Abin is silent the whole way home. Whatever it is — time travel, teleportation, Fiona has no idea — it's clear that Abin hadn't done it on purpose. Fiona still can't wrap her head around the time travel thing, but has to admit that it is the most succinct logic that explains all of his behaviors. Occam's Razor, and all that.
Fiona sees everything again as if for the first time. All of the drones zipping through the smog with announcements, the flashing neon billboards with endless ads for frivolous things, the street hawkers with their megaphones and endless noise. How far the world has come since Fiona was born in 2012, the year that people said the world was going to end.
If only that was how the world ended. No, the end of the world looks like this – slow decline and inevitability.
To his credit, Abin doesn't run around flailing his arms and freaking out like most other people might. He simply says nothing as Fiona scans her biometrics to get into the apartment complex, as she inputs the digital code for the mechanical elevator to take them directly to the door, as the holographic door lets them through the wards with a soft bzzt. He doesn't say anything as he appraises her small 200-square feet apartment with no decorations but a large monitor, where she conducts all of her outside work. In the corner, a twin size mattress sits atop a bare bed frame.
"I'm sorry about all of this," Fiona says, realizing for the first time that she'd taken him from a perfectly comfortable living situation to a very dingy couch without any real consultation. "I have a... difficult past with Left Behind. That's the LB base that we were just on. They're technically not on good terms with the government so they have to stay in hiding."
Abin settles gingerly on the couch, touching it hesitantly as though he's not sure it's real. "It is quite alright."
"Shailene and I grew up with each other," Fiona blurts, as though this is some sort of confession. She tries not to think about it too much, tucking herself into her blankets and staring up at the ceiling. "So it gets complicated sometimes. Because she stayed and I didn't. But you saw how it was. How they are. You understand, right?"
Abin is quiet for a second. In a low voice, he says, "I do not."
"They're a radical direct-action environmental protection group. They started out with little things, like blowing up fully automated manufacturing factories to disrupt the supply chain. But over the years, they've gotten worse. And I just worry. Because these are the people I love. The only fa... friends I have." Fiona blinks away the unexpected tears, never having had to explain it this way before.
"I do not understand," Abin repeats, a little louder.
"I know," Fiona says. "I know. Depending who you ask, they're bad people. They're good people. They're terrorists. They're the last heroes, fighting the good fight. Thinking about it all gives me such a headache. I can only imagine what it might feel like for you–"
"Fiona," Abin says. "I do not understand any of it. Your world. My world. How it became like this. How I am here. Why I am here." Unbeknownst to her, he's also blinking away tears. "Why it feels so hard to breathe outside. Why it is so hot. Why there are so many lights, so many noises, so many magical devices that do whatever you want. How I can go back. If I want to go back."
Fiona's words die on her lips and she looks over at the dark bundle on her couch. She doesn't understand the events or the specific meanings behind his words but she understands his pain, the way his voice tremors slightly and the way he stares up at the darkness. "I'm sorry," she echoes herself and they both lay there like that for the next few hours, gazing up at nothing.
***
Abin stares down the contraption as though some stroke of genius that hasn't arrived in the past ten minutes will suddenly hit him now.
It's barely half the size of the personal chest Abin used at the monastery to store his clothes, but it's a thousand times more daunting. There are darkened slots at the top that can apparently cause serious injury and even death, if handled incorrectly. There are all sorts of buttons and knobs that can command the device to do certain things, as though controlled by some higher mystical power. A snake-like figure connects the device into a tangle underneath the kitchen cabinet.
Fiona had called it a "toaster" and gave him a very detailed list of instructions on how he could turn a slice of stale bread into something slightly more edible. But the list is starting to blur in his mind as he tries to recall what she said to do while he was still sleepy and adjusting to the light.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Abin inserts the slice of bread into the ominous slot, seeing as that's the only logical place it can be. He clicks a button and it starts to glow red, kind of like a fire pit his father used to set up for special occasions. Maybe it's not quite as complicated as he expected. Contented with his experimentation for the day, Abin walks back over to his makeshift sleeping mat (on what Fiona calls a "couch") and starts to journal in a pocketbook that Fiona had given him.
Gripping the pencil that he had also seen for the first time in his life, Abin feels a sense of just how surreal it is to be sitting here in this eclectic world as though it's reality. It's nothing like he could have ever dreamt of, yet he still finds himself wondering if he's really asleep somewhere, in deep slumber after... the incident.
