Maybe we were crazy.
Each of us told of things the others hadn’t seen, but the pieces all fit together in some rhythmic alcoholic order: the Odds, the battles in Glenbrook, the floods, Anamore Fent and the Rangers, the Under, the trip into the desert, the encampment, and, finally, Henry’s loss at the settlement, which brought us all back here, to London, to The Prince of Wales.
And the glasses.
“So you knew, didn’t you?” I said.
“I don’t know nothing.” Conner drained his beer. It was amazing to me how much he could drink.
“No. I mean Henry. You knew when you let us go out that night after the Ranger what was going to happen to you and the other boys, didn’t you?”
“I thought I did. But there’s always that chance, isn’t there, that things will change?”
“Like Jack’s briefs.” Conner put his foot on top of mine. Always screwing with me. “Drink your beer, kid, you’re lagging!”
My glass was still full. I couldn’t take any more.
“I’m good, Con.”
“Not me. I’m never good.” Conner got up. “Never.”
He pointed at Henry’s empty. “How about you?”
“Thank you, yes,” Henry said.
I held my glass to my lips, pretended to drink, but I had to hold my breath. The smell of the stuff was beginning to make me feel sick. Still, Conner and Henry hadn’t noticed that I’d stopped drinking three rounds earlier.
When Conner came back and sat down, grinning sleepily, Henry steadied himself, square and upright, as though he had finally worked up the courage to say what he and Conner had been dancing around all evening.
“Tell me about breaking the lens. How you put it back together.”
Conner leaned forward over the table, like it was story time and I was about to tell him something he didn’t already know.
“There’s nothing to tell, really. We … I used a hammer and vice, and when it broke, everything else sort of fell apart around us, and it all stayed that way, too—broken. That was why, everywhere we’d go, we were followed around by this big oozing hole in the sky. And every time we’d take a piece of the lens out, things would change again, get worse, like stuff was coming out of the sky, or out of the hole in my hand, just coming up out of the middle of everything.”
The center of the universe.
I turned my palm up and drew a line with my finger across the flesh where I’d been cut by the lens. “It was the other glasses that brought us—well, some of us—to different places, but everywhere I’d go, things just kept getting worse and worse.”
Ben and Griffin dead inside a fucking trash can.
Like what happened to Nickie, what you did to those boys on the train.
Conner gulped at his drink and swiped a forearm across his wet mouth. “We went back to Glenbrook, but it was like the fucking end of the world there.”
“Worse than that,” I said. “We almost got trapped for good. So when we finally found each other in the desert, it was almost too late again. Things had gotten out of control. But we got the pieces back together.”
Henry tipped his glass and looked from Conner to me, never blinking, like he was completely unfazed by the alcohol.
“What happened to it?” he said.
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I only felt it turn whole inside my hand. It burned me. I never saw it again after that.”
“And you don’t know where it is now?”
Fuck you, Henry.
“What does it matter?” I said.
“I thought—” Henry said. “I just wanted to see it.”
“That would be cool, Jack,” Conner urged. “Let’s see it.”
He bumped his knee against mine.
I felt myself getting pissed off again.
“I don’t know where the fuck it is,” I said. “For all I know, you have it, Con.”
Conner smirked. “I wish, dude.”
“Why?” I said.
“’Cause I’m drunk and I feel like fucking with shit. That’s why.” He slapped the table eagerly, like a kid waiting for his allowance.
I could only stare at him and shake my head.
“And the other glasses?” Henry wouldn’t let it go, either.
Conner was so drunk. “You know, the flip flip.”
He made a little flapping windshield-wiper motion with his finger in front of his eyes and said, “How about those ones? Did you lose those, too? You fucking lose shit all the time, Jack.”
“You don’t get it, do you?”
Conner was definitely too drunk to hear the edge in my voice.
I looked squarely at Henry, then Conner. “It’s done. I’ve had enough. And I don’t fucking care about ever going back again. I wanted to tell both of you that tonight. I only asked Henry here to say it, and to tell him thank you for helping us get out for the last time. But that’s it. The last time.”
I scooted away from the table and stood.
When Conner got up, he knocked his chair over. It sounded like a gunshot. We didn’t even notice how empty and quiet the place had become.
“Dude. Sit down. You’re not leaving.”
I sighed. “It’s late. I’m really tired.”
I stuck out my hand for Henry.
“Good-bye, Henry. And thank you.”
He looked shocked, pale. He shook my hand, but didn’t answer me.
And Conner nearly tripped over his upturned chair trying to steer himself after me when I left The Prince of Wales and went out onto the street.
* * *
This is it.
It sounds like Conner is puking in the toilet. I wonder how he managed to get back here without stumbling into traffic. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this drunk.
The shower comes on.
Good.
Leave me alone, Conner.
There.
I pick up my bag and place it on top of the bed.
Zip.
I open it. The water runs loudly; Conner has left the bathroom door open.
