Purgatorium (10 page)

“Now, what kind of soul will you be? A lost soul or a soul survivor?” Gabriel shouts at me.
He
forces my head around in the direction of the bridge and the billboard with Madi’s image almost looking straight at me.

“What if I told you what you saw in the coffee shop was real? It was just one of many classic memories you have yet to see. The music you heard just before you entered that little coffee shop will play again and with it will come more memories. Don’t you wanna know what happens next? Spoiler alert! You do see her again and all you have to do is run back to your bed before it hits 60. Once you do that it will set back to the order of things and they will leave you alone.”

Gabriel lets me go and quietly waits. I struggle with the thought of what to believe and what not to believe.
Is he telling the truth?
I think.

“If you could just believe us, we would show you who you really are. Give us another chance to prove that to you! Be the man that once asked the question, ‘Do you believe in second chances?’”

I try to think clearly. There’s been so much information given to me over the past day, I am having trouble processing it all together in a way that makes sense.

I just need a plan—something in place for me to follow the logical order to ensure my control of the situation. But that’s just it. Maybe I was never in control. Maybe time has always been controlling me. Maybe he is right. Or maybe all of this is just a dream. But what if…

I look over to the billboard again and think about the possibility of actually knowing her. Curious and hopeful about what might happen with Madi, I spring into action and sprint towards the apartment building.

“Finally! Let the games begin…again!” Gabriel shouts behind me.

I reach the front door of the apartment building and notice frost starting to cover the metal handle as I pull it open. The elevator doors closed and they aren’t opening as I get closer. I head for the stairway instead.

As I pull the door open, I feel the air getting colder in the lobby. I slam the door shut behind me and start running up the stairs. I already feel my legs burning on the second floor landing when I hear the stairway door open below. I look down quickly as I run up the steps. I see the dark shadows advance up the stairs and frost forms on the railings below.

Exhausted, I reach the sixth floor. I throw open the stairway door and stumble through, out of breath. I turn left and run down my long hallway toward my apartment door, reaching into my pocket for my keys. I pull them out as I hear the loud screeching noise coming from behind me. I see my breath hang in the air. Fear shakes me and I let the keys slip out of my hands and onto the floor, which is now slick with frost. The keys instantly freeze over on impact.

The hallway door bursts open behind me as I continue to run. I turn to see one of the creatures float down the hallway with its skeletal finger reaching out from inside the black cloak toward me. My door is coming up on the left as I shift my body right to gain momentum. The door starts to freeze over from the bottom up.

Hardly breathing, I slingshot myself and slam my shoulder into my frozen door, throwing it open. Shards of ice break off from the hinges of the door. I fall to the floor, whirl around, slam the frozen door shut with my leg, and back farther into my living room. The door breaks apart on impact, shattering itself like a broken window all across the floor.

Frost forms on my hardwood floor, spreading inward from the hallway. It crystallizes as it creeps, beautiful and deadly.

As the living room floor and walls continue to ice over, I look to find a weapon to use.

I turn back towards the front door just as a reaper slowly comes through. From behind a shroud of black robes, beneath a shadowy skeleton mask, the reaper must know that he has me pinned.

I begin grabbing books off the shelf and throwing them at the creature’s face. The books instantly freeze over on impact. I look to my watch: 50…51…52...

I run to my bedroom and look around trying to figure out what I am suppose to do. 53…54…55…I look over at my nightstand trying to find an object to defend myself with. I take hold of my snow globe and begin to stare at it. A warming feeling washes over me as I decide to put it back down.

I look in my drawer to find the handbook I put in there from this morning, still lying inside. A strange feeling of remembrance enters my head as the handbook looks very similar to the book that Madi had left in the coffee shop.

I shrug off the weird feeling while quickly taking hold of it, turn, and throw it at the reaper. The handbook goes right through it and begins freezing over out the other side of it.

I walk back slowly, hitting my calf on the bed. I look over and remember what Gabriel said. Once I am in bed everything will be as it should. 56…57…58…I quickly fall backwards onto my bed, instinctively pulling myself into the fetal position…59...60:00.

I close my eyes and everything goes black.

Shivering, I feel the warm, dry air blowing onto my face. The windshield wipers move at an alarming rate. Whirr, thwack, whirr, thwack, whirr, thwack! I suddenly think I should count to see how many times they move side-to-side. Was the speed constant? If it was not, I could not be sure of getting an accurate count. My vision swims, dizziness overtaking me. It all seems impossible. And what would it prove anyway, even if the count were accurate?

“You’re being irrational,” I say reassuringly. “You’re not making sense. Get yourself together.” I breathe deeply and start to feel a sense of control return.

I refocus on the road. The snow is now falling slowly enough that I can see my headlights reflecting on ice-coated branches of the trees and their shadows as I drive past them. I know the course I have to take. I reflect, looking up to the rearview mirror. I know how this story ends. But what if I could change it? What if I could make a new ending?

I see the coin necklace dangling from the rearview mirror, the same place it’s always been. But in this moment, for some reason, it could not have seemed more foreign.

Removing my glove by biting my fingers and tugging my hand out, I reach for the cold, metal disc, bring it to my lips, kiss it, and sigh, relieved.

