The House Above the Sea

30.

Just past three in the morning, Neo's phone goes off.

    For a moment he's convinced it's some odd background soundtrack to the pleasant dream he's having—sunshine, city-smell, and of course, Kit—but then his body jars awake and harsh blue-white light splinters into his bleary eyes. Joey, across the room, stirs like a slowly waking bear, and in a sudden rush of clarity Neo nabs the phone from his bedside table and slips out into the hall.

    "Hello?"

    "I'm done translating."

    Neo's eyes are narrow and puffy with sleep, shadows dancing at the edge of his vision, and at the edge of his mind. It takes him a second to realize that one, it's Bernie who's speaking, and two, she's talking about the book he gave her earlier.

    "Oh," Neo says, almost staggering. He catches himself against the nearest wall. "Oh, holy shit. Ah! Sorry. I mean—"

    "Dude. You think I care?"

    "Yes. No. Uh—so...so you know how to break the curse?"

    A long, not very promising pause. Just as Neo's started to curse himself for getting his hopes up, however, Bernie says, "Yes."

    She doesn't say it like it's a good thing. She says it almost sorrowfully, the way she might say it if she were confirming bad news. Apprehension stirs the acid in Neo's stomach, making him sick.

    He says, carefully, "Why do I get the feeling there's some sort of catch?"

    Bernie sighs. "Does anything ever come free?"

    Neo's unsure whether or not that's the sort of question he's supposed to answer, so he's glad when Bernie goes on: "Meet me at the 24 hour diner in town in ten, okay?" she says. "Unless you want to wait."

    "Of course not!"

    Now Neo is sure that it's sorrow in her voice. "Yeah," Bernie says. "That's what I thought."

"You're still in your pajamas."

    Even though he knows he's still in his pajamas, Neo still glances down at himself, as if to confirm that his green and blue plaid pajama pants and his oil-stained Disney sweatshirt haven't changed into something else between the house and here. He looks up at Bernie, whose eyes are dark and guileless beneath the flickering neon lights of the diner's sign. "You know what time it is?" he says, respectfully, of course. "After two I'm no longer obligated to try."

    Bernie narrows her eyes at him, as if considering refuting that, but instead she just shakes her head and takes Neo by the arm, dragging him inside. "Buy your old, senile boss some French toast, will you? Then we can talk."

    It's oddly surreal, Neo thinks. Maybe it's the diner, of which he and Bernie are the only patrons, row after row of ugly orange booths left vacant as the jukebox plays tinny Elvis songs from the corner. Maybe it's the distant scent of powdered sugar and bacon grease and burnt coffee hanging in the air. Maybe it's the sleepy-eyed old man, paper triangle hat teetering on his head, sitting catatonic at the register.

    Whatever it is, it feels to Neo as if he's left this plane, as if somewhere between the moment he dragged his bike from its place by the garage and the moment Bernie waved at him as he came down the hill, he warped into a different universe.

    All he can hope is that, in this universe, he can save Kit.

    The French toast is out quick. It does look quite appetizing, but food is the last thing on Neo's mind right now.