Standing close, just the two of us, in the mostly emptied out room, feels oddly like betraying JuanCarlos somehow. The mannequin I imagined as Loo still sits on the counter. Being alone with Tara puts me at a higher risk of hallucination. I could have followed a figment, and the real Tara could still be out front. Box knives are back here. I could hurt myself.
“Suffering brings us Nirvana,” Tara says. “There's a story where a rabbit jumps into the fire to feed a man in the desert. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought if I caused suffering… If I… God, I killed Loo for nothing.”
I hold my tongue. Even if she really killed Loo, she doesn’t need more shame. More shame could trigger a total mental break.
“This isn't your fault. Adam hung himself with an extension cord from my balcony.”
“Adam's dead?”
Damn, she didn’t need to hear that either. “The catalog got to him. I thought he was strong enough to fight it.”
“Why didn't you tell us?”
“You know what that could do. Think of Fiona. She’s already on the edge. We’re all one push away from losing it. We’ll tell people after this is all over.”
“Who’s next?” she asks herself.
“We couldn’t risk telling everyone.”
“Who else knows? It doesn’t matter. Just please, please don't tell JuanCarlos what I did. Loo was his friend. He wouldn't understand, not the way you do. He hasn’t felt it. That hole. That emptiness. I thought pushing Loo would bring us closer together. Buddha told me it would save us.”
JuanCarlos comes in. Tara continues to look at me with pleading eyes. A part of me wants to tell him everything because he’s my friend and because he has a right to know his girlfriend killed someone. Tara killed Loo. God! How can anyone come back from that? How can things ever be the same?
JuanCarlos gives Tara a cup of coffee.
She could be confused like I was. She doesn’t know what’s real.
I clear my throat and act normal. “One for me?”
“Sorry, buddy. I'll have to go get some more.”
“I’ll go with you.” I want to be there for Tara, but I can’t even look at her. I need time. I need air.
I follow JuanCarlos through the BP and out into the light. Outside seems normal despite the ever-present feeling that we’re on the verge of an apocalypse.
Mermaid Coffee Co. is mostly as I remember. A few of Loo’s things have been changed, but the place still doesn’t look ordinary if you look closely.
“Look.” JuanCarlos points to a painting of a squid monster emerging from the sea, tangled around the Statue of Liberty. “I found it at a flea market. Do you think Loo would approve?”
My vision blurs with tears, not about Loo, but about JuanCarlos, Tara, and their relationship. Could he ever forgive Tara if he found out?
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he says. “Everyone seems a little raw. I’ll get the coffee.” He starts on a dozen mochas to go. I’m unraveling. If I’m unraveling, it’s likely others are too.
“I’m really worried,” I say, hugging myself. “I don’t know if we’re gonna make it.”
“God. Don’t tell the others that. You’re the one holding these people together. They trust you.”
That is not what I want to hear. “Well, they shouldn’t.”
“It’s too late for that. I know you can’t control what happens. You don’t have to be strong with me. If you need a moment, I understand. I know things probably won’t turn out okay.”
“We have to try.”
“I know. We’ll do everything we can. But this isn’t some fantasy with a happy ending. Tara thinks we’ll all get justice, our karma will kick in and everything will work out, but this kind of shit happens to people all the time. Maybe not a catalog that turns people crazy, but corporations poison people and the victims don’t get better. People suffer from chronic illnesses, brain lesions, or they die of cancer. They fight back and lose. The best we can hope for is that BP pays us for our silence.”
“A settlement?”
“It’s how capitalism works. They pay us to keep quiet, or they drag out a trial forever and make our lives a living hell.”
“What are you saying?”
“You don’t have to pretend like Tara isn’t getting worse. I can see it. I fucking know. God! She’s losing her fucking mind and all I can do is watch.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. You know it’s true.”
“She has to get better. We have to find a way.”
“I feel like I just found her. It’s not fair.”
“All we can do is fight. All we can do is love each other and fight these bastards! You’ll see. We’re going to make it through this.”
