Christmas was eleven days away.
This wasn't exactly easy to come to terms with, for a number of reasons. One, a lot of time has passed since last Christmas.
Last year, when Christmas came, I was completely homeless. I left my mother's studio and said I was never coming back. On the day before Christmas Eve, she dressed up in a Santa Claus outfit and had a big sack tossed over her shoulder. I was helping one of the new girls with a number that she wasn't grasping, and the rest of the girls were practicing as a group. My mother walked in, turning off the music with a bright smile on her face, flashing teeth that were as white as the stupid puff on top of her Santa hat. The girls looked at her with glimmering, beady eyes as she unpacked the bag, delivering gifts to every single leotard-wearing, battered-feet-having girl in that studio.
She left without even blinking an eye at me.
The other girls were too consumed in the celebration of their gifts to notice me standing in the corner, expressionless. It didn't take them long to realize that I hadn't gotten anything; when they did, they put their gifts away out of respect and pretended that my mother had never walked into the room. I didn't care, really. Holidays weren't a big deal for me for the first half of my life. There was no surprise because I knew I would always get whatever I asked for. They weren't a big deal for me for the second half of my life because I never wanted anything, nor did I expect anything. It wasn't the fact that she didn't get me anything that hurt. I had nothing on my 'Christmas list', and we had already disowned each other as family. What really hurt was that that year, I made an effort. Simon took me to a tree-lighting party in the city, and then took me out for dinner and bought me a silk dress. Being pampered by him annoyed me (when would he get the hint?) but it triggered something in me: ignoring my mother on her birthday and Christmas satisfied her, because it let her know that I was still upset with her. If I tried to be the bigger person, it would show maturity. It'd bother her.
That's why I was so hurt when she walked out without giving me anything because her Christmas gift from me was waiting under my bed: a new stainless steel pot and pan set. For a chef, that was a big deal.
This year, though, I have four other people to buy gifts for, people I didn't know last year. And then there's Simon, but frankly, I didn't ever want to see him again. Maybe I'd drop a sarcastic teddy bear off at Carl's office too.
"This is my first time doing this, you know," Isaiah said to me as we walked through what used to be an empty parking lot. During this time of year, it was a Christmas tree shopping center. All the trees were lined up in aisles filled with ecstatic, holiday-obsessive idiots. Mostly out-of-towners.
"We used to do this all the time when I was little," I told him. He stopped to look at a tree.
"What about this one?" He pointed to a tall tree. It looked like...a Christmas tree. "That's why I always used to hate doing this. What's the difference? Every single tree here is identical." I leaned against one of the seller's tables, and she gave me a stern look. I didn't move.
"I mean...besides the different heights? They...they smell different." He said. I shook my head.
"They all smell like faux reality and wasted dreams. Pick a tree so we can get out of here."
Isaiah sighed, examined the tree once more, and then motioned for me to follow him. We moved on to look at more of the same thing.
Finally, when we didn't find anything in the section we were in, we decided to cross over to the opposite side of the lot and look at four-foot trees. They were cheaper and provided a different scenery than the six-footers did.
"You have to be more enthusiastic about this," Isaiah said to me. "I'm buying the tree, but you're going to decorate. So at some point, you have to develop some kind of interest."
I was about to ask him when I ever agreed to decorate the tree, but someone was calling his name from behind us. We both turned around to see a guy I didn't recognize, but he did. It appeared to be an old friend; I asked no questions, and he went over to talk to his friend.
While they were behind me, I looked at the men tying up a tall tree to be delivered to someone's house. A woman standing in front of me, a seller, saw me looking and started a conversation with me about how difficult it is to tie up those big trees and the kind of rich snobs that would order an eight-foot tree (my parents). I wanted to tell her that I didn't really care, but she was already talking about her childhood and how since she was five, she has kept a Christmas countdown book starting from New Year's.
The only reason I didn't stop her from talking to me was because she caught my interest. It was fascinating to listen to someone who was so insane in an unsuspecting, sick, amusing kind of way.
