You think of time as neatly packed: sixty minutes in an hour, twenty-four hours in a day, and seven days in a week. In other words, simple. In reality, the objective truth and your perception of it don’t always come part and parcel. We are only human after all – intrinsically flawed, constantly disoriented, and always searching for meaning.

It has been exactly eight days since my father’s funeral. It didn’t feel like it; it felt like it had been an eternity already. It felt like yesterday too. Where does the time go?

I was due back in work today, just after the weekend. I was putting on my coat when I got a call; it was Lieutenant Blackwood giving me a direct order to stay home for the day; I couldn’t refuse something like that. It’s true that I was not doing well, but that was the nature of the beast. The tedium of the punishment files and my fitful nights of sleep were taking a toll on me.

I leaned back against the side of the tub, my head resting on the rim, my eyes closed. Breathe. I filled my lungs until they felt like they would burst. Now exhale, back to baseline. The water had grown cold, and my fingers were wrinkled.

I hated to admit it, but they weren’t wrong. The dark circles under my eyes were growing more pronounced every day. My appetite was shot and it showed in the way my clothes hung off me. Frankly, I looked like shit.

There was something about this case that was making me uneasy. It felt familiar in a way I couldn’t place. The victim, who was only a few years older than Noah, frequented Yang’s diner. It was the same diner that belonged to Lily, or more accurately, to her family. It was also not lost on me that his name was a portmanteau of my brothers’ names, Noah and Ethan. Nathan, the victim, was no one in particular, and that made it unsettling in another way – that he could have been anybody.

Whether Ethan had noticed this as well, he didn’t say. All he said was that he had arranged for Noah to meet me for dinner. Maybe he suspected that I had spent all weekend hiding in my apartment with the lights turned off and the curtains closed, trying to shut out the world. It bothered me sometimes how well he could read me.

Marla and the Ghost’s haunting song drifted through the air. It was a personal call. I gestured with my hand; the built-in tech obliged me.

“Hey, sorry, I’m going to be running a bit late,” Noah said.

“Take your time,” I said. “I’m behind schedule too.”

It was a risk, admittedly. Noah had a different idea of what it meant to take your time than most people, but I wasn’t in a hurry.

***

Famous last words. I knew I’d made a mistake when it had grown dark outside the diner’s front-facing windows and the seat across from me was still empty. And considering how many times my coffee had been refilled, “a bit” had been an understatement. Lily apologetically topped off my cup all night. ‘Boys will be boys,’ she said. I didn’t agree with the sentiment.

I tapped my finger on the table, my fingernail clicking against the hard surface. Suddenly, the front door swung open. The electronic “Ni Hao” of the door chime gave way to my brother, who rushed inside. Noah smoothed out his clothes, freshly damp from the rain.

“Sorry, I lost track of time,” he admitted, sliding into the booth seat across from me. “Well, the thing is…”

“You don’t have a good reason, do you?” I said.

“Well…” he said. “See, my friend John introduced me to this new game, right? And I was going to stop after the first boss, but then this villager came out of nowhere, and she’s crying, ‘Save me! Save me!’ and what was I supposed to do? Just abandon her? So, I kept playing, and then the next thing I know, the sun’s gone down and–.”

“And let me guess, you started getting the feeling that you were forgetting something?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he said. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

Noah, being the youngest, was the most carefree of the three of us. Fortunately, rolling your eyes is a natural part of familiarity, and the occasional urges to throttle each other were considered endearing.

“If this is you being punctual, I’d hate to see your grades,” I quipped.

“This is why I don’t tell you anything,” he scowled, slouching slightly. “I’m a college student, alright? I’m busy.”

“Busy enough to play games all day?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lily, sensing the tension, stopped by, cheerfully placing menus in front of us. Typical. Lily was a natural-born peace maker; any time anyone fought, she’d be there front and center defusing the situation with her naturally friendly disposition. It was something I had begrudgingly never learned to do.

“Noah!” she cried. “It’s so nice to see you again. Look at you now, all grown up! The last time I saw you, you weren’t even up to my shoulders yet. What happened?”

“Hey, Lily,” he said. “What can I say? I guess I drank a lot of milk.”

“I can see that,” she chuckled. “Now, what can I get for you?”

I placed my order while Noah looked over the menu. He squinted at the names a bit before finally settling on orange chicken with a side of crab rangoon.

“Still scared of the authentic stuff, huh?” I asked.

“I can’t help it,” he said. “I didn’t grow up eating this stuff the way you and Ethan did. Dad practically raised us on frozen pizzas and mac n cheese after… after mom died.”

We paused, the breath sticking in my lungs.

“That was out of line, Noah,” I said, turning away from him. “I forget sometimes… that it was different for you.”