There was never a question in my mind about what became of the lens, the glasses, too. I am so predictable, and this is my great disappointment. There is no wonder with me. I always know what Jack’s done and where he’s going, everything ordered.
Except now.
I imagine a time, ten minutes forward.
Measured motion.
The remarkable nothingness.
I swallow. The not knowing thrills me. I feel an excited tickle inside my chest, almost sexual, quietly churning.
One. My hand closes around a white cotton knot of underwear. The lens is inside, perfect, waiting.
Two. My socks. And here are the glasses. You know, the flip flip, Conner.
Here.
The water runs.
I place both gifts on Conner’s pillow and I scratch a note for him on the hotel stationery pad.
These are for you.
I hear Conner cough and gargle in the shower and I remove all of my clothes so I am naked. I do not need anything.
A thick cloth belt from one of the robes in the closet knots and knots again around the shining crossbar. I’m watching Jack’s hands tie it, like they aren’t attached to me.
Strong.
Standing with my eyes against the cool chrome bar, I can judge the perfect height where I tie the loop.
I listen to the shower, the sounds of Conner moving around in there.
Then I hear another sound.
Roll.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
And when I turn around, I see Seth.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
“Jack.”
My knees give and then catch. I cannot feel anything except the knot I hold between my fingers.
“Leave me the fuck alone. I did what I had to do.”
“Jack.”
It is tight. I feel the rope of the belt as I force it through my hair, down over my ears, and I fix my mout
h straight because I will not say anything more. I watch the boy who stands beside the wall in front of me, the steam that rolls like the Pope Valley fog out from the open door of the bathroom as the water runs and runs.
“Jack.”
Seth begins hitting his hands into the wall, pounding, but I can’t hear anything over the rush of the water, the roar of the blood in my ears.
Tight.
There.
“Jack.”
And I drop.
“Jack.”
thirty-five
Nothing.
Just nothing.
It was the most beautifully complete thing Jack ever knew.
I floated in black, naked and warm.
Waiting, waiting.
Five seconds more and it would have been over.
Five fucking seconds.
Then I smelled a stale breath of alcohol, and from somewhere very far away, like it was slowly crawling out of a long dark tunnel, I heard Conner’s voice calling, softly at first.
“Fuck! Fuck! What are you doing? What are you fucking doing?”
And he was crying. Conner never cries. He’s never had a reason to.
He was scared, breathing hard.
I could feel his mouth on the side of my neck as he gasped and grunted. With one arm wrapped beneath my armpit, he squeezed me so tightly against his chest, and tried to hold me up off the floor so he could make enough slack to unknot the noose.
Leave me alone, Conner.
When the knots began to come off, the pain spread up and down from where the noose had been tied. It felt like my head was filled with needles, and now they were all rushing down through my neck. I tried to push him away from me, but my arms flopped heavily like soggy mop yarn. Once Conner pulled the noose over my head, he had to catch me as I collapsed, unbound, into him.
Then I was aware of the wetness on his face. Crying, struggling to pull me out of the closet, Conner carried me across the room, and I began to black out again.
Leave me alone.
“What are you thinking, man? What did you do this for? Why? Why?”
Conner shook me with every word, as though his punctuation would snap the life awake inside me.
Then I was down. He laid me on my bed and drunkenly tumbled on top of me. He was heavy and out of breath, dripping from the shower, and he pushed himself up. I felt him lift my feet, pulling the sheets out from the side of the bed so he could cover me. I knew my eyes were open, but everything looked purple and dark, out of focus, like Conner was just a big shadow hovering over me.
“You fucking asshole. Why are you doing this to me?”
He grasped my jaw and shook my face.
It started coming back then. The room began to grow lighter, as though the eye of some great pale sun were opening up above us.
Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?
Five seconds.
Conner had one of his hands on top of my head; his fingers rubbed my hair, and he pressed the side of his face against my chest, listening. And I could feel how his breaths came short and spastic from the crying.
“You better fucking breathe, asshole.”
I inhaled.
“I don’t want to go back.”
My voice was a dry croak.
“I’m sorry, Conner.”
He straightened up, kneeling beside the bed where I lay naked like an unclaimed mortuary cadaver, drained and numb, twisted in the sheets and covers. Conner grabbed my face in his hands and wiped the wetness from my eyes with his thumbs.
I wasn’t even aware that I’d been crying.
Maybe it was something else, because like Conner, Jack doesn’t do that, either.
Then he kissed my forehead.
“You dumb fuck, Jack.”
Conner stood, grunting. He didn’t need to say anything else; I could feel how he seethed with anger, spinning around, looking for something that might give him a clue as to how we’d get out of this now.
This is it, after all.
We are home.
At that moment, I was so sorry for hurting him. I knew it was the worst thing I’d ever done, and I kept thinking about those five goddamned seconds.
It had to have been Seth.
He made Conner find me.
