Lord of Time

by Michele Amitrani

  Once he was a stone’s throw away from the Spear, he paused and looked at the massive skyscraper.

  It was strange to be there. Almost wrong. Now that he no longer worked for the company, it was like watching a very tall, very odd collection of glass and steel that looked strangely ominous.

  Alfred looked around, searching for Pacific. Eventually his eyes found a man in a dark coat. Like a white shark among salmon, he stood out among the legions of people heading toward the Spear. Pacific was sitting on a low wall made of bricks that flanked the road. He was watching people go through the entrance, his arms folded, his eyes shielded behind his sunglasses.

  Alfred walked toward Pacific and sat right beside him.

  “I’m glad you came,” Pacific said, his eyes still on the main entrance.

  Alfred said nothing. He was well aware of the newspaper still under his armpit. It felt heavier that it had any right to be, but somehow it gave him a strange sort of reassurance. It kept him solid and grounded.

  “See the entrance?” Pacific asked him.

  Alfred nodded. “I see it.”

  “It reminds me of an hourglass.”

  Alfred squeezed the newspaper in his hands. “An hourglass.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “Sorry. I don’t see any hourglass.”

  Pacific leaned over and pointed with both hands toward the entrance of the Spear. “Don’t you find it amusing, the way people go in? Their will to enter without questioning, to follow the stream without caring, to abide by the rule that governs their life with no clue as to the why? It’s fascinating. And it all starts from that entrance.”

  Alfred shrugged. “Looks like just an entrance to me.”

  “No, it’s not.” Pacific moved his hands to form an imaginary square. “It’s much more than that. People go into that building like sand flowing through an hourglass. Every single one of them feeds the building with their time to keep it working, to keep the wheel spinning.”

  Alfred glanced at Pacific. “You sound almost disappointed.”

  “Disappointed?” Pacific echoed him. “I’m livid. It’s such a waste.”

  “What is it that you want, then?” Alfred asked.

  “I want some of that time.”

  They stared at each other for a while, and then Pacific looked at his gloved hands and said, “You see, Father Jude is operating a dying business. The business of faith.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “It doesn’t pay as much as it used to. Times have changed. People’s attention lingers on other things now: luxury, status, money, fame. Yes, God and faith can no longer be my only viable options.”

  “Yes. You made that clear enough yesterday,” Alfred said. “So what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to adapt,” Pacific said with disarming simplicity. “Businessmen need to adapt to the time if they want to survive. I need a new stable source of income, and the corporate world can be that to me. And that brings me to you. You are a bright fellow, Alfred White. You can be my key into that world.”

  “I quit my job,” Alfred pointed out to him.

  “No, you didn’t.” Pacific said. “You missed a couple of days, that’s all. I’ve got a good story you can tell them, and they’ll believe you. They will take you back with open arms. I will make sure of that.”

  “I don’t understand.” Alfred shook his head. “You’re asking me to go back there, to do something you warned me against. Repetition. Dying one day at the time. Remember that stuff? What was the whole point of convincing me to quit if your intention was to get me back in?”

  “It wouldn’t be the same,” Pacific explained. “Think about it. You have gathered knowledge. You know the power of time now. That makes you much more than anything you’ve ever been before. Before the mentorship, you were a sheep, a part of the flock. What I’m offering you is to become a shepherd. All your life, you have strived to fit in, to be part of the fabric of society. I’m giving you the chance to follow me and be an element outside of the rat race. Don’t you see? I can teach you how to get inside a person’s mind and turn a mere wish into a pressing desire. I can show you how to drive a confident mind to the precipice of doubt.” Pacific looked at the Spear with a reverent expression. “There are countless people inside that building, desperate for a solution to their problems. Many of them will not care about paying in the currency of my choice. I want you to be my agent inside that world made out of wants and needs. You are a creature of that world. You understand the rules. You could listen to the many stories that populate the Spear and take advantage of them in ways that you cannot even imagine.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “For the same reason you sought me in the first place. To gather more knowledge. To become more.”

