NORMIE [Chapter 4]

The fourth chapter of NORMIE, a novel by C.S.M.

C.S.M.

Jul 31, 2024

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Here is Chapter 4:

Time stopped.

The blood drained from Jack’s face. His image was displayed on every screen inside the restaurant: the televisions encircling the upper walls, the tablets carried by staff, and individual phones held by patrons. Everyone’s attention was fully captured by the emergency broadcast, watching in terror as Bradley Davenport gave instructions.

“To be clear, notify authorities if you have any knowledge of Jack Campbell’s location. Or face assumed accompliceship.”

Jack felt his clothes tighten around him; his chest heaved with quickened breaths as hot flashes broke out across his body.

It was over. Everything. Him. Jack. His life was over.

The information on the White Rabbit’s thumb drive was even more important than he’d thought. Important enough for an emergency broadcast from Bradley Davenport. For his name and face to be plastered on every screen in the city.

How could he have been so stupid? It could have been a normal day if only he hadn’t picked up the drive. The drive that contained information that Bradley Davenport claimed “risks the very safety of our democracy.” The drive that was currently in the front pocket of his pants.

At the other end of the table, Patrick panned away from the overhead televisions and faced Jack.

“Jack,” he whispered, a vein bulging across his forehead.

Jack raised a shaking finger to his lips.

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The abrupt end of the emergency broadcast created a vacuum of noise in the restaurant. Then, simultaneously, every screen returned to its previous state: phones to their individual lock screens, tablets showing order terminals, and televisions resuming their programs.

The diners remained seated, leaning forward at their tables as hushed discussions broke out. Jack stroked the bridge of his nose, letting his palm spread to discreetly conceal his face as he surveyed the room.

What am I going to do?

Turn himself in, that’s what. He was no criminal. Not part of some conspiracy to deliver secret information. The police would realize this was all a misunderstanding.

But what about the drive?

He couldn’t forget what he’d seen. The videos, the images, the documents. All that information on a tiny little drive. He’d learned the truth about what had happened five years ago.

Never forget 11/7.

There was a sharp pain at his shin. Patrick was kicking him under the table.

“Jack,” he said through clenched teeth. “Jack, what is happening?"

“Keep your voice down,” Jack said. “Let me think.”

What if he returned the drive? He could tell the truth: it was all a big misunderstanding. But what if the authorities didn’t believe his story? If they were willing to do what they did five years ago, wouldn’t they easily be willing to—?

No, no. The information was too valuable. He couldn’t let it fall into the hands of those in power. Whoever owned the drive, this White Rabbit character, would surely need it back.

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Jack’s head fell into his hands, darkness shrouding his vision. The restaurant around him was a collective hum of whispers. He searched his mind, trying to formulate some kind of plan.

But his concentration was broken by a single cry from across the room.

“It’s him! He’s right there!”

Jack lifted his head, looking for the source of the outcry. The seat across from him now empty; Patrick was at the far end of the restaurant, exiting onto the outside sidewalk. The faces at the neighboring tables were trained on him. The waitress, her face now pale-white, was standing near the bar and pointing a shaking hand directly at him.

“There is he!” she said, tears welling around her eyes. “Jack— That’s Jack Campbell.”

Jack froze. The glow of the overhead chandelier suddenly resembled a spotlight.

He had to move. He had to keep the drive safe. Somehow return it to the White Rabbit.

Return the drive.

Jack bolted to his feet, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair and scrambling past the rows of tables.

“It’s not me,” he said. The words didn’t feel like they were coming from him. He threw on his coat, held both hands up, then laughed. “There’s been a misunderstanding.”

The faces around him were twisted in fear. A portly woman nearby crouched beside her seat as he passed. Near the exit, a man held a phone to his ear, seeming to carry out his civil duty as outlined by Bradley Davenport.

Jack pushed past the rows of rounded tables and reached the end of the dining room. He stumbled through the restaurant’s double doors and felt warm sunlight hit his face. The brief feeling of comfort was quickly overtaken by a gust of frigid wind. He paused on the sidewalk and looked down both ends of the city block.

Office workers passed in front of him, making their way to restaurants for lunch or carrying food back to their offices. The towering buildings made him feel trapped in a maze.

Where could he go now? Where could he possibly find the White Rabbit and return the drive?

Make a decision, stupid. You can’t stay in front of the restaurant where dozens have identified you.

He spotted Patrick at the end of the sidewalk, turning the corner back toward their office. Jack shifted on his heel and moved in the opposite direction. He buried a hand into his front pocket and confirmed the drive was still there, then pulled out his phone and tossed it away on the sidewalk.

They’re tracking me, no doubt. The police are probably on their way already.

Jack’s quick movement turned into a run. He weaved through the clusters of people on the sidewalk, nearly smashing into a hurried man carrying a bag full of lunch from Green Plate Kitchen. United America flags flapped in the cold breeze, hanging from the overhead awnings of the passing towers.

A police officer appeared at the edge of the sidewalk. Jack barreled across the street, dodging cars and nearly being clipped by a Werner Pharmaceuticals truck.

Spiraling. I’m spiraling. What’s the plan, Jack?

He paused for a moment, his heart beating fiercely. He looked out over the city block sprawled in front of him. In the distance he could see Liberty Station, the final stop on his morning metro commute.

Maybe I can get out of the city. Then figure out how to return the drive later.

