As for that jail clerk, there’s one core box he belongs in. The asshole box. And it’s the most nondiscriminatory box there is. It’s home to people of every race, creed, party, and orientation. It’s big enough to hold presidents, and small enough to sit on your Thanksgiving table between the turkey and your uncle Bob. It’s a truly dangerous box, because it can masquerade as many things, so you’re never really sure what it is you’re fighting.

The problem is, the asshole box nests way too comfortably within the racist box. And when it does, it becomes a well-fed parasite.

Sadly, I believe that bastard jail clerk exists in all worlds. Screaming at him makes no difference. Raging against him might satisfy our fury but won’t make him go away. We can refuse to feed the hateful thing within, but it will always find another source of food. I think the only way to fight the parasite in the box within a box is to keep shining a relentless light, so it can find no shadows to hide in. Maybe then it will finally reveal itself for what it really is: a small and sorry creature not even worthy of our attention.

26

Blunt Object

So the question remained: Should I play the good girl and listen to Edd, lying low and leaving the world in this wretched state, with hopes that the universe would leave us alone? Or should I risk everything—and I truly mean everything—to bring my old imperfect world back? Was it selfish to take that risk, knowing the consequence of failure? Or was it the noble choice? I don’t know. Like Leo pointed out, it was arrogant of me to think myself some heroine who could step in and solve the problems of a broken society, but didn’t I have an obligation to try? Don’t we all?

To the Edwards I was no longer an asset capable of restoring order. I was a loose cannon. And with Edd now in charge, I had no support from them.

And I had no way to know how I was about to be clipped.

Because unlike the Edwards, I could not be in more than one place at a time. That left me completely unaware of the scheme being woven behind my back. It began to play out right around the time I was facing that revolting jail clerk. I wasn’t there to see it, but I imagine it went down something like this:

Layton is headed to his car after football practice. It’s magic time, although there’s nothing magic about it in a high school parking lot. The lights above the lot are flickering on and off, only understanding the binary of night and day, completely baffled by the ambivalence of twilight.