The week had been a cross-country tour of America, a different state each night. Jane had spent the previous forty-eight hours in two capitals, Columbus and Indianapolis respectively, and after a few hour's nap in a four-star hotel, she was on the road, having departed with a gift from the concierge. Overnight shipping granted her a new set of cards engraved with names and locations. The night was going to be busy, so Jane and Deanna worked the same city with separate lists and priorities. In the past month, if she could trust what she had been told, she had saved over two hundred lives. She experienced times of doubt when she stalled her convertible at a crossroads, but there was no denying the encounters with criminals in the midst of their crimes.
In her time with Madrigal, she would receive an occasional text warning her to enter a building through a different door or to watch out for someone at a certain spot. Deanna explained that this was where Jane had most likely been killed, and that these warnings avoided that fate. Deanna estimated that she herself had probably been killed dozens of times, and that each message was a nice little reminder that they had died and that they couldn't die.
Four hours later, Jane was in Louisville, strolling past some shops in the downtown area.
Three minutes later, Jane used a stun gun to electrocute the man entering the doors of a jewelry store before he could shoot the owner inside.
Two minutes later, Jane was back on the road
Twenty-eight minutes later, Jane pushed a small button near her steering wheel, causing the convertible to stall at an intersection for five minutes.
Thirty-two minutes later, she was in a small suburb, her car blocking the route of another vehicle that would have blown past the school bus stop signs into an elementary school child crossing into the road.
Forty-seven minutes later, Jane pushed the small button near the steering wheel, causing the convertible to stall at another intersection for five minutes.
Twenty minutes later, Jane blasted her horn at a bear strolling through another neighborhood near an unsuspecting home owner who was tending to her front garden, scaring the hell out of both.
Fifty-three minutes later, Jane stopped her car before some railroad tracks in front of a car that would have become stuck trying to navigate around the lowered gate.
Thirteen minutes later, Jane received a frenzied call from Deanna, who was yelling red alert, and demanding an immediate pickup.
Eight minutes later, Jane stopped next to Deanna's car, a bullet-riddled sedan which sported a bent and bloodied front grill.
Fifteen seconds later, Deanna tossed a tote of her toys in the convertible's back seat.
Five seconds later, Deanna tossed a lit Molotov cocktail into her own car as she jumped into Jane's.
Nine minutes later, Jane drove to her next location as the two women argued loudly as to whose lists of names took priority.
Thirty seconds later, Deanna placed a CD in the car stereo, stating it was a song she liked playing when she was running home, a rap song about drugs and FDR's health problems.
Six minutes later, Jane exited her car in front of an apartment building, making sure to take the keys, as she ran in to help evacuate the building before a fire broke out.
Thirty-two seconds later, Deanna drove Jane's hotwired car away.
Sixteen minutes later, Jane's pulling of the fire alarm evacuated most of the residents, and the elderly that had trouble moving were helped by Jane, as their names and apartment numbers were those on her cards.
One minute later, the fire department arrived as the underground gas main ignited.
Ten seconds later, Jane was in the parking lot, staring at the empty space where had she left her car.
Three seconds later, Jane's car skidded to a stop in the same empty space, the driver screaming for Jane to hurry her ass up.
Thirty seconds later, Deanna drove towards a neighborhood where a name from each of their lists could be located, outlining her plan for both.
Seven minutes later, Deanna slowed to thirty miles an hour because she said they couldn't afford the time to come to a complete stop and told Jane to go do a diving roll from the car.
Two seconds later, Jane told Deanna what she could go do.
Six seconds later, Deanna brought the car to a near stop, allowing Jane the chance to exit and run to a house as Deanna peeled away.
Six seconds later, Jane bashed through the weak front door, retractable baton extended.
Fourteen seconds later, Jane had crossed through the foyer, reached the wife beater wearing his wife-beater who was beating his wife, and baton-beat his ass nine times before she was out the back door.
Three minutes and eight seconds later, Jane had crossed through ten backyards across five blocks, jumping bushes, fences, lawn chairs and lackadaisical guard dogs to reach Deanna's destination street.
Two seconds later, Jane looked in the far distance to see a man standing in middle of a lawn pointing a gun at another figure.
Two more seconds later, Jane saw her car bounce into the middle of the same front lawn, bounce the gunman off the hood, and bounce back onto the road.
