Falter Kingdom (14 page)

She keeps talking, and it's clear that she just wants me to listen.

“The kingdom is as big as our world. It's basically the same, except they avoid us, and we avoid them. I guess what I'm trying to say is... I don't know what I'm trying to say. I just want you to know that if you don't go through with it, I won't look down on you. Okay?”

I clear my throat. “Um, okay.”

“I won't think you're stupid or insane or whatever.”

“Thanks.” I sound insincere.

“Things will get really, really bad before it gets any good.” She pauses and then adds, “And even then, it's not like they'll stick around either.”

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything, and we sit in silence for a while. I'm surprised that I almost start to nod off. She brings me back when she gets up and starts to leave.

I ask her, “Why?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“The things you said, how do you know?”

“Oh.” She opens the door, looks back at me, and says, “I used to have one.” And then she leaves.

7

“THAT'S THE THING ABOUT CONVERSATIONS, THEY ARE
almost always two-way, especially when there's more than one person talking. I mean, look at how a person makes eye contact with a person they're talking to. It's straight on, you know? If they can, that is. A lot of people just kind of look around and then occasionally look at the person they're talking to. But, anyway, you could have, like, ten people in a circle, talking, and even though it's like everyone's a part of the conversation, there's only one or two people talking. If any more talk, it gets all crazy, like any other party, you know?

“You know what I mean?

“Right? You saw it tonight, how it'll be someone talking to me and then Brad, or someone else will walk up and try to be a part of the conversation. Almost one hundred percent of the time, they'll end up listening. Only way to really be a part of it is to butt in, and I mean really... just flat-out start talking over the other person.

“It happens more often than it doesn't; people are talking, two people talking about whatever, and a third person walks in, says something that gets the attention of one of the other two, maybe
both of them, and then it changes the dynamic of the whole conversation.

“I see it all the time. It's like there's a pattern to how people talk. And if you look at the pattern, it makes all the information that fits into that pattern kind of, well, lame. I think it kind of makes almost everything that happens between when a person says hello and good-bye kind of predictable.

“You know what I mean?

“It's just that I think it's all filler.

“It's like a song you buy on a whim because it's recommended to you and you listen to the whole thing expecting it to be better but it's not as good as you thought.

“That's what most conversations end up being, I think.

“I've listened to so much music I don't like, just because it's there, and it's too hard to get up and find the right music.

“I don't know. I really don't know. I don't know what I'm going to do now. What do you think?

“It's a wreck, huh? I know. No one cares about the place where the party is; they trash it with beer bottles and cups and food everywhere. I don't remember anyone buying pizza but there's a slice of pizza facedown on the kitchen tile. I take one look at all of this and I get tired.

“This is rude, right?

“I mean, you aren't human but you have to think this is rude. The word ‘rude' makes sense to you, right?

“Yeah.

“It is rude.”

Ugh.

I don't know where to start.

“I think I'll just sit here in this corner for a while. Parents won't be back until the end of the weekend. Or whatever. They could be back already, it wouldn't matter much. I'm still sitting in the corner of a room, cleaning up after other people.

“No, they aren't back.

“What time is it?

“I'm not tired. Not anymore.

“Think I should just leave everything this way?

“Yeah... I should.

“What is Dad really going to do? Mom's just going to think that I'm sick or something. I'm not sick. You know that. I know that.

“I'll be fine. No problem.

“And even if it ended up becoming a problem, I could definitely get by. I know how my parents think. Even if I didn't, I'm good at playing the right part of a conversation. It's like you can talk your way out of anything. Just say something that doesn't let the other person say anything in response.

“You can be, I don't know, talking about a test.