“See, Eric. That’s why these people follow you.”
23.4
Tara meditates in Lotus Pose on the sales counter, a vision of peace and serenity. JuanCarlos holds a SHOTGUN and stands guard next to her. He retrieved the gun from his father, who lives about an hour away. Or I’m guessing a half-hour away, because it took him an hour to get there and back. I’m finding it hard to keep track of all the comings and goings and of the endless ticking of the clock. Tara meditated the whole time he was gone.
Half the store has joined her in her practice. She uses meditation to fight the symptoms. Everyone seems calmer now. Maybe JuanCarlos and I were being cynical, talking like we were all doomed when all it would take is a little Eastern religiosity.
Riley shows off a HANDGUN to Juliet and Fiona and then re-holsters it. The three of them have been inseparable since burning the catalogs. Riley might have told them about Adam.
I’ve been filming to make sure everyone is real.
Insane people with guns is, of course, a bad idea, but who am I to tell them they can’t arm themselves. Who knows what’s coming. I don’t know what Matthew Weber has planned for us.
Bram films the group more consistently than me, but I can tell he’s exhausted. He sets his camera down and gets up on one of the countertops.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m fixing the lighting.” He angles a spotlight onto Tara. “Tara is amazing, isn’t she? I wanted to get a better shot of her.”
“Good idea.”
“Maybe now that the catalogs are gone, people are getting better. You think? The meditation seems to be helping.”
“We look like a cult.”
“It’s cinematic.”
“All we can do is wait.”
“Not true.” He gets down. “We can also get some good footage for when this is all over. People need to know we took a stand.”
The third section of “The Archive” contains an enormous amount of footage taken after the bonfire and the parade through the streets, including footage from Bram’s camera, Eric’s camera, and the six surveillance cameras in the store.
One of the more revealing shots was captured by accident when Eric’s camcorder was left recording on its side after he put it down. . . .
[Hunter, in his sleeping bag,] brings a BP catalog up to his nose and sniffs. He whispers, “Eric's a good guy. He's going to get us through this. Dad, I know how you… [Inaudible.] I like him. You can't change that. This isn’t some phase. [Inaudible.] Stop. I can't talk now.” Hunter shoves the catalog back down into his sleeping bag to keep from being found out as a person walks by.
No one realizes he still has a catalog, one of many he has stashed around the store. (Sartain, 161)
23.5
That night, people try to get some sleep for the big day ahead. I lie on top of my sleeping bag, wide awake. In a dark corner, not far away, a couple has sex. They’re trying to be discreet, but I still hear them. I assume it’s JuanCarlos and Tara. Now that Tara isn’t talking to Buddha anymore, I figure her sexual compulsions are coming back.
Anything to fill the emptiness.
The night feels like forever and then when the sun rises, the night seems like it lasted maybe an hour. I m
ust have gotten sleep, even if I don’t remember drifting off or waking up.
23.6
Mermaid Coffee Co. cups are everywhere. This shot establishes the passage of time. It’s now mid-morning, the day of Matthew Weber’s scheduled arrival.
We all look strung out. Except for Tara, who, barefoot, cross-legged, and lit by that spotlight, looks like a queen on her throne. I imagine her featured on a poster for my movie about an earth goddess. Since last night, what stylist did her hair? I need them for all my projects.
The hours drag. Novices can only meditate so much before they start climbing the walls. Some do some yoga sequences just to shake things up. Time isn’t helping our condition.
I sit on the floor, not far from Hunter, who has yet to emerge from his sleeping bag. He’s probably depressed and hibernating. We’ve all been there. I hold the snap-off blade utility knife, the corner of the razor pressed against the center of my thumbnail. I must’ve retrieved the blade from the back room. My short term memory is shot. I get distracted and don’t notice what’s happening around me. I felt a part of a group for a while, but now my awareness is shrinking down to a pinpoint.