  “More what?”

  “More than just another predictable story.”

  Alfred said nothing. He just looked at the Spear and held the newspaper so tight, his knuckles became white.

  “Think of what you learned with me in a day,” Pacific said. A smile broke onto his face. “Multiply it a thousand fold. I’m offering you the power to influence lives. It’s an art I can teach you, something that will set you apart from everybody else.”

  “I see,” Alfred said calmly. “You would teach me those things as you taught Father Jude?”

  Pacific looked at Alfred carefully, a smile of amusement playing on his pale face. “You are different.”

  “I had some time to think over our day,” Alfred said.

  “And what was the outcome of all that thinking?”

  “That maybe I’m not interested in more knowledge after all. I had my fair share yesterday.” Alfred handed the newspaper to Pacific. “I read the news,” he said. His voice was flat and didn’t sound like him. “I know what happened to her.”

  Pacific took the newspaper. “Oh, yes.” He read the title. “Poor thing. A tragic death.”

  Silence followed that statement. Alfred asked, “Did you kill her?”

  “Me?” Pacific stopped reading and looked up at him. “I thought you read the news. The girl committed suicide.”

  “I know what I read. Answer the question.”

  Pacific folded the newspaper and placed it beside him. “The girl killed herself by taking a razor to both her wrists and bleeding to death in a bathtub,” he said matter-of-factly. “I don’t kill people, Alfred White. I trade and grant wishes. That’s all.”

  “You told me she gave you ten percent of her time. Seven years.”

  “That is the truth,” Pacific said. “That was my premium for the time transaction. The rest went to her sister.”

  Alfred’s dry smile soon became a grimace. “I should have expected something like that from someone who lies just to get his lunch faster. There’s nothing you wouldn’t do for just a little bit of time, is there? By the way, how did it go at the asylum?”

  Pacific seemed taken aback by the question. “Things were solved,” he said sourly. “And stupidity was dealt with.”

  “Really? You don’t look very happy.”

  “I’m not. I had to fix a problem and lost much time in the effort.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “No, you’re not. You look fascinated.”

  “Maybe,” Alfred said. “You want to know something?”

  “I guess I do.”

  “It’s good to know that even the Angel of Death is not omnipotent.”

  Pacific looked at Alfred with amusement. “Is that what you think I am?” he asked.

  Alfred shrugged. “It’s funny how putting a name on something makes it less frightening.”

  “Ah.” Pacific seemed genuinely disappointed. “I warned you about the danger of names, didn’t I?”

  “What is the danger?”

  “The danger is thinking you know something until you find out you’re dead wrong.”

  “Fair enough,” Alfred said. “But let’s play a game. Let’s pretend for a moment you really are the Angel of Death.”

  Pa
cific sighed. “Let us,” he said in the end.

  “Why would the Angel of Death want to harvest time from people?”

  Pacific shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not him.”

  “Indulge me.”

  “As you wish.” Pacific made a vague gesture. “Why would the Angel of Death want to harvest time from people, you ask me. Well, maybe he is out of time, and constantly needs to fill the void that keeps his reality precarious. Maybe his own survival depends on keeping his own hourglass constantly filled with sand.”

  “A void?” Alfred repeated, puzzled. “Like a wormhole?”

  Pacific shook his head. “There are so many things you don’t know, Alfred White. It’s pointless to try to explain what cannot be explained with words. Your language and your culture are huge barriers you can’t overcome by simply asking questions and expecting satisfying answers from me. I’m a good teacher, but I’m not that good.”

  “Always clear in your vagueness,” Alfred said bitterly. “Can you at least tell me what happens if the void isn’t filled with time?”

  Pacific took his sunglasses off. He looked Alfred straight in the eyes. “I cease to exist,” he said. “Is the answer clear enough?”

  Alfred stared at him. “The Angel of Death … dies?”