We continued our conversation for a while. I forgot about Isaiah and his friend behind me. A toddler fell on the pavement to my right and started crying. Someone was picking up a tree in an old, loud pickup truck whose engines rumbled all the way out of the lot and down the street. At some point, in the midst of all this, I blended into it. I fit myself right into the scenery and camouflaged with the rest of these regular people, doing tree shopping like they're supposed to. I lost myself in it. I sunk myself into this casual, fairly satisfying occasion.
And then something pulled me right out of it.
When I heard it, everything stopped and went up. The woman stopped talking and her head shot up, along with the heads around me. My heartbeat went up. My heart itself went up and into my throat. I couldn't speak. I couldn't blink. The sound was so loud, so startling and unexpected, that it thrusted me forward a step. It pushed itself into my ears, into my eyes, into my gut. I could feel it slapping me from behind, bringing goosebumps and a sharp, cold air with it.
It took a minute before the sound itself escaped my ears and was replaced by everything around me, by the screams and the running feet. With the sound, my inability to breathe or move left. I turned around, and I realized that everything happened more quickly than it felt, because I could still see it in the sky. I could still see the thick, dense black cloud. The mushroom of orange and gray still floated in the sky, its smoke travelling away from it and to my already watery eyes.
I looked away from it and down to ground level, to Isaiah. He was already looking at me. His friend, and everyone around us, had run away long ago.
This was number three.
~~~
"It was an ice cream factory," Batul said breathlessly. She wasn't the only face I identified in the crowd after Isaiah and I recovered from our shock. We left the lot and followed the streamline of people following the smoke, stumbling into each other due to their burning eyes and the lack of space.
While we ran, my eyes fell on Tyler. He jogged as if he was in slow-motion; he was moving fast, but still not passing anybody. That's what we were all doing. After we saw him, he came to run beside us, and then we saw Yvette. She joined us too. It was only when we were two blocks away from the explosion that we saw Batul. She was running away from it and toward us.
"An ice cream factory? We have one of those?" Tyler asked.
"Not exactly. It was that empty warehouse that they just finished building last year. The ice cream factory's grand opening was going to be two months from now, and they were going to allow people to come in for free tubs of ice cream on their first day." Batul explained. She turned around, cupped her eyes, and peered at the scene. "But not anymore, I guess."
We all stared at the former building solemnly.
"This is getting kind of scary," Yvette folded her arms.
"Kind of?" Tyler retorted. "I didn't even want to come here when I heard it. I just knew you guys would be here."
"Where were you?" Isaiah asked him.
"Video game store. You?"
"The nearby tree lot with Geneva." He replied.
"I was at dance." Yvette said. When I eyed her, she added: "I forgot to tell you. I found a new studio."
"I was taking a walk. I was only a block away when I heard it." Batul told us.
They started to talk about how the sound affected them and how scared they were to turn around (just like I was) and how bummed out they were that there wasn't going to be a free ice cream day anymore (this was mostly from Tyler). But I couldn't focus on that. Not now, when nothing in my life seemed to be a singular event. Right here, standing in front of the debris from this explosion, I realized a possibility that crawled up my back and pricked my skin, something that made everything around me spin so slowly that I almost wasn't sure I could see it.
Everything in my life for the past few months has been connected to one thing.
"The first time it happened," I swallowed to calm myself down, "was at my job. Under the Sea fish shop, run by a money-loving Asian family. They were well known to the community."
The others waited for me to continue, but Isaiah caught on to what I was doing.
"The second time it happened was at the headquarters for my Witness Protection program. It was run by the police department. No one other than the detectives, the witnesses, and the people who worked there knew about it. Or at least, they weren't supposed to."
"And the third time it happened," Batul joined in, "was right here. A brand new ice cream factory that didn't even open yet. We know nothing about it."
"What could those three situations possibly have in common, besides bombs?" Tyler asked.
Isaiah looked at me, and I could see in his eyes that we had the same thing in mind.