After a few seconds of increasing pressure, the blade PUNCTURES THE NAIL. I pull the blade back out. My thumb bleeds. Faking this on film would be easy. If there is one thing the industry has mastered, it’s gore. Blades and blood are some of the most basic effects. I put my thumb in my mouth.
Marshall has been watching me, I realize. I wish I had my camera so I could watch him back. I must have left it somewhere. He gets up to leave. Did I do something to offend him? Maybe sucking my thumb reminds him of his dead children.
Victor enters from outside. Marshall mutters to him as they pass each other, “I can't take this anymore. I’m sorry. These people aren’t well.”
Victor announces to the room, “There's been more riots, but no one in the media has connected it to Brief Pose yet.”
Eduardo Gonzalez, the kid from the plant store, looks up from his smartphone. “Twitter is going loco. There are all these posts that don’t make any sense, just gibberish.”
Abigail has her laptop open. “There was another mass shooting. Some people think it’s terrorism. Others think it probably just another crazy white guy who snapped and wanted to shoot some people.”
Unprompted, I remember what else is happening this Friday morning. “Juliet!” I say, looking for her. “Your final!”
“The college shut down.” She’s huddled up with Fiona in the corner. “Too many people weren’t showing up. They think it’s a virus. Who knows when they’ll reopen.”
“But all our studying!” Abigail says.
“I’m sure they’ll reopen eventually.” Bram looks over Abigail’s shoulder at her computer screen. “What’s that?”
“I just became a fan of the ‘Brief Pose Zombie Apocalypse’ on Facebook. The word is getting out about BP. It’s just taking some time.”
Bram puts his hands on her shoulders. “Wouldn't it be funny if the world ended because of some fracking clothing catalog? It’s unreal.”
Various conversations break out, and I go to Victor.
“You were with your sister, right? How is she?”
“They're still running tests, but it looks like the hospital is getting overwhelmed.” He pulls me off to the side. “What happened to your thumb?”
I’m at a loss for what to say.
“It's not BP's fault!” Hunter has sat up in his sleeping bag.
The room quiets down.
“Then whose fault is it?” Riley asks him.
Juliet, who usually has her schoolwork to distract herself, looks angry. “If Matthew Weber could stop this, don't you think he would've stepped forward by now? BP is pure evil.”
“If he stepped forward, he'd have to take responsibility,” I say. “I don’t think he would ever do that willingly.”
Juliet throws her textbook at the wall.
Riley picks it up and hands it back to her. “You'll need this.”
She puts her arms around him, the book held at his back.
Tara unfolds her legs and gets down off the counter. Everyone stops to watch her, or I assume they do. All I see is her. She has an otherworldly grace that’s developed so gradually that I haven’t noticed it until now. She runs her hand along the shotgun, tracing the barrel with her fingers.
“He's afraid,” she says.
Victor looks concerned about a gun being in the middle of the store, and it reminds me that yes, shotguns are dangerous.
Dirty Santa shoots into the ceiling, and I flinch, but it’s just a flash of memory.
“It's just in case,” JuanCarlos explains to Victor. “We don't know what Weber might do.”
I continue to watch Tara in awe. JuanCarlos thinks it’s me these people follow, but it’s not me that led hours of meditation. It’s not me that offers comforting words of wisdom to those in need. Tara is our savior, our prophet. Her focus goes from person to person, making eye contact with each individual, making everyone feel special. I imagine her blessing people, laying her hands on them and taking away their suffering, but her hand stays light on the shotgun, and we wait.
She will speak of hope and compassion. She will comfort us like the catalog used to do. Her serene face is that of an angel. She has meditated like the Buddha under the pipal tree, and she has reached enlightenment. It’s time for her to share nirvana with the rest of us.
“He’s afraid,” she repeats.
She picks up the shotgun and puts the butt of the gun to the floor. “But I'm not afraid. Not anymore.” She leans forward, so her heart is over the barrel.
“TARA!” JuanCarlos yells.
