Eleven Twenty-Three (46 page)

“The plans for tonight are still on,” I say
through gritted teeth. “The only problem is we need a little
help.”

“I told you so,” Hajime says out of the
corner of his mouth to Olivia.

I kill the beginnings of her grin with an
immediate glare.

“Look Hajime, you can cut the crap. I get it.
You’ve made your point. But Tara and I have more prescient matters
to discuss with you, and it’s really got to be now. By the way,
hi
Olivia.”

Olivia is caught off guard and jumps at my
sudden greeting. She sends me a ghastly little wave and looks at
one of the ghosts across the room.

“Don’t you guys want to stay for a bit?” he
asks. “Olivia says the blue punch is really good.”

“Can we talk for a minute or two alone?” Tara
asks Hajime while staring at the teenager. “It’s important.”

“Um, I thought I’d already made it clear that
I intended to
enjoy
my last few hours alive instead of
spending them pulling shit kind of like what you two are pulling
now. Besides, I’m in the middle of hosting a semi-historic party
here. I’d hope that
you
of all people would understand that,
Layne.”

“Understand what, Hajime? That you managed to
throw a last-minute shindig of small-town proportions and get to
socialize with a bunch of soon-to-be dead people? Color me
unimpressed, dude.”

“It’s the most cooperation between town
residents since this whole thing happened,” he says. “It’s an
exchange of ideas and theories on what to do about all this, and
most importantly, why it’s happening and how to let the world know
the truth.”

“It doesn’t
matter
why it’s happening
anymore, Hajime. The only thing that matters is not being a
statistic left in its wake. For now, why isn’t important.”

“Ever notice that even major world events get
lost to history when they can’t be easily explained?” he asks. “How
many of your former students know what the Tunguska Blast is? Of
course
it matters why.”

“I always thought the most intriguing moments
in history were the parts that ended in question marks,” I
mutter.

“Not everyone is a student of Fort,
Layne.”

“Discuss this later, guys,” Tara interrupts,
lighting a cigarette. “Layne, get to the point.”

“Okay look, this is a swell party and
everything, and these people here look like they could definitely
use a drink and a little camaraderie, but right now three of your
best friends are in dire need of assistance, Hajime. We do have a
plan, and it will work, but only if we have an inside guy to help
us enact it. I promise, it won’t take long. You’ll have aided our
escape and gotten back here just in time for the guy with the
acoustic guitar over there to play wistful songs from the Nineties.
Everyone wins.”

Hajime glances over his shoulder at the
longhaired fellow wearing a beanie in the living room; he spots the
guitar propped against the wall behind him. I notice Alisha and
Ashley chatting away with him.

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Hajime groans. “That
guy will be playing old STP in no time.”

No one says anything for several seconds. For
one brief moment, the temptation to suddenly grab Olivia by the
throat, throttle her until the pallor in her cheeks goes from gray
to gray-blue, and scream, “
Why
, you evil pretentious bitch?
Why would you do that to your
teacher
?” is almost
overwhelming.

I dig my fingernails into my arms to keep
from losing it.

As if picking up on my deadly vibes, Tara
says, “Olivia, you’re going to need to excuse us and Mr. Miriyama
for a minute.”

“Actually, I’m not sure if he—”

“Olivia, you have about two seconds before I
disfigure your fucking face,” Tara says. “Darling, if I were you,
I’d go have another cup of blue punch…right now.”

“Um, maybe you’d better give us a moment,
babe,” Hajime finally says, retrieving his hand from hers. “I’ll be
back in a minute.”

Once Olivia withdraws and heads for the
kitchen, Hajime takes only a single glance around the room before
motioning for the exit.

“Just in case we’re not all here to drink
hunch punch and eat banana pudding,” he says.

We follow him toward the back door.

