October 26, 1988

4 days remaining

The talent scout who had attended the Ridge show brought an airport van into the Darko's driveway. Rose dragged out the luggage while the girls were loaded into the vehicle, squabbling over who would get the window seats.

"So much for team spirit," Rose joked, but the talent scout didn't find it very funny. The wind was beginning to pick up, the smell of burning organic matter lingering in the nostrils. Grey clouds forecasted nothing.

Elizabeth hugged Samantha, whispering words of encouragement. "You're gonna win. I know it," she said confidently, letting Samantha out of her embrace. "So do I," Sam agreed. She turned to Donnie, who was watching impassively from the porch steps. Waved at him. "Bye, Donnie!"

Donnie waved back.

Rose hurried up to Elizabeth, pressing last-minute things into her hands. "Here are the keys to the Taurus. There's plenty of groceries in the fridge. And I left money on the kitchen table. And don't forget-" It was a classic motherhood routine. Elizabeth patted her shoulder.

"Don't worry, Mom. Just go, you'll miss your flight."

She didn't go. Not just yet. She looked past the van to her son, who didn't move. Felt Frank there, tainting the important spaces between. Smiled and fluttered her fingers helplessly. He copied the move, vacant.

Donnie watched his mother stowing away her last bag. She moved to get into the van. He stood up. "Mom," he said, an abrupt sound from deep in his throat. She stopped.

He gave her the purest smile he could dig up. Something comforting. He knew he was betraying her. But somehow, she needed to be on that plane. His skin prickled as they stood there, finding each other again.

"Come on, Mom!" Samantha shrieked. "We're gonna be late!"

Rose's eyes were gleaming. "I know!"

They drove off. Donnie seeing his mother for the first and last time.

He managed to catch Gretchen at her locker after school. Unfortunately, she was surrounded by a shield of other girls, making her almost impossible to approach. He trotted up slowly. Whispers. His name in there somewhere.

When it was clear he wasn't going to leave, the girls parted. "Will you please talk to me?" he said, trying to mask his voice from the eavesdroppers. Gretchen sagged. Not angry, or even pissed, like yesterday. She looked at him like there was no other choice.

"Not now, Donnie. It's not a good time."

"Then when? I have to talk to you." There's a storm coming.

Gretchen lowered her eyelashes. Sorry. She left him in the hallway, frustrated, in pain. He wanted to shout after her, 'This isn't about the rabbits, is it? 'Cuz it's a helluva lot worse than you think!' but kept it inside. Held it in his stomach. Drowned it in acid.

He knocked on Ms. Pomeroy's door. A scuffling sound, like roaches after the light is turned on. He twisted the knob.

Ms. Pomeroy was her usual hippie self, but there was a large cardboard box sitting on her desk. Donnie looked around. She'd begun stripping posters off the walls, dumping out drawers. "Ms. Pomeroy? What's going on?"

His English teacher sighed wearily. "Donnie... It's Friday. Shouldn't you be off with your friends, scaring old people?"

Donnie found it difficult to be amused at the moment. He pressed her. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. That's a good question. But suffice to say that I am no longer your English teacher." She straightened her red hair with her hand, blocking her face. "They fired me."

"That's bullshit. You're a good teacher," Donnie said, passionately.

"Thank you."

She went back to throwing her books in a case. Donnie sat down at a desk, tapped his feet fretfully.

"So what do I tell the other kids when they ask about you?"

"Tell them that everything is going to be just fine." She sounded released, somehow. Like she actually believed what she was saying.

He noticed something written on the chalkboard behind her. Two words. 'Cellar door'. "What's that?"

Ms. Pomeroy ripped her American flag out of its stand with a grunt, the last piece of identity in the room. Answered Donnie's question as she moved out the door with her belongings. "This famous linguist once said that of all the phrases in the English language, of all the endless combinations of words in all of history, that 'cellar door' is the most beautiful."

Donnie repeated it. Tasted it on his tongue. "Cellar door..."

Ms. Pomeroy gave one last smile in his direction, then wedged herself through into the hall and was gone.

