by Landon Wark
He sighed and rose from the bed. He grasped the bag he had rescued from his apartment, unzipping the top and pulling the notebook inside out into the light of day for the first time in two days. Laying it carefully on the chair across from the bed, he sat down and stared at the cover. It leered at him, beckoning with its dangerous secrets.
If the wall hadn’t exploded there was no telling what might have happened. He might have blown his own head clean off or melted the entire building around himself. Who knew exactly what was possible?!
His thoughts turned to the other materials he had left back in his safe while the building inspectors did what they were paid to do. They had said they would make sure it got placed in a storage locker once they were done with the inspection. But he didn't trust them. He could nearly hear the machinery grinding away at the lock, the forcing of the door and the vile lips that would read the words he had been so careful in writing down on notes attached to the items. He seethed for a moment. What if someone else got hold of it?
If it was dangerous for him then who was it safe with?
He had to get it back. He had to figure things out.
Jonah shook his head.
The thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, choking out anything else. He tried to think about something else, anything else. What would his parents be up to around now? Had his grandmother been released from the hospital yet? Could he reverse the phonemes that had created the fire under his TV to drop the temperature of an object?
He grit his teeth and stood up, pacing around the bed on the cheap carpeting.
He stopped where a small piece of paper lay on the floor, having fallen out when he removed the notebook from the bag. Plucking it up from its resting place he carefully unfolded it. Upon it was written a notification for a party, a party being held by the graduate student association to which he had earned an invitation through a favour he hadn’t wanted to do.
Of course, if he hadn’t done that favour… none of this would ever have happened.
He had forgotten about it with everything that had been happening and would have gone on forgetting about it if he hadn't scooped the notebook so wildly into the bag. He would have forgotten about it right up until it had concluded, about three hours after the time displayed on the flimsy motel clock.
There was promise in the piece of paper, the promise of being able to do something other than think for even a few hours, among other things. A chance to maybe ease his restlessness for a while.
He had been to few parties and none that weren't thrown to honour the marriage of some relative. It seemed to be a mutual agreement between himself and the rest of the world.
Tapping his foot on the floor he wondered what it would be like to have people to talk to again, or rather people to listen to since he could never think of anything to say.
Gripped by a sudden urge Jonah McAllister grabbed his coat, felt around for his room key and threw open the door.
The elevator doors breezed open and Jonah was struck by the pulsing of loud music somewhere down the once-elegant hallway. He winced as his ears adjusted as best they were able and marvelled at the strange pushing sensation on his lungs even at this distance.
As he walked in the door several people dressed in suits and dresses greeted him and at that instant he was halfway back out through the door. The clothes he had been able to rescue from his apartment before they had forcibly cleared him out (and in fact all the clothes he owned) were not suited for a formal affair.
But beyond the few party goers in their finery were several others dressed in simple jeans and long sleeved shirts. He breathed a sigh, half in relief, half in anxiety that he would have to continue.
As he walked resolutely up to where a small man, dressed in the uniform of the hotel staff, was taking the invitations of arriving guests his palms began to sweat. He wrung them together nervously.
He recognized no one and for a moment the feeling of having landed on some deserted island among a tribe of natives he knew nothing about was so overpowering he thought that any moment they would notice him and everyone would begin jeering at him until he was forced to leave.
The line in front of him dwindled and he approached the grey haired, slack faced ticket taker. He held out the small piece of folded paper bearing the graduate student association seal like a shield, his hand trembling. It was accepted skeptically and unfurled to an analytical eye. Even though the paper was legitimate he was certain he would be turned away because he looked like he didn’t belong.
The man slipped the invitation into a metal lockbox and doled out a string of ten paper tickets. Jonah furrowed his brow and accepted them, not having a solitary clue as to what they were for. He read their faces carefully as the next person in line shoved in behind him, pushing him toward the doors that barred the way into a darkened room.
The music, some strange beat that all the women and a few of the men in the room shouted along with at some point in the lyrics, was so loud that his hands started reflexively for his ears before he stopped them, looking around cautiously to make certain no one had seen the aborted gesture.
The room itself was massive, nearly the size of a basketball court, including room for bleachers. It was ringed with white-clothed tables and plastic chairs that might have looked more at home in a highschool assembly. The centre was void of anything except for a dozen or more moving bodies, most of them female, that waved at the air and shouted whenever the DJ set up in the corner stopped the music and pointed.
Jonah manoeuvred in around the outer rings of observers and minglers, searching for someone he might recognize. He was halfway around the outer edge of revellers when he felt a hand clasp on his back. He jumped in mid-swivel and found himself face to face with Josh Dude.
“Josh!” the first scent of his breath nearly knocked Jonah back a few feet.
He said something unintelligible over the throbbing of the music.
“What?” Jonah yelled back.
“I said ‘you made it’! Haven’t seen you around in a while. Been wondering where you got to.”
