October 2, 1988

1:00 AM, Donnie Darko's bedroom

WAKE UP.

At first, he thinks he's lying in the Ridge again. No. Bed sheet smell. He swings his legs over the mattress, suddenly very awake.

I'VE BEEN... WATCHING YOU.

Dizzy. Nervous. Out-of-body experience. The stairs are one long Wonderland fall, but he makes it down okay. Passes Eddie, knocked out in his armchair. Under the chandelier hanging in the front lobby. Out the front door, down the garden path. Listening.

What's wrong with me? I took the pills, didn't I?

COME CLOSER.

The nausea rises, then falls; then again, like a tidal wave of sick in his gut. It disappears when he spots the tall figure standing in a distance. Backlit by moonlight, shrouded in shadow.

CLOSER.

The voice issues from a rabbit standing ten yards away. Six feet tall. Grotesque, ratty grey fur. The head atop the body is a metallic skull, with exaggerated buck-teeth and twisted rabbit ears. More like horns. The suit looks almost patchwork, like a dime-store mascot. Milky eyes. The air turns monochromatic as Donnie steps towards it. Everything in blacks and greys.

The voice begins a hollow incantation.

TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS. SIX HOURS. FORTY-TWO MINUTES. TWELVE SECONDS.

Each syllable a measured beat. The rabbit pauses as if consulting its notes, then:

THAT IS WHEN THE WORLD WILL END.

Donnie struggles to understand. He feels light-headed. "Why?" he asks, a wide grin spreading slowly across his face. This is the best joke he's ever heard. He feels his head pounding in the back of his skull, twisting, pulling apart at the synapses. The dark figure pulses in and out of his vision, leaving rabbit-shaped holes in the air. He looks through one of them...

Elizabeth creeps into the house, face flushed, lipstick marking the side of her mouth. Carefully shuts the door, leaning against it. Tries to hold back exhaling her boyfriend's kisses into the still air. Hears his car pulling away, stealing up the quiet streets.

The chandelier explodes. A crash from upstairs, like a hailstorm of lightbulbs. The house shakes. Books rain from the shelves. Elizabeth huddles against the door, hands over ears, mouth a smudged 'O' of terror. Eddie jumps up from his post in the living room, charges upstairs, where Rose is huddled on the bed with trembling hands over her face.

Their frightened breath fills the empty spaces.

Donnie spins. Something pulls away from something else and he follows it, lurching, hitting it with his elbow. Everything goes dark. He looks around.

"...hello?"

Nobody answers. He feels gravity pulling at his ribcage. Cut grass poking through his shirt.

"...son..."

Lying on his side. He stirred, faintly.

"...son... Son... Donnie... Donnie Darko..."

His own name sounded strange, even to him. He almost laughed until he opened his eyes and saw where he was. Reposing on the seventh green, a golf ball lodged against his arm. Two concerned golfers stood over him, faces shaded against the bright clouds in the sky.

"What the heck is going on here, Donnie?" Local physician Dr. Fisher peered at him suspiciously, then turned apologetically to his partner. "It's Eddie Darko's kid. I'm sorry about this, Jim. Just some neighbourhood kid."

"I guess he was sleep-golfing?" joked Fisher's partner, whose face Donnie could not attach an identity to. The men laughed. "Watch out for that drool spot!" Setting them off again.

Donnie stood up unsteadily, hoping he didn't look too drunk or stoned. Decided he didn't care. Groggily, he noticed something on his left arm. A tattoo? He looked down at it. Scrawled down the inside of his forearm, in black ink:

28:06:42:12.

He stared, fascinated. A black marker in his other hand. He must have grabbed it from the fridge memo. It took another second before he noticed Fisher and the other man ogling at him.

Fisher hesitated. "You all right, son? Let's... ah... stay off the links at night, okay?"

Donnie mumbled an apology, hiding his arm behind his back. As he turned away, stumbling off the green, he looked for the place the rabbit had been standing.

There. Right next to the flag.

He walked home, arms crossed over his chest. The sound of sirens reached him long before he caught sight of his house. Neighbours were already coming out of their holes, most still in bathrobes and slippers. Vultures for disaster. They formed at the edge of the scene, commenting in loud voices over the sound of splintering wood and megaphoned instructions from uniformed officials.

Alarm went through him in one swift motion; then he was through the gawking crowd and pounding past the police officer guarding the barricades, scanning the chaos for a sign of familiarity. Fire engines and police cars were scattered on Eddie's no-longer pristine lawn, like toys dropped by a careless giant child after playtime. A caterpillar crane hoisted some unidentifiable object from the wreckage of the roof. Bits of tile and plaster fell to the ground.

When his family caught sight of him, it was like he'd come back from the dead. Rose dropped her hands to her sides, breath catching in relief. Samantha, as usual, supplied the only useful commentary. "A jet engine!" she said enthusiastically. She pointed. "It fell in your room."

Donnie blinked at the surreality of the scene. A herd of suits strode briskly to their side. One introduced themselves as members of the FAA. They were requesting a private audience with Eddie and Rose.

As their parents signed forms, Elizabeth leaned over and said in a conspiratorial tone, "They don't know where it came from." Her eyes twinkled. Donnie watched the emergency crew lower the oversized chunk of scarred metal to a flatbed, pieces of shingle crunching underfoot. Deep at the heart of the engine was a red spiral. Water splashed over it from a fire hose, licking over the pocks in its surface.

Elizabeth said something about going to a hotel, but he was entranced. He wandered closer, until he was blocked by a man in a silver fire-proof suit.

"Woah, there. Better watch yourself."

The guy left. Donnie watched them cart away the jet engine. It felt, in some strange way, like a piece of his world was going with it, like a plug pulled out of a drain.

That evening in their hotel room, Donnie and Elizabeth forced a truce by numbing their minds with television. Samantha wanted to watch The Cosby Show, but Donnie and Elizabeth solidified their peace pact by ganging up on her and turning on the news channel.

"...Local and national transportation authorities have begun a nationwide search..."

Samantha was unimpressed. "If it fell from the plane, what happened to the plane?"

Donnie let Elizabeth field that one as he drifted. "They don't know, Samantha."

"...despite the fact that no airline will claim..."

Rose and Eddie were watching the same program in the adjacent room, but Eddie's mind was elsewhere.

"Frankie Feedler," he said suddenly. His wife's head was on his chest, and she felt him jolt slightly with surprise. "Mmm?"

"You remember him. From high school."

The reporter on the TV screen continued. "...The FAA remained tight lipped on the details of the current situation..."

"He died. On his way to the prom. Remember?"

Rose shifted on her husband's chest. Rubbed her hand over his skin, drowsy with the effort of recall. She murmured, soothingly. Eddie went on.

"They said he was doomed. ...jeez..."

His voice got softer.

"They could be saying the same thing about Donnie."

He stopped, eyes dark. Rose rolled over, embraced him.

"...the engine, which appears to have detached..."