  “I told you. I’m not what you think.”

  “No,” Alfred smirked. “You’re just a fellow trying to make ends meet, aren’t you?”

  “That I am.”

  “You really expect me to believe you, after all I’ve been through yesterday?”

  “I don’t have the audacity to expect anything, ever.” Pacific put his sunglasses back on.

  Alfred paused, considering carefully his next question. “What happens if you die?” he said in the end.

  Pacific snorted. “Now you’re asking me a question much too pretentious, even if we are pretending.”

  “How many ancillaries do you have? People like Father Jude.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Not enough,” Pacific admitted. He suddenly seemed tired and frustrated. “I need more.”

  “And that is why we are here,” Alfred said.

  The wind blew relentlessly. People moved around. Alfred wasn’t aware of them. He wasn’t aware of anything other than the man that called himself Pacific.

  Silence stretched between them for such a long time it seemed to become a material wall, impossible to climb.

  “I’m going to say no to your job proposition,” Alfred said after what seemed like a lifetime. “I think I’m underqualified for it.”

  Alfred stood.

  “Listen,” Pacific said. His voice had lost some of its brio. “You can walk away from me. It’s your choice. It’s your life.”

  “But,” Alfred said.

  “But.” Pacific stood up as well. “Bear with me once more, and I promise you the time will be worth your while.”

  Alfred turned. “Give me one reason why should I care.”

  Pacific smiled his odd smile. “Let me show you why.”

  14

  The Story of Time

  When Alfred was fifteen, his mother told him God didn’t exist.

  She had looked him straight in the eyes and stated that God wasn’t any more real than Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy. He was just a lie, she had said. Nothing more.

  That was long after their dream of making it as musicians had crumbled under the harsh weight of reality, after they had been forced to work three jobs to pay their debts and put food on the table.

  Faith had been squeezed out of their life, and sorrow had crushed their spirit.

  Yes. His mother had made clear that God had no place in their lives, but Alfred had always wondered if her statement could be proven without a doubt.

  Did God exist?

  Alfred had never considered himself a believer and had never bothered digging further into the matter. It just didn’t hold enough importance for him.

  Until now.

  Now, Alfred was certain he was closer than ever to answering that question.

  Alfred looked around slowly at the beautiful and vast structure that surrounded him.

  The inside of the church was welcoming. A stifled light came from glass mosaic windows that depicted scenes of sin and salvation.

  Alfred knew that just a stone’s throw away from that church, there was the biggest graveyard in the city, the place where his mentorship had begun.

  Alfred focused his attention in front of him, where rows of empty benches led to an altar. In front of the altar there was an open coffin, and inside the coffin there was a man dressed in a white suit.

  Alfred looked at Steve’s face, so still and so pale. The man seemed at peace, and he reminded Alfred of a crafted porcelain doll.

  The church was completely empty now. The last person had left shortly after the ceremony ended.

  A few people had attended. Alfred had counted fewer than twenty. He and Pacific spoke to none of them, keeping far away at the very back of the church.

  When the last few people had paid their homage, both Alfred and Pacific had emerged from the darkness, coming forward to face the man they had watched die.

  Pacific leaned forward, his gray eyes fixed on Steve. He took the beanie off his head out of respect and put it inside one of his many pockets. Alfred found himself glancing at the man’s head. There was nothing but ruffled black hair.

  “What?” Pacific asked him with a quizzical look. “Did you expect to find a pair of horns? I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  Alfred shrugged. “If you say so.”

  Pacific studied Steve. “Doesn’t it feel like closing a circle, looking at him one last time?”

  “You said you wanted to show me something.”

  “It’s right in front of your eyes.”

  Alfred looked at Steve.

  “What do you see?” Pacific asked him expectantly.

  “I see a corpse.” Alfred looked away. “Are we done?”

  “That’s it? “

  “What do you want me to see?”

  “Just what’s in plain sight.”