Twelve seconds later, Jane was back in the car with a freshly bent and bloodied front grill, and on her way to the next name on her cards.
One second later, Deanna was screaming how they needed another car.
Three seconds later, Jane struggled with Deanna as the woman tried to reach for another Molotov cocktail.
Three minutes later, Deanna claimed they had a twelve minute window for a quick stop.
Five minutes later, Deanna ordered a burger, fries, and soda from a twenty-four hour drive through without asking if Jane wanted anything.
One minute later, Deanna handed over a coupon and a twenty and received her food and change.
Five seconds later, Deanna said they overcharged her fifty cents.
Ten seconds later, the overnight cashier said that he was sorry, but the coupon expired last year and he wasn't allowed to accept it.
Seven seconds later, Deanna fluttered her eyes at the pimply-faced kid in the window and said it could be their little secret.
Ten seconds later, the overnight cashier said that he was sorry, but the coupon expired last year, and he wasn't allowed to accept it.
Three seconds later, Deanna was standing on the driver's seat of the convertible screaming at the drive-in window, asking at the top of her lungs what kind of piss-poor shit-shackle operation Pimple Face was running.
Ten seconds later, Deanna got her fifty cents back.
And on it went. Despite the frenzied pace, the chaos, the running and racing, the fights with aggressors and the fights between themselves, in three hours, Jane and Deanna managed to make it through the night with all jobs completed but for the last, and with only one car firebombed for the evening. Jane and Deanna arrived twenty minutes early at a three-story apartment building shaped like a large block-lettered U. Erin S., the next name on Jane's list, wrote computer code for a living, worked at one of the country's top technology companies, and lived in a well-to-do neighborhood. By all appearances, she was someone who had everything. In the next thirty minutes, she would jump off the roof of that three-story building to her death.
The two women entered the elevator. Deanna's interest lay with the game on her phone as she destroyed clusters of fruits or gems. As an aside, she mentioned that they should stop later at an oyster bar in town because she heard about the cream tarts that were served there, and said afterwards, they could swing by a club that Deanna knew Jane would like. Jane didn't care about Deanna's ramblings, as Jane's interest lay more with Erin's fate. The roof access had to be reached through the stairwell, so they headed in that direction, Deanna following Jane without her eyes ever leaving her play. "You can do all the talking. I'm just here for moral support."
Jane reached the rooftop door to find two hasp hinges near the top and middle of the door, each with a shiny lock. Though she felt it futile, Jane tried to see if the door had any give. Deanna arrived and noted they weren't proceeding any further. "What?"
"Look," Jane said. "It can't be opened." Deanna tried, and the result was so curious, she paused her game. Jane ran her finger under one of the hinges to find metal shavings. "The screws were drilled recently, and these look like new locks and hinges. Does this mean something's changed? Did someone know? Is that possible?"
"That doesn't make sense. I guess the girl's safe then."
Jane headed down a flight of stairs to the top floor and checked the hallway to find a man unlocking his own door. "Excuse me, sir. Do you know anything about the locks on the roof access?"
"If you need to smoke, you have to go downstairs now."
"I was just wondering when they locked it."
"Last week. They kept bolting the door, kids kept kicking it open, and now it doesn't shut right anymore. The super sealed it until it's fixed, if it gets fixed. Ruined it for the rest of us, so now you have to go downstairs or all the way to the other side, which means walking from one end of this place to the other, and that's ten minutes. I'm not doing that. I'll open a window first. I don't care what they say. Everyone else does it."
In the end, he was talking to air, as the woman had run off, obviously in need of a cigarette. He understood the feeling.
***
Two dirty patio chairs sat near the rooftop access door, encircled by dozens of cigarette butts. Small white gravel stones grumbled a protest with Erin's every step to the foot-wide, six-inch high roof edge. Erin pushed her sandals off with her feet and stepped onto the cold concrete.
Three stories below, the world churned in a vertiginous tremor and Erin stepped back. As much as she needed to jump, she didn't wish to fall. The roof overlooked an alleyway with trash that missed its way into the various dumpsters. A series of puddles remained from the previous night's storm, shimmering with rainbow colors from whatever fluids seeped out of dilapidated cars and leaking garbage cans. Something scurried below, and from her viewpoint, Erin couldn't tell if it was a malnourished cat or an oversized rat. She thought about the putrid water staining her clothes, vermin roaming about, and trash swirling around her body. It was funny what she worried over. She needed to forget all of it. When the moment was right, she needed to close her eyes and step forward, so as not to worry about anything anymore. She inched forward and felt her toes curl over the building ledge. One more step and it would be all over.
