The Night Crew

Louis’ apartment was a nerd’s nightmare—or maybe a dream—a jumble of Domino’s pizza boxes, empty Fritos bags, a fat blue plastic garbage can marked ‘‘Aluminum only’’ with a backboard behind it, half-full of Diet Coke cans.
    A projection TV sat in the middle of the front room, showing a severed power cord sticking out from beneath it, like a rat’s tail. The longest wall was dominated by industrial gray steel racks full of stereo, computer and telephone equipment, all of which seemed hooked together.
    Louis met them at the door wearing a ketchup-stained t-shirt, gym shorts and a stunned look. He’d been up all night, he said, working, and had just gotten to sleep when Anna called.
    ‘‘I got the tape set,’’ he said. He kicked through the litter in the front room. ‘‘You guys want some Fritos? I got some somewhere. I got coffee going.’’
    ‘‘Coffee,’’ Anna said. ‘‘Wash the cups.’’
    ‘‘I already did,’’ he said, unconvincingly. He was back a minute later with the coffee, saw the cut cord on the projection TV and said, ‘‘Oh, shit. I forgot about that. I’ll have to put it up on a monitor.’’
    ‘‘What happened to the cord?’’ Harper asked.
    ‘‘I needed a plug last night,’’ Louis said. ‘‘I mean, it was convenient, and it’s easy enough to put back on. If you’d rather see it on the big screen . . .’’
    ‘‘Monitor’s fine, probably better,’’ Anna said. To Harper: ‘‘You’re sure you want to watch?’’
    ‘‘I’m sure.’’
    • • •
    Louis pulled the drapes to sharpen up the monitor, and started the tape. He caught the last few minutes of the animal rights hassle, the guy knocked over by the pig, then a few random spacing shots inside the truck, then suddenly the bouncing run across the patio of the hotel. Anna caught a glimpse of herself running toward the entrance, and then the lens steadied, swung up and fixed on Jacob. They could see his face, a confused smile, the boy’s head bobbing as the camera tried to orient itself.
    ‘‘Aw, Jesus,’’ Harper said, involuntarily turning away, closing his eyes.
    ‘‘Get out of here,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘Naw.’’ He turned back, transfixed, as Jason zoomed in on Jacob’s face. The camera hung there, staying with the face, suddenly pulling back to get some perspective, then closing in again, getting tight, catching expressions.
    Professional, Anna thought: very, very good.
    At one moment, Jacob looked as though he might be dreaming. At the next moment, he seemed confused, or happy. He reached out once and Anna thought, ‘‘Here it comes,’’ but he leaned back, seemed startled to find a wall behind him, and Anna blurted, involuntarily, ‘‘No, no . . .’’
    Harper stared. The kid started talking, maybe back to the window he’d climbed out of. The camera view pulled back: yes, he was talking to the window. He looked down at the pool, then back at the window. A pale schoolboy face appeared at the window, then a girl’s face, then the boy again, and the kid looked at the pool again.
    ‘‘He thinks he can make the pool,’’ Harper said.
    The camera closed in on his face, and suddenly, Jacob shook his head, said something, and the first faint wrinkle of fear crossed his face. He turned to the window, and one hand went out, touching the wall behind him. He took a step back to the window, but his right leg had to pass his left, and there was nothing out there, and suddenly, he was leaning over empty space: he was falling, and at the last possible instant, he tried to jump, to propel himself out toward the pool . . .
    Jason stayed tight, the face and the trailing body, so close, the feet almost behind the head as Jason stayed with it . . .
    ‘‘Stop!’’ Anna shouted.
    Louis cut the tape, looked at her.
    ‘‘Back it up, rerun in slow motion. Look at his right hand.’’
    In slow motion, Jacob almost seemed to be swimming in the air. And at one point, a white, almost formless shadow seemed to pass out of his right hand. It stayed in view of the camera for only an instant, but it was coming at Jason, possibly passing over his head.
    ‘‘That’s the paper,’’ Anna said.
    ‘‘You can hardly see anything,’’ Harper said shakily.
    ‘‘There’s something there,’’ Anna said positively. To Louis: ‘‘Let’s see Creek’s stuff.’’
    Creek had been further away, going for a longer perspective—but the paper coming out was clearer. The paper