Wicked Time

by Amitrani, Michele

  He looked around. People moved relentlessly in every direction. He couldn’t distinguish the men from the women, the tall from the short, the black from the white. All of them looked exactly the same to him. Alfred stopped in the midst of the river of people and for the first time since he had arrived to the city, he really looked at them.

  Drones. Nothing more than drones powered by haste and the fear of missing out. But missing out on what, exactly? He didn’t know, but the fear was a powerful fuel that kept them moving, faster and faster, day in and day out.

  Alfred was powered by the very same fear, he knew that. Everybody was. Everybody wanted to be slave of that condition. That was the way life was supposed to be. Anything else was off, a heresy, a joke.

  He used to like jokes.

  He smiled, and before he knew it, he started laughing. At first it was nothing more than a giggle but soon became a full out howl.

  There was no happiness in that laugh, though. It was the unexpected way his body was dealing with that dreadful feeling. There was stress and confusion and emptiness all combined together to form a void like he had never experienced before.

  Was he going crazy?

  Someone shoved past him, and Alfred fell hard on the ground.

  “Move it, buddy!” a passerby yelled at him. “You’re in everyone’s way!”

  Alfred stayed down, his hands scratched and bloody where they had hit the asphalt. No one even glanced at him. No one could see him. They were too busy perusing the Internet with their cellphones, buying things they didn’t need with money they didn’t have. Busy moving forward. Always forward.

  Alfred stood up and resumed walking.

  After what felt like a thousand years, he finally got in front of the park’s gate, and then in front of the dreaded bench. Again, it was empty.

  He stared at the bench for a very long time, completely numb, and then glanced at his cellphone. It was eight twenty in the morning. He had to rush now if he didn’t want to be late to work.

  “Of course you need to go,” he muttered under his breath, still looking at the bench. “You don’t want to be late. On you go, then, Alfred White. Have a painfully average day.”

  But he didn’t go. Not this time. This time he sat on the bench, and let time wash over him.

  Eight twenty-four.

  A few minutes more, he said to himself. He needed to gather his thoughts. He needed to calm down. Just a few more minutes.

  Eight twenty-five.

  It would be fine. Everything would be fine.

  Alfred tried to move, and discovered that he couldn’t. He remained seated on the bench, staring at his cellphone’s screen. Eight twenty-five became eight thirty, and eight thirty became a quarter to nine.

  He was now officially late.

  He had never been late.

  His cellphone rang. It was his boss.

  He didn’t answer.

  The cellphone rang five more times.

  He ignored it.

  Alfred looked at the passersby as he imagined Pacific had done before him. It was somehow strange to stay so still while everybody else was moving, to go against the current by doing absolutely nothing.

  He looked at his phone’s screen, now completely blank. He could see his reflection staring back at him. Alfred started thinking about his life up to that point, Pacific’s words always on the back of his mind.

  He imagined an older version of himself looking at himself. It was like staring in a mirror in the future. The older Alfred White wore the same suit he was wearing, had the same job, and was holding a half finished Khanom Buang in his hand. That Alfred had followed the plan, had lived the life that he was supposed to live, and would work hard until time and routine would consume him.

  That realization scared him like nothing before. It was not the kind of fear that takes you away for a few moments and accelerates your heartbeat. No. This fear was fundamentally different. It was an understanding that went deep inside him. How could he not have seen it before? He was dying. Yes, dying slowly, while walking, and shaving, and eating, and pissing, and being too afraid to be late for work. In this meaningless life he was trying to do what he was supposed to do, to never complain and to never question his routine.

  His cellphone rang again, and again, and again. Alfred took the call.

  “Yes?” he said.

  The deep, guttural voice of his boss poured out from the device, “Where, in the name of Holy Mary are you?”

  Alfred breathed in. “I quit,” he said. He turned off the cellphone and then threw it away as far as he could.

  He sat on the bench for the next hour, and for the hour after that. He felt exhausted. He lied down and closed his eyes.

  It was well past eleven o’clock when he woke up. He turned and saw somebody sitting next to him.

  Alfred straightened himself up, rubbed his eyes and looked at the man he had never wanted to meet again, and yet had been desperate to find.

  “Why are you here, Alfred White?” Pacific asked, looking at him behind his sunglasses.

  “I …” Alfred paused. He swallowed, looked down and then finally said, “I’m not sure.”

  “That’s a true answer.” Pacific said. “I’ll tell you why. You’re here because you understood something today, something that scares you more than you can imagine. You are here because you have realized that you live in a prison, and would do anything to escape from it.”

  “Yes,” Alfred agreed. He wanted to add something more, but didn’t know exactly what to add, so he simply said, “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “Yes. Never.” Pacific glanced at his broken wristwatch, the one that was never working, a small smile playing on his lips. “What a word! Never. We use it far too often and far too lightly. It should be handled with more care, as all words so much project into the future. We should never forget that. Now, it occurs to me that you’re jobless.”

  “How … How do you know that?”

  “I have a good pair of ears.” Pacific smiled. “So, how would you like a new, temporary job?”

  “A … a job?” Alfred frowned. “What kind of job?”

