After I loaded the girl into the ambulance and waved it off, I repeated another code.
“529359123931293599-22454251986.”
I showed up in a small, smelly room. A primitive television set sat in front of me. “Tomorrow, the 26th of April is going to be a fine day.” I sat there pretending to be asleep, hand in the potato chip that was in my lap when I woke up here. “It’s going to be a fine day indeed.” A woman said, presumably my wife. “You better know what day it is.” I snored loudly. “Fuck you, Bruce.” she clicked off the TV and stormed off into the other room.
As I heard the door slam, I darted to the closet.
Uhh lock box. Number pad. Uhh birthday. 524. No. Uhh… You better know what day it is. 426. The box opened, revealing a shiny new handgun. I sat in my recliner, kicked back, and said:
“510251010385293599-01004261986.”
Just before I felt myself slip completely, I gripped the handgun.
I opened my eyes. I shot every person in sight.