Alfred followed Pacific’s gaze, and for the first time he really looked at the graveyard. There were bodies here, dead people rotting beneath their feet. Alfred could now understand what Pacific was saying. In a way, he could even relate to it. Very few of the people he knew considered themselves happy or fulfilled. Most of them were always complaining, and doing nothing to change. Yes. They were unwilling to change themselves and their circumstances. But time was the constant that united them all. In the end, they all ended up there. Broken things, Pacific had said. Broken and neglected. Dead things.
Pacific took a couple of pictures with his camera and then he turned to Alfred. “Think of what you saw today as the first lesson I will teach you, the first piece of knowledge I will give you. Every choice people make has a consequence on the book of their life. They can write on that book, but they can’t change what’s written. At best, they can tear off pages. And that is what Steve did for most of his life, he wrote stories on that book, and tore pages apart every single day of his adult life. You see, there are two kinds of people in this world, the story-teller, and the story-master. There is no way I can explain to you the difference between the two kinds. In time, I hope you’ll understand and benefit from that understanding.”
Pacific’s words were difficult to decipher, as always, but a part of Alfred knew they made sense in a peculiar sort of way. He just needed to figure out how. And for that he was going to need time. He knew that now.
Pacific zoomed in with his camera and took one last picture of the graveyard. He looked at the picture’s preview, nodded satisfyingly, then looked back at Alfred. “Today I showed you a glimpse of the truth behind me, a truth you want to unveil. You don’t understand it, and will never fully understand it if you’re not willing to make sacrifices.”
Alfred looked at him puzzled. “What do you mean?” he asked. “What kind of sacrifices?”
Pacific tapped Alfred’s forehead with his index finger. “Your curiosity is a powerful engine for change, but it will never be enough if it’s not propelled by the will to sacrifice what you are now, for the promise of what you might became. You’re still trapped in the same world of fear that killed Steve. I can teach you how to free yourself from that fear, but you’ll have to trust me. Now, it is time for you to make a choice, and you must understand the importance of it. When we shook hands yesterday, we made an agreement that we are both bound to. You agreed on giving me one week of your life so that I could use your services to my liking, and I agreed to give you the knowledge you seek at the end of that week. You experienced but a fraction of that knowledge, today. You know it’s something real, something life changing, you just don’t fully understand what it is. After what you saw today, a part of you wants to bail out. I can feel it. That is understandable. You saw a person die, and it shook you deeply. That is the same part of you that never wanted to meet me, and that now wants to walk away from this commitment.” Pacific took two steps toward Alfred. “I’m giving you the chance right here, right now. Just say the words, say that you forsake your commitment, and I’ll release you from it. What do you want Alfred White?”
As Pacific had stepped toward him, Alfred took unconsciously two steps backward.
His heart started palpitating.
Pacific was right. A part of Alfred didn’t want anything to do with the shady fellow who knew when people were going to die. And yet another part of him wanted the opposite.
So what did he want?
He didn’t know.
Cold sweat run down his forehead, and he suddenly felt very weak.
Alfred looked at the tombstone in front of him.
He felt tired. He felt sick. He just didn’t know what to do.
Alfred’s legs started shaking uncontrollably. His breathing was unsteady. His vision became blurry.
“Your face is turning white,” Pacific pointed out to him. “Are you going to be sick again?”
Alfred swallowed hard. “I … I don’t know.” He put a hand over his mouth. “M—Maybe. I … I feel dizzy.”
“Sit,” Pacific ordered, pointing to the ground. “Here. Just sit. And breathe slowly.”
“Right.” Alfred did as he was told. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. “Would … would it be possible to have another one of those candies?”
“You don’t need another candy,” Pacific said, smiling. “You just need to relax.”
“Relax?” Alfred felt his fingers going cold and numb. His breathing accelerated and he started to get scared. “I … I can hardly breathe. I think I need to go to the hospital.”
“You’re fine,” Pacific said. “You’re just experiencing a panic attack. Your mind is in distress, and your body is taking notice of that. But it won’t last.”
“Please,” Alfred pleaded. He felt his throat dry. His hands started shaking uncontrollably. “I’m scared. Can you … can you help me?”
Pacific crouched beside him. “Look at me!” He roughly grasped Alfred’s chin and forced him to look at him. “I want you to remember this moment. I want you to engrave it in your memory. This is where everything begins. You’re experiencing fear, Alfred White. You need to face it if you really want to be free from it. I won’t do anything to ease your path to knowledge. Remember? I agreed on giving you exactly that. Knowledge. It’s against our agreement to interfere.”
“Please … Please … I can’t … I … ”
Pacific straightened up. “Concentrate on breathing. Nothing bad is going to happen. You’ll be fine.”
“Fine,” Alfred repeated, his eyes shut. “Yes, fine. I’m going to be fine.”
A full minute passed. Alfred could feel Pacific’s presence right beside him. Somehow that knowledge gave him strength. He breathed in. He breathed out. Nothing else mattered but his breathing process.