  “The kind that will get you to work for me.”

  “What? For you? I don’t … I mean … What would I do?”

  “A bit of this, a bit of that,” Pacific shrugged. “You don’t want to know specifics. It would take out the flavour.”

  “You said the job is temporary?”

  “I did. It would be just for one week. Next week, actually.”

  “But why … why are you asking me to work for you?”

  “Wrong question. What you really want to know is what will your pay be. So, ask me that question. Come on, don’t be shy.”

  Alfred hesitated for a second and then said, “Ahem … Sure. What will my pay be?”

  “Well, you’ve got quite a bit of money,” Pacific patted his pocket. “Enough savings to last you for a while, so you don’t need more of that.”

  Alfred frowned. “How do you know—”

  “But you’re a curious fellow, and what brought you here was a lack of knowledge,” Pacific continued, as if he didn’t hear him. “You want to know what happened the day of the déjà vu, and most importantly, you want to know who I am.”

  “Well, yes,” Alfred agreed. “I … I suppose I want to know.”

  “Good.” Pacific rubbed his hands on his legs, “Very good. Tomorrow is Monday. That is when our week will start. You will follow my instructions, even though they might seem odd, and will not interfere with my decisions. In exchange, I will give you the knowledge you seek at the end of the week. Yes. You will get to ask me those two questions and I will answer them. That will be your pay. How does it sound?”

  “Honestly?” Alfred said, frowning, “A bit like a rip off. How about you answer now, and I get to ask you one new question every day?”

  Pacific stared at Alfred for a few seconds, which stretched into a heavy silence, then he replied, “Do I look like a
guy you can bargain with?”

  Alfred opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Last thing he wanted was to upset this guy and lose once again his chance to get answers, so he just shook his head as fast as he could.

  “I didn’t think so,” Pacific said. “This is not a negotiation, this is an offer. Take it or leave it.”

  “OK!” Alfred said quickly. “I’ll take it!”

  Pacific snorted. His expression changed drastically. He now looked quite amused. “You’re a very poor bargainer, Alfred White.”

  “Am I?”

  “Don’t you worry,” Pacific said, patting Alfred’s shoulder. “I’ll answer a few of your questions along the way. But not all questions. Now, let’s shake on it.” Pacific took off the glove from his left hand. Alfred studied the man’s long fingers. They were bony, and more white than pink.

  Pacific spat on his palm, and outstretched his hand. “Well?” he said, waiting.

  Alfred winced. “Do … Do I have to spit on my hand?”

  “You most certainly do.”

  The young man sighed. He spat on his palm and the two shook hands.

  “It’s done,” Pacific smiled broadly, showing for the first time a raw set of white teeth. “You’re mine for a week. We’ll meet up tomorrow. Set no alarm. You’ll wake up when you wake up. Time itself will decide upon our meeting hour. When you are ready, meet me at your favourite breakfast place. Oh, yes …” He took something from his pocket. “You will still need this.” He handed Alfred his cellphone. “Remember? Time’s a trickster. Reign it, or be reigned by it.”

  And that said, Pacific stood. The man was much taller than Alfred had expected, probably on the six and a half foot range. That made him look much more menacing than before.

  “See you tomorrow,” Pacific said, and left.

  Alfred watched him go. “What the hell am I doing?” he asked loudly to no one in particular. He took a tissue to wipe his hand and then froze. His whole body tensed while he stared at his hand for five full seconds. A green, jam-like substance was all over his palm. He didn’t understand what it was, at first. When he did, a part of him worked very hard to deny it.

  Pacific’s spit was a nasty emerald green.

  Six Feet Above

  Alfred White snapped awake at the sound of a car horn. He looked around, breathing heavily, his heart racing. The room was filled with light coming from the half-opened window. He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbed them hard and looked around again.

  What time was it? His bleary eyes set on the bedside table, where he found his cellphone. He touched the screen and the device lit up.

  It was just a few minutes away from Noon. Alfred stared at the numbers in disbelief. Noon. He had never slept that late since … Well, he had never slept that late. Period.

  What happened to the alarm? Had he forgot to set it the day before?

  Alfred didn’t waste time on those questions. He jumped out of bed, rushed toward the bathroom, stumbled on a shoe and fell hard on his back, while dropping his cellphone with him.

  “Shit—” he groaned, both hands on his lower back. He rose slowly, looking for his cellphone while still trying to understand what had happened. If he called his project coordinator now he might still be able to explain to him why he was not—

  And then, he suddenly remembered everything.

  He had no job to go to. He had quit the day before.

  Alfred slumped against the floor, now fully awake.

  He stayed there, completely still, in silence, a legion of thoughts storming inside his head.

  Yeah. That was not a dream. That was real. He actually did that the day before.

  He noticed his cellphone just a few feet away from him. He reached out and picked it up.

  There were a dozen unanswered calls from his project coordinator, and two messages left in his inbox. They were from his boss. Alfred bit his lips. Doubt started creeping up in the form of regret. The day before he had literally thrown away months of effort … No, his whole damn life for … what, exactly? Alfred had difficulty trying to explain it.

