Alfred cancelled his order. He could not risk getting the wrong kind of coat. He would have to wait and make sure he picked the right one.
Alfred joined the river of people trailing on Main Street and eventually passed by the usual lady selling newspapers who was yelling about increased housing costs. Alfred kept walking on Main for a while, then turned left and got into the narrow alley where a long line of people were waiting in front of a food vendor.
Once in front of the Thai lady, Alfred ordered his usual breakfast.
The woman handed him the food with a smile that seemed copied and pasted from the day before. “Very nice shoes,” the lady said, eyeing Alfred’s brand new pair of black shoes approvingly. “Young man make more money, eh? He buys new things that makes him even prettier.” Her smile widened as her eyes narrowed.
“Well, thanks,” Alfred blushed. He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, I bought them yesterday. Glad you like them.” He paid in cash, tipping the woman even more nicely than the day before.
“See you tomorrow, yes?” the Thai lady said as she put the money in her pouch, her eyes fixed on Alfred.
“You bet,” he replied.
Alfred left the narrow alley and went back to Main Street, where he ate his breakfast while perusing the Web. By the time he arrived in the heart of downtown, in front of the park’s gate, his breakfast was long gone. A notification appeared suddenly on his phone while he was walking in the park; it was an incoming email from his boss. The subject line began with: “Read this now!”
Alfred stopped dead in his tracks, his brain shut down as he focused on nothing except the message.
“Yet another good morning to you, Alfred White.”
Alfred’s head jerked back. He looked up from his cellphone, surprised by hearing his name. Right in front of him was the same man he had met the day before.
“Hi.” Alfred blinked several times, then added, a bit lost, “I … Ahem … I’m …” he trailed off for a few seconds. He didn’t remember the man’s name. Was it Perry? Potter, maybe? Or was it Pa … something else? Alfred was really bad with names.
After a long silence, he simply smiled apologetically and said, “I … I’m sorry. I completely forgot your name.”
“Pacific,” the man filled in. “The name’s Pacific. Like the ocean.”
“Right, Pacific,” Alfred said. He gazed at his cellphone. “Good morning to you, sir.”
“How are you faring today, young man?”
“Not too bad,” Alfred said, nodding briskly. “Yeah, not too bad at all.” He needed to get to work quickly, but somehow it seemed rude to just leave the man like that. So he forced a smile and asked, “How about yourself?”
“Majestically well,” Pacific replied. He tapped his wristwatch with his index finger. “Would you be so kind once more?”
“Wondering about the time again?” Alfred’s polite smile was very tight. He was wondering if the man had nothing better to do than bother passersby with silly questions.
“Of course,” Pacific said. “Is there anything more important than that?”
“Just out of curiosity, don’t you have a cellphone?”
“A cellphone?” Pacific repeated, frowning. “Why should I have one?”
“Well, they’re quite useful when it comes to talking with people and … You know … ” Alfred gestured toward his cellphone, “They are also quite handy for checking the time.”
“See,” Pacific settled back on the bench, his hands casually smoothing his coat. “I meet in person the people I want to talk to. And regarding the time, why do I need a cellphone, when I have you?”
That was it. Alfred decided the man was obviously more than a bit weird. Pacific kept staring at him, like he was actually waiting for an answer.
“It’s eight twenty,” Alfred said quickly. He pocketed his cellphone and started walking away. “Have a good day.”
“Eight twenty?” Pacific repeated, puzzled. “Are you sure?”
Alfred stopped and turned toward Pacific. “What was that?” he asked.
“I said, are you sure that is the right time?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Alfred glanced back at his cellphone. “As I said, it’s eight twent—” The words froze in his mouth. The display now showed seven-thirty. He looked at Pacific, then back to his cellphone. “I don’t understand,” he said, confused. He touched the screen a few times. The time didn’t change.
“Is there a problem, young man?”
“I think so,” Alfred said. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “This damn thing has been giving me problems since yesterday.”
“Oh, the cellphone is fine,” Pacific said, his voice deeper and graver than before. “The problem is the time, I fear.”
But Alfred wasn’t listening. He was too busy turning off and on his cellphone, and praying that whatever had happened didn’t happen again. He needed the damn thing to work, and he still had to reply to his boss’s message.
Alfred watched the home screen with anticipation.
“Eight twenty-one,” Alfred said, sighing with relief.
“Good to know,” Pacific nodded. “Time’s a trickster, if you don’t know how to handle it.”
Alfred glanced one last time at his cellphone, then put it back in his pocket. “My boss will kill me,” he said, talking to himself. “I need to go now.”
“You already said that,” Pacific pointed out. “And of course you need to go. You don’t want to be late. On you go, then, Alfred White. Have another painfully average day.”
Alfred walked away as fast as he could, trying not to look as though he were running.
While half walking, half running, he decided he didn’t like that man. At all. He promised himself he would take the longer way to work the next day and avoid the park altogether. He had better put that memo down in his agenda before he forgot.