“Yeah, let's say we're talking about a test. It's you and me, we're talking about what answers we got. Comparing notes, basically. I wouldn't really be as confident about my answers, so I probably wouldn't have remembered them. So you would be the one asking and directing the conversation. I've noticed that most conversations have one person really aggressive, talking more, and another who's reacting more than talking. Words are said but both people usually don't stay at the same level. Really good conversation is different. I think it's when two people get along and they just can't stop talking so it keeps going, and the conversation goes back and forth but both are aggressive. Both are talking just as much. I can't remember the last time that happened. Most of the time it's one person and everyone else reacting.

“Same thing, just different size.

“You'd be talking about the answers.

“I'd be like, ‘Yeah, I think I got that one right.' But see, I wouldn't be sure. I'd be either confused or just not that interested in the discussion. Maybe worried, because if I failed, I'd be pretty certain that the answers you got weren't the ones I got.

“That's how most of the conversation would go. You talking more and leading the direction—what is talked about and when—and I just kind of fill in the gaps with reactions, with replies. That's how the conversation would go. It's the typical kind of conversation. It's
why I can just say something and people either will notice or not—it's up to what I say, how much of it is just agreement and how much of it is actually statement. If you disagree, it's just fuel for the aggressive one to keep going and going and going...

“Thinking about this”—oh, man—“it's getting me worked up.”

Maybe I'll—I don't know.

What do I do?

Am I really going to clean?

Hmm.

Do I go upstairs?

Do I grab my laptop and go online?

Do I go to sleep?

Do I at least try to sleep?

“What do you think? Think I should go online? Yeah?”

Hmm.

“What time is it? Yeah, I think I'll check online. See what's up.”

I go upstairs, find the laptop where I left it, plugged in and charged, resting on my unmade bed. I don't bother making the bed, not when I'm under the covers 100 percent of the time I'm in my room. Jesus, it's cold. I hold back that shiver like it might be an insult to H, run back downstairs with the laptop, because why not?

It's warmer downstairs.

“Let's get rid of this fast-food garbage. They just left it on the couch, beautiful.”

And... let's...

Watch videos.

“It's like opening a gateway of content when you sign in. There's always new uploads. New stuff.

“Huh?

“I haven't...

“What is this? I've never heard of this kind of thing before.

“ASMR?

“I don't remember subscribing to this guy's channel. Damn, he has a lot of these ASMR videos.

“What does ASMR stand for? It's an acronym, right?”

I'll look it up. Yeah. First search result, boom: It's an acronym. It's an acronym for Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response. I could read more about it, but the first line says as much as I need to know. This stuff is supposed to calm you down. Soothing voice and stuff.

I like that.

I need that right now.

“I think I'll... click on the one here.”

It's a red-haired woman with really, really bright blue eyes. She gazes at the camera in a way that makes me not want to look away. She speaks in a low, breathy whisper.

“I think they manipulated the sound or something... everything seems really close. Like she's...” I'm looking for the right words. “Yeah, that's it—like she's whispering right into my ear.”

It really does work though.

The more I watch this, the calmer I am.

The calmer I am, the more aware I am of what's going on. I'm curious about how I've gotten so used to the symptoms now. I'm so used to them that I can't imagine what it would be like to literally be alone. I'm so used to them that I always dress in layers. I'm so used to them that I've been online twice as much because there's nothing else left in my room except for clothes, furniture, and this laptop.

And then I kind of just stop thinking at all.

“This is really working...”

And I sit here, watching the entire twenty-minute video.

During it, I can't help but think that you are watching it too.

When it's done, I yawn.

“That's really great. It works. I think I'm going to... subscribe to more ASMR videos.”

I do that, clicking around, subscribing to the more popular ones, the ones that also have a bunch of collections videos where they talk about various things they collect. There's one channel that has a bunch of videos of a guy who just repeats words over and over again.

“What do you think? Should I subscribe to the repeating-word guy?

“I don't really know why I'm talking to you.

“I think I'm hearing you say something but I can't really tell. It kind of feels like I'm just talking to myself, all these thoughts. Makes me feel a little insane. I guess that's kind of the point though.”

Could be one of the symptoms. I'm not really sure.

“Are you there?