"Erin, please stop."
The voice jarred her and she instinctively stepped back, turning toward the sound. A woman stood between Erin and the doorway.
"Stay back."
"Erin, I just want to talk."
"Stay back."
"I won't come near you. I just want to walk over there. Is that okay?"
The woman was pointing to a spot near the edge ten feet away from Erin. "Don't come any closer."
"I'm not. I just want to talk," the woman said, moving up to the ledge. "Why do you want to do this?"
"I have to. You couldn't understand."
"I can. I promise you, I've been where you're at."
"You can't. No one can."
"Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."
"I wanted it all to be perfect, and now, it's not."
"Did you kill someone?"
"What?" The question was preposterous. "No, of course not."
"Then whatever it is, you can come back from it."
"No, I can't. You can't come back from bad code."
"I'm not following."
"No one does." Erin knew she wouldn't get it. She turned back to the abyss.
"You mean computer coding? I learned some in college; command line, binary, Linux."
Erin paused. Maybe she needed to explain before the time came. "You can't understand. I've waited for this moment for as long as I can remember, and I wanted it to be right, and I thought it could be before this week. At work, we had an update and the entire system crashed. Somewhere, a piece of code made its way into the mainframe and took everything down. The entire development team contributes, so anyone could have been at fault. Eight people digging into every line, every character, every piece of punctuation, until we found it. One line, one of my lines. A simple error, a simple fix. An honest mistake, the type that everyone else has made before, and my manager understood that, said I wasn't in any danger of being fired or demoted, but still, it was on me.
"And my boyfriend said he didn't know if he wanted to be with me anymore, said he couldn't take my moods anymore. I thought he could understand, but he doesn't. I wanted everything to be set, to be just right, and now it's falling apart, and I need to do this now before things get any worse."
"Wait a second." Another woman appeared in the doorway. She wore an orange shirt and a phone dangled from her hand. "Sorry. Maybe I missed something..."
"Be quiet, please." The first woman slowly pointed at the second, her voice lower. "I have this."
"Yeah, fine. I just need to clarify something. Things are bad at your job and with your boyfriend, right? Anything else?"
"What? No, I don't... what?" Were they trying to confuse her, so she would change her mind, or to trick her away?
"Let. Me. Handle this."
"Yeah, yeah, I just need to get this right. You messed up at your job, but you're not at risk of losing that job, right?" Erin paused before nodding. "And were you madly in love with this boyfriend of yours?"
"No."
"It's not about that," the first woman said. "Shut up."
"Don't tell me to shut up," the other snapped. "Never tell me to shut up. I just need one more thing." To Erin, "I need your boyfriend's name and number."
Erin didn't understand. Were they going to call him? She didn't want that. "Why?"
The first woman seemed angry at the second. "We already have--"
"Because...," the second woman said, louder than the first woman's words. "If your only problems are that your co-workers are giving you dirty looks and a boyfriend that you don't love isn't sleeping with you anymore, then the only reason to off yourself is because you're going to be missing out on sex you believe is worth dying over, so I wanna meet this guy."
Erin turned to protest, but now the strangers were fighting.
"That isn't what she's talking about."
"What should she care? He's about to be single in a minute."
Erin didn't care; no one did. It was as she had always known. Her life didn't matter to anyone.
"All this drama over some dude. She's weak. Muck. Discard pile."
"God damn you, you crazy bitch," the first one said to the other before turning back. "Erin, don't listen to her--"
Erin leaned forward and let herself fall off the roof.
***
Jane jumped after her.
This was not a spur of the moment thought on Jane's behalf. As she talked with Erin, she had considered the options. The dumpster below and to Erin's left was diagonal to her projected path of falling. Jane noted the dirty lime-green fold-over lids, and how one side was higher in the air than the other, indicating the dumpster might be full. In Jane's mind, this was not a jump to her death, but a leap of faith, the belief that if she failed, it would be seen and there would be a do-over. Either the timeline would be reset, or else she and Erin would be okay.
Logic. Not madness. Part of a plan.
