Chapter 23
There is a pleasure, sure, in being mad, which none but madmen know. —John Dryden
There was no simple way to say it, so he just said it.
“Almost four years ago I was in a car accident. I hit my head. When I woke up, I saw a rift floating above everybody’s head. Like a tear through reality.”
Celeste’s face didn’t change. He decided that he didn’t ever want to play poker with the woman in front of him.
“Through that tear I see symbols. Some of them are big. Some are little. Some appear to be farther off in the distance. Some of the code is so far away it looks like fog. There are different blocks of code in different areas. I don’t know what most of it means. But there is one block of code—and it’s the same for everybody—about six inches above your head and just a little to the right. It’s two symbols that repeat. A simple binary pattern. It’s a timer, and it’s counting backward, and when it reaches zero—if it reaches zero—you die. I’ve seen it happen dozens and dozens of times. It is certain and absolute.”
Celeste said nothing. He wondered if she understood.
“It’s code, Celeste. The code. We’re in a simulation, and I can see the code. That is my proof. That is how I can do the pebble trick. I look in the rift above your head, and I can see which hand you’ve hidden the rock in.”
At this, the certainty in Celeste’s eyes wavered. She could smile at his ideas because he couldn’t show her the rift. But he had shown her the pebble trick. She couldn’t argue with that.
She tried anyway. “I listened to a podcast that talked about how we have physical reactions to the world around us. For example, when we’re trying to solve a difficult problem, our pupils dilate. Maybe there’s something I do unconsciously that lets you know which hand I’ve placed the rock in.”
“That’s not how it works.”
“Maybe you don’t even realize it. Maybe you’ve taught yourself to read the signs, and you’re not even sure how you do it. We react to things constantly without thinking about it. Like knowing another person isn’t listening to you when you’re talking to them. Subtle body language. The way their breathing changes. You don’t know how you know it, you just do. Like a sixth sense.”
“So, you’re telling me I subconsciously listen to your breathing, and that tells me—without fail—what hand the stone is in?”
Celeste looked hurt. “I know it sounds silly, but I’ve had all of ten seconds to think of a logical explanation. How is that any sillier than your explanation? That the entire world is a simulation and you and I are nothing but code?”
Nick looked down at Jane and didn’t answer. There wasn’t anything else to say. If he had heard the idea from somebody who had kidnapped him, he wouldn’t believe it either. It was madness. All of it.
But to his core, he believed it to be true.
“I dismissed your idea,” he said at last. “I didn’t mean to be insulting.” He took a breath and motioned to Jane. “You asked me why I took this baby. Today when we met—this morning—I saw your timer. I saw you were going to die.” He paused. “Are going to die. Tomorrow, early morning. 1:18. That’s why I came back into the store. That’s why I invited myself along to the game. Because I wanted to stay close to you. I wanted to watch for danger. I’ve saved others, Celeste. Not always, but sometimes. I wanted to try to save you.
“But after leaving the store, I saw that everybody’s timers are going to end at the same time. Everyone, dead tomorrow morning.”
He saw her eyes go wide in disbelief. She opened her mouth, but he kept talking.
“I know how it sounds, Celeste, but it’s true. Everyone . . . everyone, is going to die tonight shortly after one o’clock.” He motioned at the baby. “Except for her. Somehow, this baby is going to live a full life. I don’t understand it, but I’m trying to. That is why I took her. I’m trying to save . . . I’m trying to save everybody, Celeste. And I think this baby is the key.”
There. He’d said it. He’d said it all.
And it sounded absurd. He knew it.
Celeste spoke her next words carefully. Hesitantly. “You said you see these symbols over everyone? And you’ve seen them ever since the car accident where you banged your head?”
Nick knew what she was implying, but he let her continue.
Her next words were as careful as before. “Do you . . . do you ever hear voices? Voices that tell you things? Or even noises that seem out of place? Like knocking where there shouldn’t be any?”
Nick took his turn, hiding his emotions behind a stone face. “I’m not crazy.”
“I didn’t—” Celeste paused. Nick could almost see her brain racing as she sorted out her thoughts. She was sharp, he knew this much. She chose her next words with deliberation. “I have a friend. Her mom suffers from schizophrenia. Nick, it’s a treatable condition. When she doesn’t take her medicine, she hears things. Sees things that aren’t there. Doesn’t this sound familiar?”
“You don’t get schizophrenia from a head injury.”
“Actually, I think you can. At least, a head injury increases the likelihood of developing it. Look, I’m not an expert, but can’t you at least consider it? Have you ever talked to a doctor? You hit your head, and suddenly you’re seeing things that nobody else can see. Things you didn’t see before the accident. Was it a bad injury?”
Nick paused, then nodded.
“Did they have to . . . was it just a bump or . . .”
“I had three brain surgeries. Each one to save my life.”
Celeste released a small breath as if she’d just made her case. “Can’t you see? This isn’t your fault. Schizophrenia can cause delusions. Can’t you admit that believing you’re living in computer simulation could be called . . . a delusion?”
“I’m not delusional.” Nick had to fight back the anger. “I have saved thirteen people in the last three years. I’ve saved them from dying.”
Celeste didn’t back down. “Have you? How do you know?”
“I reset their timers,” Nick said. “They had timers that were about to run out. I interfered with their routine, slowed them down, set them on a different path—one that didn’t lead to death.” A part of him knew he sounded crazy, but there was no way around it. It was true. “Their timers were winding down and I stepped in. I changed their actions and gave them more time. Usually a lot more time”
“But how do you know they were really going to die?” Celeste asked. “You see a short timer. You stop somebody from getting in a car and then suddenly their timer changes. How do you know you really saved them? How do you know they were really going to die in the first place? That’s not proof, Nick. In your mind, you thought you’d saved them, and so in your mind, the timer reset. Isn’t that just as much a possibility as the entire world being a simulation?”
