Purgatorium

by J. H. Carnathan

  After a few moments, I lay the snow globe down and walk over to the curtains, pushing them a little bit apart. The sky seems like something I would see in a painting. Shades of pink and blue scattered around with white creamy clouds. There are pink plum blossoms covering the ground and trees for as far as I can see. So painfully beautiful, I think.

  I shut the curtains, not wanting to see anymore, and walk over to the blueprint hanging on my wall. I see no new answer beside the question mark I drew. I turn back to the foot of my bed, pick up my robe, put it on, and walk out the door, dragging my feet. I head down the small hallway, running my fingers against the wet paint on the wall, turning them to a shade of blue.

  The living room appears to take the same art style that the bedroom had displayed. Everything from the kitchen, bathroom, and closet has been covered in graffiti.

  They could have at least changed the color scheme, I think sarcastically.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see the half drunk bottle of Macallan, resting right on the kitchen counter right where I left it last night.

  Like a madman, I run over and unscrew the cap, tilting it back. It warms my throat. Even though I still can’t taste anything, it gives me complete satisfaction to the last drop. When I bring it back down, the bottle is empty. I am left thirst quenching for more. I have a feeling the alcoholic in me has fully risen to the surface.

  I remember the flask in the closet. I run back to the closet, find it, and head into the bathroom. I suddenly recall that only water is inside it, so it does me no good.

  I scream to myself, Why would anyone put water in a flask?! Why?!

  I look down at the flask and read the inscription: Après moi, le déluge. I think back to the park where I had a chance to let her go. If I just didn’t say ‘I love you’ to her then none of this would have happened. She would still be alive and living a much happier life without me, and I wouldn’t be stuck here!

  I grab a pair of my pants and rustle them on. I put the flask in my pants pocket and slowly put on the rest of my clothes as if I am just going through the motions.

  I go and look in the mirror at myself. My face is spotted with blue paint. Some is also in my hair and down my cheek. I look past myself and see the reflection of the hourglass. It taunts me. Taking my wet painted fingers, I trace the outline of the hourglass. All the while my mind is racing with uncontrollable thoughts and feelings. The poisonous drink has finally set in to my system.

  I grow dizzy and unaware of things around me except for the hourglass I traced on the mirror. The black and blue graffiti on the bathroom walls seem to collide together. The ultraviolet sears through my eyeballs, making me blind from any other color that escapes me. Delusions enter my thoughts, creating holes of questions flowing from the inside to the outside of what I believe and despair. The black paint seems to run down the walls covering everything but the mirror in front of me. Everything but the hourglass. I am in the darkness to my own thoughts.

  Is the hourglass me or am I the hourglass? If the hourglass is me, then can I break just as easily? Will I then be able to breathe the cold air knowing the reapers would soon be coming to witness the shattering pieces of my body across the bathroom floor? Would they come for me then? Or will I forever be trapped in the sands of my past life until my worldly body breathes no more?

  I snap myself out of it. The walls turn back to the abysmal black and blue paint job they once were.

  I know the real reason why I am truly here. I am a murderer and I deserve every bit of torture this place inflicts upon me. All this time, I thought I was stuck in a world where I was surrounded by the good memories in my life but it’s the total opposite.

  Everything here is supposed to remind me of what I have lost. I made this place to torture myself, not to help me remember. I put the flask back in my closet. My reflection, independently of myself, moves his lips. “You don’t belong,” it keeps repeating over and over again.

  Enraged by my family’s death, the weight of my past choices, and my reflection’s ramblings, I smash my head into the mirror. There are no noises, only silence now. My head seems to hurt more mentally than physically. I feel dizzy. Looking at the blood spots around the broken glass in the sink makes me realize what’s the point of bleeding. To bleed and yet not feel pain. Another cruel joke that has been placed upon me.

