Knowing Page #2

I made it in time to hear you sing.

You were the best one up there.

- You could not hear me.

- I could. I swear.

Gotta go. They're starting!

All right, easy, easy!

No pushing.

Everyone is going to receive an envelope.

Open them gently now. They're very old.

Miss Taylor! Miss Taylor!

Thank you.

Everyone's gonna get one.

- Hello again, John.

- Hello. How's it going?

Hey, what'd you get?

Boring.

Everyone else got a picture.

Caleb, could you please watch

where you put this?

I don't want you to lose another one.

It's making funny noises.

Try turning the volume down.

Hey, Dad? You know that kid, Jason,

from soccer practice?

Mmm-hmm.

He's having a sleepover this weekend,

and he was wondering if I can come.

Sounds like fun.

They have a boat.

Jason's dad said he might take us out

on the lake.

I'll think about it.

- That means no.

- It means I'll think about it.

What are you doing with this?

You weren't supposed to bring this home.

It belongs to the school.

But maybe it means something,

like a math puzzle or something like that.

Yeah, that's good, I don't know,

but it's not ours to keep.

Now, you return this as soon

as you get to school tomorrow. Got it?

Okay, let's go. Bedtime.

O'er thy spirit gently stealing

I my loving vigil keeping

All through the night

Goodnight, baby.

Goodnight, Mom.

Our tigress lives

in Kanha National Park,

in the forests of Kipling's Jungle Book,

where dawn elephant patrols

ensure this is one of the safest places

for tigers to roam.

Year after year...

Damn it.

Two thousand, nine hundred

and ninety-six.

Come on.

What the hell is this?

In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina...

There could be

thousands of bodies here...

Oh, my God.

Dad?

Dad, we're gonna be late!

Do you have your knapsack all set?

Thanks for the ride, Mr. Koestler.

Dad, are you sick?

I'm fine.

Don't you think you're acting

kind of awkward today?

Am I awkward?

I just had a lot of work to do last night.

Okay.

- Bye, Dad.

- Bye.

Look at this.

- Look at the numbers beside the date.

- Yeah. Yeah, yeah.

Two thousand, nine hundred

and ninety-six.

Right.

That's how many people died

in the attacks that day.

- Yeah.

- All right, stay with me.

I know how this sounds, but I've matched

these numbers to the dates

of every major global disaster for

the last 50 years in perfect sequence,

except for three.

And these events haven't occurred yet,

starting with this one.

So tomorrow, somewhere on the planet,

this number string predicts

that 81 people are gonna die

in some kind of tragedy.

- Whoa. I mean, have a listen to yourself.

- I know.

- It sounds pretty crazy.

- I know.

I mean, even for you.

- What's this?

- Open it.

Oh!

Why are you showing me this?

The day Allison died in the fire,

it's on the list, too,

from a piece of paper that's been

buried in the ground for five decades.

- Yeah.

- Can you explain that, Phil?

I was up all night going over this.

I went through that list again and again,

and I tried to fault it and I couldn't.

Maybe someone's playing

a really shitty joke...

Right! Right!

Except I saw them dig it up!

I watched them pull the capsule

out of the ground

and hand that sealed envelope to my kid.

Okay, let me ask you this, then.

All these uncircled numbers,

what do they mean?

I don't know yet. Maybe nothing.

But the circled...

Maybe they all mean nothing.

Okay, Phil, hey,

can we just start over here?

I'm not saying that 81 people

are going to die tomorrow, okay?

I'm just trying to understand

why this is saying they will.

Okay, it's spooky, all right? I'll grant you.

It's more than spooky.

But just step back, all right?

You have all these uncircled numbers

with no sequence to them.

I mean, numerology,

kabala, Pythagorean cults,

there are systems

that find meaning in numbers,

and they are a dime a dozen. Why?

Because people see

what they want to see in them.

I mean,

that's really what you think I'm doing?

Yeah, I think that losing Allison

has spun you off your axis a little,

and I think it's clouded your judgment.

I'm just saying it's

clouded your judgment.

Don't you think?

- Where are you going?

- Off campus.

Yes?

But you do remember her?

Oh, yes. I remember Lucinda.

She was such a sad little girl.

Would you like some iced tea?

Oh, no. Thank you. Thank you.

Do you remember the day your students

buried the time capsule?

Oh, yes.

The children were so excited.

And what about Lucinda?

That was the day we couldn't find her.

She was hiding in a closet,

under the gym,

scratching at the door with her

fingernails like some kind of animal.

Scratching at the door?

- Why was she hiding?

- I'm not sure.

She was holding up the class

writing all those silly numbers.

I had to hurry her along.

Then we found her,

and I knew something had frightened

the poor dear,

but we never could get her

to tell us what it was.

Miss Taylor, my son got

Lucinda's time capsule message.

Do you remember this?

Is this what she wrote?

Oh, Professor, you

are testing an old woman's memory.

- Can you believe it's been 50 years?

- It's a long time.

I believe that's it.

How rude of me.

I never offered you a drink.

Would you like some iced tea?

No, thank you. I'm fine.

I thought maybe I could meet her.

Oh! I'm sorry.

Lucinda passed away several years ago.

I said I'm Caleb Koestler's father.

I'm calling to find out

the names of the two janitors

that pulled the time capsule out

of the ground yesterday at the ceremony.

I'm not sure I understand

why that would be a problem for you.

Yes, sir, we're afraid that

that's privileged information.

Caleb!

- Who was that?

- I don't know. Just some guys.

What did he give you?

Just this. Kind of cool, isn't it?

What did I say about

talking to strangers?

Have you done your homework?

Give me 10 more minutes of practice.

I don't want to have to ask you twice,

Caleb. Come on.

Hey!

Hey, stranger.

At what age do we learn to knock?

I said I was going to drop by on my way

to the graveyard shift, remember?

- Didn't you get my message?

- I've been busy.

Can you not play with my things?

- You're always busy.

- Yes! Yes.

How's my nephew?

- Decided to become a vegetarian.

A what?

- Why, you got a problem with that?

You're not feeding him Dad's famous

Sunday night hot dogs again, are you?

You know, if you want someone to take him

off your hands for the evening

so you can go out, you know,

like normal people do...

I appreciate the offer, but we're fine.

And, believe it or not, Caleb and

I have got a good thing going here.

Uh-huh?

Yeah. So you can report

that back to headquarters.

Mom says hi. So does Dad.

Grace, don't.

I get that you don't like

being the son of a pastor.

I am the son of a pastor.

That's fine.

- You're still his son. Can't you let it go?

- Can't he?

You know he asks after you

every time I see him.

- He worries about you.

- He said that?

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