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Jack started toward the train station. Tents began to populate the sidewalk as he moved closer. The wandering hordes were out in full force, brandishing cups partially filled with change. A foul stench hung in the air, stinging Jack’s nostrils as he passed.

The towering buildings gave way to a spot of open land: Angela Davis Park. What had once been a serene spot of nature on the urban landscape had been overtaken in recent years. The tents covering the sidewalk continued into the park, creating a sprawling city of make-shift encampments. Objects showed through the brown patches of grass: empty bottles, syringes, fast food wrappers. Naked figures bathed themselves in the park’s central fountain, a new piece of graffiti dominating the asphalt path.

Jack stopped.

It was bright red graffiti.

He squinted against the afternoon sun, registering a giant eye and single rabbit ear. The same symbol as this morning— almost. Jack cut away from the path to Liberty Station and headed toward the park.

A faint hiss registered over the wind. On the asphalt, a second rabbit ear grew from the red eye. A figure crouched above it.

The White Rabbit.

“Wait!” Jack yelled.

The White Rabbit met his gaze, still crouched with the spray paint can in hand. The mask was the same as that morning: long ears curling out from the top, latex painted pink around the eyeholes, a disinterested expression etched into the face.

But the clothes below it had changed.

Instead of a hoodie, the White Rabbit was now wearing a thick flannel.

Jack stumbled forward and the White Rabbit went back to work, finishing the top of the second ear. The nauseating smell of the tent city was disorienting, consuming Jack’s senses as he hurried through the park.

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The White Rabbit finished its work and immediately pivoted, sprinting away in the opposite direction through the park.

He doesn’t recognize me? Did he not see the broadcast?

“Wait! I have your drive!”

Jack collided with a shirtless man with a wiry beard, coins spilling from a cup in his hand and spilling onto the asphalt path showcasing the new graffiti.

“Watch it— watch out,” the man mumbled with a raspy voice.

Jack ignored him, getting to his feet and continuing after the White Rabbit. The latex ears bobbed back and forth as it exited the park, sprinting toward—

Liberty Station.

Jack shifted direction, running straight toward the center of the tent city. Cutting through the park would be faster than the official exit. He dodged through the half-conscious masses, slipping on heaps of garbage, and finally reached the park’s edge. He barreled through a clump of bushes and was back on the sidewalk, the station directly ahead of him.

The White Rabbit was now at the station’s entrance. Jack followed, entering the main hall and watching as the White Rabbit stepped onto the escalators that descended to the underground platform. Crowds passed under the hall’s massive wall-spanning screen, which replayed the commercial for tonight’s 5 Years of Renewal memorial.

“Excuse me,” Jack said, covering his face with the top of his coat as he sprinted down the escalator.

The White Rabbit was now at the bottom, jumping over the turnstiles and moving forward to the platform ahead. Jack followed, facing away from a distracted police officer conversing with a station worker nearby.

The platform was bare compared to the morning rush hour. The Never Forget 11/7 banner hung lazily overhead. A team of janitors was at work scrubbing the dirty floor, but a part of a symbol could still be seen clearly through red suds.

Whoever’s under that mask has been busy. Liberty Station wasn’t tagged earlier.

The tracks on both sides of the platform were empty, travelers waiting at both ends for their trains. The appearance of the White Rabbit didn’t elicit a life-stopping reaction as it did in the morning. A few heads turned, but then quickly became concerned with their watches or phones.

The emergency broadcast must have scared them. They don’t want to be seen even looking at the White Rabbit.

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Jack stopped running. The White Rabbit reached the far end of the platform and, without pause, jumped down onto one of the tracks. Landing with ease, it carried on into the shadowed tunnel.

Jack swallowed.

Where is he going? Didn’t he hear me back there?

The White Rabbit moved further into the tunnel, its figure dissolving into the darkness.

Jack continued to the far end of the platform and stopped at the edge, his breath catching up to him. The tracks were a decent drop below his feet.

This is suicide. I can’t follow him into that tunnel.

A woman nearby began coughing, the phone in her hands showing a news story about 11/7. He could read the headline written in bold letter: Howard’s Foiled Plan To End Democracy As We Know It.

It was only a matter of time before someone identified him. The police were probably in route behind him, first converging at the restaurant before following the trail of his less-than-discrete escape. Someone on the platform was probably calling them now. He stared down at the tracks below.

This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.

Jack jumped.

Gravel spread under his shoes as he landed between the rails. He didn’t look back at the platform as he ran toward the shadowed tunnel. Darkness encompassed his vision as he moved further, the passage extending into nothingness. There was an eerie quiet, only broken by the rhythm of his steps.

He squinted in the darkness, searching for any sign of a white mask further along the tunnel.

Then he heard a different sound.

A rushing?

“Hello,” Jack said, his voice echoing through the concealed passage.

What is that?

He reached for his phone to use the light, but remembered he’d tossed it away on the sidewalk outside Charlie’s. Panic began to build from his core. He spun around, the platform behind him having faded in the distance; it was now only a small circle of dim light.

“I have your thumb drive,” Jack shouted as he shifted forward again.

A small cone of light materialized at the other end of the tunnel. The rushing sound grew louder.

Louder and louder and louder.

This can’t be happening.

Jack stumbled backward.

No, no, no, no.

The light grew brighter.

The rushing sound became a shriek.

A train was barreling through the tunnel toward him.

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