Page 103 of Chaos Theory
I breeze into the lobby.Just act natural. Perfectly normal to be going in to work after 10 o’clock on a Saturday night.Sure enough, there’s only one bored-looking guard behind the front desk. I hold up my security pass from a distance, give him a nod as I pass by. He seems utterly uninterested, thankfully. I reach the turnstile gate and hold the card up against the scanner. I wait for the high-pitched beep, but instead it makes a sad, low buzz.Oh no. Stay calm.I try it again. This time it beeps and releases the gate.Phew.
I make my way to the elevator and press the call button. The doors open immediately.I hit number four on the panel, swipe my pass again and exhale audibly as the doors close.The plan is on track.I feel a little pulse of adrenaline. Is this going to work? It has to work. I don’t have a Plan B. Yes, it’s all very rushed, and maybe I haven’t thought it through properly, but Shane says people are always trying, and failing, to control time. You either adapt to a new situation or you miss out, he says. I try not to think of what I might be missing out on with him.I’m doing the right thing, I tell myself.
I get off on the fourth floor, relieved at the low lighting and all-round quiet. There’s a dreamlike quality to the whole experience. Reminds me of a day when I was about eight, when Dad brought me to school on a day off by mistake. The caretaker felt so sorry for me that he let me run up and down the corridors a few times before I went home again. I’m pretty sure Dad would agree I’m doing the right thing now.
The robot bay doors glide open as I approach. It’s quiet here too, blue lights glowing from sleep pods. The Leila bot is not in her pod but stands motionless near the door. I reach Kobi’s pod and press the button to open the door. I take a deep breath.Here we go.
The pod doors open to reveal an empty compartment. I do a double-take. There’s a lone screwdriver on the floor. I inspect the four corners of the back wall of the pod, as if there might be a false door like in a magician’s box. That’s when I notice the painting. It’s leaning against the side wall. I feel myself frown as I pick it up. The paint’s not fully dry. Something cold creeps into my stomach.
I emerge from the pod holding the painting and pace the length of the robot bay. I find light switches, flick a few on. I look under workbenches. I go to the coffee area and stare uselessly at CoffeeTron, somehow even more menacing in the silence.
I pass the Leila bot again on my way back towards the door. I stop and stand in front of her. Very slowly, Leila raises one arm and curls her fingers. I understand it as a beckoning motion. I follow her as she moves towards the door and exits into the low-lit corridor. She extends a finger towards the door to the stairs, then brings her finger to her lips in a ‘shush’ motion. My blood turns to ice.
I move stiffly towards the staircase door, as if I myself have robotic limbs. I open the door to chilly air. Motion-sensor lights begin turning themselves on as I grasp the banister.
‘Kobi,’ I say. I clear a lump from my throat. ‘Kobi!’ I call quietly.
I’m remembering something Kobi said on his very first Monday at Go Ireland. How did he phrase it? ‘I have always known that stairs would be the death of me.’
I begin descending the staircase. At each turn in the banister, I look over the edge into the darkness below.Please, please be wrong.I quicken my step, outpacing lights that flicker on too late as I stride into darkness.
I get to the second floor, glancing down as I round the corner, and stop.In the semi-darkness of the stairwell below, I catch a glimpse of something shiny.
I take the remaining steps two at a time, leaning heavily on the banister for support. I reach the bottom of the stairwell. My legs go from under me as I collapse down beside the something that’s already collapsed there.
I pick up Kobi’s arm, hanging loose from the shoulder socket,and caress it. One of the bigger wheels is missing, the other one broken, spikes sticking out. The lower section is botched and loose. The worst part is the neck. Kobi’s head flops down onto his chest. He looks so small.
Numb, I fumble for my phone, turn on its light. I shine the light onto the crumpled heap that is my friend.
I examine the control panel. The cover is gone; some of the buttons are missing. I push the remaining buttons anyway. Completely unresponsive.
I take one photo. Then I open the messaging app and send a single word to Shane and Josh:Abort.
FIFTY-SIX
10:50pm
I finally reach Shane’s car, dizzy and out of breath. I’ve run the two blocks back as fast as I could – not easy, given I’m holding a medium-sized painting.
Shane is already out of the Jeep, waiting for me. I thrust the painting at him. He takes it, props it against the car door without glancing at it. He tries to touch me, but I shrug him off, backing myself into a wall and putting my hands to my face.
‘Hey, hey, what’s wrong? What happened?’ he asks.
Josh emerges from the far side and comes around to me. ‘What’s going on? Is Kobi not coming?’
I shake my head without looking at either of them, silently point to the painting. Shane retrieves it, holds it up. Josh goes over to look at it with him.
‘Did…Kobi do this?’ asks Shane.
‘That’s his brushwork,’ says Josh.
‘Did he give you this?’ Shane asks me.
‘Not exactly. But I think he wanted me to have it,’ I say. ‘Wanted us to have it.’
I look at the painting again, this time taking it in fully. Thepicture looks like an Impressionist painting. The same pointillism technique Kobi used at Trish’s art therapy event. In the foreground, two figures hold hands and face outward, as if looking at the artist. The faces aren’t distinct, but I know they’re supposed to represent me and Shane. There’s a smaller figure in the background, facing to the side – a tall figure with fair hair.
The three of us say nothing for a moment.
