Alone At Midnight

Despite his mother's orders, Jackson was going to go to Maria's party, one way or another. How could he not? She was the most popular, not to mention most beautiful girl in the school, and she asked him personally to be there. This was what might be his only chance to win her over before they go off to college. Jackson's friends were the typical jocks, barely passing each of their classes, keeping their heads above water just enough to still be allowed underneath the stadium lights on Friday night, but Jackson was different. For starters, he didn't even play football - his parents never let him. "Too risky," they would tell him, year after year. It's not like he would be any good anyway. He stood at only 5'7", although he would tell people 5'8", and he wasn't very muscular. After all, he had no reason to be. Not only that, but he was excelling in his classes, ranking 19th in a class of over 400. Jackson often wondered why he was even a part of the popular crowd.

Nevertheless, he was, and he had a chance to get the girl of his dreams, and he was not about to let that opportunity slip. The party started at 10 o'clock, which gave him about an hour and a half before he had to start walking. Taking his car would cause way too much noise, and would blow his cover. He wore his white Boston College hooded t-shirt, and a pair of black Nike joggers, and of course his brand new white Air Force One’s. Just as Jackson was slipping out his first story, bedroom window, he heard his dad thunderously approaching from down the hall. Boom boom boom, he pounds on the door with his giant mallet hands. “Hey, I know your mom said no party tonight, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still do something fun, just us guys,” his dad spoke through the door, “How about we go play some laser tag, like we used to?”

Jackson rolled his eyes, completely dismissing the idea. “Not tonight, Dad, I’m just gonna work on some scholarships for next semester. Maybe another night.” After yet another rejected attempt to spend time with his teenage son, his father retired to his nook to read alone. When Jackson is sure he will not be a bother, he slips out the window and heads to Maria’s. The streets are quiet, and completely empty other than just one other man, walking alone in the street with his head down. There was something strange about the man, and he was not hiding his bizarre behavior. It was way too warm to be fitted in his attire. He was dressed in all black, with big black boots, wide black pants and a big black trench coat. Jackson noticed something particularly unusual, though, about the boots. They were silent. The stranger was just about twenty feet from Jackson, now, and was making absolutely no noise at all. Each step was as if he was wearing slippers on carpet.

The man reached the next intersection before Jackson did, and took a robotically sharp turn one to look right at Jackson, then placed something on the top of a parked car, and continued walking. Jackson kept his head facing forward, away from the curious man, but his eyes couldn’t help but wander. The object looked like a notepad, maybe a book? Up on the hill in the distance, he could see the lights shining from Maria’s estate, and looked down at his watch - 9:33, he was already running behind. Jackson looked up from his watch, and the streets were now empty, the man vanished, almost as if into thin air. Jackson whipped his head around in every direction, around every corner, looking for a trace of life. Nothing. His heart was racing, afraid for his life, now sprinting full speed toward the party. Feet launching off the ground, step after step after step, escaping what he thought was certain death. An unexpected hole in the pavement brought him back to reality, as his knee collapsed from the change in stride, and Jackson slammed into the ground, and a small black notebook spilled out of his jogger pocket. At first, Jackson failed to notice the notebook as he sat in pain, his entire face bleeding like a finisher scene from Mortal Kombat. He knew immediately his nose was broken. After a minute or two, his watch started buzzing, and the screen read, “Incoming Call: Maria Dayy.”

Jackson pulled his phone out of his pocket, and took a few deep breaths, with painful whimpers on the exhale, before answering. When he felt he had gained enough composure, he picked up. “Hey, how’s the party going?” He asked, “I’m almost there I just -”

“Did you look at it?” She interrupted. He could barely hear the music in the background, so he could tell she was away from the party, in a separate room.

“Did I what?” Jackson questioned.

“Did you look in the notebook yet? I really need your help with this, Jacks.” She sounded desperate.

Jackson started looking around him for a notebook, but his vision was still blurry and he could barely keep his eyes open. “Maria I don’t know what-” his hand felt something leather on the ground. His trembling fingers lifted the book off the ground. It was a small notebook, completely black, even the pages between the covers. “Oh. This. How did-,” he manages, still with a trembling voice, before he is interrupted once again.