  What would happen if I cut my wrists? Would the blood be ever flowing with no end? Would I even bleed out? If so, would I still be here? Or would the blood reproduce itself back inside my body? Questions after questions after questions. I am so tired of all the questions. Maybe it’s time I get some answers.

  I slam my head into the mirror again and again. I look at the broken hourglass in the mirror’s reflection and I just don’t care. I keep going until I am overcome by dizziness and fall to the ground in front of the sink.

  Dazed, I hear the piano starting to play “The Light in the Piazza.” It must be 3:10, I think. The same time in which I cheated on Madi. How clever of me to do that to myself. I really am screwed up in the head. Just stick the knife in deeper.

  I lie there, still dizzy, not wanting to move. I watch my breath hang in the air as I feel the temperature dropping. I hear the sounds of the reapers screeching in the hallway. I spread my hands apart, accepting that my wife and child are dead.

  The door bursts open as I welcome the reapers to erase the pain away but instead, to my surprise, I see the waitress. She flips off the light switch and everything in the whole apartment room is back to normal. Looking around, I see that not only is the ultraviolet gone but the splattered paint is gone as well.

  She runs over to me. “Hurry! Take my hand!” she shouts. I look at her apathetically, lying on the ground under the piano. “Get up! They’re coming! Get up!”

  She looks around frantically and sees the hatchet in the glass case. She opens the case and pulls the hatchet out. A reaper flies in through the door behind her. Ice covers the floor beneath us while freezing over my legs in the process.

  The waitress jumps out of the way as the reaper floats toward me where I still lie, unmoving. She swings the hatchet with all her strength at the back of the reaper’s head. Crack! It splits and the reaper falls to the ground, the ice below it melting.

  Another reaper flies inside. The waitress turns to face it but slips on the melted ice from the fallen reaper, dropping the hatchet onto the floor next to me. She quickly stands up and grabs the piano bench, swinging it into the face of the oncoming reaper. A leg of the bench stabs the reaper in the face. It shrieks and falls.

  A third reaper has come in the door and it heads for me. It extends its skeletal hand towards my face. The waitress grabs it by the tail end of its cloak and yanks it; the reaper falls. She drags it back in the living room. Her legs can’t hold steady due to the slippery ice and she falls backwards. She rolls her body underneath the piano as the reaper makes its way back up. It forgets about me and heads for her.

  I stare at the alarm clock while the time ticks away to five. 4:56…4:57…4:58….4:59...

  5 Minutes

  Why would she risk her life for me? I think, astonished. After everything she’s been through! She’s risking her memories to protect mine. She scrambles out from under the piano, grabs the hatchet, and swings it sideways into the reaper’s neck, severing its head clean off.

  The waitress slumps down onto the ground, catching her breath. She looks over at me, the hatchet still in her hand. She walks into the bathroom and sits down a few feet from me while the cold air can still be seen between the two of us.

  “You drank a little alcohol, didn’t you?” she says, looking at the bottle next to me. “You can’t drink that kind of stuff in this place. Don’t you remember? Makes you sick in the head. Gets you instantly drunk and hungover at the same time. If I could tell you stories.” I stare at her hoping she will understand that I am not going anywhere. She looks at t
he mirror shards around me and looks up to see that I broke the mirror.

  “I know you’re not stupid enough to not know that the reapers will be pouring in here any second now if we don’t hurry up.” I look forward at my kitchen clock and watch the time tick away, all the while thinking there is nothing left for me anymore.

  5:31…5:32…5:33…5:34…5:35.

  “You can’t give up, not when we have come so close. I know you may not believe me when I say this but I am your friend. My name is Stephanie.”

  Surprised upon hearing her name, I look away from the clock and up to her.

  “You have no idea how many times I’ve had to try and tell you my name. I am here to help you.”

  She is Stephanie? The Stephanie? I think. The same Stephanie that my past self wrote about to trust? And how is she here to help me? All she has ever done is get herself killed over and over again. I shiver harder, assuming a new batch of reapers are on their way.