On the couch, the half-black guy passes the
freshly lit blunt to the girl in the Murder by Death shirt, who
hits it only once before handing it to the teacher with the big
hair. Just as we pass the three of them on the way outside, the
half-black guy pretends like he’s been shot in the chest and
lurches backward while clutching his ribcage. His change falls out
of his pocket into the couch cushions, and the group breaks into
hysterics. My eyes sweat and somewhere behind us, something by The
Clash blasts from the stereo.

Hajime slides the glass door open and motions
for us to join him on the back deck. A couple of the foundation
beams that once supported the roof of the porch still remain after
the hurricane. The bowling alley girl and Damon are sitting at the
edge of the deck, their tongues probing one another.

“Find an orange grove or something,” Tara
says to them, and they shuffle off to an unlocked vehicle on the
curb near three decomposing bodies wrapped in bed sheets.

I turn to Hajime and take a deep breath. Tara
hands me a cigarette and lights it.

“Hajime, you told me that you know when
you’re beaten. You told me several times that you don’t see the
inherent value in attempting to defy a government that so clearly
has every foreseeable variable taken into consideration and
accounted for. You don’t like wasting your time, essentially.
Yes?”

“
Yawn
, Layne.” He folds his arms. “Go
ahead and ask me what you came here to so I can get back inside to
listen to that guy play ‘Champagne Supernova.’ I want to request
‘Vaseline’ later, too.”

I glance nervously at Tara. This is going to
be difficult.

“We’ve been good friends for a long time,
Hajime,” I say carefully, putting emphasis on each word. “And I
certainly don’t think helping out a friend in need is a waste of
time. I’d think you agree, right? So I’m calling in a favor.”

“I seem to recall
terminating
our
friendship Sunday night,” he says, scratching at his goatee. “Right
after I saved your life, no less. I’d say your friendship card’s
coming up invalid at the moment.”

“Make it even then for boning Olivia,” I say.
“You see, we have a car full of chemical agents and we need someone
to—”

“You cheated on your three-year girlfriend
with my engaged sister, dick face. Then you tried to do it again
once you got back to the States a few days ago. Oh, and you
lied
to me about it—to your best friend—when I confronted
you. Have I missed anything so far?”

Tara tries to glare at me, but quickly looks
away to run her hand over her eyes.

“Yeah, well, it was
still
kind of
crappy for you to get with the girl that—”

“Layne, she showed up to the party and we
started talking. We hit it off, and there’s not much time for
dawdling these days. Besides, it’s not like she has a real shot at
ruining my career at this point, you know? So if I want to sleep
with your hot, willing ex-student at a party I never thought in a
million years you’d attend on what may be the last day of my
corporeal life, then I most certainly will. Without hesitation.
Without apologies. Without regret. So why don’t you just go fuck
yourself?”

“Okay, then what about
my
favor?” Tara
chimes in. “What if
I
needed a favor from you, Hajime? You
and I are still friends, right?
I
didn’t have sex with any
of your siblings. Well, I really need you to do one little thing
for me right now—”

“And I’m already doing it for you, Tara,” he
interrupts. “Maybe if I flat-out refuse to help the three of you,
you’ll come to your senses and just take comfort in the fact that
you were a part of the greatest conspiracy in human history. Maybe
you’ll calm down and take some pleasure in your final moments, and
just be happy to be alive.”

“Not a part, Hajime,” I say. “A
victim
of the greatest conspiracy in human history. There’s a
difference.”

“We just need a diversion, Hajime, and we
don’t trust anyone else. Please do this for us.”

“The answer is still no, guys,” he declares,
shrugging. “I’m sorry, but I’m not going out there and risking my
last moments to create a ‘diversion’ that just helps you guys get
yourselves killed anyway. You can be pissed off about it all you
want, but you’ll thank me in Singularity.”

I mull over his argument, smoking. Even after
all these years, I can’t quite keep up with him. However, I
am
adept at appealing to his weaknesses, and Hajime has
never had a greater weakness than maintaining his image.

“Consider this, then, Hajime,” I begin. “Say
you
did
help us in a couple of hours, and by some miracle,
we really
did
make it out of here. And then once we were
out, we found asylum in some other country and were able to tell
the world our story.”