Jane calculated her jump to push Erin towards the target. In air, Erin screamed, and Jane heard Deanna screaming as well, though her howl was of excitement. Jane held Erin, whose terror and struggle in those few seconds twisted Jane's angle of approach so she hit the dumpster lid at an angle, feet first. Jane landed on her backside, her right arm hitting the metal edge and dislocating her shoulder while her head slammed into the hard plastic, causing an array of white pinpoint dots to shoot before her eyes.
Erin was not as fortunate. She hit the corner of the dumpster with the side of her waist. She bounced, cartwheeled slightly onto her left foot, breaking her leg with such ferocity that when she landed, her toes touched her knee. To make matters worse, she landed in a puddle.
Jane fought against the intermittent darkness and blurred vision, focusing on Erin's wailing moan. She heard another sound, rusting metal scraping metal, and saw Deanna ride down a fire escape ladder.
"Good goddamn!" she screamed with joy. "That was awesome!" She ran back and forth between the two women, adrenaline fueling her mania, and then she settled to lean over Erin. "See, things can be worse. Your body's all jacked up, they're going to lock you away for being a crazy head... and you have no boyfriend." Deanna spied something against the wall and scurried over to pick it up.
Jane tried to slide off the dumpster, but the moment her feet touched the ground, her legs crumbled beneath her. She cradled her injured arm with her other hand and watched as Deanna poked Erin's legs with a metal pole, smiling with every anguished reaction. "Stop it."
"I'm checking for nerve damage. Pain means no paralysis. Screams are a good thing."
"Leave her alone. Let EMS take care of it," Jane said as she noted Erin passing out. "You did call 911, right?" Deanna's face and rolled eyes spoke to different. "Call the goddamn--"
"Yeah, yeah, got it," as Deanna pulled her phone from her pocket. As Jane cursed at her, Deanna pointed the rod in her direction and growled, "Don't start with the name calling. Anyone else calls me crazy or a bitch, and I, oh, yes, hello?" she said into the phone, her voice switching to a higher pitch. "Oh, god, yes, my friend Erin was sitting on the edge of a building and she fell and my other friend tried to catch her and she fell too and they're both on the ground and it's horrible... My name? Neena... Neena Steele... I don't know... Right past Thirty-Second, the alley across from the Sallyport punk bar. Oh, please hurry."
Deanna continued her act through the call, into her conversations with the paramedics, and further at the hospital. It was a masterful performance, with waterworks from both her eyes and her nose, full histrionics, and feigned disorientation. Jane found it frightening in its authenticity, allowing her to realize how much more dangerous the woman truly was. They were separated in the hospital where Jane was examined and her arm was shifted back into place. She was told that she had a severe concussion, and she believed it from the way she felt. At some point, she passed out, and she dreamed of that perfect quiet she sought.
Jane awoke the next morning, and against doctor's orders, left her bed to find Erin. Her body agreed with the physician's opinion, but she acquired a wheelchair and found Erin's room. She could see a large nurse near the woman's bedside.
"How's the pain?" he asked. "Scale of one to ten."
"Six. Five, maybe. Between a five and a six."
The nurse made a notation on Erin's chart and pushed some buttons on one of the monitors. "All right, I'll let you get some rest." The nurse exited past Jane as she wheeled herself into Erin's room.
"Hey," Erin drawled out, reaching a hand in Jane's direction. "My hero."
"I wanted to see how you were doing."
"Better than I should be." She leaned forward quickly and clutched her side. She smiled through a wince, and though her eyes were glazed from the sedatives, there was a light and life behind them. "Thank you."
Jane found this unfathomable. "For what? You're hurt. I came by to say I was sorry. I should have done things differently."
"Sorry?" Erin asked. "You saved my life. You risked yours to save mine, and you were hurt in the process. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," and she started to bawl.
"Hey, don't do that. I'm okay."
Erin wiped her eyes with the bed sheet. "I can't explain. I thought you understood, but you can't, because I don't, and I can't even say it. Can't say the word, what I tried to do."
"I do understand, believe me. That 'it,' I understand. I've read a lot about it, studied it." Erin's look begged for further explanation, so Jane added. "Family history."
Erin nodded, her teary eyes darting about as if she were processing information from her environment. "Then maybe you'll understand, because I don't. I had this idea that... leaving on my terms was just a natural part of my life, that what I was doing was completely rational and inevitable. All the while in college, it was in the back of my mind. I started a career and a relationship, but I never imagined a future, couldn't see myself married, or reaching thirty. It's like, I was going through the motions, doing what was expected, but there was a hole inside that I was always trying to fill, but that was constantly emptying and reminding me of its presence. When someone asked where I saw myself in twenty years' time, the idea seemed completely illogical, as if beyond possibility. I couldn't imagine that a future could be. I don't know if you follow."