"I don't know for sure," He said, "but I have a vague idea."
~~~
Devin told me long ago that the name of the milk and newspaper business was Red Liquor Services, and I considered doing some research on it after he told me, but I never got around to it. But today, I was going straight to the source.
Isaiah was the only one who knew how to get there. We walked there as fast as we could; for some reason, Isaiah had the feeling that this had to be done quickly or not at all. On the way, we devised a plan. He would go inside the headquarters first, and then we would wait exactly an hour before coming in after him. No sooner, no later.
We arrived at the same time with a truck that read 'Red Liquor Services' on the side in red letters, followed by a cartoon cherry. How cheery for something so shady.
"Alright, so there it is." Isaiah whispered to us. We stood a little ways from the tall, brick building that looked like a loft building. "I'm going inside through that green door. As soon as I walk in, check your watch, and then mark what time it is so you can know when to come inside. During your hour of waiting, make yourself unseen. Don't stand anywhere near here. Go inside that Burger King or something. Just lay low until I'm out."
"Are you going to be in any kind of danger?" Yvette asked him.
"If I'm right about them having something to do with these explosions-which I know I am, since the last newspaper I got in my mailbox says something about ice cream and cancelled business openings and that can't be a coincidence-then probably."
With that, he looked at me to see if I had anything to say to him. When I didn't, he walked away.
I did have something to say. I wanted to tell him to be careful and don't do anything stupid and to forget the whole idea and take me home. I just couldn't get the words out.
We went to the Burger King.
You can't sit inside a fast food restaurant for an hour without ordering anything. That was what I proposed that we do, since I couldn't eat when I knew Isaiah could be getting kidnapped right now. But when we got there and the waitress saw us and told us that we had to pay to sit, we had to oblige. Tyler was especially excited about this, since he'd wanted food all along anyway. Batul had to pay for his food since there was a hole in his pocket and his money fell out along the way.
I stayed quiet the entire time. Yvette and Tyler played 'never have I ever', and after a while when Batul couldn't take it anymore, she started cursing them out for about five minutes straight using words that I'd never even heard before. Neither of them could get a word in. It went on for so long that I actually had to laugh at how passionate she was when she was irritated, and Tyler told her that she was a bitch when she wasn't on her nirvana nonsense. This both upset her and reminded her of the path that she was straying from, so she stayed silent, closed her eyes, and began to meditate.
They continued playing the stupid game. I felt very alone.
I dozed off after a while. I was trying my best to stay awake, but the sounds around me were so disturbing that I had to escape them somehow. When I woke up, I was even more disturbed than before. I had a dream. It was about Isaiah.
It wasn't good.
I got up from the table, tossing the food wrappers in the garbage.
"Where are you going? We have ten minutes left." Yvette asked me, looking at her watch.
"I know." I said. I didn't wait for her to respond; after I walked out of the door, they'd probably wake Batul from her trance and follow me.
As soon as I left, that's exactly what happened.
We crossed the street and walked toward the building. Just as we arrived, a man wearing a navy blue polo shirt and khaki pants, which seemed to be a uniform, was walking in with a heavy box in his hand. He walked through the door without holding it for us, and for a moment I wanted to let it close in front of me and then turn around and never come back. But every time I thought of that, the only image that popped into my mind was the one from the dream, the image of me losing him. I couldn't leave.
So we went in.
Even though the outside looked like a loft building, the interior had an entirely different appearance. It reminded me of a shipping center. Everything inside was gray and cold, like a typical government building. There were boxes on conveyor belts at the back and men packaging something that I couldn't see at the far right, probably the milk. It was a factory of sorts. Everywhere you looked, people were moving-carrying boxes, working machines, packing bottles, talking, giving directions. The entire place was bustling with industrial life.
"May I help you all?" Someone asked in front of me. I directed my attention to a security guard standing in front of me.
"Uh, yes." I said. She stared into my eyes like she was scanning something in me. "I'm a friend of Isaiah's. He told me to meet him here."