“Um.”

I continue, undaunted.

“So what then, huh? The people would be
devastated. They’d be furious. They’d be flipping out and demanding
answers. They’d want to know
why
, Hajime. Just like you want
now. There’d be rioting in the streets and media coverage the likes
of which haven’t been seen since Anna Nicole Smith died. The truth
Tara, Julie, and myself would be able to expose would be the
impetus behind the
revolution
, my friend. And you
know
there’d be one. Hajime, you’re smart. You must realize
that a development as massive as this in Lilly’s End would be
enough to spark complete upheaval and a real stand against this
government you’ve been at war with for years now. Exposing the men
behind the death of Lilly’s End would be the greatest revelation in
American history, and would serve as only the first of many huge
dominoes to fall thereafter. Just
think
about it: the
chemtrails, the subliminal messages, the cover story handed to the
media, the cooperation of multiple foreign nations on the slaughter
of an American town—it’s the kind of stuff you’d see in a bad
horror novel. The shit storm you and the three of us would incite
would bring out the facts on everything from 9/11 to the Kennedy
assassinations to
Roswell
. And look, all we’re asking of you
is about two hours of your time and a little car ride, Hajime. It’s
not like you’re signing away your vital organs or something
here.”

“You’re right. I might be signing away the
whole damn
package
—”

“Look, man, just think about it. Okay? Just
mull it over for a second before you refuse.”

Hajime runs his hand through his hair,
inspects his palm afterward.

“Tara, you have a cigarette?” he asks.

My girlfriend hands him one and raises her
eyebrows, urging me to continue, but Hajime clears his throat to
speak.

“Assuming for two seconds you three jackasses
did
manage to escape, find a place safe from the scope of a
sniper rifle, and told the world your story and actually had it
believe
you, there’s one problem with the proposition you’re
making to me: I’ll be dead. Therefore, why should I give a
shit?”

When he goes to light his cigarette, I pounce
on the gap in his argument.

“Perhaps, Hajime. I’ll admit that if you do
stay here and wait for the trucks tomorrow morning, there’s no way
to know what will happen. But even if you
were
to die, by
aiding us in a successful escape, you guarantee your place in
history. You won’t be forgotten. Just think about the post-humous
glory you’d receive if everyone were to find out that you
sacrificed your own freedom in order to save your friends and
expose the truth of what really happened. That’s what we’ll tell
them, you know. That you stayed behind to make sure we were able to
get out, and that you were willing to die in an effort to save
countless others from the hands of their own government.”

“But that’s not what’s happening,” he says,
grinning now. “I’m throwing a party on my last day. I’m pretty much
the
antithesis
of a hero, truth be told.”

“The world at large certainly doesn’t know
that,” Tara says, aware he’s catching on. “All they’ll ever know is
what we tell them should we make it out of here. History is written
from the viewpoint of the living, right?”

I make eye contact with my girlfriend and
give her a quick wink. Then I proceed with the pitch.

“You’d be the martyr of the revolution,
Hajime. The ghostly father of a new era in America. Your selfless
act will awe generations and get written into the pages of every
future history book for the next
millennium
. In fact, you’ll
be thanking
me
in Singularity.”

“If that’s not a statement then I don’t know
what is, Hajime,” Tara adds, biting her bottom lip.

“Not to mention you’d be doing a great thing
for three—sorry, I guess
two
of your best friends and one
guy you used to be quite fond of before he screwed up royally, and
who wanted to tell you how sorry he is for the things he’s
done.”

By the time I finish my speech, everything is
too real and I have to look away.

Hajime rubs his chin for a long time. Tara
and I exchange nervous glances. He seems as if he’s waiting for me
to say something else, but I shrug and wait for him instead. After
what feels like a very long time, he nods toward the briefcase and
chuckles.

“A lot of people have been telling me that
either they or someone they knew haven’t been affected by the
eleven twenty-three since the first night,” he says.

“Hajime, you’ve only been affected by it the
one time, and even then you didn’t—”