“Oh,!” Jonah stammered for an explanation. If he had not been into the lab in a while would they make him leave? “Well…”
His dim eyes turned down to Jonah’s empty hands and a look of disappointment crept across his face.
“You’re not drinking anything?”
“Uh,” Jonah looked around nervously. Several people Josh Dude had been talking to turned and he could feel the shouts of ‘outsider’ on their lips. “Not yet.”
“Come on. ‘Tis the season.”
“I guess.”
“Bar’s over there.” The grad student pointed shakily. “Oh, and… You got that fifty bucks?”
“Uh.” Jonah sifted through his pockets and pulled out three readied twenties. It seemed strange to him now that he had ever considered these strips of paper valuable. “Yeah.”
“Awright, you can give it to Amy. And… hang on, where is she? Brian? Brian! Where’s Amy? Oh! Okay, you can give it to Amy when she’s off the dance floor. Just hang out, relax man, I keep telling you you’re too high strung.”
“Yeah…” Jonah pocketed the money and turned away.
Already the smell of alcohol was filling his nostrils and he winced. The feeling that he had made a huge mistake in coming here was now so powerful that it shook his legs and turned his stomach to mush. But he was not leaving; on that matter he was settled. Anything to keep from going back to that hotel room of doubt and despair. He would stay for the duration, come what may, even if he only sat in the corner collecting dust.
He had never had a drink in his life, but he had one now. It remained half drunk in his hand as he had realized he hated the taste of it after about two small sips. Nevertheless, his low constitution caused a blurry high to seep into him.
He sat, sedate, at the empty table, allowing himself to lean back in his chair. He was thoroughly absorbed in watching the people who had flooded the dance floor for the latest s
ong. It seemed strange to him that people would enjoy jumping around and wriggling their bodies. He began to wonder what would happen if they knew the things he knew.
If they could have seen the wall in his apartment explode would they keep dancing? If they knew the source of the money that had bought the drink in his hand would they stop drinking theirs, or would they take to them with new zeal?
You're not supposed to be thinking about these things, he thought.
Suddenly the music was too loud, and the people were passing far too close. He did not want to be alone, but this place was pressing in on him uncomfortably. Judging by the frost on the sliding glass door to the balcony outside he knew the air would be freezing, but he was more attracted to the openness of the outside than he was adverse to the cold.
He crossed the floor, largely ignored by the dancing bodies that inhabited it, brushed past the guests at the tables and carefully slid the door open, stepping through with a healthy respect for the ice that had gathered on the cement floor.
As expected, the air was freezing and he was not as alone as he had hoped. Nearly half a dozen others, cigarettes frozen to their lips were already there, hugging their arms to their chests in between sucking on the glowing tubes. One nudged past him, quickly closing the door again as he disappeared inside.
Jonah worked his way over to the railing separating the balcony from the open sky beyond. He rested his arms on the railing and stared out into the night at the buildings surrounding the hotel.
He didn't want to be here. He wanted to be back home leafing through the contents of that cursed notebook. But it was too dangerous. He needed help. He needed someone to trust. With a glance over his shoulder Jonah wondered exactly how it was possible for them. What made it so easy for them to be around other people?
“Can I ask you for a light?”
He turned and the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Standing behind him, cigarette clutched in her trembling fingers, was a small brunette that he recognized from the lab down the hall. The slight breeze whipped the hem of her dress against her legs and she staggered a little with her heels on the snow and ice. On any ordinary occasion his heart might have hammered away at his chest, but his mind was nearing exhaustion and he would really rather she didn't see it.
“Uh, I don’t smoke,” he replied, waiting for her to leave. Then he added, “Just wanted some fresh air.”
She looked around at the others, shuddering on the balcony. “Not much of that out here,” she replied.
“You don’t have a lighter?” he asked. “Seems like something you might want to have with you.”
Inside he was frowning. He had never considered himself charismatic and was pretty sure no one else did either, but his lack of tact surprised even him. There was an instant chastising somewhere in the back of his mind.
She pulled a plastic bic out the purse she was pawing through and shook it. “Empty.”
“Oh,” he muttered. “Sorry.”
She was about to turn away when he was struck by an idea. Startled at both the quickness and the brazenness with which it came, for a moment he was unable to speak, but finally-
“Let me see that.” He motioned to the cigarette she still had clamped between her index and middle fingers.
She shrugged and handed it to him. He held it as if it were a stick of dynamite, closing both hands around it so that no part of it was visible. Before he could think of the ten thousands reasons not to do it he held his mouth close to his hands and hissed a fraction of the nonsense that had ignited the magazine days earlier in the department store. He was certain she couldn’t hear, but she leaned in as if attempting to. Instantly he pulled his face away, struck by the disgusting sweet smell of nicotine. His hand came away almost as fast at the feeling of heat and the certainty that he had blistered his palm. But the hand was untouched and the paper tube glowed red as he handed it back to her. She raised an eyebrow but accepted it anyway.