Maria pleaded, “Please, I need you to hold onto that book until midnight tonight, and don’t let anyone see it or know you have it. I’ve got to go, but I’m counting on you, Jackson. Don’t let me down. Oh, and you have to be alone when midnight hits, with the book open up to page 13. 13 Jacks. I have to go now,” and just like that, she hung up. Jackson could not even comprehend what just happened. His head was pounding and his nose still pulsing, expelling blood each passing second.

He started gathering himself and began standing up, when from down the dark road, Jackson caught sight of a pair of beaming headlights coming his way, only worsening his nausea. Just when it couldn’t get worse, the car inched closer, close enough to see him pouring blood, and of course pulled up beside him and switched on a row of red and blue flashing lights.

After a back and forth between the officer and himself, Jackson slid the notebook back into his pocket and was loaded into the back of the cruiser. He cleaned himself off with a few Dunkin’ Donuts napkins the officer had in his glove box, as the cop told him to call his parents and say Officer Reeder was taking him to the hospital.

“The hospital? No, no, no, I can’t go to the hospital. My parents will kill me! I snuck out tonight!” He explained to Reeder.

“Oh really? Any chance you were going to that party over on Fifth Avenue we keep getting calls about?” Reeder asked, with a half smile on his face.

“Umm, no… I was actually going to go.. Bowling. Yes, bowling with my friends.”

“Right, okay, well, still going to the hospital,” the officer exclaimed, then began singing along to the song on the radio. It was then that Jackson remembered the notebook in his pocket, and looked for the time on the dashboard clock. It was already 10:40, and he was on his way to the hospital downtown. He needed to get out of the cruiser and get somewhere isolated. At the next stop sign, Jackson took his opportunity. He had noticed when he got in that the officer didn’t lock the doors, and Jackson made a run for it. He was still a little lightheaded, but at least his vision had cleared up a bit, and he was no longer covered in his own blood. Jackson bolted down an alley, between two buildings to lose Reeder. He zigged and zagged around buildings and construction sites, and soon had the officer off his tail. Jackson was crouched between a Pizza Hut dumpster and the backside of a Barnes and Noble when he realized he hadn’t even looked inside the notebook yet. Still catching his breath, he pulled it out of his pocket and opened it up to page 13.

It was completely blank, as were all the other pages. Jackson was beginning to think this was a prank, and started heading home, avoiding passing cars the best he could, and keeping his nose in the air so as not to bleed anymore. When he reached his street, he looked at his watch, which read 11:52. Just in case it wasn’t a prank, he wanted to be somewhere alone. The best place for that, he thought, was his father’s nook. His dad was definitely asleep now, and the nook was a completely soundproof, isolated part of the house. It was perfect. He snuck back in through the window he left out of, and tiptoed down to the nook, ensuring his parent’s wouldn’t wake up. The hidden room behind the bookshelf was as empty and lonely as he’d imagined. His watch now read 11:59, and Jackson was ready and waiting, with the blank page 13 wide open in front of him. Watching and waiting, Jackson’s nose dripped, eyes watered and fingers trembled.

Finally, midnight struck, and words began to appear on the black pages, in a stunning gold ink, leaving a marvelous impression on Jackson’s half opened eyes. He soon realized that they weren’t words, but names appearing in front of him. Thousands of names began filling the book. Some he recognized, like his father’s, a few of his teachers’, Maria’s. The names he recognized all were written differently from the others. Unlike the others, familiar names were underlined. Finally he saw his own, written in a beautiful golden cursive on the black notebook canvas.

But what did it mean? Nothing had really changed for Jackson, other than the fact that he was now incredibly tired.

He woke up the next morning to his father once again pounding on the door of the nook. The door swung wide open, and there stood both Mr. and Mrs. Cole, with so much energy. “Jackson! We just won $20,000 each! Look at your phone! We can finally pay off our loans, and my car and your college!”

Jackson’s eyes lit up and he felt no pain at all. The blood was all cleaned up, and his nose felt good as new. He followed his mother's instruction to look at his phone, where just two notifications sat. One was a bank alert regarding a $20,000 deposit, and the other was a message from an unknown number, reading, “Drop the book, pass it on.”