This Time of Night

by Jon F. Merz

  "I'd wonder why no one else, like naturalists or scientist have deduced that."

  The man waved his hand. "Bah, science is such an inexact art. Most of them are buffoons."

  James stifled a smile. "I don't suppose you're someone who's found an inexhaustible fuel source, or some kind of government agent on rampage?"

  "I'm not a lunatic, James," said the man simply.

  "How did you know my name?"

  The man smiled. "We introduced ourselves only minutes ago. You haven't already forgotten now, have you?"

  James raised an eyebrow. "Afraid I have. What was your name again?"

  "Hessler. Friedrich Hessler."

  "A name, I think I would have remembered," said James. He scratched his nose with his right hand and then let it descend toward his lap, resting it on his right thigh, closer to his gun. His gray suit coat was already unbuttoned.

  "You don't need to do that," said Hessler.

  "Do what?"

  Hessler chuckled. "The gun you're wearing...you don't need it."

  "Actually, I think I might need it very much indeed. Who are you?"

  "I told you."

  "How do you know about me?"

  Hessler sat back. "We were discussing the perfection of nature and how small events happen such that larger ideals are preserved, weren't we?"

  "You were," said James.

  "But you're a part of this, James. A part of this very concept."

  "How so?"

  "That gun you wear, it's not for growing geraniums now is it?"

  James shrugged.

  "No, it isn't." Hessler smiled. "How many lives have you taken using that small weapon? What is it...one hundred? Maybe two hundred? Maybe more? And in all the time you've worked as an assassin, a paid terrorist, a mercenary...did you ever regret your actions?"

  "Regret is something I cannot afford."

  "Oh, but surely you can. After all, your services command high wage. One of the best, aren't you? And such a long record of achievement, if you can call brutal killings an achievement."

  "It's what I do," James said simply looking around for the nearest exit.

  "Don't be so quick to leave. After all, aren't you even slightly curious?"

  "If I wasn't, I would have shot you by now."

  Hessler laughed again. "Of course you would have. Those twenty two's make the cutest little noises, like children setting off firecrackers on the Fourth. Such a tiny pop, but such killing power in the palm of your hand. You know that gun well, don't you? You've used it enough."

  "Your point?"

  "My point, dear James, is that you are one of those seemingly awful things, one of these occurrences that seems to have no rhyme-no reason. Just sheer killing power. Blatant destruction. All that and more you've spent your lifetime wreaking. You've sent scores of people to their deaths. Hundreds more maimed, crippled, disfigured."

  "My bomb-making days," said James. "I gave that up."

  "Not your best talent," agreed Hessler. "But you managed to compensate by gaining mastery over your other talents, like close quarter shootings."

  "More finesse than mere explosives."

  "What is it you like so much? Is it the degree of personal contact? The fact that you have to get close, real close to your target before you can kill them? Is it the risk? The adrenaline spike in your blood making your heart beat faster, your breath coming in shorter spurts, your entire being galvanizing into one moment of ultimate decision?"

  "Something like that," said James. "I don't expect you'd ever understand someone like me."

  "But I do. If nothing else, my exposition on the perfection of nature should have told you that."

  "So I'm perfect?"

  Hessler laughed. "Appropriately egotistical of you to assume, I suppose." He shook his head. "No. You are not perfect. Far from it. But you are part of a deeper perfection. You are a tool of nature. Something she uses to rid the world of smaller elements in order to preserve the whole."

  "And what is nature preserving by using me to kill people?"

  Hessler leaned closer to James. "Evil, of course."

  "Why would nature want to preserve evil? The goals are at opposite with the preservation of life."

  Hessler nodded. "Again, a terribly external observation. Nature is absolute. It's not something good or something bad. Those are labels used by mere mortals attempting to rationalize the incredible power surrounding them. But nature, herself, is nothing so easily segmented or callously described. She exists. That's it. But within nature, all other segmentations, all other parts, all other categorical descriptions of life and death exist. And it's there, James, where evil exists alongside of good."