“It's okay; you don't have to respond. I don't really know why I'm even doing this. I don't really know what you are, H. A demon, duh, but what's a demon, really? There are speed demons and people called demons in video games and other sports, but they are just people who are insanely good at things.

“I'm curious, that's the thing.

“I'm curious, even more so after today.

“It's like I want to ask you questions and be the aggressive one, the one talking, but when I do, I'm not sure I'm talking to anyone.

“It's like, it's like... I'm talking to a wall sometimes.

“But then I can also sense that you're near.

“What time is it?”

It's almost three
A.M.

I didn't look at the clock on the desktop. I didn't look at my phone. But I knew. I just knew—nearly three
A.M.
Then I look and it's true. It's 2:58
A.M.

Is this frightening or exciting?

What's happening, I can't help but let happen. I can't turn away from it; I tried ignoring it and that didn't work.

I look around the house, the mess.

“Oh, fuck this.

“You agree, right?

“Yeah. Yeah, exactly.

“I don't want to be in this house right now. I want to be somewhere else. I'm not cleaning this shit up. No. I'm not.

“I think the only choice I have is to go for a drive.”

And it's just like that—it seems right to leave.

I leave the laptop sitting there, a flicker of trust. I know that I've left the laptop there, just like I know that I am basically just talking to myself.

I won't say that was something else.

But at the same time, it's exciting that it could be.

When I pull out of the driveway, I don't have anywhere in mind to go. I just go. I start driving down one street until I end up on another street. This late into the night, it's pretty cool to pretend that I'm the last one alive. Or that I'm living in an alternate dimension where I can start and stop time and there's nobody but me and my car, and whatever it is that I want in my life.

It's fun to pretend it's the end of the world.

I end up merging onto the interstate and I count how many semitrucks I see. It's the wide-open road and I'm the one little dinky car sharing it with all the other semitrucks.

I don't know where I'm going until I take the exit.

That
exit.

I make a right at the first light.

Another right at the second stoplight.

It's like I knew where I'd be going but kept it from myself, until I'm driving fast down that completely pitch-black back road.

They really need to repave the road.

The asphalt is chipped and really hard on the tires. But that doesn't get me to slow down. This drive is mine, and it's all about the speed and night air brushing past my face.

When I get there, I drive down that dirt road because I don't want anyone to see my car. No one's going to see my car, but still, I don't want my car to be seen.

It's funny how I can just pretend like I don't already know what I'm doing. It's really funny how I can just stay in the moment, thinking, “This is happening,” and pretend like I'm not actually heading over there, pulling the car into park, shutting off the engine, sitting in the dark, listening as I say, “Here we are.”

I said it but I stay in the car for a long time.

Guess it's because normally this would be kind of freaky, in the middle of the forest, dead end of night, and after all the stuff I know can go wrong, I'm still here. By myself.

A rush of ideas comes to mind.

I'm thinking a family of serial killers about to attack me.

I'm thinking a big-ass feral St. Bernard with rabies about to make it so that I'm stranded in this car for days, weeks, starving to death.

I'm thinking of all kinds of stuff that I'm pretending I didn't see in movies. But no, that's also all just padding, stuff I have fun thinking about, before I make that long walk that's really not that long.

It's just for effect.

Yeah, I'm on that long walk...

It's actually not as quiet as you'd think, being out here at night. You hear all kinds of noises—bugs, animals, the wind blowing stuff around—and that really does help.

For a while, I don't use the flashlight on my phone.

I just walk the path I've walked so many times, in complete darkness.

If, like, Blaire were here, she'd be impressed. Becca, she wouldn't care. She's already created some image of me in her mind.

Around the time the path opens up into a big field, I start shining the flashlight around. I step on empty cans and other junk—guess there was a party here recently.

I listen for people's voices but I don't hear anything.

It's an interesting image, thinking that someone's nearby, maybe passed out drunk and sleeping under the stars, and here I am, the definition of late to the party.