  “I have a lot to explain, I know, but after today you will understand why and what it was all for. Or if not for me, then how about for the person still playing your music on the outside? Don’t you wanna know who it is?”

  Still looking her, I begin to wonder to myself. I forgot about the music coming from the outside. Someone must be still alive! As I think with new hope running through my mind, I begin to feel colder.

  I am going to have to trust her for now, nodding to her.

  “Let’s first go find that hidden token of yours, shall we?” She stands up and offers me her hand. I look to her and at my frozen legs.

  “That’s not a problem, one of those Angels taught you the healing trick, right?” She raises the hatchet high in her hand. “This will only hurt for a few seconds.”

  I am afraid in regards to her quick resolve.

  She thrusts down the hatchet, shattering my frozen legs on impact. I feel the pain for a matter of seconds until it slowly slips away. I try to regenerate my legs as she holds out her hand again to me. Not wasting any more time, I reach up, grasping it. Trying to get up, my nubs slip on the melted ice.

  She steadies me. I feel like my entire body is starting to freeze over. I don’t think I ever went this long without getting to the next time zone. The reapers must be doubling their fleet now.

  Suddenly, my whole body goes weak and numb. I wobble to the ground. She looks down at me and tries to lift me up under her shoulders. She smells the whiskey.

  “You are too heavy and drunk to lift,” she concludes. “Looks like I am pulling your drunk butt.”

  My legs drag behind me as she pulls me out of the bathroom, into the wet living room, and through the open door. I look up towards my living room to see a reaper smashing in through my window. She quickly gets me all the way through and shuts the door.

  “I could really use your legs right about now!”

  She continues to drag me with an unknown massive force driving her down the hallway towards the elevator. The reaper has frozen over my apartment door and breaks through it with ease. “You are in dire need of some warmth,” she says, clearing the cold air out of her mouth.

  I look up back towards the hallway and see a group of reapers walking deathly over to us. She slumps me up against the elevator wall, presses the 5 button, and the door closes.

  “How about some coffee?” she asks me.

  Stephanie looks empathetically at my weary face. She reaches over and puts her hand on my cheek. I stare at her suspiciously when all of a sudden I feel warmth. I look at my feet and see that my legs are connecting back together like puzzle pieces.

  She looks over at the painting. “This is the oddest place to put a freaky painting like this. It’s why I take the other elevator each time.”

  I raise my eyesight to the ceiling, trying to keep my mind at peace. To my surprise, I see a long black light fluorescent tube where the emergency lights would have been.

  The elevator opens. I wonder why she didn’t press the button for the lobby? My legs are back healed as the elevator begins to freeze over from inside. She forcefully takes me by the arm and pulls me out. The elevator freezes over completely and falls to the bottom.

  10 Minutes

  “We need to run, now!” she screams as I get back on to my feet. We run to the very end of the hall and get to the stairwell door. I put my arm out in front of her letting Stephanie know that isn’t a good idea.

  “Don’t worry, we got a plan,” she says as she takes my arm away. I bring it back up to her as I think, We? We who?

  She forces me to look out the window next to us. I immediately see someone is driving in my car, steering the reapers away from my apartment building. “We need to move.”

  She kicks open the door and takes my hand. We run down each set of stairs. Arriving at the bottom, we open the exit door and race across the lobby through the revolving door.

  We get outside and not a reaper is in sight. I try and catch my breath as I see Stephanie running over to the side of the apartment building. After a few seconds, she comes out riding a Dodge Tomahawk motorcycle.

  “We need to hurry before they pick back up our heat signature!”

  I run over and stop once I get to her. I look at her, feeling my masculinity drop at riding on the back.

  She looks at me and says, “Do you know how to ride a motorcycle? Oh wait, you don’t. So get on and shut up!”

  I quickly get on and grasp her waist softly. “You better hold on for dear life. This baby can reach 350 mph in a matter of seconds. AKA, don’t be shy.” She gives me a wink as if she loves the rush of it all.