Her face immediately relaxed. "Oh, yeah. He told me he would be expecting you. He's upstairs on the third floor. Just empty your pockets and bags first."
She gestured to a line before us that looked exactly like I was about to pass through airport customs. Although her face had relaxed, along with the other guards waiting for me on the line, there was something on their faces that showed they could switch from 'nice' to killer any second. So didn't hesitate in emptying the contents of my pockets and removing my shoes to place on the conveyor belt. I let the others go first. When they were finished and waited for me, I put my items on the belt and walked through through the security metal detector while they were scanned.
When I walked in the first time, the detector beeped. A male guard came over and told me to walk through again. I did, and it beeped again. After the third time, he patted me down himself. When he felt nothing, he brought over a metal detecting wand, and when he passed it over my right thigh it beeped the same way the bigger detector did.
The guard stepped away to look at the computer that was connected to the wand, and then laughed. "Oh, I thought you were packing a gun. It's just your device. You're free to go."
Both Batul and I looked at him confusedly. "What device?" I asked him.
He stared at me for a moment with thoughtful eyes. Then the female guard walked over to us.
"I just got word that Isaiah's done with his meeting upstairs. He said to tell you guys to wait for him down here, that he's ready to leave and he'll be down in a minute." She explained. "You all can wait by the door for him." The male guard said. We all turned and headed for the door, but I was held back by him. He brought me around his desk to look at the computer with my scan on it. There was some dark spot on the scanner that I couldn't quite recognize.
"You didn't know that that was there?" He whispered to me.
"No. What is that?"
The guard, who didn't wear a name tag, looked at me with both confusion and pity. Then he looked up to see if anyone was listening. "There's a device in your leg, ma'am. I thought you knew about it, which is why I didn't say anything. Most people who come in here that have devices already know about them."
"What do you mean by 'device'?"
He sighed. "I mean a tracking device. The only reason you don't know could be because someone implanted it in you, probably when you were unconscious. It's in your right thigh. It is connected to someone, or something, who wants to know your whereabouts."
I gaped at him. The words were so strange that I didn't even have time to replay them in my mind. They left his mouth and disappeared, floating off so far into space that I couldn't pull them back to hear them again.
"So-you're telling me....I don't understand." I placed a hand on my forehead. There was already a headache forming. "You're telling me that someone knows where I am all the time?"
"Not necessarily. They could have just put it in you so that in case of emergency, they can find you. It may not be active. If you ever go missing, don't be surprised if someone finds you. They can activate it and look for you." Explaining this seemed to pain the guard, as if being the one to break the news to me was more of a burden than receiving it.
I didn't know what to do. The elevator's lights were flashing, which meant that someone was coming down. Probably Isaiah. A moment ago, all I could think about was him, and now, as I stood in front of this stranger in this strange place trying to understand his strange words, lifting up my right leg for fear of even standing on it, he was the last person on my mind. There were tens of people before him, people whose faces and names and words were racing against each other in my mind. "...someone implanted it in you, probably when you were unconscious."
That could mean anything. That could have happened any time. I have been unconscious around a number of people, people who I have reason not to trust and people who have reason not to trust me. Nothing happening in my head could ever answer this mystery. For the first time in my life, something peculiar had occurred and I had absolutely no leads. There was a tracking device in me, I don't know when or how it got there, and anyone I ever met could have drugged me, planted it, and I wouldn't have ever known. There were too many strangers I've met and left. Too many faces. Too many suspects.
Just as I began to contemplate whether the device was planted since I woke up with blood on my thigh or it had been there all my life, I realized something: when we went to the police department to ask about Carlos, we had to walk through metal detectors.
So why didn't those detectors scan the tracking device, but these did?
Isaiah suddenly came out of the elevator. "Thank you guys." He said to the guards. And then to us, he said: "Let's go."
But I couldn't go. I couldn't move, not after reading the text message on my phone that answered the question I just asked myself.
Message from: UNKNOWN
Because when you went to the police station, I didn't want you to know yet.