It is all too easy to fall into the trap of thinking others shared your same experience when you were all raised side by side, but even microcosms could exist in such a cramped space as a single home – one house, four walls, and a roof.

Noah was only five when our mother died; he was our mother’s little miracle baby. After years spent pining over how much she wanted another child, her dream of a big family was finally fulfilled by little Noah. And her miracle baby replaced me overnight.

“You were almost done with high school and Ethan was already in college,” he said, eyes downcast. “I don’t even remember her.”

Another pang hit me: guilt.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” I said. “It’s just that sometimes I envy you a bit. You’re so carefree, and I’ve always wondered if it was because… because you didn’t remember her. She loved Ethan; she practically worshipped the ground he walked on, her first-born son.”

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“She didn’t understand him though,” Noah offered.

“No,” I agreed. “She didn’t understand any of us; we were too different from her, but she loved Ethan in a way she never loved me. I knew top-notch grades and perfect attendance were never going to cut it when I was… this.”

I gestured to myself, a tall, cynical woman who ran towards instead of away from danger. I was not petite, delicate, or good-natured the way Lily was. I was not traditional or sensible the way my mother was either. No, I was something else entirely; to my mother, a sensible woman would have never voluntarily forgone the path of marriage and motherhood to take on such a dangerous path and walk it alone.

“Don’t say that,” Noah said. “Dad was proud of you; mom would have been too.”

“Yeah,” I said, swallowing hard. “Thanks, Noah… for trying.”

Then Lily, right on time, came out holding our food on a tray, and I was grateful for the interruption. We spent the rest of dinner on lighter topics, often punctuated by stilted silences. Maybe it was the large age gap between us, or maybe it was the way our parents never talked about the way they felt, but the three of us were never as close as we could have been.

“I’ve gotta go,” Noah said, throwing some loose change on the table. “I met a girl; she wants to see me tonight.”

“You’re meeting a girl tonight?” I asked. “Do you know what time it is?”

The clock hanging on the wall indicated it was already well past ten.

“By the time you get home, changed, and back out again it’ll be at least eleven,” I continued.

“Look,” he said. “I don’t need you two babying me anymore. Let it go, Willow’s waiting for me.”

The door slammed shut, as Noah rushed out. I sighed. It was hard not to think of him as just the baby of the family anymore. When he was born, Ethan and I were already teenagers. We were always a bit protective of him, especially after our mom died. We watched over him like a hawk, and feeling predictably claustrophobic, he pulled away from us.

Lily came over with a pot of coffee.

“Do you want me to top off your cup?” she asked.

“No,” I replied. “If I keep drinking like this all night, I’m going to feel it later.”

She moved to sit across from me, setting down the pot and sliding into the booth too.

“Is it alright for you to sit and talk to me?” I asked, raising my brows.

“It’s fine,” she replied, waving her hands dismissively. “Slow night, you know?”

It was true; I hadn’t seen anyone come in in over an hour, and the only other patron in the diner had just left. His plate of food was still waiting to be cleared. The clock ticked, and we sat in silence, but then old memories came pouring back, and I was a schoolgirl again.

“Do you remember that dumb game we used to play?” I asked.

“You mean the “L” is for game?” she asked. “Hey, that wasn’t dumb. I came up with it all by myself, and that makes it genius.”

“Sure,” I chuckled. “Things were simpler then weren’t they? You don’t know how easy you have it when you’re a kid; all you care about are games and flowers.”

We shared more than just our mixed-race nature; we had matching names starting with the letter “L.” Lily was, of course, self-evident – a tall, elegant flower that symbolized purity and refined beauty. My name was a bit more subtle; if you blinked, you could’ve missed it.

In southern Vietnam, where my mother is from, there are two flowers that grace the streets during the new year celebrations of Tết. There is the apricot blossom, Mai, and the orchid, Lan. My mother had named me by flipping through a catalog and spotting a name that was just one letter away from beauty, elegance, and refinement. Later, she would say that it jinxed her.

“Not that easy,” she said, her smile faltering. “I remember you often looked a little sad, and I’d ask you why, and you would never ever say.”

I blinked twice. I thought I always had a pretty good poker face. I wanted to be anything other than vulnerable because weakness got you hurt. That was what my parents drilled into me. My mother would lean over me, practically a tower while I was still so small, and say to me, ‘What do you have to cry about?’ And what could I do about it then? So, I learned not to cry.

“I never realized you noticed,” I said.

“I noticed a lot of things,” she admitted. “It just never seemed like the right time to talk about it. I wanted to give you space. Sometimes, when you were sad, I’d say we should go out or something… My dad, you know, he’d always give me a bowl of cut fruit whenever I was sad.”

“My mom did that too,” I chuckled. “I guess it meant she cared in a way.”