“So are you like a magician or something?” she asked in a long exhale.
He could see now that she was older than he was, perhaps by as much as a few years.
He harrumphed at the cheap, tawdry word. “Yeah, I’m performing at the bar mitzvah down the hall.”
“Hmmm. A sarcastic magician, repeat business mustn’t be an issue for you then.”
He sighed. "I don't mean to be. Sarcastic that is."
“I’ve seen you around the building,” she muttered. “But you’re never at any of the seminars or grad association meetings.”
“I’m an undergrad,” he winced. What a stupid thing to be ashamed of. But nonetheless her mood suddenly shifted and she seemed all too eager to slip away.
“Oh…” her voice trailed off. “Anyway, thanks for the light.”
He was glad for her departure, at least for the moment. His need for solitude waned for a moment, half because of the knowledge that his mind was running in circles, going over the same thoughts again and again and half because of some unknown reason, something at which he could only guess.
"I need help," he said, half to the empty space off the terrace.
She paused for an instant. "I'm not great with help."
"Advice then." His brain spun. Where exactly was his mouth going with this? Was he going to tell her everything? "There's..." He hedged at the last moment. "Something I'm working on and... I don't know if I can keep doing it."
"Oh yeah? How come?"
"It's dangerous. I'm not sure... People could get hurt. A lot of things could go wrong."
"A little free advice: if this is just a way to get my attention, you're hitting the 'dangerous' a little too hard."
"It's not, I—" Jonah stammered.
"And this dangerous thing, do you think it's worth it?"
"Yes." His lack of hesitation surprised even him.
"Gonna help a lot of people? Change the world?"
"I think so."
"No, you're not."
"Huhn?"
"Every kid who walks through our lab doors thinks they're going to change the world. Me included. But the world's not going to let that happen." She took a long drag on the cigarette. "Right now there’s a huge recession. The government’s corrupt, not to mention the cops and the courts. People are homeless, my sister can’t afford to buy her kids clothes. I can barely afford to live in this city and I'm staying with two roommates. All that shit is by design. And people aren't going to the polls and voting for it. But that's still the way it is."
Jonah's brow furrowed. This wasn't the way he was expecting this conversation to go.
"You're going to do what all of us are going to do: Make a modest contribution to science that's going to make some rich asshole another million dollars when he buys the patent rights from the university."
"It's not—" Jonah tried to steer the conversation away from where she was taking it.
"So, my advice is: grow up, don't try to change the world just get paid up front."
Dumbstruck, Jonah leaned back against the railing of the terrace.
"And the next time you're trying to get a girl's attention maybe try something a little less creepy than 'I'm working on something... dangerous.'"
"But, I—"
She turned around and walked toward the group of people chattering their teeth on the far side of the balcony, arms hugged tightly around her.
"Wait, I didn't—" he stammered, but she was already out of earshot and starting up a conversation with the group, who greeted her warmly. They closed protectively around her, creating a barrier he didn't feel like he could breach.
Jonah looked after her for a moment with a sorrow that bordered on hellish and then slid open the glass door to return indoors, grab his things and leave.
The coldness forced Jonah to close his coat around his body tightly. It was not as cold as it had been over the past few weeks, but it was enough for him to pull his hat out of his pocket and pull it down snugly over his ears. It was late in the night and if he had any sense at all
he would be back inside his temporary lodgings at the hotel, sleeping fitfully on the hard mattress and the wafer-thin pillow, but as things stood his mind was far too occupied to sleep and even too occupied to sit in that party and pretend to enjoy his drink. There were questions to answer and options to weigh.
People are homeless, my sister can’t afford to buy her kids clothes.
Her words hung in his head as he kicked a block of ice that had come loose from under someone’s car down the street. It struck one of the dirty brick buildings that loomed up over him and then skittered off into the street.
From out of the darkness of an adjoining alleyway a shape lurched out toward him, a mass of stained, nearly rancid old cloth and whitened stubbly face. Jonah pulled away, at first out of fear and then out of revulsion. The vagrant yelled something at him and then hobbled off into the freezing night. Jonah stared down the alleyway the man had come out of, not daring to investigate the other dark shapes moving in the alley, with their terrifying eyes staring back at him.
He pulled one of the twenties he had forgotten to give to Amanda or Amy or whatever her name was for his place in the back of the room sipping on a drink he didn’t like and stared at it. How willing he had been to let it go when he thought that there was a girl at the other end. It had seemed like such a good deal. And of course it had a good deal. He could make as much money as he wanted.
But he was still out here in an alley alone.
Suddenly up in a rage, he crushed the twenty dollars in his fist and threw the tattered wad into the alley where the eyes glared at it hungrily.
And he had shut himself away in that cursed apartment with his misplaced zeal to placate his own damned avarice. It was little wonder that no one wanted anything to do with him!