  Alfred shrugged. “Sorry,” he said, sounding anything but. “I just see a dead man in a nice suit.” Then he turned to Pacific. “What do you see?” he asked.

  “I see the last word of the last chapter of the last book of a life. I’ve always believed that time is just a story made up of a collection of heartbeats. It goes by fast.”

  “Very poetic,” Alfred said. “I will ask you this question just because it’s clear you want me to ask it: Why are we here?”

  Pacific smiled broadly. “Ah, yes. About that. Our late Steve harbored a story that might be interesting to you. You see, he worked at the Spear, just like you, and he also liked to walk through Aion Park to get to work faster. I spoke with him a couple of times before I met you. He was bolder than you, more stubborn. He never saw sense in my proposition.”

  “You knew him?” Alfred asked, surprised.

  “I knew his name,” Pacific said. “I knew his story. But I didn’t really have the chance to know him. He was a person I thought might be interested in my mentorship. I was wrong.”

  “He said no to you?”

  “He never got to that stage.” Pacific drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He never heeded my call. You are the first one who has stuck to me till this point.”

  Alfred said nothing. Cold sweet started gathering on his back. So that was the truth, he thought. He was not the first person to fall into Pacific’s net.

  “Do you now understand why we met?” Pacific asked him, a soft edge in his words.

  Alfred looked at Steve. He froze on the spot as realization washed over him. Right there, in that coffin, was his answer.

  “Do you understand?” Pacific repeated.

  Alfred did. A part of him had always suspected it but never wanted to admit it.

  The young man nodded numbly. “Yes,” he said calmly. “I’m dy
ing. Aren’t I?”

  Pacific nodded. “I’ve been feeding you with time for a while now.”

  Pacific was speaking the truth. Alfred knew that. His mind put pieces together so naturally it was almost shocking to realize how they had been in plain sight for all that time. He remembered his cell phone acting up the second time he met Pacific in the park. Pacific had transferred time to him. The same thing had happened at the hospital, when Sophia transferred her time to Pacific.

  “I can understand what’s going on in your mind,” Pacific said, his voice as delicate as a soothing caress. “It’s a lot to take in. You would not have needed this last bit of knowledge if it weren’t for yesterday’s little mess. You were ready to welcome my gift. I could feel it. I’m just making sure you have all the information you need before you decide whether or not to stick with me. The past night might have numbed your resolution, and I want you to focus on the things that matter.”

  “Why am I dying?” Alfred demanded.

  “Does it matter?” Pacific said. “Just know that it’s going to happen. Soon.”

  “Is that why Father Jude is working for you?” Alfred asked. “You’re keeping him alive?”

  “The priest always had the vice of tobacco,” Pacific explained. “He breathes more smoke than clean air. His vice comes with a hefty price. A lung cancer.”

  “How long does he have left to live?”

  “Father Jude is a dead man walking,” Pacific said simply. “He was supposed to die years ago, but he has managed to avoid meeting his boss due to his talent for finding good candidates for time deals. He was reluctant at the beginning, just like you. Eventually he saw sense in my proposition. You are a smart fellow, Alfred White. Sealing a Pact of Blood with me is the only way to avoid the coffin. You know I’m right.”

  Alfred nodded, his eyes blank. He knew Pacific had already won.

  “How long will the Pact last?” Alfred asked.

  “As long as there is blood in your veins.”

  “And if I don’t do it, you’ll just find someone else, right? Like you found me after Steve?”

  “There will be no need for further research,” Pacific said reassuringly. “You know why? Because you don’t want to end up like Steve. You don’t want to be just another unfulfilled story. You told me so, remember? You don’t want to end up like them.” Pacific pointed, with a hand out the window, to the graveyard just outside of the church. “You don’t want to be tearing pages apart. You want to change, you want to learn, and you are willing to sacrifice what you are now for the promise of who you might become. You now know the truth, and you know that it’s only by defying death that you will finally have true knowledge. Bond with me, and be saved.”