  "You're saying one can't exist without the other?"

  "Precisely. And so whenever one aspect within the gigantic, all-encompassing realm of nature becomes too large such that it throws the harmony off balance, steps must be taken to rectify it. There must be balance. Evil has as much interest in maintaining that balance as does good. Without the balance, both cease to exist."

  "And we can't have that."

  Hessler nodded. "No, we most definitely cannot."

  James listened again as the orchestra eased out of movement one. "What does all this have to do with me?"

  "Your actions have helped restore balance to nature."

  "Have they?"

  Hessler nodded. "There was a time, not so long ago, when the concept of good was gaining too much momentum. Figuratively speaking, it was getting too big for its britches. Steps were taken to ensure that such momentum was stopped. Evil needed to regain some ground."

  "And?"

  "And you were born, James."

  James looked at Hessler. "Me?"

  "Yes. You were born to restore the balance. To even things up. And you did your job so marvelously. All of your actions, all the death, the fear, the terror you spread throughout the world, all of it let the world know evil was present still. Good had not routed the dark forces forever. You alone restored things to their former equilibrium."

  James pursed his lips. "How do you know all of this?"

  "I'm a messenger."

  "A messenger? For who?"

  "For what we are all a part of, nature." Hessler shifted in his seat. "It's merely a matter of accepting one's instinctive position in life. You took to yours like the proverbial duck to water. Death came as easily to you as breathing. And once you tasted it, you never looked back. I was much the same way. When I realized my gift, I knew what I would do for the rest of my life."

  "And what gift is it you possess?"

  "The gift of all-seeing," said Hessler. "I help people realize when it's time to go."

  "Time to go?"

  Hessler smiled. "When the job's finished, in other words."

  "You kill them?"

  Hessler laughed. "Good grief, no. I've never been a murderer in the conventional sense of the word."

  James looked at him. "Suicide."

  Hessler beamed.

  "You talk them into committing suicide," said James. "Don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "Jesus," said James. "What kind of freak are you?"

  Hessler shook his head. "Nothing of the sort. Just a man on a mission. You should be familiar with that concept."

  "How many others?"

  Hessler shrugged. "Many. Some names you'd recognize. Some you wouldn't."

  "Who?" demanded James.

  "Hitler might ring a bell, eh? Yukio Mishima was another."

  "All to restore the balance?"

  "Balance is everything. I've done the same with people who you would consider to epitomize the good concepts. Neither must be allowed to gain too much. Everyone plays a part, but never too large."

  "And what if they aren't willing to commit suicide...to end the job?"

  Hessler shrugged. "There are contingencies."

  James stood up. "I should be going."

  Hessler shook his head. "No."

  "What's that mean?"

&
nbsp; "Why do you think we're having this conversation, James?"

  "You interrupted me-"

  "For a reason," said Hessler. "It's time."

  James looked at him. "No. It's not. I'm not so sure I buy into your theory."

  "It's not theory, though, is it? It's fact. It's life. You've done your job. It's time to come home."

  "I don't want to come home," said James suddenly feeling very young. "I'm happy being alive."

  Hessler looked at him. "Are you? You like sleeping at night listening to the agonizing screams of all your victims? Seeing their faces, crippled, maimed, burned beyond recognition float past your eyes? Do you like that James?"

  "No. But I don't want to die."

  Hessler frowned. "Death is nothing more than a part of the whole. I thought I explained that. It's merely a function of the grander scheme of the universe. One flows into the other, all parts of the whole. There's no difference between them, only on this most superficial level."

  "So call me superficial," said James. "I enjoy living."

  "You can't do this, James," said Hessler quietly. "You can't bend the will of the cosmos to suit your needs. The balance must remain constant."

  "To hell with your balance," said James. "I'm leaving." He yanked the gun out of his holster. "Don't try to stop me."

