So, I wrote back, what are you up to tonight?
waiting.
What for?
the drugs to kick in.
Recreational?
prescription.
Psychiatric?
yahtzee.
What’s your diagnosis?
Bipolar… yourself?
Schizoid tendencies.
Impressive… are you married?
Common-law, I confessed. You?
yes, indeed.
Where’s your significant other?
out with friends… yours?
Night shift.
ah.
So… I fondled myself idly through my sweatpants. Do you want to know what I look like?
not really.
I frowned at my screen.
nothing personal. it’s just that we’re never going to meet.
But we live so close, I reminded her.
hahaha. riiiight.
Neither of us said anything for a minute.
time traveller, she finally wrote.
Yes?
this is the schizoid part.
Maybe.
where do you go?
Lately? To the future.
and what does the future hold?
Nothing good.
too bad…
I’m starting to wonder if I can change things. Make them better. how?
I’m working on that.
After a long pause, she wrote: maybe I can help.
With what?
improving your future.
What did you have in mind?
i have a few ideas…
I grinned, increasingly sure that Jazz and Jasmine were one and the same person. Can I ask you something?
shoot.
Do I know you?
now that’s a question.
And what’s the answer?
A weighty silence.
i think we might have met before…
Really?
stranger things have happened.
I hadn’t used the camera on my smartphone for much yet, other than taking a few snapshots of Christine. Now I turned on the overhead light and took a shot of my body from the waist down—sweatpants and socks, stretched out across the couch. I touched an icon of a camera and the photo appeared in the chat stream.
Look familiar? I typed.
maybe, she wrote back. show me more.
Cruel sunlight poured in through the window above the sink. Hunched in my chair, I watched Christine shovel sugar-free cereal into her mouth while Meredith flicked through a fashion magazine on the other side of the table. I felt uncomfortable manipulating the objects in front of me—my spoon, my cup. My phone made a harsh chirping noise in my pocket and I jumped, then pulled it out. The chat application I’d been using had installed push notifications on my phone without my being aware of it. A new message from Jazz filled half the screen: good morning.
Meredith raised her eyebrows.
“Wrong number,” I muttered, turning off the ringer and tucking the phone back into my pocket.
“Text?”
I nodded.
“You should let them know.”
“They’ll figure it out.”
My phone buzzed against my thigh as another notification arrived. I lifted my cup, dismayed to find it empty. The coffee machine seemed very far away. My phone buzzed again. I wondered if Meredith could hear it across the table.
“How was your night?” I asked.
“Long,” she said, eyes on her magazine.
“What about you?” I ruffled Christine’s hair. “How did you sleep, baby girl?”
She glowered at me. “I want deuce.”
“I’ll get it in a second, honey.”
As my phone vibrated yet again, a grinning, mask-like face suddenly appeared in the kitchen window. “Jesus!” I shouted, as the face ducked out of sight.
“What is it?” Meredith said.
“Someone’s out there.” I hurried to the window.
Meredith came up behind me. “I don’t see anyone.”
It was true. The yard was empty. It didn’t seem possible that they could have escaped so quickly. A wave of dizziness hit me and I gripped the counter to keep from falling over.
“Are you all right?” Meredith asked.
“What?” I said, having trouble focusing on her. “Yeah. I’m just tired.” I looked out the window again. “I was sure…”
“Have you taken your meds?”
“Hm? No, not yet.” My phone buzzed and I put my hand over my pocket, this time sure Meredith had heard. “I’ll go take them now,” I said. “Before I forget.”
On my way through the TV room, I checked the picture window for the idling black car, finding it just where I’d expected. “Fuck off,” I hissed to whoever might be listening. Back in the kitchen, I could hear Meredith talking to Christine about daycare.
“Eight more sleeps, honey…”
I locked myself in the bathroom and pulled out my phone, reading the four messages Jazz had sent.
8:53 - hey tiger.
8:55 - are you there?
8:57 - babe?
8:58 - helloooo.
Bad time, I quickly typed back.
She responded instantly. why? what’s up?
I frowned at the phone. Alone in the dark, I’d been convinced that I’d found Jasmine again. But Jasmine would never have been so needy, so desperate to get in touch. The woman (assuming she was a woman) was an utter stranger. I didn’t owe her a thing. I closed the chat window and dragged the program to the garbage can at the top of my screen. The phone made a little vacuum noise as it sucked the application away. I returned the phone to my pocket, then took out my pills for the day and flushed them down the toilet before going back out to the kitchen. The table was empty, the dishes cleared away.
“Mer?”
I went through the entire main level, then checked the basement and jogged back upstairs. Their shoes were gone. The driveway was empty. I hauled out my phone and stopped, noting that the date on my home screen had changed. If it was accurate, I’d just lost three days. My phone vibrated. I touched the home button and found the application I’d just deleted, reinstalled, with a new message waiting. I opened the chat window, confronted by the last few messages of an ongoing exchange:
are they gone?
Just now.
does she suspect?
I don’t know, maybe.
do we care?
Just a second.
That was the last thing I’d written. The message Jazz had sent a moment ago read: still there, babe?
I shut the app and dragged it up to the garbage. An instant after it disappeared, it occurred to me that I should have read the rest of the conversation. I had no idea how long we’d been talking, what we’d said, how much I’d revealed. Something banged against the living room window and I flinched, then looked out and found a hummingbird hovering close to the glass. I snapped the curtains shut and sent Meredith a text: Where are you?