Nick’s jaw clenched and for a moment he wasn’t sure if he could open his mouth to speak without shouting. “I’ve saved thirteen people in the last three years,” Nick said after he’d calmed himself. “But I’ve also watched more than two dozen people die. I’ve watched as they had some horrible accident. Something I didn’t anticipate. I watched a mechanic filling up a tire at a repair shop. The tire exploded, and the metal rim struck his head. He died three days later in the hospital. I saw a man step in front of a bus. A woman collapse from a heart attack. Dozens of people. I saw their deaths because I was watching and following people with short timers.”
Celeste spoke quietly. “Nick, what if your brain injury is causing that as well? Maybe you read about a death online or see a video—what if when they die and you get it in your head that you were following them? That they had a short timer, and you saw them die. You think that all day you’ve been watching a timer get closer to zero, but in fact just read about it online. Do you ever read the obituaries?”
Nick said nothing.
Celeste opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. When she spoke, her voice was firm, as if she’d decided to throw a hail-Mary pass. “Nick, what if you follow somebody with a short timer, and in some cases, you think you’ve saved them? But in other cases . . . what if you end up hurting the person? What if tomorrow morning you hurt me, and then tell yourself that it was because my timer ran out. What if that man you saw jump in front of the bus . . . what if he didn’t jump? What if you pushed . . .”
Celeste fell silent and Nick let the quiet of the afternoon settle between them. The two of them sat next to the shore of the reservoir while the sun warmed the car.
The idea of being crazy was not new to him. He’d asked himself the same question a thousand times since his accident. Wondered what was real and what might be in his head.
He’d seen a boy from Sky View High School at a football game. One of the players. He had a timer that expired in just under three weeks. Even though Sky View was on the other side of the valley, Nick started following the boy whenever he could. He skipped the last class of the day, so he could drive north and be there as soon as the boy left school. Nick tried to throw off the boy’s activities. Maneuvering his car in front of the boy’s car in hopes of slowing him down enough to save his life.
This was back when he was still excited about his new power and was imagining all the people he would save. All the good he could do in the world. He was a goddam superhero.
Nick watched from behind a chain-link fence one day as the boy tried climbing the football goalpost with some friends. He fell off and landed on his head. Nick ran to help. The boy’s face was purple and swollen, and Nick figured he’d missed the chance to save a life.
But the boy still had three days on his timer. Nick went to the hospital that afternoon. At first, the boy was in intensive care and Nick couldn’t see him. Later that night, they moved him to a regular room.
Nick hung outside the room and down the hall. He overheard the doctor tell the family that the boy had a skull fracture. The doctors gave him painkillers and said they’d keep him overnight to watch him close.
The next day the boy was awake and alert. Laughing and joking. The doctors declared he’d be back to normal in no time. Tragedy averted.
But Nick knew better. The boy would be dead in two days.
Nick remembered a lot of things about that day. He remembered two cheerleaders who came in after practice, still in their uniforms, carrying blue flowers. A nurse at the station noticed Nick was hanging around. Nick told her he’d been there when the boy fell, and she allowed him to stay if he didn’t bother the patient or his family. The nurse had a blond ponytail and was reading People magazine. He remembered all these things. Does a crazy person remember that much detail?
That afternoon the boy fell asleep. Nick went down to the hospital library and looked up complications that came from a skull fracture. There were several possibilities, but Nick had an advantage over the doctors. He knew exactly how soon the boy would die. He knew just how fast the ailment would overtake and destroy an otherwise alert and healthy young man. One diagnosis stood out among all the others.
He went back to the nurse and told her that the boy had bacterial meningitis. She replied that it was time he left. She had a can of Diet Dr. Pepper and sipped at it with a straw whenever Nick said something that made her mad, so she could calm down. She called security when he refused to leave. An officer arrived almost immediately, but not before he was able to tell the boy’s mother what he thought. He yelled it out to her, even as the officer came and dragged him away.
It had been enough. Maybe his callout to the mother. Maybe a doctor had overheard. Something he did made the difference. When they dragged him past the room, he saw the boy’s timer had changed.
Nick didn’t return to the hospital. He didn’t need to. The timers never lied. Nick had thought about that event over and over. He remembered the People magazine the nurse had been reading. He remembered Angelina Jolie had been on the cover, and he remembered the words, “100 Most Beautiful.” He hadn’t seen that magazine anywhere else, but months later—when he’d been wondering if maybe he really was crazy, he looked for the cover and found it online. It was the right month. Nick had been in that hospital. He’d saved that boy.
He wasn’t crazy.
He wasn’t.
But his actions . . . running from the police. Kidnapping a girl. Those were crazy, weren’t they?
He became aware of the silence. He looked at his watch. Four thirty. He’d wasted too much time. He’d spent all morning and afternoon evading the police, but what did it matter? The larger problem still hung there, through the rift over Celeste’s head.
The time had come to find a solution.
Jane slept; her easy breathing too soft to hear. Celeste picked at the seam of her jeans. She appeared to be lost in thought. Uneasy.
Two birds flapped and ran along the water until they lifted off the rippling surface of the lake and took flight.
He needed a plan.
Jane was the key. Jane and her red life-thread, twisting its way through the void. He had to find a way. Through the madness and out the other side.
Find a safe place. Uncover Jane’s secret. Decide from there what to do.
Nick closed his eyes and spoke to Celeste.
“It’s time to go.”
