October 21, 1988

9 days remaining

"...So we call them IMGs," Donnie explained, gesturing to their project poster. "Infant Memory Generators." The poster: An open-mouthed baby, eyes obscured by a pair of rectangular glasses. He'd drawn it in soft charcoal, taking inspiration from the clunky 3D goggles that were once such a fad. "The idea is that you buy these glasses for your infant and they wear them at night when they sleep."

Gretchen nodded beside him, adding "But inside the glasses are these slide photographs. And each photograph is of something peaceful or beautiful; whatever the parents want to put inside."

Dr. Monnitoff popped Sweet Tarts like pills. Donnie stared, a momentary lapse. "And what effect do you think this would have on an infant?" Monnitoff asked.

"Well, the thing is, nobody remembers their infancy. Anyone who says they do is lying. So we think this will help develop memory earlier in life."

"And did you stop and think that maybe infants need darkness? That maybe darkness is part of their natural development?"

Donnie and Gretchen looked at each other, stumped. At the back of the class, Seth raised a languid hand. "No..." Gretchen started.

Seth snapped killer's fingers impatiently. Monnitoff pointed at him. "Yeah."

"What if the parents like put in pictures of Satan? Or dead people? Crap like that," Seth asked with a toxic smile. His gang-banger pal Ricky leered beside him.

Gretchen's voice quavered. "Is that what you'd show your kids?" she demanded.

Ricky shrugged dimly. "Well... Didn't your Dad, like, stab your Mom?"

Seth made plunging motions in the air with his fist. "Ree! Ree! Ree!" Psycho music.

"Get out." Kenneth pointed to the door. Donnie looked at Gretchen, whose eyes were as lost and distant as he usually felt these days.

After school, Donnie had to pound pavement to keep up with her. He caught her at the bottom of the steps, her face hidden by her hair. He gasped out an apology for everyone on the planet. The whole universe.

"Gretchen! I'm sorry, Gretchen. I'm sorry about those guys. They're fu-"

Her hands grabbed the back of his head and held him there while her mouth came up to his. They kissed, and the world collapsed around them as Donnie held her, fully expecting liquid spears to fly out of their chests and pin them to that moment.

"Donnie, are you coming to my talent show tomorrow?"

Donnie kept his eyes on his baked potatoes. Rose interjected. "He can't, Samantha. He's been suspended from after-school activities."

"Way to go," Elizabeth said without looking up. Rose shushed her. Turned to her son.

"Donnie, are you still with us?" Stopped. Dared to ask the other question. "How was your therapy session tonight?"

"Fine. You know, Dr. Thurman isn't so bad a lady." Donnie smiled inwardly, twisting the knife. "I can tell her anything."

Rose's eyes widened. She put down her cutlery, moved for the wine again. Eddie made as if to stop her, looked down at his food instead. Silence round the table once again. Relentless.

The Middlesex Ridge talent show was in full sway. The auditorium stage glistened with tinsel and construction paper, courtesy of Ms. Farmer's nearly obsessive devotion to her dance troupe's success. The shining eyes in the audience all belonged to the parents; the students were mostly bored. A chubby talent scout sat in the front row with an evaluation sheet on her lap, humourlessly watching the performers with a razor eye.

Cherita Chen's heavy body moved almost gracefully across the stage. Clad in a white dress, face dark with stage makeup. A listless Robin Perry tossed fake leaves into a fan, where they swirled about Cherita's silent dance; a reasonable approximation of a fall wind. Elevator music drifted from the speakers.

Karen Pomeroy watched with interest. Cherita spun slowly with a faraway gaze, no longer bound to Middlesex Ridge. It was Cherita without her earmuffs to block out the world, without a single 'chut up!' in her limited arsenal of defence. As far as she was concerned, her feet were not touching the ground.

The performance ended. The audience applauded like automatons, or out of sympathy. "Poor girl. That dress did absolutely nothing to hide her figure," one girl whispered to her friend. Seth Devlin cat-called down the bleachers. "Get off the stage, Cherita!" Principal Cole turned, glared ineffectually.

Cherita fled offstage, and Jim Cunningham took her place. "Now that was really something. Thank you, Cherita Chen, with 'Autumn Angel'."