Jane locked eyes with the woman, ensuring she had her full attention. "I understand completely."
Erin exhaled with relief as she continued, speaking faster and with an energy that rebelled against the sedatives. "I felt the idea of having children was wrong, that it was selfish to bring a child into the world where a parent would abandon them, and that maybe they would be born with what was in me. Women talk of their biological clocks, but I always felt as if mine was wired to some internal bomb, and I could never tell how close it was to zero, but it was always there, set not to create, but to destroy. I thought at times it was close to the moment, what I referred to as that precious moment, but something would arise, or things weren't as ready as I would have liked, and when I came close, it's as if there was a reset or false alarm, and I'd say to myself, 'No, it's not right. Not yet,' and I'd continue on, not so much living my life, but waiting for the other. You understand?"
"Yes, sweetheart, more than anyone, I do."
"But up on that roof, the instant I fell past the point where I could catch myself, the absolute nanosecond between where I could save myself and where I could not, that's when I realized that I had made the worst mistake of my life. It's like my mind did an instant firmware wipe and rewrite, and as I fell, I screamed because the horror of what I had just done and the thought that it would all end was so foreign to this new self, and I was seeing clearly now, and I cannot even recognize that person I was before. The idea of that precious moment, that driving force of my entire existence, is now utterly incomprehensible. Do you get that?"
Jane kept her gaze on the girl as she said, "No, I don't."
"I know. It's crazy. I don't know what I was thinking."
"So, do you still feel like killing yourself?" a voice purred. Erin leaned forward so she could see the speaker in the doorway, but Jane didn't bother turning around, having no need.
"God, no. I don't know what I was thinking," Erin said, unaware that Deanna was not addressing her. "They say I'm going to have pins in my feet and legs, and probably a hip replacement like some little old lady, but I feel good. Really good. Happy, even."
Jane patted her arm. "I'm glad. I just hope the best for you."
"Makes no sense to me." Deanna shook her head. "If you believe in God, all his biographies say, 'Don't do it.' If you think you're of monkey borne, no species does it; it ain't natural. So, there's only two rules: 'God says no,' or 'Fight your nature.' Makes no goddamn sense..."
"Believe me, I am never doing anything like that again." Erin faced Deanna. "All I could think about is what you said. 'All this drama over some dude.' Before, I thought you were just being cruel and cold, but I realized that you were trying to make me see that there was no guy, no job, no problem worth killing oneself over."
"Last thing I ever try to do is be mean. I believe in being honest with people."
Erin nodded, missing Jane's expression. "Once I realized that, I don't know, I'm just so glad to see you, to say thank you to you as well. Thank you ever so much."
"You know what? I almost never hear that without some 'but' or 'however', so let me say honestly, for I am an honest person, that you are most welcome. I am most pleased that I was able to save your life."
Erin started to point in Jane's direction. "Well, actually..."
"And now you ruined it," Deanna said, shaking her head. "Look, we're going to let you get some rest, precious." Deanna took the handles of Jane's wheelchair and exited the room.
"Thank you both again."
"Be well," Jane said as they departed. She let Deanna push the wheelchair without protest, feeling any attempts to stop the woman would turn into a scene. Deanna guided them to a patio area, where the hospital had created an indoor garden with a rock waterfall cascading into an artificial pond. An elderly couple in their eighties sat on a stone bench. The woman draped an arm around the man's back and rubbed his shoulders as he sobbed. Deanna pushed Jane to the empty side of the room.
She pulled out Jane's phone from her pocket. "First, I figured that you should call your family, but I went through your contacts to find friends to inform about your injuries, so, you know... I didn't have to make any calls. Your music choices are really on the dark side, though."
Jane took her phone back. "Anything else?"
"Yeah. I just wanted to tell you that I cannot wait until the next time we all meet. People always play and say I'm crazy, but you, you're out of your goddamned mind. You got a death wish, baby. Don't get me wrong. It actually gives you a smidge of a personality, but you're nuts, and I can't wait for the others to hear about it."
"It wasn't crazy. It was a calculated risk. And you're not going to say shit."
"Oh, really. Is that a threat?"