Another notification suddenly appeared on his cellphone. It was another message from his boss. This one started with: “Disregard previous message. Read this instead!” Once again Alfred’s mind focused exclusively on the boss’s message. He kept walking and reading until he got out of the park in front of the iconic Spear.
A never-ending line of people flanked him. Alfred would have noticed that their coats were all jet grey if he had not been so busy reading. He kept reading, blind to everything else. He occasionally bumped into the other people on his way to the twenty-fourth floor. Once there, a cubicle heavy with stacks of paper announced to him the start of a very long day of work.
Déjà Vu
Alfred White woke in the same fashion that he woke every morning, rising at seven thirty and moving in a fluid motion to his phone on the bedside table to shut off the alarm.
He felt tired. He had slept poorly that night and lost many hours to his thoughts.
The previous day he had faced a problem at work, something he could not solve right away. Now he was afraid of his boss’s reaction. He would not be pleased. Alfred was certain of it.
This was a very bad time for problems. His company was in the middle of the biggest project of the quarter, and they needed everything to run smoothly. Alfred knew he needed to figure out a way to solve the problem quickly. His promotion, the one he had worked so hard on since he got this new job, was at stake. His entire future was at stake.
Alfred started preparing faster than usual. If he got to work sooner, he might be able to solve the problem before his boss found out. Or at least hide it from him a bit longer.
As always, Alfred followed his carefully planned morning routine and then went outside. He joined the stream of people walking on Main Street, passed by the street newspaper vendor yelling about increasing rates of suicides, bought his breakfast, and finally headed toward the park.
By the time he passed the park’s gate, his eyes were fixed on his phone’s screen. He was studying a project’s note that might help him solve his problem. He was focused on the task, feet moving automatically, following the usual shortcut th
at would bring him faster to the Spear.
“A jolly good day to you, Alfred White.”
Alfred stomach’s sunk to his feet as he looked in front of him, where an all too familiar face was smiling at him.
Right, Alfred thought. This is the fucking cherry on the cake. He had completely forgot about the annoying weirdo.
Alfred breathed in, thinking fast. He turned toward Pacific but kept walking. “Good morning, sir,” he said, stretching the corner of his mouth in a broad smile while quickening his pace. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m in a rush and really can’t talk with you today. I am very, very late for a meeting and I gotta go before I …”
“You’re a liar.”
Alfred stopped in mid stride and stared at the man in disbelief. “What did you just say?”
“I said, you’re a liar.” Pacific repeated. There was no malice in his tone, and his posture was relaxed. He looked like somebody who had just made a comment on the weather.
“No, I’m not!” Alfred buffed his chest, and glared at Pacific. “I’m just in a rush. That’s all!”
Pacific frowned. “Why do you look so offended, young man?”
“Why? You just called me a liar!”
“Again, why so upset?”
“You called me a liar, and you’re asking why I’m upset?”
“You’re acting like I said something mean to you, but I didn’t.” Pacific smoothed the sleeves of his coat, raised his chin and looked up at Alfred. “Lying is a virtue, if it’s cultivated well. Your problem is that you didn’t. At all. Now, hear this: You are a very poor liar, Alfred White. There you go. Now I’m being mean to you. See the difference?”
Alfred did not. He stared at the man who called himself Pacific, and thought of something harsh to say back to him. However, he couldn’t come up with something good enough, and that made him even more upset. He had never been good with quick remarks and clever words.
Alfred stood there, looking vaguely comic with his raised eyebrows and with a half opened mouth.
“You said you gotta go,” Pacific remarked, while pointing to the direction Alfred was headed. “And you also said you’re in a rush, as if time itself owns you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite, but a poor rider will let a horse lead him if the man has no idea how to use the reins.”
Alfred had no clue what Pacific was talking about. But then again, the man was clearly a few inches away from insanity. Yes, Alfred thought, the man clearly had issues. He was probably just a loony sitting on the same spot every day hoping to snatch conversation from passersby.
Alfred considered his options. He had better things to do than waste time with this man. He needed to get moving.
And yet there was something that kept him standing there, something Alfred could not quite put a finger on. Was it because he wanted to even things out with that person who had offended him? Or was it something else entirely? Was is it because of something Pacific had said? Or was it the way he had said it?
Pacific spoke again. “And of course you don’t want to be late,” he said. “Your reptilian brain forbids that. Doesn’t it?”
Alfred glowered at him. “My what?”
“Your amygdala,” Pacific explained. He touched the top of his head with his thumb. “It’s the oldest part of your brain, responsible for primitive survival instincts, like fear. Right now your amygdala is telling you to be in a rush. If you’re not in a rush, you’ll be late. If you’re late, your boss will fire you. If he fires you, you won’t have a job, which means you’ll have no money to buy food, clothes, shelter, and so you will starve and die.”
Alfred’s heartbeat quickened.
Pacific’s words resonated inside him like the tolling of a bell in the middle of a cave. They stormed like an invading army crushing the walls of his soul and conquered his spirit.
Suddenly, Alfred’s rage collapsed into confusion and then, as suddenly, the confusion transformed into fear, a fear with no name. It seized Alfred from the inside out and paralyzed him.