  I grip her tightly as she switches transmission speeds and floors it onto the interstate ramp. I look over to the horizon, feeling as if it goes on forever. No boundaries or frames to encroach upon the view. The many shades of blue and pink seep into the sky like a spilled bottle of ink. I feel an overwhelming sense of freedom as she clutches down again, putting us in, what feels like, warp speed.

  She leans left and right, cutting past each car that gets in her way. She tilts right and dodges the truck holding the glass compartment. I look back to see the truck seems like an ant in size as we accelerate further. Every bump in the road reveals itself with an unmatched authority, and every winding turn pushes the earth on its side. The ride down the highway feels almost exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.

  Any coldness that was still lingering has now escaped me. I look over Stephanie’s shoulder and see the limitless vision on the world that surrounds us. The feelings of freedom are removed from my mind once she clutches to the final gear. Everything from the horizon to the cars in front of us becomes a blur. I hear her madly laugh from the adrenaline rush she must be feeling.

  15 Minutes

  She leans right and we are off the interstate. We look up ahead to see the road has been iced over. It looks almost melted as if they already came through here. It must have been when they were following the unknown person inside my car.

  “We don’t have the time to stop!” she yells back. The wind rips through my hair like sharp blades. I feel my hands losing their grip. I look over and see in the blur, the coffee shop just a few feet away. I can’t hold on any longer as my hands suddenly slip away from her waist.

  I fly off and land on the icy concrete. My body gets torn to shreds as I slide towards the door of the coffee shop. I concentrate, trying to think back to when I gained control on the reaper’s grid that one time. I need to regenerate my wounds first so I can find the strength to ground myself.

  I continue to concentrate as I force my body to start rolling like Sonic the Hedgehog. Every bruise to broken bone that I encounter gets instantly healed. I then dig my foot heel into the frozen cement, roll myself back up, and run right through the door into the coffee shop.

  Once in, I hear clapping coming from the window. I look over and see Stephanie sitting at the table, smiling
at me. I gaze out the window and see her motorcycle parked right outside. How did she get it to stop so quickly? I wonder.

  “Somebody is getting the hang of it!”

  She walks over to me and swiftly kicks her leg in between mine. I fall back looking up at her. She puts her boot on my chest.

  “If you break an hourglass the reapers will come, as you well know. But what I think you don’t know is that they multiply like rabbits. Being late or early in a time zone is a couple reapers at best, but breaking an hourglass is like sounding the alarm to a whole pack of them. You had better hope my partner got back in the correct time zone fast enough before it was too late. You are going to need his help when your final race comes.”

  She bends down and takes out a napkin to wipe the paint splatter off of my face. Then she looks me straight in the eyes and says, “And don’t you dare go and pull that crap again.” She continues cleaning the paint off. “I know you are suffering right now but you can’t worry about things that aren’t for sure. That’s what you always told me.” She finishes. “That’s better! I can see your face now.”

  She throws the blue covered napkin to the side. I look at her warily, waiting for her to strike. She takes her leg off me and sits back down on the chair. I stand back up and wonder about who her partner was. I look over at her as she stares out the window. I see that she is watching the sand from the hourglass fall. Probably counting each grain to the second, I think.

  My legs still don’t feel all the way healed. I pull up a chair across from her and sit. I notice the bulbs in the ceiling lights are black. I take a gander at the light switch in the corner by the front door, wondering what other hidden messages did I leave myself. I stay at rest, not wanting her to know what I know.

  A few seconds go by as I continue to look at her, wanting to know more answers. Though in the back of my mind, I feel totally wrong for misjudging her. She isn’t weak at all. The bangs over her eyebrows betray her innocence. She seems more fearless and motivated than what she appeared to be before. Maybe it has always been an act, as if she were waiting on the right moment to show her true self. But why? I wonder.