She uses her BARE FOOT to pull the trigger. The gun goes off. The deafening BANG leaves blood and SCREAMS everywhere.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
And an After
Tara hits the floor, a HOLE in her chest. JuanCarlos drops to her side so fast that, for a moment, I think he has been shot too. She convulses as he takes her into his arms.
“No, Tara. No.” His voice is hardly above a whisper, or it’s at a normal volume and it’s just hard to hear because of the still ringing gunshot.
The shotgun lies there on the floor beside them, an inanimate object that put a hole in Tara. A hole the size of my fist. It ended JuanCarlos’s world. Look at the blood. Blood splatter has decorated the TV screens. Blood speckles Victor’s face and clothing. I touch my face, but there’s no blood. I was standing too far away. This is real, but how can I be sure?
She finally stills, her eyes blankly staring.
Everyone is in shock. Everyone except me. I know what shock feels like, and I sympathize, but we don’t have time to stand around. I rush to Tara, fall to my knees, and reach into her pockets.
“Get away from her!” JuanCarlos says as if protecting her dead body will do her any good.
I pull out her keys. “Something in this place is making us worse. We need to get these people out of here. Anyone that’s been exposed.”
Riley ushers Juliet and Fiona toward the exit. “Come on!” he says. “We have to go!”
Clara hugs herself and backs against the wall. “What about Weber?”
A room full of attentive faces look to me. “Those who feel well enough can stay, but we can’t risk losing anyone else.”
Abigail with her computer (where we have been uploading our footage), Bram with his video camera, and a dozen other people I’m not as familiar with follow me through the store. How did I not realize this place was making us worse? I guess going crazy makes it hard to remain self-aware. I’ve been exposed to this stuff from the beginning. What did I expect? That I could help these people?
“Stay vigilant, you guys. Stay connected. You can’t let it take hold.”
My stomach drops as I look through the glass out the front door. It’s like some Mad Max movie out there. Desert extends into the distance, the city gone. I unlock the door and push it open through the sand. My sa
nity has deteriorated more than I thought. I’m sure witnessing Tara’s death has made things worse for everyone.
“Wait in the coffee shop,” I say. “It's still out there, right? I can’t see it.”
The group steps out into the desert. They look back at me, reluctant to go.
“Stay together. Keep talking to each other. We’ll come for you after we confront Weber.”
Abigail pulls on Bram’s hand. “Come with us,” she says to him. He tells her he can’t, that he needs to film Weber’s confession.
While they talk, Juliet says to me, “You're not coming? But you’ve been affected too. As much as anyone.”
“Juliet, why is school so important to you?”
“What?” she says confused. “Why are you asking?” She thinks a moment. “My parents. I want to make them proud.”
“I don’t have parents. This is all I have. Stay in the coffee shop, okay? I want you to stay safe.”
“Be careful.”
“Take Weber down,” Riley calls to me from out in the desert.
I nod, go back in with Bram, and pull the door closed. I should follow my own advice, this could cost me my sanity, but I can’t let them confront the founder without me. I’ve come too far.
There’s no time to lose. I rush back to Tara’s body.
Who is left?
Victor, Hunter, JuanCarlos, Bram, Clara, and me. Marshall never came back after he left this morning. This will have to be enough. Matthew Weber could be here any minute. We need to be ready.
The blood makes the store look like a horror movie set. No one in their right mind would talk with us voluntarily, not after seeing all this gore.
“We need to move her,” I say, thinking out loud. I then say to Clara, “Can you clean up the blood?”
“Eric, stop,” JuanCarlos says.
Clara grabs a BP T-shirt and wipes the blood off the TVs, leaving big streaks.
“Weber is coming. We need to get his confession on tape, and he's not going to say anything if there's blood splattered on the walls. We need to move her. Come on, help me.”
Victor and I grab Tara's hands. Hunter and JuanCarlos grab her feet. Her head hangs back, her hair touching the floor. As we haul her into the stockroom, it’s impossible to avoid looking down her cleavage. Just below that is the angry red hole of the gunshot wound.
I retch, but I have nothing in my stomach. Thankfully I don’t drop her.