Pacific was right. That realization frightened Alfred so deeply and so quickly that his body started shaking. Every single word the man had said felt right.
But, with a similar strength, his mind warned him he couldn’t afford to listen to this man. He needed to get away from him. He needed to get back to work.
Alfred swallowed. He clenched his fists and straightened up while looking at Pacific with contempt. Pride took over him once again. “You don’t know me,” he retorted, looking at Pacific with defiance as his words betrayed him. “You have no idea who am I. I’m a busy person, and you’re wasting my time. Don’t ever talk to me again! You hear me? Leave me alone!” Alfred started walking away as fast as he could, without waiting for a reply.
And then, suddenly, a red ball hit him hard on the chest.
“Ouch!” Alfred exclaimed, recoiling.
The ball bounced three times on the grass before rolling toward Pacific. The man picked it up slowly.
A small boy no older than five came running toward them. “I’m surry, sur!” he said with a thick accent. He had a cap with the French flag on it. “Cun I huve it buck? Pluese?”
“Of course you can, minuscular fellow,” Pacific said. He patted the child’s head and handed him the ball. “Off you go, now. Adults are talking here.”
“Thunks, sur.” The boy ran away as quickly as he had come, disappearing behind a nearby bush.
Alfred was massaging his chest vigorously. The pain was still there. “That hurt!” he said, wincing. “That freaking hurt!”
“Bad karma, maybe?” Pacific seemed to enjoy Alfred’s predicament. “You have quite a temper, young man, and no love for wise advice given freely. I was trying to make a point there, and that was no way to interrupt me.”
Alfred snorted. “I don’t care what you think!” Once more he started walking away.
He didn’t get far.
Once again, a red ball hit him hard in the chest. “Ouch!” Alfred exclaimed, recoiling as he had done before.
The ball bounced three times on the grass, before rolling toward Pacific exactly as it did before. The man picked it up slowly.
A small boy no older than five came running towards them. “I’m surry, sur!” he said with a thick accent. He had a cap with the French flag on it. “Cun I huve it buck? Pluese?”
“Of course you can, minuscular fellow,” Pacific repeated. He patted the child’s head and handed him the ball. “Off you go, now. Adults are talking here.”
Alfred’s mouth was wide open while looking at the scene unfolding before his eyes. Every word Pacific had said, every movement he had made was an exact copy of what had happened a few seconds before.
Alfred was no longer massaging his chest now. He was no longer breathing, for that matter. He was staring at the boy’s back, until he disappeared behind the very same bush he went through the first time.
There was no way Alfred could explain what had just occurred. It had been the weirdest experience that ever happened to him, like watching the exact same movie clip twice in a row. Except, he was not in front of a screen. No, this was real life, with real people and real things.
Alfred looked at Pacific, who was scratching his chin while looking at the bush beyond where the French boy had disappeared.
“Marvellous thing, déjà vus,” Pacific said, folding his arms. “An acquaintance of mine once described it as a ‘tic of the time’. I’m not sure that’s the most appropriate way to define it. However, when a déjà vu occurs, it’s always fascinating to experience. And it’s even more fun to create. Did you enjoy it?”
Alfred breathed in slowly, afraid to even flinch. He looked at Pacific, then at the bush, then at Pacific again. He hesitated before finally asking, “You … You did that?”
“Of course I did,” Pacific answered.
Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “H-How?”
The question was uttered more than spoken, and Alfred knew it sounded crazy. He wished he could take it back, but at th
e same time, he really wanted to know more.
Of course it didn’t happen, said the voice of reason inside him. You can’t possibly rewind real life.
And yet it had happened. He had seen it with his eyes. He was certain of it.
Déjà vu. Alfred let the words sink in. He was familiar with the concept, of course, he had had his fair share of déjà vu in life, but never like this before. No. This was something completely different, something inexplicable, something impossible to believe.
Pacific put both hands inside his deep pockets. He looked at Alfred behind his sunglasses. “How, you ask?” He paused, then patted the empty place on the bench beside him. “Well, if you want an answer to that question, young man, you won’t go to work today. No, you will stay here with me, and we will talk.”
Alfred’s face was washed blank with confusion. “What?” he asked.
“You heard me, Alfred White. Take a day off. Do it, and I’ll answer your question right here, right now.”
Alfred flinched. “I … What?” He took a step back without even realizing it. “Are you … Are you serious?”
“As serious as a corpse at a funeral.” Pacific seemed amused by Alfred’s puzzled expression. “What do you say? One day of your work, against one day of knowledge. It’s a steal. Get it while you can.”
A nervous smile flashed on Alfred’s face. “I … I don’t think so.” He automatically glanced at his cellphone. “I … I need to go.”
“Why not? You are dying to know the answer. I can see it.” Pacific’s hand was still patting the bench’s empty spot. “You can take a day off and know exactly what happened, or you can keep walking, go about your life, and never see me again. Do you really want that question nibbling at you for the rest of your life?”
Wicked Time Page 2