“I’m calling the fucking cops.”
It was like an electric shock. Freddie’s stun gun again. I felt every disconnected muscle in my body contract when he said it.
I tried to sit up. “No. Please don’t do that, Con!”
He paced the floor like an animal in a cage. He stopped at his bed, looked down at the note I’d left. Of course he knew what was inside the two small bundles.
“Is that what it’s about?” he said. He picked up the socks and underwear I’d used to hide the Marbury lenses from everyone. He cocked his arm back like he was going to throw them against the wall.
“Don’t!”
He stopped himself.
Conner knew what would happen if he did it.
He dropped my little gifts to him on the bed.
And then I said it.
“I’d rather die than go back again, Con.”
“I’m calling a fucking ambulance, Jack. I can’t take this shit.”
He went to the desk and picked up the handset for our room’s phone.
“Conner, please don’t do that.”
I swung my feet around onto the floor. I thought I could stand up, try to stop him, but my head pounded so hard it felt like I was going to explode.
Conner inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and hung up the phone. Then he wheeled a desk chair across the floor and sat down in front of me with his hands clasped between his knees, just watching me, waiting for me to fix things.
“What am I going to do with you?” he said.
“I don’t know.”
He smeared his forearm across his eyes.
“I would die without you, Jack.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“You’re full of shit!” Conner’s voice shook. “You’re not the only one who gets hurt in this world! You’re not the only one who fucks things up and then has to fix them! Stop being so goddamned selfish for once!”
He was right.
“I … Shit, Conner.”
He exhaled and loosened his shoulders, slumped back in the chair. “Dude, if you want to stay, I’ll stay with you.”
I lay on my back, shivering and staring up at the creamy blankness of the hotel room’s ceiling.
“I’m afraid if one of us goes back to Marbury, we’ll all end up getting sucked into it again, Con. And I…”
Conner rubbed his hands together and shook his head. He sniffled loudly. I could hear all the wet snot that bubbled in his nose.
“What about Ben and Griff?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do anymore, Con.”
And so he just sat there and watched me for several long and silent minutes until I rolled onto my side and pulled the sheets up around my shoulders.
It was so cold.
Conner got up and put the wadded-up lenses back inside my bag. He zipped it shut and placed it on top of his bed.
He turned out the lights, and then Conner lay down beside me.
He was still crying.
I felt so bad.
Conner got under the covers and slid his arm around me. He put his hand flat on the coldness of my naked belly, so his face was pressed tightly against the back of my neck.
He whispered, “I’m not ever going to let you leave, Jack.”
* * *
I could lie and say that sleeping next to Conner wasn’t sexual at all, even though we didn’t actually do anything. But feeling him beside me was good, genuinely safe, and neither of us was ashamed of it.
For the first time in my life, it was like nothing could ever make me afraid again.
And I’m not scared to admit that it felt safer and closer than lying naked in bed with Nickie.
In the morning, we were awakened by an emb
arrassed housekeeper who walked into our room and quickly offered pleading apologies as she backed into the hallway.
I groaned. “That is totally fucked up.”
Conner still had his arms around me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’ll be all right. I’m sorry, Con.”
“For what?”
“Nothing.”
Conner pressed closer into me, like he was covering me against something poisonous. “Let’s just stay here for, like, ten more minutes, okay?”
“Okay.”
And more than an hour later, it was nearly noon when we got out of bed and put our clothes on, silent and awkward, nervously avoiding each other’s eyes.
* * *
Outside, the air was so cold and heavy.
Feeling it was an amazing thing to me.
To feel.
I walked in a fog as thick and stubborn as the cover of leaden clouds that pressed down on us from above. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering about everything.
Everything.
And how every day begins the same way.
This is it.
Maybe we were still drunk, I reasoned.
Maybe this was just another not-world.
I kept my eyes down and studied the backs of Conner’s sneakers, the faded upturn of the slight cuff on his Levi’s as he walked in front of me. He led me along the slate-gray sidewalk on Marylebone Road in the direction of the Great Portland Street Underground.
Conner stopped, and it was the first time since we’d gotten out of bed that we looked each other squarely in the face.
He said, “So. You want to get coffee?”
“Oh man, I am dying for some coffee.”
Conner’s mouth turned downward. He shook his head.
I said, “Um. Sorry. Bad choice of words.”
Then he smiled cautiously and pointed me to the door of a coffee bar.
It made for a long stretch of silence, finishing two full cups of hot coffee without saying a word. But nothing else needed to be said. Sometimes Conner and I could sit together for hours and just know, exactly, what we were thinking.
We didn’t avoid each other’s stare, though, because Conner and I could never be embarrassed about anything around each other. In fact, sitting there, having coffee with him, I understood Conner better at that moment than I had in all the years we’d known each other.
He swallowed. I watched the knot in his throat bob down and up.
I reached across the table and bumped his hand with my knuckles.