Eventually his heartbeat steadied, and although the nameless fear was still there, Alfred felt slightly better, enough to remember that Pacific was still waiting for an answer. A definitive ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer.
He looked up at Pacific. “I … I just don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, feeling pitiful and lost. “I’m … I’m sorry. I just really don’t know.”
“Understandable,” Pacific commented. “It’s a big commitment, one you don’t want to take lightly.” The tall man turned off his camera, gazed one last time at the surroundings and then turned his back to Alfred. “You take your time. You have until tomorrow morning to decide what to do.”
Pacific started walking away from him.
Alfred tried to rise, but his legs started shaking again. “Damn it!” he said. “Wait!” Alfred called out after Pacific. “What … what happens tomorrow morning?”
“Tomorrow at ten o’clock I’ll be outside your former workplace, the one you call the Spear,” Pacific said while walking away. “I’ll be meeting someone there. If you decide to stick with me, meet me there, and bring five hundred dollars with you. Now, if you don’t show up … Well, we’ll both know your choice, won’t we?”
“Why …” Alfred cleared his throat. He really needed water. “Why do you need five hundred dollars?”
“Because I don’t think I’m going to need more than that.”
With that said, Pacific walked out of the graveyard, soon lost behind the huge marble structure of the church.
A New Beginning
Alfred lost track of time. He was unsure how long he had been sitting in the graveyards for, maybe a few minutes. Or maybe an hour. He didn’t know exactly for how long, and he didn’t care to know.
It took him a while to gather himself, to slow his breathing and to steady his heartbeat. Eventually the blood seemed to find its way back into his arms and legs, and he regained control over his body. Alfred could finally think clearly.
He had never experienced a panic attack before, but the intense fear had shaken him deeply. It had been like falling from a precipice with no end, waiting for his heart to simply explode. And all that started from a simple que
stion.
“What do you want Alfred White?” he uttered, repeating the question Pacific had asked him.
Well, he never wanted to feel like that again for starters, but he knew that following Pacific in his quest for knowledge was going to mean the exact opposite.
Pacific, a man who seemed to exist outside the fabric of reality, someone who could rewind time at his own pleasure, and someone who sought death as a commodity. A puzzle wrapped in a mystery. A harbinger of change.
In such a short amount of time, this man had immensely affected Alfred’s life. In a way Pacific had awakened Alfred, showing him the direction his life was following, a descending spiral of regret and sorrow.
But.
There was so much more than that.
What price was he willing to pay to continue his journey with Pacific? What Alfred had seen that day had been enough to break him. Was that the trade off for the knowledge he was seeking? Constant fear and uncertainty? A slow walk on the rim of madness?
He had no idea what Pacific had in store for him. Alfred knew he might not be ready for it, but if the other choice was going back to his old life; then he would gladly experience the same fear a thousand fold.
He was not going back now.
“Well,” he said. “I think I’ve spent enough time sitting.”
And that said, he gingerly pulled himself up.
“Good,” he commented, testing his balance and making sure he had no signs of vertigo. “Very good. You can stand.” Alfred dusted off his pants, and sighed with relief, like a climber who had just reached the top of a mountain.
He contemplated his dirty hands for a long while and then looked at the tombstones surrounding him. “I don’t want to end up like them,” he finally said, answering Pacific’s question. “I don’t want to be the one tearing pages apart.”
And so Alfred White knew without a doubt his answer to Pacific was yes. Yes, I want to change. Yes, I want to learn. Yes, I’m willing to sacrifice what I am now for the promise of who I might become.
Alfred wished he had found this clarity sooner.
It didn’t matter, as long as he showed up tomorrow morning in front of the Spear.
And he would be there. His decision was final. There was no turning back.
A sudden gust of wind made him shiver.
Alfred realized it was getting colder and darker. He looked up at the sky, and noticed clouds amassing around a sun that had shone past its zenith. It was getting late. And it was going to rain soon.
It was time to go home.
Alfred took his phone out of his pocket and checked the time. He was surprised to find out that it was only six o’clock. Without a doubt, those past six hours had been the longest of his life.
Alfred walked out of the graveyard and then followed along the huge structure of the church. People were still praying inside the building. He went past the fountains and the statues until he faced the main entrance gate of the church.
Alfred went out of the gate. He looked up once again. The clouds had conquered piece by piece the sky, turning it into a steel colored roof that covered the entire world. It was not long before the first drops of water started coming down.
He looked for a cab, but found none. There was barely a car around, and even fewer people. It was only six o’clock, and the whole street seemed deserted.
Alfred decided to move on. He put his hoodie up, and kept walking. He should not have trusted the morning weather, he thought. He should have brought an umbrella with him. This city was meant for rain.
While walking, he passed by a person laying on the street, snoring inside a sleeping bag. Alfred stopped, went back a few steps, and looked at the homeless man more closely. Even with the dirt on his face, Alfred could see that he was a young man, probably no older than himself. He was sleeping over a pile of cartons, with food garbage all around him. His wrist was tied with a long string to a shopping cart full of garbage.