"Just a statement of fact. You remember that Sunday, Wednesday, Friday speech?"
"Uh, yeah. I was there."
"So, from what you say, Ernest exists in one time period, but sees things in the future. Stuff in these times seem real to those experiencing them, so, what happens if you tell him? Would he ever let this come to fruition? I did what I had to do to save the girl. If I was wrong, I'd get one of those do-overs.
"If the girl or I were killed, he'd have known. He wouldn't have seen me in the future; same about a crippling injury. Our job was to save the girl's life. We did. She got hurt badly and that wasn't the plan, but she'll live and she wouldn't if I hadn't done something. She was set on something from which she was never to veer. There was no talking her out of it. Had we, even for a little while, she would have just tried again later. Now she has no inclination to ever do that again, and with the help she'll now receive, there's a chance that's true.
"Did I get hurt? Yeah. It's fine. I'll get over it. I saved a girl's life. It was worth it. So, the question is, knowing the injuries we both sustained, would the boss ever let me do what I just did, or would he have sent someone else in my place? From what you've said, so long as her attempt doesn't make the papers, that leaves only two possibilities. Either you don't tell him, or that you haven't told him yet."
"And, boy, am I going to tell him. I can't wait for the look on his face, and yours, and how you're going to try and talk your way out of it. You're done, bitch. Done."
"No. If all the things you believe are true, either you didn't tell him, or else this is your metaphorical Wednesday on the first go-around, and when you do, he'll change these events, and you will have never experienced it. You will never know. You will never, ever know. What's important to me is that we saved a life. So, the question is, what's more important to you? Do you want him to know what I did, or do you want to remember what you saw?"
***
The next group meeting was two weeks later. Jane arrived early and was approached by Ernest, who asked, "So how have things been going? Any problems?"
"Everything has been fine. Some bumps and bruises, but nothing terrible."
Deanna strutted into the room and to the kitchen. As she dug through the fridge, a white envelope could be seen protruding from her back pocket. She chugged a beer as she turned and showed surprise at Jane's presence, as if Deanna could have missed seeing her earlier.
She opened her arms high and wide. "There she is. There's my girl." She grabbed Jane from behind in a big bear hug, her chin on Jane's left shoulder, her right arm over the other. The bottle dangled from Deanna's hand and she tapped it on Jane's side. "I love working with this chick." She kissed Jane's cheek, stepped back, took another swig, and ambled away.
"Really," Ernest said. To Jane, "So you're okay with this?"
"Yeah, it's fine. I can work with her."
"You're sure?"
She looked to Deanna, who was on the far side of the room rubbing Graham's hair and toying with him. "It's fine. I understand her. We have an understanding."
"See, I was right," and Ernest beamed. "I said the two of you would become friends."
Deanna strolled back over and pulled the envelope out of her pocket. "Okay, let's get this shit started."
***
The others worked; Deanna danced to a Groove Armada - Richie Havens mix. She justified this by saying that she did more physical, risky things than everyone else, so she didn't need to be involved with the paperwork. This sentiment was reflected by Sheshai's and Graham's insistence that their routine was quicker on their own, and Jane was dismissed from any work with their thanks for the offer. Graham's short sleeves allowed Jane to admire his tattoos, dozens of dark-blue photo-realistic hands that ran up the length of his arms. When asked, he stated, "Sometimes family tries to pull you up; sometimes they try to pull you down." Jane agreed and noted Sheshai nodding as well.
In the garage, Monty chatted with Jane as he checked the vehicles and equipment they would use, though she felt he was trying to gauge how she was doing. She expressed she was fine, and just wanted to get going on another job. They exchanged small talk until Ernest appeared. He wanted their opinion about how Sheshai wanted to put off collecting more recruits, her argument being that recruiting took time, and there were too many large events impending on the horizon, the Washington Monument being one of them. Monty started voicing his thoughts when Jane interrupted with an idea that had started to nag at her. "Wait a moment."
"Yes?"
"Well, big events. You say you try to stop big events. What happened with me, my town..., did you know?"
"I'm sorry. We missed it. We had a lot of events in Washington D. C., and we placed all our resources there."
"How could you miss an entire town turning on itself? You say that children are most important. This was a child..."
"I'm sorry. It was January nineteenth," Ernest said, as if this explained everything. "It's just that, on January nineteenth, for all intents and purposes, America had just ended."