As Sandy told me, Comiket is the world’s largest comic book market, which is held twice a year here in Tokyo. Over half a million people come from all over to buy rare editions of their favorite comics. It’s Asia’s answer to Comic Con… just much, much bigger.
Sandy also told me that up until recently Hollywood hasn’t played much of a role in Comiket, but this year they’re sending us. We’re giving away signed copies of the Locked trilogy—personalized by the author, Parker Witter (a rare thing, given the fact that she’s somewhat of a recluse)—and signing head shots, magazines, and a line of graphic novels the studio has made based on the books.
There are many strange things about being in a movie this large. People you don’t know recognizing you, fan fiction about your real life appearing on the Internet, never really trusting that no one is watching—but one of the strangest has to be the merchandise. There are tiny dolls of Rainer, Jordan, and me. Rainer’s has his dimple, mine has my red hair, Jordan’s even has his scar.
Comiket is held at Tokyo Big Sight—a convention center, the largest here. There are droves and droves of people lining the streets as we pull through. Alexis has told me Comic Con is crazy, but I’m not sure anything could compare to this. We’re in a black limo, windows fully tinted. I have no doubt that if we were seen right now we’d be mauled to death in a matter of seconds.
Rainer is sitting next to me, his fingertips trailing on the seat, and for a moment I want to brush mine with his, hold them in my hand. It’s tense in the car, but with this many people, and this much energy and noise—there isn’t room for outward animosity. Not between any of us.
“Amazing,” Rainer says to no one in particular.
Jessica starts laughing. “That’s not the word I would use.”
“What would you use?” Rainer asks.
“Scary.”
I look at Jessica. She’s in her same jeans/T-shirt combo. They sent me over here with all kinds of crazy outfits. I’m right now wearing leather pants and a red silk blouse.
I miss the days of being Jessica. When not everything I said, wore, did was scrutinized with more precision than a rocket launch.
“Fear won’t help us much,” Rainer says, not taking his eyes off the crowds. Jordan stays silent.
They get us inside by some miracle—I don’t know how they do it. Tokyo Big Sight is like a toy city—a maze of lights and characters and colors.
We get into the basement and are immediately joined by the guys who met us at the airport—except this time they’ve brought their friends. There must be ten security guards, but I can’t be sure, because they seem to multiply every time I try to count. Which I guess is good. We should be surrounded here.
We’re set up on a stage, and as we’re led up the elevator and down the corridor, I hear the people. They’re not chanting our names, but the mere buzz of it—the energy of their anticipation—has a volume all its own.
Rainer is making his usual, good-natured banter. It’s directed at Jessica now. But Jordan is still silent. I can feel the tension in his body. It seems to come off him in waves.
The bodyguards are blocking us even from one another, but I find his eyes. I want more than anything to reach out and hold his hand.
But instead I touch my fingers to the cowrie shell charm on my chest. I’ve taken off the ring Rainer gave me, but I haven’t removed the necklace, not even to shower. It’s my mark of protection. It’s Rainer’s stand-in.
Jessica and a publicist look back at us. “You guys ready?”
Jordan makes an indeterminate sound, but they don’t wait for an answer. They open the doors, and the screams are massive—a tidal wave of bodies and sound.
It’s hot in there, too. Stifling. Everyone crammed on each other every which way—I start to sweat immediately. Beads cling to my forehead. Who decided on these leather pants? I feel like they’re melted onto my skin.
We’re seated onstage. The three of us in a row. Me in the middle. Magazine covers and our own action figures are splayed out all around us. Jessica is saying something to me, but I can’t hear her above the noise. She comes around to my chair, gets close in my ear. “Can you do pictures?”
I nod, and for a moment I look at Jordan next to me. His eyes are wide—a look I recognize well. He’s scared. It hits me like a sucker punch straight to the chest. I see myself in his dilated pupils. The fear, the paranoia, the terror.
His black eyes look into mine, and I’m met with such intensity, it makes me want to weep. But instead of being pulled under with him, something else happens. I feel an urge to protect him. The tenderness I feel overrides everything else. I want to make this better. Something rises up in me, some core of solid. I have been so used to being the one looking to Rainer in these circumstances, giving in to my fear—every incarnation of it—that I haven’t stopped to think aboutthem. Rainer and Jordan. Alexis always stayed with Jordan at premieres, and I know it was because of this. She acted for him the way Rainer did for me.
I think about that signing on Maui. How it was just Jordan and me—our first experience withLockedfans. He left me in the car, and at the time I was so angry. I couldn’t understand his distance, that he hadn’t stood by me in those first few moments with fans, but now I realize he couldn’t have done it any differently. He couldn’t look out for me. He was too busy trying to keep himself afloat.
I search under the table for his hand. I find his fingertips. They’re cold as ice. I hold them between my palms. I lean over to him. I whisper into his ear, even though I know I shouldn’t, even though I know there are cameras everywhere. “Three minutes,” I tell him. “It’s only scary for three minutes.”
Jordan’s face softens, just slightly. I bet he’s heard it before. I bet Rainer told him years ago, back when they were friends. And that feels right, somehow. I think about Rainer and me making those promises to each other on the cliffs of Maui—the moment I’ve called up so many times. Whatever’s coming, I’ll be here. But now I understand it should have been bigger than that, than the two of us. It’s not about just Rainer and me; it’s about all three of us. We’reallin this together.
I keep Jordan’s hand in mine under the table until the first person comes up for an autograph.
It feels good to hold my own. The least I can do for all of us—and the fans—is try. And the truth is that once it’s one-on-one—thanks to the well-managed line—greeting fans, it’s not so scary. Some people cry. Some people get hysterical. One incredibly overwhelmed girl actually faints. But a lot of people are justhappy. Happy to see us, happy to talk about their favorite book or movie. And the fact that we’ve contributed to that happiness, even a little bit, seems to momentarily smooth over the personal drama we’re going through. It hovers above Paige, Rainer, and Jordan. It’s bigger than us. It’s the sum of us and so much more. To be a part of something that will outlast us—that will outlast whatever happensbetweenus. Together we’ve made something that will prevail, and for an hour I let that be our legacy.
After the signing we go back to the hotel. When we get to the lobby, we start to split off for our rooms, but Jessica stops us.
