Charged

Part 3: Shooting Stars

Three days ago, Hotel Room 1138

With the local news on TV for some background noise, I learned some potentially helpful things. Every rooftop bar and venue with a north-facing balcony in the city was reserved. Apparently the meteor shower was a big event, and this was the best region on Earth to watch it happen. This particular space rock wasn't a rock at all, but a super-dense hunk of nickel, chromium, and lead. It had come from a super-distant, mysterious region of outer space, and would pass closer to Earth than any other object of its size ever had. It was going to be a clear night, and a dazzling light show was expected by all.

With the restaurant no longer taking reservations and the 23rd floor dining room too full for comfort, I enjoyed the most expensive burger I'd ever eaten via room service, and then returned to the lobby for more people-watching. I was not disappointed. There was a tall bearded man I nicknamed Thor, who wore too many layers of dirty clothes and argued angrily with himself or an invisible friend. He paced back and forth on the sidewalk near the lobby entrance. There were hurried people, relaxed people, business people, Nuns, punks, cops, tourists, olds, youngs, a variety of foreigners... It was a cultural goldmine for people-watchers like me.

I alternated between watching the people around me, the TV screen, and TikTok videos on my phone while waiting for our interstellar traveler. When the first video of shooting stars appeared on TV, I stepped out onto the sidewalk to watch it in person.

Right away, I spotted a shooting star. I instinctively pointed it out to a girl standing beside me who had been looking at a different section of the sky. She had the warmest brown eyes I had ever seen, and my gaze might have lingered on them a second or two longer than was appropriate. Perhaps sensing that I was still looking at her, she turned her lovely face back toward me again. We shared a quick, awkward smile before looking back up toward the celestial fireworks.

A few minutes of Ooh's and Ahh's passed before the fireball appeared. My first thought was that it looked much closer than I expected. Then more shooting stars followed, and things started moving fast.

"Did you see that?" the brown-eyed girl asked, pointing at the white trails across the sky.

I had seen it. The shooting stars had turned. They simultaneously changed directions, each zipping off to different parts of the sky. One of them even came directly towards us. Someone yelled "Run", but for a moment no one moved. Then one of them started running toward the hotel entrance, and like a triggered avalanche, the entire crowd followed.

Just a few paces from the entrance, I was back in the Lobby within seconds. I don't recall how it happened, but the brown-eyed girl was still beside me, her hand tightly clenching mine. Ignoring the surging, panicked crowd, I pulled her into the corner sheltered behind the open doors. With the grace and eloquence of Tarzan, I pointed at my chest and said, "Jamie."

She looked puzzled for a moment, then pointed at herself and "Jamie."

"No," I said. "I'm Jamie. That's my name." My verbal artistry would have made Shakespeare proud.

"I get it," she said. "Me, too. I'm Jamie, too."

"Oh! Nice to meet you!" I said with a laugh that I hoped sounded charming.

"You too," she said, backing away. "I gotta go. I'm sorry. My parents...."

I held onto her hand until the surging crowd washed around her and carried her farther into the lobby.

The commotion outside grew as screams and shouts blended into the cacophony. People were trying to stay clear of Thor, but in the press of the moving crowd some people couldn't avoid him. Easily a foot taller than most of the crowd, when he shoved one person away, several others went down, too.

Beyond the spectacle of the brawl taking place a few feet on the other side of a glass pane, a brilliant light flashed from above. One of the bright objects from the sky that was now clearly not a shooting star flew unseen, but much too close overhead. In its wake, an electric glow lingered above, bathing the street in its light.

It was all so surreal. People were racing to get out of the streets, jamming into every doorway. Some were even pulling on car doors and jumping inside ones they could open. I was stuck in my corner. The crowded lobby was getting tighter packed by the moment, and people were still coming in.

That was when something triggered the fire alarm. Red lights flashed from the ceiling and the deafening alarm drowned out even the noise of the crowd. The building shook like it had been struck by a giant. The power went out, and the fire sprinklers came on. The flow of people through the lobby doors changed direction, and the crowd dispersed into the streets.

Water from the sprinklers soaked into my clothes. The jostling crowd was bruising me, and I was terrified that the 50+ floors of the hotel above me would collapse at any moment. But I couldn't move. The mass of people in the room had pressed me against the glass pane window, and I had no hope of pressing through the crowd until it thinned out.

"Jamie," I said quietly. It was her name, too. The thought made me smile. I wondered if I would see her again. Maybe she would come back this way. Another name occurred to me as I stepped up onto the window ledge for a view over the sea of heads still trying to escape the lobby. Panic crept into my chest, and I found myself at an utter loss for what to do. Marcus.

Did he know what was going on here? Why hadn't he called? Why hadn't I called him? He would probably try to get back to the hotel. He said he would be near the Phantom of the Opera theater, but I didn't know where or how far it was. I had to get in touch with him. My phone calmly informed me that there was no signal. Damn! My mind raced for options.

Me: WhatsApp!

My Brain: No Signal, dummy.

Me: Hotel Wi-Fi!

My Brain: What's wrong with you? The power is out!

Me: Why aren't you being more helpful?

Before my brain could retort, someone jumped onto the window ledge beside me, almost knocking me down. Another person jumped up. This section of the window wasn't that big, and the ledge was less than half a foot deep. But that didn't stop a fourth person from trying. He hit the glass shoulder-first like a football player trying to break a tackle. Or a jackass trying to break a window. If that was his goal, he succeeded wildly.

The glass shattered into a billion tiny cubes. I was falling backwards towards the sidewalk. Then I wasn't.