I turned to Kyle, his face full of fear—You. I was you. Making love to your wife, I was your wife twenty years from now, and your shit in the toilet, your child, your grandchild, jumping into the pool, the water in the pool. There was—I can’t even, I don’t even know what era I’m talking, am I talking? I guess I am, now. I’m here, back in my—Wait. Did I? Where’s Ashley? What time is it? The thing is—there is no thing, everything is the thing, is indistinguishable, just atoms moving, changing places, all of it the same, same thing, and um—the thing, the thing I was going to say, oh I wasn’t afraid of death! What is it? It wasn’t—death isn’t, it doesn’t happen, everything just changes places, it’s all the same, don’t worry about it. Family. Doesn’t matter. The people you love. Doesn’t really matter either because it’s all just, you, me, strangers, the bus, it’s all just atoms changing places, over time, coming together and apart. Horrible, in some ways, right?

Kyle reached out and touched my shoulder—Claire.

What is a body? What is this? I asked, putting my hands on the coffee table.

It’s a table, Kyle replied.

But what is it? I asked, desperate. I was this. Thing. What is sound? Just space in between. I was sound. What is that? A voice? I heard your voice. I heard your voice in time. In space. There was a moment. I wanted to. I thought I was gone. Forever. I thought I was, replaced by sound, rearranged, forever. But okay. I was okay with it. I was not afraid. I heard your voice, and I was not afraid. For the first time.

I looked Kyle in the eyes—I heard your voice. And I knew who I was.

The Hum suddenly spiked, deafening, and the front door blasted open, and in poured officers in tactical gear, three, four, and the crash of the back patio doors being smashed open. Damian dived, grabbed his gun on the coffee table, and raised it. As he did, an officer opened fire, hitting both him and Kyle. They fell to the ground. Like punching bags cut from their chains. All of this in a matter of three seconds, but in slow motion. Shattered glass everywhere, how? Damian, wounded, fired back, hitting the police officer. Two other officers opened fire, striking Damian three times in the chest. All of this in another four seconds. Kyle was not moving. I was on the floor, holding him. Somewhere someone was screaming. I was clinging to Kyle. Warm and wet in my hands. Clinging to him like he was my boy. But he was not clinging back.

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