October 18, 1988

12 days remaining

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound of bodies hitting the floor of the gas chambers, Karen thought dismally, watching each student drop their Graham Greene books on her desk. Donnie was last to come up, letting the book dangle from his fingers before letting go.

Thump.

She turned to retrieve another box of novels from the corner of the classroom. When she turned around, she saw Donnie slipping something into his backpack. Obviously, he wasn't quite finished with the book.

"It gives me no pleasure to deny you the right to read one of the great writers of the twentieth century. But, alas, I have not yet been elected Queen of the Universe. And until that day, I will be forced to obey the rules... And so will you."

A few of the students groaned. Even the ones who hadn't completed their reading assignments.

"If anyone is found carrying this book in school, they will be suspended." Karen suddenly smiled, letting her students in on the great conspiracy. "But let's not worry. Someone has already pre-ordered several dozen copies at Sarasota Mall Waldenbooks." Donnie looked as if he would cheer. "Now, in Mr. Greene's absence, we will be reading another classic: Richard Adams' 'Watership Down'."

She dug into the cardboard box and began handing out copies. Beth Farmer's eyes lit up when she saw the cover. "Awww. Bunnies!"

Karen whispered in Donnie's ear as she rounded his desk. "Maybe you and Frank can read this one together."

His face told her it wasn't entirely a joke.

After school, Gretchen and Donnie traversed the forested borders of the Sarasota Country Heights golf course, ducking instinctively whenever they heard a "Fore!" echo through the trees. Dead leaves made loud their footsteps, reminding Donnie of the way his house's roof had sounded under the feet of the construction crew. How long ago had that been? The crunch of brick and wood underfoot. The smell of plaster. Then the hotel room, the endless news reports...

He shook his head to clear it of memories. It seemed like a million years ago; a jet engine from the sky, almost crushing him while he slept. Even the news stations seemed to think it was getting old. There were still a few overly-suspicious neighbours convinced it was some sort of conspiracy, but the FAA had retreated from the scene and life had returned pretty much to normal.

And he had Gretchen now. This girl at his side, who thought being weird was a compliment, who gave the finger to shiv-carrying maniacs. Who was smart and, to him, beautiful, who could think deep thoughts and didn't mind that her boyfriend was crazy. He couldn't stop himself from feeling that maybe all was right in the universe, that everything would be okay from now on...

I'd give anything for that to be the truth for once.

He flinched as an airplane roared overhead, dispersing its trail into the clouds. Gretchen was talking to him. "...Babies cry because they're afraid of the dark. And because they have no memories, for all they know every night could be the last forever. Like, perpetual darkness. Could you imagine?..."

"Why not just buy your baby a night light?"

"That's not good enough," she said firmly. "You've got to go back in time and take all those hours of darkness and pain and replace them... With whatever you wanted." She spread out her arm, tilted her face skyward. "With something better."

"Like images, or what?" The way the sunlight came through her brown hair was distracting.

"Yeah, like a Hawaiian sunset, or the Grand Canyon. Just things that remind you of how beautiful the world can-"

He could stand it no longer. "Look, we've been going together for like two weeks."

Gretchen stopped walking and looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Well, I, er..."

She just stood there, watching him stumble. Then she said "Do you want to kiss me?"

Donnie took that as an offer and gratefully, clumsily, leaned towards her. To his horror he felt her backing up, her hands pressing gently against his chest. His face fell in despair.

"I... I'm sorry..."

"Look, Donnie. Wait."

"It's just that-"

"I just want it to be-"

"I like you a lot, and-"

"-at a time when it..." Gretchen faltered. Spoke to the leaf-littered ground.

"When it reminds you how beautiful the world can be?" he said, getting it. She nodded.

"Yeah. And right now there's some fat guy over there staring at us."

They turned their heads. The jogger in the red tracksuit smothered his cigarette, adjusted his sunglasses and stalked back into the undergrowth.

Donnie sighed internally. The moment had been ruined, popped like a soap bubble. Maybe next time.

After he dropped Gretchen off at her house, Donnie wandered around the neighbourhood, thinking. His head had started to hurt recently. He was popping pills like a madman, but nothing worked. Maybe he was crazy because of a cancerous tumour in his brain. If it swelled big enough, his head would explode.

He played with the fantasy, tweaking it. Frank's warning about the end of the world. Twenty-eight days... Maybe that was the amount of time he had left to live. His unconscious mind was sending him subliminal messages in the form of a six-foot talking rabbit, telling him his biological clock was running out of time. He imagined himself running into Ms. Farmer's class on the last day of his life, screaming 'Ms. Farmer, your stupid lessons make my head want to fucking explode!" Then boom...

He felt something under his sneaker as he stepped on it. Looked around, dropped to the sidewalk. It was somebody's wallet. He rifled through it; credits cards, spare change, lottery ticket. Donnie pulled out a piece of ID.