“For some people, that’s the only way they know how to show it,” she said. “I know you didn’t always get along with your mom that well, and it always made me feel so bad when she’d stand right in front of us and ask you why you weren’t more like me. But you know what, Lana? I think you’re fine just the way you are.”

My mind froze. My body was taut. My mind was empty. We stared at each other for a moment. Finally, I managed to choke out a few words.

“Thank you, Lily,” I said. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Lily said. “I didn’t reach out either. I should have; it’s been so long. I mean, look at Noah; he’s all grown up now and seeing a girl. That’s crazy! What did he say her name was? Willow, I think?”

“Willow…” I said, thinking out loud.

This time, the name sunk in.

“What is it?” she said.

That name, I had a bad feeling. I put my fingers to my temples, ringing. It went straight to voicemail. I called again, ‘Hey, I’m not here right now; leave a message after the beep.’ Again. No luck. Again. No luck. Again. No, not this time either.

“Sorry, Lily,” I said. “I have to go.” I was already pulling on my coat. “Put it on my tab; we’ll catch up another time.”

Lily waved at me, eyes wide, while I rushed out to my car. The minute my ignition turned; I called Ethan.

“Hope you weren’t sleeping,” I said. “I need you to look into something for me, it’s about Noah.”

“Just tell me what it is,” he said.

“Noah’s meeting a girl tonight named Willow,” I said. “I hate to be paranoid, but he’s not picking up.”

“It’d be quite a coincidence, but if it was going to happen to anybody, it’d be Noah,” he said. “I’ll get back to the lab and try to track his phone signal. In the meantime, you should get a hold of Gabe.”

Fortunately, Gabe was a creature of habit. Whenever he needed to blow off steam, there was only one place I would find him. It was called the Holo Lounge, and it was just a few blocks from the precinct, a pretty convenient walk for anyone who wanted to get hammered after a particularly brutal shift.

It wasn’t long before I was walking through the front doors. The longue was still surprisingly lively considering the hour and the day of the week. This was the sort of place that sold you on nostalgia and rustic vibes. The only departure from the standard cabin aesthetic were holoscreens along the walls filled with cozy ambiance, a far cry from the colorful girls that you’d expect to see downtown.

Gabe was a big guy, and it didn’t take long to find him. He was seated at a large wooden table with a few of the guys from work. We weren’t familiar, but I would have been if Gabe had his way. According to him, I needed to get out more. I disagreed.

I walked close, just a few tables away. There was no reason to waste time on pleasantries. It didn’t take long for him to notice me. Once he caught my gaze, he excused himself from the table and followed me outside.

“Gabe,” I said. “I’ve got a bad feeling this time.”

Gabe sobered up immediately.

“How bad?” he asked, frowning.

Both our lines rang, it was Ethan.

“Lana, I got Noah’s gps coordinates. He’s inside.”

“You don’t mean…”

“I do, and that’s not the worst of it,” Ethan said. “Their server has been wiped clean. It’s gone, completely empty. All that’s left is an announcement of a ceremony, farewell messages, and a countdown to midnight. This could be it, a last stand, Jamestown 2.0.”

Images of the massacre flashed in my mind. A mass suicide. That was what they called it, but really, it was coercion and deceit. Jim Jones of the Peoples Temple had made the children drink the poisoned Flavor-Aid first.

The attendees thought it was a drill, then there was screaming. And fifteen minutes later, when the cries of the children had died down, the heartbroken parents, who had just sent their children to the grave, lined up and took their share in silence.

“Why now?” I asked. “They had five years to do it.”

“Maybe Daddy cut him off,” Gabe suggested.

“My thoughts exactly,” Ethan said. “His members may have agreed to go willingly, but I wouldn’t count on it with the others. If Noah was there, they probably wanted a crowd. Witnesses.”

“Arrogance,” I scowled. “I’m going. Now.”

“Hold on,” Ethan said. “It could be a trap. We can’t rule out that Noah was targeted specifically to lure you out. I’m going to get in touch with Lieutenant Blackwood and see if I can get her to send back up. More lives on the line now; she might reconsider.”

“There’s no time for that,” I spat. “It’s already past eleven, by the time we get there, it’ll be almost midnight as it is.”

“Hold on,” Gabe said. “I’m going with you.”

“You sure?” I asked. “You’re drunk.”

“Nah, just a little buzzed,” Gabe said. “Besides, I’m not letting you go alone. There’re four of them; you’re outnumbered, Lana. Don’t be stupid.”

I couldn’t argue with that. It’d be premature to show up alone, frazzled, and unprepared. At least together, we had a chance. My car was waiting for us, the keys still in the ignition. I floored it, my sirens blaring. The unmistakable red and blue lights split traffic like Moses and the Red Sea. I prayed for the first time in years. Please, Noah, wait for me.