There are some things we just shouldn’t know. Some things we shouldn’t ask about, shouldn’t explore.
And I miss Danny. I really do.
Out of all of us, he was the one who had his shit together. He was the one I would have trusted with the world.
Danny brought me this bottle of Wild Turkey.
For that, at least, he’s got my thanks. Even if he isn’t real.
I was writing just now, and a loud roar filled the room. It was a physical sound, vibrating through my core. My desk started to shake. You can see the ink on the page—roller-ball quiver, EEG scrawl.
I stood up and looked out my window, craning my head to peer north. I didn’t see much. A wing, tilting, over the line of buildings.
And then an explosion. As the plane crashed.
I don’t want to be human. Not anymore.
There is smoke rising over the city. A line of military vehicles tore through the street beneath my room, and I cracked open a window. The city smells like fire.
Fuck.
I don’t know about this. I don’t know what to think.
And then the crowd of survivors began to pass beneath my window. They looked shell-shocked, dazed, completely out-of-their-minds fucked, but they were alive.
They shouldn’t have been alive, but they were alive and marching on the street down below, the military leading the parade. They had vehicles to transport the wounded: Hummers and Jeeps. And I don’t know how many died on impact in that crash. How many met their maker, here, in a crater, in the city, wrapped tight in fuselage and fire?
This is fertile land here, and things that shouldn’t grow, grow. Things that land, still and static, breathe and breathe again.
And, of course, I remember the view from the hospital’s roof.
It’s all coming true. Plane crash and destruction. Ages come and gone.
And here I am. In my window.
I can imagine Floyd there, falling through that red sky.
Did he find peace in those final moments? His final, most successful trick. Did he kiss the sky and soar, untethered for a time, taunting gravity and God?
And when he hit, did he hit hard? Did he make a crater and fill a void?
And that room, up in the sky.
The red sky.
I’m hurt here. I can’t stand it. I breathe and it hurts, a rasping grate in my lungs, like sandpaper and gravel, fingernails and coral. And… I don’t know.
What did we find up there, in that building?
What does it mean?
Maybe the universe is collapsing. Physics has run its course, and reality has begun to contract, once again pulling back—a beat, the heartbeat of the universe—the point in the oscillating cycle of time where things stop getting bigger and start to condense. Light and time, pulling back. And the human mind is the last, most resilient part of the universe, resisting and shaping the form of reality. Before it, too, inevitably fails, collapses.
And there is a table there. And on the table, a stack of pages. And in the pages, the breath that I breathe, the Wild Turkey that I drink, the beauty that flashes in my eye.
And it resists. Like the human mind resists.
Or maybe God just left.
Maybe God got bored, pissed off, fed up, and generally stuffed. Stood up from the table and left the room. Leaving us in charge. And us in charge, with nothing—no one—to stabilize and baby-sit, we’re warping and driving everything into the motherfucking ground.
Nothing left to see. Nothing left to do.
Because that’s who we are. That’s what we do.
And there is a room, somewhere. In a building, somewhere. In a city.
LOT 1105.
Contents of black footlocker, 513 Madison St, Apt. 540 (back closet):
handwritten manuscript, 583 pages (document 511; reference case 412); handwritten composition book (document 512; reference case 413); loose paper, handwritten (document 513; reference case 413); loose paper, handwritten (document 514; reference case 419); skateboard; notebook computer (contents cataloged, document 515; reference case 412); Canon Rebel digital camera; 6GB CompactFlash memory card (contents cataloged, document 516; reference case 412); 4GB CompactFlash memory card (contents cataloged, document 517; reference case 412); newspaper clipping (document 518; reference case 412); Sony video camera (contents cataloged and transcribed, document 519; reference case 412, 415)
Referencing:
Case
Devon. Status: 
[Expunged; Executive Order 
Executive Order Executive Order Executive Order Executive Order Executive Order Executive Order Password Clearance: Black Alpha and Higher.]
Case 012.
Daltry, Dr. Stephen. Status: DECEASED. (Reference case 013, 417)
Case 013.
Daltry, Dr. Cheryl. Status: DECEASED. (Reference case 012, 417)
Case 053.
Moon, Lieutenant Daniel “Danny.” Status: LOCATED.
Case 117.
Barnes, Sharon (AKA. “Mama Cass.”) Status: LOCATED.
Case 222.
Twill, Terence “Terry.” Status: LOCATED.
Case 315.
Gilles, Cob. Status: MISSING. (Reference case 316)
Case 316.
[Name Unknown], “The Poet.” Status: MISSING. (Reference case 315)
Case 412.
Walker, Dean Andrew. Status: MISSING. (Reference document 511, 515, 516, 517, 518, 519)
Case 413.
[Last Name Unknown], Wendell (AKA. “Weasel.”) Status: MISSING. (Reference document 512, 513)
Case 414.
Stray-Gupta, Taylor (AKA. “Taylor Gupta,” “Taylor Stray.”) Status: MISSING. (Reference case 420, 421)
Case 415.
Grey, Julie (AKA. “Sabine Pearl-Grey.”) Status: MISSING. (Reference document 519)
Case 416.
Boyd, Floyd (AKA. “Pretty Boy Floyd.”) Status: MISSING.
Case 417.
Daltry, Charles “Charlie.” Status: MISSING. (Reference case 012, 013)
Case 418.
O’Donnell, Mackenzie “Mac.” Status: MISSING.
Case 419.
Siebert, Amanda. Status: MISSING. (Reference document 514)
Case 420.
Gupta, Miriam (AKA. “Miriam Stray-Gupta.”) Status: MISSING. (Reference case 414, 421)
Case 421.
Gupta, Dr. Harold “Harry.” Status: MISSING. (Reference case 414, 420)
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’m the luckiest SOB in the world. I’m lucky to have editors like David Pomerico and Betsy Mitchell. I’m lucky to have an agent like Jim McCarthy. And I’m lucky to be able to call Jim Geist, Vicki Mau, Jeremy Horwitz, Margaret Danielson, Sheryl Burnham, and George Dake my readers, friends, and family. Thank you, all!