JIM CUNNINGHAM 42 POWDERHAM DRIVE MIDDLESEX, VA 23113.

NOW YOU KNOW WHERE HE LIVES...

A nearby lawn sprinkler was soaking his pants leg, but he barely noticed. He made a quick scan of the area, made sure nobody was watching. Pocketed the wallet.

Elizabeth reached into a decent-sized pumpkin, scooped out its innards and dumped them on the newspaper. Donnie noted the date. "The 18th?" he asked. "That's today's paper. Dad's gonna be pissed."

Elizabeth shrugged, deciding not to take the bait. "So I hear you have a girlfriend," she said non-committedly.

"Yeah."

"What's her name?"

Donnie looked away from the pumpkin he was carving. Suspicious. "You're not gonna tell Mom, are you?"

"Why would I tell Mom?"

"Because you tell Mom everything," he said accusingly. Elizabeth looked defensive. "No I don't," she said. Then, relenting. "She worries about you."

He went back to his pumpkin, slower with the knife this time. "Well, don't worry. I'm taking my medication." Not that it's helping any.

His sister shook her head. "It's not that. I mean mouthing off to your teachers. I'll admit, when Dad told me what you said to Ms. Farmer, I laughed my ass off."

They grinned at each other. "I was just being honest," Donnie said.

"Yeah... Well, that's not the way the world works. If you keep being too honest, the world will eventually find a way to destroy you."

The sounds of metal on pumpkin flesh dominated the kitchen for the next few moments. Just when Elizabeth thought the conversation had ended, Donnie gave in.

"Her name is Gretchen."

"That's a nice name," she approved. Tapped her brother's Jack-O-Lantern. "Okay, let me see it."

With the faintest trace of pride, Donnie swivelled the pumpkin around to face her. Gaping eye sockets met her gaze, a scowling mass of laborious line work taking up the lower half of the face. The teeth were large, deformed. Like a rabbit that had eaten too many spiked carrots. It looked hideous... In a good way. "That's really scary," she admitted.

"Really?"

"Really."

Now it's the parents' turn to feel gravity pulling at them from the therapist's couch. Sitting uncomfortably, faced with someone who may know more about their son than they do.

More than they want to.

The mother speaks first. Eyes saying more than her mouth. "Thank you for seeing us at such late notice. We both felt it was time for us to come in and discuss..."

"What I think is going on with your son?"

"Yes. Well, he's... Erm... You know about his past, and recently he was suspended from school for insulting his gym teacher." A strange look. The challenge of a mother to criticize her parenting.

The father defends the son. "Well, I'm not really sure that's a good example, Rose. I think he had just cause to insult her."

"Let me just lay out what I believe is happening here." Papers rustle. They sit up straighter. "Donnie's aggressive behaviour, and his increased detachment from reality, seem to stem from his inability to cope with the forces in the world he perceives to be threatening."

Blank stares.

Try again. "...Has he ever told you about his friend Frank?"

Heads shake. "Frank?"

"Yes, the giant bunny rabbit."

Twin headlights. "The what?"

The mother. This is death for her. "I don't recall him ever having mentioned a rabbit..."

"Donnie is experiencing what is commonly called a 'daylight hallucination'." The bombshell drops. Hits tarmac, bursts flesh. "This is a common occurrence among paranoid schizophrenics."

Panic. "W-what can we do?"

"I would like to do more hypnotherapy, and increase his medication."

Clutching each other in an embrace born of helplessness. Cornered. At the mercy of this woman and her magic pills. Like children, again.

Voice breaking like water over sharp rocks. "Whatever will help him, really... Be...because that's why we're here. We just would like him to experience some relief. So, ah, if you think that more medication will do that, then..." A frightened shrug. "...then I think we should give it a try."

Fear sets slowly, like concrete drying.

He looks wildly at his reflection, which warps under his gaze like a butterfly pinned to a board. Did the hydrochloride dance, the propanalol twist... The steps get faster, can't keep up. There's a butcher knife in his hand. Can't remember how it got there. His mind a narrow tunnel, blocking out all but the darkness at the end.

Frank's standing behind his reflection in the mirror. Donnie twitches. Murderous. Dead on his feet. He turns, lunges with the knife.

Blade hits liquid air. The knife rebounds, vibrating in his hand, sending tremors down Donnie's arm. His thoughts are a mass of barbed wire and vein networks, exploding fireworks in his head. Puppet syndrome. His arm stings but he goes for Frank's face again, bwoump, bwoump, each blow striking a pinprick of light into a milky grey eye

die

why

Frank tilts his head down, as if in pain. Donnie grits his teeth. Is he faking it? Goes for the right eye again, all the energy in his arm now, striking the barrier with a rapidly dulling knife. The point of light in Frank's eye wound increases. Blinding both of them. The sound of crystal glass being struck by a red Trans Am driven by Smurfs, past Grandma Death's house, please, my head really hurts now...