  Hessler smiled thinly. "I told you the gun wasn't necessary."

  "Yeah, well, that was before you told me to commit suicide." He stood and looked at Hessler. "By the way, if you did make Hitler commit suicide, how could you possibly be alive today?"

  Hessler looked at him. "Alive, dead, it doesn't really matter. I'm here nonetheless."

  "Sorry to make your life difficult. I'm leaving."

  Hessler turned and gestured at the orchestra pit. "So soon? It's just getting good."

  James turned and instantly felt two bullets punching into his skull. His world went black and he fell, splaying across several seats. People screamed as blood and gore splattered the area.

  Hessler stood and looked down at James' body. Beside him, a man came up holding a suppressed pistol in his hand. A thin trail of smoke issued forth from the suppressor. The man looked at Hessler.

  "That was him?"

  Hessler nodded. "Yes. You did very well. It's a good thing, you know?"

  The man smiled. "I'm glad."

  "So many people go through their lives never understanding their simple roles. If only everyone knew what was expected of them, things would be so much easier." Hessler looked at the man. "But you understand, don't you? You're one of the few who does."

  "I do," said the man.

  "Then you know," said Hessler simply.

  "Yes," said the man. "I'll have a seat if that's all right with you."

  Hessler smiled. "Fine. I assume the authorities will be here shortly."

  The man sighed. "That's good, then. No sense delaying."

  "No," said Hessler. "There isn't."

  "Thanks for clarifying things for me," said the man. "I appreciate your efforts." He opened his mouth and inserted the gun, pulling the trigger a second later.

  The shot was a whisper and in the pandemonium of James' death, the second man sat unnoticed, the back of his skull blown off. Hessler patted him on the back.

  "No need for thanks. It's my job."

  Beth

  Love and loneliness are some of the most frightening concepts in modern society. With the artificial stimulus of what we think we’re supposed to be doing, there is genuine fear in a lot of people that they’ll be alone until they die. A lot of times, they’re right. But this is a story where perhaps it’s better to be alone after all. “Gathering Darkness” published this and I think it’s still archived on their site somewhere.

  “So, what I’m saying is you don’t have to like me. I mean, I’m comfortable with that, y’know? I’m just kind of happy to be able to have someone along to eat dinner with is all.” Patrick glanced down and took another forkful of pasta into his mouth and washed it down with some red wine. He paused and wiped his mouth. “That doesn’t mean you can’t like me, that is, if you feel yourself suddenly becoming entranced with me or something.”

  She smiled and Patrick caught his breath again. It was electric when she did that. Her eyes, they lit up like beacons urging straying ships home safely into a harbor. They were bright, luminescent, boldly blue and startlingly piercing. She’s looking into my soul, he thought.

  “You’re an honest man, Patrick,” she said quietly. “That’s such a rare find in today’s world.”

  Patrick grinned. “Not so honest. I once lifted a pack of gum from the convenience store down my street.”

  “Childhood is forgiven.”

  Patrick took another sip of wine. “It was last week.”

  She laughed.

  That was a good sign, he decided. It had only taken him two weeks to summon up the courage to ask her out. She was the rage at work. Bold, daring, sensual. Her dusky blonde hair framed her ultimately perceptive eyes and brought her cheekbones in line with a pouting chin at the apex. But she was total business in the office. The usual glamour boys had done their best to try to win her over but she simply cast them aside with a casual flick of her wrist. Their egos shot, they concluded she must have been gay.

  But Patrick wasn’t convinced. He’d seen the behavior before and chalked it up as a together-woman wearied by pervasive would-be studs. He admired her for shirking them off so easily. In fact, he was enraptured by her.

  She’d stopped by his office on Monday, unexpectedly. She needed help on the new proposal the office was putting together for a wealthy Manhattan client. Could Patrick stay and give her a hand?

