Chapter Twenty - Tyler
Drywall is easier to punch through than most people might realize.
I am making a series of companion holes to accompany the one I think I made before. At least this time I know it’s me doing it. This is the only time I’ve ever wished I owned more shit. Because then I would have more shit to break.
I tear into the kitchen, pulling drawers out of cabinets, throwing silverware on the ground, ripping appliances from the wall. I grab up the toaster—the toaster with the charred bread inside—and I remember the thought I had that if I was burning alive in this apartment, that that’s how I would look to the people on the street below. And I also remember that at the time it gave me great comfort, even if I didn’t know why.
Now I do.
I throw the toaster down, race into the bedroom, rip the mattress off the frame, drag it into the main room, and toss it into the middle of the space. I topple the dresser and rip out all the clothes, gathering them into a pile on top of the mattress. I drag the dresser itself into the other room too and throw it on top of the pile.
Kindling.
Then I head to the kitchen, open the liquor cabinet, grab the bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, and pour it over the whole thing.
Accelerant.
Then… I go looking for a lighter.
Where the fuck is a lighter? Why do I not have a lighter? Jesus! I should never have quit smoking! Fuck!
Matches? Do I have matches? I tear through the kitchen cabinets now looking for matches. No matches. Son of a bitch!
And then I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection in the windows. Naked, scarred, scared, frantic, insane. I have crossed over. I have crossed over to full-blown insanity. I am no longer in clear control of my actions.
If I ever was.
And then I think about MY DREAM.
Of course it was Maddie all along. Who else?
I’m so sad that I couldn’t see it clearly before so that I could make it right, right from the start. But that’s why THE DREAM keeps coming back to me. That’s why it’s recurring. That’s why every time I dream it, it’s just another opportunity to crack the code, solve the puzzle, repair the problem, make it right. It’s fucking Groundhog Day.
All I have to do is find the way to fix it. To keep the world from ending. If I can solve the mystery of what I need to do and how I need to do it, then I can put everything straight. And then Maddie and I can try to start fresh. With each other. AS each other. Not as fucking Ford and Scarlett. As Tyler. And Maddie.
I can fix this, I know I can.
I believe it now. I think I didn’t believe it before because none of it seemed real. But this is real. Maddie is real. Maddie is Maddie. Holy shit. I have fallen in love with Maddie. Little Maddie Clayton. I wonder what Scotty would think. He’d probably hate it. He’d probably be, “Dude, that’s my sister!” But that’s only because he wouldn’t know that I’ve changed. Am changing. Have tried to change. If I could show Scotty how I have changed and what a good guy I am, I know instead he’d be like, “Dude! That’s my sister! Yay!” I know he would. I don’t even have to convince myself.
But I do have to make this right. I have to. I have to. I have to.
I have to do it for Scotty. I have to do it for Nadir. I have to do it for my mom. Fuck, I have to do it for Maddie. I WILL do it for Maddie. I WILL fix this. I CAN fix this. I am going to fix this. And then we WILL live happily the fuck ever after. I can feel it. I know it.
Fuck. I’m calming down. Everything’s going to be OK. It will. God or whoever will forgive me and I am going to be able to make everything turn out OK.
I know it.
And in this moment of knowing—this calm, almost Buddhist state of knowing—I find peace.
And I breathe.
And I believe.
She has made me into peace.
And I know it.
Which is why I’m just as surprised as anyone when the fire alarm in the apartment goes off, terrifyingly loud.
And I look over to see that the burners on my fancy gas stove are all lit.
And then I look down at my hand.
And I see that I’m holding a menu from a Chinese restaurant.
And it’s on fire.
And I have touched it to the bonfire I erected.
And as I stand here, naked, holding this makeshift torch, watching an escalating wall of flame burning out of control in front of me…
I am… confused.
But I’m not scared.
And I’m not sad.
If anything, I’m… hopeful.
Huh.
Look at that.
I’m hopeful.
Why did it have to be you? Her words ring in my ears along with the screeching of the alarm.
And I say aloud, as if she can hear me… because somehow, I know she can…
“Because. There’s no one else it could have been.”
And as the flames begin spreading and fanning out across the great, empty apartment, replacing my magnificent view of the skyline with a blistering mountain of violent orange and red…
I think of her.
And I smile.