F I L.
Great, so that doesn’t help? Screw it. I will finish the rest of this matrix the same way.
He replaced the remaining numbers with their corresponding letters of the alphabet. His new third row was O R U X A. The fourth row was D G J M P. And, the fifth row was S V Y B E.
Well, that solves it, Sherlock. Now, there are no numbers, only letters... the only letter missing is an H.
A heavy sigh of frustration left him. Joe slammed his pencil on the paper and went into the kitchen for coffee.
Why can’t I break this code?
The aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. Hot water percolated from the single-serve coffee pot. Joe sipped on the hot coffee, but before he could finish his caffeine fix, he sat the cup in the sink. Hot coffee shot over the cup’s edge onto his hand.
That’s it… It’s a code.
Joe ran back into the office. His stare took turns between the original grease-stained paper and his reproduction.
The letters are arranged in a pattern. If I wanted to spell out words, I could reference the column and the row number… it can’t be that simple, can it?
The chair groaned as he leaned in the seat, his hands pushing his hair off his forehead.
Let’s assume this is true... this means this is a code key.
Joe paused his thoughts and stared at the ceiling.
The truth is in the desk? That’s what Grandma told me and I’ve been racking my brain for years over that.
He looked again at his new listing of letters:
K N Q T W
Z C F I L
O R U X A
D G J M P
S V Y B E
If this is a code key, then what’s the message... the truth, about what?
PRESENT - Stony Brook, 7:11 p.m.
1,827 Days Prior to Impact
DAYS OF NOT SLEEPING finally took their toll on Joe. Friday night after dinner, Mary had found Joe passed out, face-down on his unmade side of their queen-sized bed.
Mary woke the next morning. Joe lay motionless in the same position as the night before. Worried, she held her hand near his nose. Not satisfied, she bent over and placed her ear over his nose. A gentle breath released through his nostrils. Relief overcame her.
Poor baby.
She tried to be silent during the day, checking in on him every now-and-again. Each time she peaked inside the bedroom, he was sleeping in a different position. It became a game to her. Once he slept on his back, the next curled up in a fetal position.
Saturday turned into Saturday night. Joe still did not wake. As Sunday morning arose, Mary rolled over facing Joe. His chest moved up-and-down with each breath.
Maybe I should wake him… He’s so tired. I should let him sleep… Maybe something is wrong with him… No, he’s fine.
PRESENT - Stony Brook, 12:15 a.m.
1,824 Days Prior to Impact
AS DIFFICULT AS IT WAS, Mary let Joe sleep. And, a restful sleep he had. By the time Joe awoke, it was after midnight. He was aware it was late because Mary was fast asleep beside him. The only light shining into the room came from the streetlights.
Wow, I finally slept… I wonder what time it is? I’m going to guess it’s three?
Joe lifted his head above the pillow stuffed beside him blocking his view of the nightstand. His alarm clock with its bright-green numbers stared back to reveal it was only a little after midnight.
I only slept a few hours… but, I feel so… so rested.
Joe lay flat on his back staring up at the ceiling, his mind empty of thought. Gone were the horror stories of his imagination, of the events in-store for everyone left on Earth. His stress had left since he had completed going through all his documents and files at work. Gone, it seem
ed, were all his cares in the world as a sense of peace and acceptance of their fate overcame him.
Joe opened and closed his eyes slower each time. One last time his eyes opened before coming to a final close. His breathing slowed.
With a sudden motion, Joe jolted his eyes open as if someone had pressed a stickpin into the bottom of his bare feet. He turned his head again. His alarm clock teased him with the date in smaller letters below the time.
What the hell... it’s Monday?
Joe sat spinning himself around on the bed. His feet landed on the cold, hardwood floor.
I’ve slept the whole weekend?
Not wanting to wake Mary, he tip-toed out of the bedroom. He made sure not to land his entire weight with each step to leave as quiet as possible.
“I cannot believe I’ve slept this long?” Joe said as he walked into the kitchen, again checking his cell phone for the correct time and date.
Well, hell, I’ve not slept in over a week… Man, I’m hungry.
The smell of leftover pepperoni and mushroom pizza rushed over him as he opened the refrigerator. He popped two cold slices into the microwave.
No wonder I’m hungry, I’ve slept for what… two-and-a-half days.
Joe waited in front of the microwave for his dinner, lunch, breakfast… food. The time counted down increasing his anticipation of enjoying the melting mozzarella.
In a dark room in a half-empty office building on the upper-east side of Manhattan, the Monitor assigned, tonight, recorded her observations of Joe. All notes are time-stamped. A long, blank space in the log appeared before the new entry about Joe waking at midnight and eating pizza.
On the Monitor’s screen, Joe went into his home office and sat down at the desk to eat his pizza. In one hand, Joe held a slice of New York’s Best Pizza, and in the other his computer mouse.
I’ve probably got a ton of emails to go through. Charlie may have sent me pictures of their trip to Myrtle Beach.
He took another bite of his pizza as the computer screen illuminated in front of him. The desktop picture of Mary walking along the beach appeared.
Subject is accessing his email account, the Monitor typed.
The Monitor looked at her split screen. On the left side was the video feed from inside his home office. And, on the right was the email Joe was accessing in real-time on his computer.