  Everything had seemed so clear in the moment, while at the park, sitting on that bench, brooding about his life. But now? Well, now it was muddy at best.

  A part of him started second guessing what he had done. If he called his boss now, and begged to get his job back, would he accept?

  But why would he do that? Alfred didn’t want his job back. That was the whole point. He had made a decision and intended to stick to it until the end. He would not go back to his old life. He would find out who the man called Pacific really was, and from that … well, he would figure out what to do next.

  Alfred breathed in and then exhaled slowly. He erased all the messages without reading them, then placed the cellphone back on the bedside table. He looked around, a bit lost. Now that his routine had been broken, he felt disorganized and unsettled. What was he supposed to do?

  He was jobless. He was free. He was completely and utterly mad.

  Alfred rose from the floor awkwardly, feeling stunned.

  Only then it dawned on him that he had an appointment with Pacific. Well, you can’t really call it an ‘appointment’ when it’s an arrangement to meet someone without a particular time, but then again, Pacific had proved to be a very different kind of someone.

  Alfred went to the bathroom, shaved out of habit and took a quick shower. Once in front of his wardrobe he moved away the shirts and the trousers and instead took a simple blue sweater and a pair of jeans.

  When he was dressed, he considered his reflection in the mirror. He looked younger without the suit, almost boyish. It was amazing what a pair of dress pants, nice shoes, and a fancy jacket could do to the overall image of a person. He had never considered that before. Maybe because he didn’t remember the last time he hadn’t worn formal dress. The suit had always been like magic armor capable of wonders. Those clothes made people take him seriously, and at the same time helped him blend in with the rest of the world.

  He didn’t need those clothes anymore. Now he was in for something different. Knowledge, Pacific had called it. Alfred didn’t know if he really wanted that, or something else entirely. Maybe he was just bored of his life, and was looking for excitement, something that could break the daily routine. The only thing he was certain of at that point was that he wanted to be as far away as possible from his old self, and if that meant following a stranger who dressed like an undertaker, so be it.

  Alfred looked one last time at his reflection in the mirror, then took his keys and left the apartment. Once out in the street he was surprised to find out how bright it was. A cloudless sky reigned over everything. Alfred looked up with the same amazement one might manifest when looking at an aurora borealis. The past few weeks he had grown accustomed to the rain and the cold. After all, he had seen little else since he had moved to the city.

  He started walking down Main Street without haste, taking his time. The usual stream of business people that packed the sidewalks in the early morning were nowhere to be found. In their stead were mostly very young or very old people, enjoying the day’s sun.

  By the time Alfred entered Draconian Street it was around lunchtime. As expected, there was an even bigger number of people waiting in line.

  Alfred noticed the Thai lady serving a costumer, then looking around, excused herself with a quick gesture and disappeared to the back of the truck.

  “How does it feel, to be on time?”

  Alfred turned toward the familiar voice. Pacific was walking with a confident stride toward him, wearing his usual dark outfit.

  “On time?” Alfred repeated. “I thought we didn’t have any specific appointment.”

  “That’s the only way to never be too early, or too late,” Pacific explained. “So, tell me. How did you sleep last night?”

  “I … well, I guess I slept more than my fair share. Why do you ask?”

  “Just making sure you’re rested and fit for action. That’s probably the las
t good night sleep you’ll have for a while.”

  Alfred was about to ask why when Pacific pointed at the line of people waiting in front of the food cart. “There’s quite a few of them, mhm?” he said.

  “Yeah,” Alfred nodded. “You want to get something to eat?”

  “Indeed.”

  “In that case, it looks like we’re going to wait for a while.”

  “Nonsense. We’re going to get our lunch at once. But before that, take this.”

  Pacific handed him a camera. Alfred took it awkwardly. It was big and bulky, but incredibly light for its size. “What’s this?” he asked.

  “That, my young friend, is called a DSLR camera.” Pacific touched the lens cap with his index finger. “Light travels through this thing called the lens, then to a mirror that alternates to send the image to either the viewfinder or the image sensor. That’s how we get pictures in this marvellous age of gadgets and technology.”

  Alfred frowned. “I know what a camera is, thank you very much. What do you want me to do with it?”

  “You’ll be taking lots of pictures today.”

  “Really?” Alfred weighed up the camera. He seemed doubtful. “OK, but just so you know, I’m not very good with these sorts of things. I mean, I can take decent pictures with my phone, but that’s as far as my photography skills go.”

  “Look, it’s real simple.” Pacific took back the camera and showed him how to handle it. “You aim, zoom, press the button half way and then press it all the way. Just like this. See? Piece of cake. Now, listen up. When I say so, start taking pictures of the truck.”

  “The truck?” Alfred asked. “You mean the—”

  But Pacific wasn’t listening anymore. He moved away from Alfred and toward the last man waiting in line, a bald, short fellow with a stomach so vast, he surely didn’t look like he needed another Khanom Buang.

  Alfred followed Pacific awkwardly, wondering what was going to happen.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Pacific lightly touched the man’s shoulder to get his attention. “Is this the famous Thai vendor of Draconian Street?”

  “I … I think so,” the fat man said, looking around. “It’s the only one around as far as I know.”