  Could he indeed. Patrick had done his best to maintain his composure while she had watched him with those eyes. By the end of the first half hour, she was no longer Miss Hansworth, but simply Beth.

  Finally yesterday, he had swallowed enough coffee to scorch his esophagus and then sought her out, willing the words to tumble out of his slack jaw and drop onto her desk. His ego felt naked, stretched before the sacrificial altar. But he had held his ground. And when she had accepted without hesitation, Patrick’s chest swelled with happiness.

  It had been years since he’d dated. Not since Marcia had tossed him out of her place over on West 52nd. That had been twenty six months ago. Exactly. Not that Patrick was counting or anything.

  The Italian eatery was a favorite of his and he’d met her at the restaurant, having reserved the booth on the exposed brick wall beneath the paintings of the Tuscany countryside. He’d ordered veal and she’d taken the waiter’s suggestion on the seafood and pasta combination plate.

  Beth smiled at him again. “You’re not like most of the men I’ve met before, Patrick.”

  “I take it you’ve been wined and dined by the best of them, eh?”

  She shrugged. “Wined and dined, yes. ‘Best of them’?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a second. They were all after one thing.”

  Patrick swallowed. “Sex?”

  Beth smiled. “Well, yes. But if it had been only that, I wouldn’t have minded as much. No, they all wanted to conquer as much as they possibly could. Take in as much as they could swallow. Such greed. It was nauseating. It was like they were after my soul, Patrick. Can you imagine? Have you ever felt so totally suffocated by someone’s will, such that breathing seemed impossible?”

  “No.”

  She nodded. “Trust me, it’s not something you would want to experience. God knows, I never wanted it. Thank goodness I managed to escape.”

  “And you’re better for the experience?” asked Patrick.

  Beth smiled. “Fortunately, I have an ability to detect those kinds of self-serving conquistadors nowadays. You’ve seen them prancing around the office, I’m sure.”

  Of course he had. They always looked so self-assured, confident, and totally put-together. Patrick had trouble making sure his curly hair stayed in some type of style without looking as though he’d jus
t rolled out of bed. He ironed his own clothes instead of dry-cleaning them and hand polished his shoes. On Monday mornings, Patrick had to endure listening to the single stallions compare notes on the weekend’s conquests. Patrick offered capsulized reviews of movies he’d rented.

  “Yeah,” said Patrick. “I’ve seen them.”

  Beth eyed him. “So you know.”

  “All too well.”

  She went back to her pasta. “I avoid them like the plague.”

  Patrick watched her eat the singular strands of linguini. She slurped them into her mouth through puckered ruby lips that made his heart beat faster. She was positively entrancing.

  “Do you like my hair cut this way?” she said suddenly. “I mean, I know it’s short, but I think I can pull it off.”

  “It looks wonderful,” said Patrick. “It really does.”

  She beamed. “Sincerity, too?” She winked at him. “I’m impressed.”

  “Just being honest,” said Patrick.

  She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I know that. And I appreciate it.” She lifted her wine glass. “To truth.”

  Patrick clinked his glass against hers and drank.

  ***

  “I had a wonderful time with you, Patrick.”

  They were in the cab by West 72nd. The Dakota loomed on their right side. Beth lived a block away.

  “We can walk,” she said then.

  Patrick slipped a ten spot through the Plexiglas and they hopped out. Beth wore a long coat. Patrick still had his worn raincoat he’d had since he lived in Syracuse. It still looked pretty decent, especially if it was dark outside.

  Beth looped her arm through his and they made their way down the street. She snuggled her head against his shoulder.

  “You have strong arms, Patrick.”

  Patrick grinned. It was like a movie. “I work out a lot. Nothing else to do.”

  “No other girls chasing you?”

  He laughed. “Right. Would you believe you’re the first woman I’ve dated in two years?”

  She turned and looked up into his eyes. “Yes,” she said. Her voice sounded thick and Patrick was still enjoying looking into her eyes when she stood on tip-toe and kissed him.