He shuddered. It was like she'd suddenly died, right before his eyes. The next day, he might tell some people that she'd left and was never coming back... But who among them would really care? They would shrug and carry on with their lives, never realizing who in this world had changed them. Who their witnesses had been. To them, life wasn't like atoms in a particle accelerator- full of tiny things bouncing off each other, coming into contact at the speed of light, altering and being altered with every impact. Any changes had to be big and noticeable. Otherwise, they were irrelevant.

Donnie wondered if Ms. Pomeroy would remember him. He felt sad to think she might not. He hadn't exactly been the perfect student...

Coming out of the classroom, he saw Cherita Chen standing at her locker. Books and papers pressed tightly in her arms. He leaped to her side, saw her flinch away. Grabbed her earmuffs. Leaned forward, lips almost brushing her forehead.

"I promise that one day, everything's going to be better for you," he whispered fiercely.

Cherita backed out of his grip, leaving the earmuffs in his hands. Frightened of him, or something in him. "Chut up!" she cried, stumbling away. Dropping everything in her arms. Running down the hall, into the light outside.

Donnie looked down. Saw his own name doodled on a study book. Eyes tearing slightly.

He walked home wearing the earmuffs on his head. They managed to block out most sounds. He felt he was in a place where Frank could contact him anytime; a private, silent place.

"I want to talk about your past today."

Deep in hypnosleep. "No." Stubborn frown.

Try again. "I want to talk about… You and your parents."

Sulking now. Petulant regression. "They didn't buy me what I wanted for Christmas."

"What did you want for Christmas that year?"

A pause, then: "'Hungry Hungry Hippos.'"

"How did you feel, being denied these 'Hungry Hungry Hippos'?"

"Regret." Harsh. Choking on the word.

"What else makes you feel regret?"

Teeth bared. "That I did it again."

"You did it again?"

Hiccupping laughter. Patient regressing rapidly. "I flooded my school and I burned down that pervert's house. I only have a few days left before they catch me..."

Revelation. "Did Frank tell you to do these things?"

Convinced. "I have to obey him. He saved my life. I have to obey him or I'll be left all alone. And then I won't be able to figure out what this is all about." Whispered. Fantasy constructs. "I won't be able to know his master plan..."

"Do you mean God's master plan? Do you now believe in God?"

"I have the power to build a time machine." Hushed secret. A child hiding under the bed.

"How is that possible? How is time travel possible? Donnie?"

"Time's up, Frank said." Restless patterns forming. Increased breathing rate.

"When is this going to happen?"

"Soon." Sobbing. "Soon."

Flash of movement. Swinging off the couch, eyes staring. Catatonia. Paces to the other side of the room, whimpering. Rapid infantile regression. Arms clasped about self.

"What is going to happen?"

"Frank is going to kill."

Heartbeats speed up. "Who is he going to kill? Who is he going to kill, Donnie?"

Screaming. "I can see him right now!"

Hallucinations. "The sky is going to open up..." Pupils expanding. Black holes in space.

Something shifts. The rabbit in the room.

A tool. "If the sky were to suddenly open up there would be no law. There would be no rule. There would only be you and your memories... The choices you've made... The people you've touched. If this world were to end there would only be you and him and no one else."

Sobbing now. Afraid in the dark. Afraid of the light. Clap, clap.

Session over.

Donnie had his jacket on and was preparing to leave the office when Dr. Thurman called him back. "Donald?"

He turned around. Waiting.

"Your medication. They're placebos. Just pills made out of water."

Considered this. Nodded. "Thank you."

Dr. Thurman didn't look like she would be much longer for this world. Her crow's feet had deepened since their last visit. Her dirty blonde hair was dulling. What she said next made him stop in the doorway again.

"Donald, an atheist is someone who denies altogether the existence of a God. You are an agnostic. An agnostic is someone who believes that there can be no proof of the existence of God... But does not deny the possibility that God exists."

He turned away. "Goodbye, Dr. Thurman."

"Goodbye, Donald."