Our Infinite Sadness

Calls

Ben arose in pitch darkness, half asleep, in search of the bathroom, and stumbled blearily out into the bright common room. He shuffled right past Alice and Jasper, who were hunched over the coffee table, and felt his way to the bathroom door, cringing under the harsh light.

A few minutes later he returned, with his eyes open, and inquired as to the time. Jasper told him the time was three-thirty on Tuesday morning. Alice stared off into nowhere while her hand swept back and forth upon sheets of paper as though shuffling a planchette. Ben observed that she held a mechanical pencil and that she was filling the sheets with remarkably coherent perspective drawings, given that her focus seemed to be a thousand miles away.

At first it looked like another game. Perhaps charades. It couldn't be important. Edythe hadn't called. They would have knocked on his door.

Ben studied the pair more intently, and he perceived their intense distress. It didn't look they were playing.

He addressed Jasper, because Alice seemed to be lost to the world. "What's with her?"

Jasper looked up and said, "There was a change. A few hours ago. She doesn't know the trigger, but she sees new futures. All the futures converge on a large room."

"Where?"

"We don't know. It must be in Forks. Maybe the gymnasium? Or maybe the town hall has a basement meeting room? She's sketching it in an attempt to pin it down. The room has a gold chair rail all around, and it's lined with circular windows. Or maybe mirrors, if it's a basement. Maybe also with wainscoting. Or maybe not." He winced with frustration. "Nothing fits. It's like no room in Forks of which we're aware."

"But Jillian is out in the woods, running around in circles, isn't she?"

"We think that's still the case. We haven't heard otherwise. But the change means she's made some new decision."

"And the room is where she's going?"

"Maybe," Jasper allowed. He gestured at one of the sketches.

Ben set himself on the sofa and regarded Alice, who still stared off into nowhere catatonically, nothing moving but her hand, sweeping rapidly back and forth, with the thin graphite of the mechanical pencil barely kissing the paper. Ben turned the sketch and studied it for a moment. He went pale.

"That room isn't in Forks."

Alice's hand froze in place, and her eyes snapped to Ben's.

Jasper demanded, "You know that place? Where is it?"

Ben breathlessly asked, "Is Jillian there now?"

"It depends," Alice said. "Where is this room?"

Ben whispered, "A block from my house, And a block from Zoey's house. The chair rail is a waist barre. The room is a dance studio."

Jasper urged, "You're sure?"

Ben pointed to a sketched table. "A television and VCR go there. For video demonstrations. Zoey and I met at the studio. As children. We took lessons there twice a week for ten years. I doubt it has changed much since I was there last. It closed for the epidemic. It's supposed to reopen this fall. Tell me. Is Jillian there?"

Alice scowled at her sketches. "She can't be. There hasn't been enough time. Not if you're right that the room is down here."

Ben scathingly said, "A little trust. I know that place as well as my old bedroom."

"Sorry. Ben, would you have any reason to go there? Any reason at all?"

He growled, "I have no reason to be on this side of the country, Alice! You didn't answer my question. Is Jillian there, digging into my life, or not?"