Or maybe he died along with Master Ji-ham and this is the afterlife. The temperature and air quality outside certainly match with what he always envisioned to be "hell", which he deserves to be in after what he'd done. But no. The afterlife would never be this complicated.
An acrid smell starts to fill his senses and he looks up just in time to see waves of dark smoke emitting from the contraption. "Aigo," Abin exclaims as he runs over and tries to grab the toast out. He hisses in pain as soon as his hand makes contact with the blackened piece and he accidentally knocks the entire device onto the ground. How did it burn so quickly? It's only been two minutes and no fire that small is capable of such power.
Suddenly, the lights start flickering in the entire apartment and Abin jumps. "Smoke detected," a bodiless voice intones. "Smoke detected. Fire prevention officials are on their way."
Abin reaches for his scroll as the voice continues to repeat itself, frantically looking around for the source of the voice. "Who are you? Show yourself."
"Smoke detected. Smoke detected," she says. "Fire prevention officials are on their way."
"You have five seconds to show yourself!"
His threat seems to work because the lights and the voice stop, all at once. Abin sighs in relief, although his left hand is still aching and the smoke is starting to settle in his lungs.
"Abin? What are you doing?"
Once again, he jumps out of his skin when Fiona's voice fills the entire apartment. He swings around to see her entire face in a box. "Fiona? Why are you trapped in the box?"
She takes in the scene — with him standing in a defensive position, scrolls in one hand, angry red marks on the other, and black smoke wafting from the toaster. Fiona breaks into high peals of laughter. "I told you not to leave the toast in for too long."
Abin starts to feel stupid standing like that so he reluctantly lowers his scrolls. "Why are you trapped in the box?" he repeats, feeling dumber and dumber by the minute.
"Unplug the cord," she says, all of which sounds like gibberish to him. She's still laughing. "Pull the black thing from the wall."
He does it. "Now what?"
There are children chattering in the background of the box and a girl says, "Ms. Leigh! Look what I did!" Fiona turns to look at something to her right, as though she's in a different place entirely. She turns back to look at Abin, cheeks pink from laughter. "Now don't touch anything else in the house. I'll be back in a few hours. Try not to die before then."
The box goes back to black and Abin is once again alone in the apartment, more hurt and confused than ever. He wonders what he's supposed to do without touching anything else for the next few hours.
----------------------------------------
It's been forty six minutes since they've officially gone to bed – turned off the lights, said their goodnights, and nestled in their respective makeshift beds. But Fiona's wide awake. And she can tell Abin is, too.
She listens to his carefully metered breathing. Sometimes, he's like a ghost in her apartment, despite the fact that it's tiny and you can never get around without bumping into each other. Like he's used to tucking himself into spaces and staying out of someone's way. His breathing is barely perceptible, like he's aware of the air that he's taking up and is trying to make sure to take as little as possible. Fiona thinks about how far apart Abin's couch is to her bed, and wonders why it feels like he's breathing into her ear.
"Abin?"
It's silent for a second. Finally: "Yes?"
"Why can't you sleep?"
Another beat. He mutters his response, voice just barely hinting suspicion at the question. Like he's not sure why she feels the need to intrude. "Why can't you?"
It's not hostile at all, but Fiona suddenly feels like crying. She's suddenly, painfully, aware that despite it all, it is a stranger in her apartment. That solitude has always been an inevitability for her.
"You're right," she whispers. "Goodnight."
He doesn't respond. It's been forty seven minutes since they've officially gone to bed. The silence is suffocating.
"...there midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, and evening full of the linnet's wings..."
Fiona's voice sounds like a little girl's. Hesitant, maybe even a little pathetic. As a child, she took comfort in how this stanza rolled off her tongue. '...there midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow.' Glimmer and glow. Without seeing anything in the dark, Fiona can still feel Abin shuffling ever so slightly. But after a much strained silence, Abin speaks.
"What was that?"
"It's a poem that my mom used to recite to me when I couldn't go to sleep," Fiona says softly, pausing to see if he has anything to say to that. He doesn't. Hesitant, again: "Do you want to hear more?"
There is a beat. "If you please."
For some reason, she feels a hint of a smile, even in the dark. She turns into her pillow. "I will arise and go now, for always night and day, I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore..."
She wonders how the translation device is handling the poem. Abin grows quiet. His breathing steadies. He's asleep but his whisper-like breathing is all Fiona can hear, quelling the sharp alarms and beeps and mechanical clangs of the world outside. In that moment, it is the only sound in Fiona's world.