He raised his arms as the curtains were pulled back to reveal a sparkling silver display. "And now the moment we've all been waiting for is here..."

In the wings, Kittie Farmer tugged at her dance troupe's glittering costumes; removing bits of fluff and surplus sequins, straightening frills, all the while giving her version of a pep talk. "Now girls, I want you to concentrate. Failure is not an option. And Bethany, if you feel the need to vomit up there... Just swallow it."

"Okay, mom."

Cunningham continued. "...It is my very distinct pleasure to introduce you to Emily Bates, Suzy Bailey, Samantha Darko, Beth Farmer, and Joanie James. They are... Sparkle Motion." Jim did one of his trademark flourishes and stepped away from the mike. The house lights went down, came back blue. Duran Duran's 'Notorious' crawled up from the depths as the girls walked onstage...

Rose clasped Eddie's hand as they watched their youngest daughter's performance. Elizabeth screamed like she was at a heavy metal concert. "Go Sparkle Motion!" she yelled. A woman below them turned around and shushed angrily.

For one moment, they were all one big family unit. Then Rose remembered, her happiness flickering. Despite herself, she found herself wondering what her son was doing...

Donnie sits in a darkened movie theatre with Gretchen Ross on his arm. Pepsi stains on the carpet floor, discarded ticket stubs littering the aisles. The girl is asleep. Flickering light plays across her features. The Evil Dead on the immense viewing screen, first part of the double-bill Halloween Frightmare. Ash J. Williams and his friends are travelling to a remote cabin deep in the woods. Little do they know what horrible secrets await them.

He feels a quiet steal over him. Resists. Can't. Looks over Gretchen's head and sees his old buddy Frank, a Harvey from Hell. In his presence Donnie feels like a child. Grins foolishly.

"Why do you wear that stupid bunny suit?"

Frank turns his head slowly.

WHY ARE YOU WEARING THAT STUPID MAN SUIT?

Donnie's playful expression turns hunted. The paranoia is back in his eyes. "Take it off," he whispers.

Frank obeys, lifting the metal headpiece from his head.

"What happened to your eye?" A gutted socket stares at the movie screen. Frank whispers.

I'M SO SORRY.

It looks like Frank is weeping blood. Donnie's own eyes fill with tears. He struggles with the words as they flit across his mindscape. Evasive. Irrelevant. "Why do they call you Frank?"

IT IS THE NAME OF MY FATHER... AND HIS FATHER BEFORE ME.

Donnie's breath sobs in his throat, the screen above blurring into blobs of light. He chokes on his question, head in agony.

"Frank?" Still a child. "When's this going to stop?"

YOU SHOULD ALREADY KNOW THAT.

Donnie's fear unexpectedly gives way to a giggle. He does know. That's what's so hilarious.

I WANT YOU TO WATCH THE MOVIE SCREEN. THERE'S SOMETHING I WANT TO SHOW YOU.

Above the their heads, the seated and dispossessed, The Evil Dead gives way to an immense hole. It fills the middle of the screen, opens into the sky. Light streams into the theatre. It's the best special effect Donnie has ever seen. Gretchen does not wake up.

Frank's voice takes on a guttural reverb. His handsome face, dark hair falling across one high cheek like a shadow on sand, looks up at the hole. As if he himself is in awe.

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A PORTAL?

They watch as the hole widens, taking Donnie's breath away. The screen disintegrates into a window, looking out onto a manor of a house. Too clear to be a projection. They gaze upon Jim Cunningham's Tudor home. Frank's voice is immense, a living thing. It fills Donnie's ears like water. He can hear nothing else.

BURN IT TO THE GROUND.

Donnie pulls up his hood, leaving his face in shadow. Silently slips out of the theatre, looks back. Frank's not there. Knows Gretchen will be taken care of.

The marquee lights watch him leave. Halloween Frightmare double-bill. The Evil Dead. The Last Temptation of Christ.

Gretchen woke to the sound of popcorn crunching. She blinked sleepily through her eyelashes. The credits were rolling. She rolled her head, saw Donnie at her side. Smiled at him. "How long was I asleep for?"

"Whole movie."

They kissed again. Donnie smelling of gasoline.