There was a cardboard sign nearby. It said: “Anything helps. But booze helps best.”
Suddenly, Alfred found himself wondering about the man’s story. Who was he? Why had he ended up like this? What were the series of events that had brought him there, sleeping on the ground like a stray dog with nothing but the cloths on his back? Then another series of questions started surfacing. What if he woke him up and started chatting with him? Would Alfred know more about his life? And then, what if he pictured a square while thinking of the homeless guy? Would he see how much time was left for this man to live? Would he really have Pacific’s power?
This line of thought brought him closer and closer to uncharted territory. Did he really want to know, if he had the choice? Alfred thought about it for a second. The answer was yes. Yes, he wanted to know.
But why?
Several answers started piling up in his mind. The first one was quite obvious—he could convince this person to use the time he had left as best as possible. He could change his life with that knowledge, letting him know his time was limited and he needed to use it well.
The rain started pouring heavily, and Alfred was forced to find shelter. He ran past the homeless guy and quickly got inside the first store he could find. He closed the door behind him, then looked around and found himself inside a liquor store.
“Howdy,” an old man behind a counter greeted him, without looking up from the book he was reading. “We close in twenty minutes.”
“OK,” Alfred said, hoping the rain would stop by that time. “Is there a taxi station around here?” he asked.
“Nope,” the old man replied.
“What about a bus for downtown? Is there any bus station nearby?”
“Don’t know. I don’t use them.”
“Do you have Wi-Fi?”
“Look, son, I’m trying to read. If you need anything other than booze, you’re in the wrong place.”
“OK. Sorry.”
Alfred started wandering around the store, a world made of cans and bottles and wooden boxes with more bottles in them.
Alfred had never really liked alcohol. Of course he had drank at parties, social gatherings, and in the privacy of a friend’s house, but in any of those occasions he had been forced to comply with the drinking ritual by the situation he found himself in. However, he had never really enjoyed the process of drinking to simply get drunk. He had found that waking up not remembering what had happened the day before and having a huge headache was not really his thing.
Since Alfred had decided to wait out the rain, he decided to take his time reading bottles’ labels and price tags. He noticed the biggest section of the store was dedicated to beer. There were countless kinds, with different names and shapes and colors. They all looked the same to him.
He kept walking and eventually arrived at the wine section. There were wines from the Old World and the New World. Wine from Italy and from New Zealand, from France and from California, from Spain and from Canada. Alfred liked wine even less than beer. They gave him the same inconvenience of beer, but a stronger headache.
Alfred went past the wine section and reached the edge of the store, where he found the spirits section. It was the smallest in the whole store, but the one Alfred was most interested in.
The only thing he remembered enjoying during his university years was rum. A big, red price tag attached to a couple of bottles attracted his attention. It was a thirty percent discount on selected brands of rum.
“Do you need any help over there, son?”
Alfred turned to face the old man who greeted him.
“No,” Alfred replied quickly. “I’m good, thanks. I was just looking.”
“That’s a very good deal,” the old man said, pointing to the bottle Alfred was looking at. “It’s a darn good amber filler, with spicy notes. Do you like rum, son?”
“I … Well, I don’t dislike it.”
“Good,” the old man nodded. “It’s on promotion for just today. It’s a steal!”
“I … I’ll think about
it. Thanks.”
“Well, don’t think for too long.” The old man scratched his cheek, then went back to the cash register. “I’m closing in ten minutes.”
“Sure thing.”
Alfred stared at the bottle, contemplating the amber color liquid inside it.
Why not?, he thought. He took the bottle and brought it to the cash register where the old man was waiting.
“Good lad,” the old man said, smiling a sparsely toothed smile. “No problem this bad boy can’t solve. Trust me on this one. I’m gonna need two pieces of ID though.”
“Sure.” Alfred gave him two IDs. The old man took a painfully long minute to evaluate them.
“Can’t be too sure these days,” he said, giving back the IDs to Alfred. “Not an hour ago I had a couple of kids in here with manufactured driving licenses. They used make up and high heels to look older. Can you believe that? What kind of rubbish goes on in their head, I wonder? What are parents teaching their kids nowadays? Are you paying cash or plastic?”
“Cash.” Alfred gave him a fifty dollar bill.
The old man held the dollar bill up to the light. He touched it to check its texture, then rolled and stretched it a few times. “Broken heart, son?” he said, while evaluating the bill.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your girlfriend left ya, or somethin’?”
“What? Girlfriend? No.” Alfred frowned. “Why are you asking me that?”
“Why? Because you kinda look like a guy who was just run over by a bus.” He pointed to his clothes. “Your clothes are full of dirt. I can smell vomit. Not to mention your face, is paler than my ass. Only women and busses can do that to a man.” The old man chuckled.
“Oh.” Alfred awkwardly dusted off some more dirt from his clothes. “Well. I just … I just had a very intense day.”
Wicked Time Page 7