Suddenly, a loud
crack
from outside in the darkness makes me flinch. I lower my head, immediately looking around for the source. It sounded like a pistol, but not like the shot itself—more an echo, as though the impact came from some other realm.

I hear a voice from somewhere outside the car near the source of the gunshot echo. The voice is getting closer and closer.

“You can’t change your fate!” it shouts.

I feel my heart pounding, my body heating. Sweat beads on my forehead and in my underarms. My chest is becoming tight.

I am in control, not you! I have to get off this highway!
I think.

The snow starts falling more heavily, visibility worsening. I see an exit sign and desperately accelerate onto the off-ramp.

Try to remain focused, I think to myself. It’s too late to turn back now.

Once off the highway, I turn a hard, fast right onto the country road, my tires squealing. I take a deep breath and feel my heart slowing. Continuing down the road, following its twists and turns, I am reassured by the car’s responsiveness, slowing as my foot lifts from the gas pedal, the engine alternately roaring and purring. The slush and snow on the road is barely audible through the car’s sound insulation.

I recalculate the route back to my apartment.
It shouldn’t be too far
, I think.

As I continue driving, I notice the snow is blowing harder, ferociously, across the front of the car, catching the light from the headlights and obscuring my view of the road ahead. I hear a strangely familiar but indescribable sound, again from outside of the car. My heart starts pounding again.

It’s coming for me! I knew this was going to happen, I think, feeling my muscles tighten. My hands sweat as they grip the steering wheel more tightly. Keep your eyes on the road! I was not far from home now. Just a few more hairpin turns.

A hundred times I’ve driven through this vicious winter storm. A hundred times and every single time I haven’t been able to change the outcome. This time I will. This time I’ll change everything.

As soon as I think this, however, I am wracked by doubt and the feeling of fated tragedy. I feel warm fingers lightly touch my right hand. I look to the passenger’s seat and see Madi smiling softly towards me.

Soft static starts coming through the speakers, and then “The Light in the Piazza” begins to play.

I reach out to touch her arm and everything goes black as I hear the “Beep, beep, beep” of my alarm clock once again going off.

SUNDAY

Michael

I slowly open my eyes. The alarm clock is going off.
Was it all a nightmare?
I wonder. The snowstorm? The ominous sound? Madi?

I feel the sweat on my body. I push the off button on my alarm clock. It begins counting the seconds once again. I count the stars, from left to right, on the American flag to get my vision in order. I breathe for a second, but soon I remember the last time I was here—the creatures and the books I threw at one of them.

I leap up out of my bed and run into the living room. Glancing at the bookshelves, I find that all the books are back in their right place. I touch a foot to the floor, seeing if the wood is icy, but it’s neither frozen nor wet.

I look around and listen for any shrieking sound. Nothing. I get up and run to the front door. Putting my ear to the door, I look down at the floor for any signs of frost. Everything is back to normal.

I turn the lock and slowly, carefully, pull the door open just a crack so I can look out into the hallway. Everything is quiet and reassuringly warm.

I look down at my
watch
: 3:10. “The Light in the Piazza” plays on the piano.

I pick up the snow globe and remember now where I know that song from. The coffee shop. The first time I saw Madi. I feel strange like something has changed in me. Who am I kidding though? It was all just a dream. I have heard this song so many times I could have easily made up a dream about it in my head.

Then there were those bizarre angels. My imagination has reached a whole new level. I should write a book about this.

I smile at myself in the reflection of the snow globe. I put it down and start my back to normal day.

Feeling reassured, I walk over to the bathroom and begin my workout. I do a couple of lifts and then make my way to the mirror. I look at the stubble around my face and see that it has grown out a little more than usual. I pick up the barber knife and begin with my neck.

I stop, realizing to be extra careful this time around so as to not cut myself. I shave away each layer slowly until it’s
all clean, then wipe away the rest of the cream as I look back in the mirror. I see once again my neck has a tiny cut. What am I doing wrong?

I calm myself and walk off into the closet, choosing the same suit once again. I step out, tying my tie, but stop when I see a book in the middle of the floor. How did this get here?

I walk over to it and find it to be the handbook. I think back to last night when I threw it at the creature and for a second, I freeze of sheer fright. I get a hold of myself as I continue to think, it was only a dream. I pick it up and see that the book isn’t frozen over like it was last night. That means it was a dream, I figure, with a sigh of relief.

I open the cover to reveal the first page. It reads, “Madi.”

I quickly close the book. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something bright. Surprised, I drop the book and turn toward the window.

The season has changed. Autumn, I think. The city is tinged with gold and amber leaves. I breathe deeply as I take in the brilliant color, a relief from the usual grey.

Suddenly, I feel as if someone is watching me. I look to my right and jump a little, dropping the book to the floor. In the chair playing the piano just a few feet away sits Michael wearing a bespoke dark blue suit. The King of hearts still can be seen from his vest pocket. His poncho is tossed over his shoulder. Tattoos peak above his collar and out from under his cuffs. A 1980s Polaroid camera is on his lap. The man has his
legs crossed casually
as he sees the book I dropped, lying on the floor. He looks back to me, turning his concerning look to a much happier one.

I can’t believe my eyes as I just stand there stiff thinking only that it was never a dream. It was all real.

“I cried over beautiful things, knowing no beautiful thing lasts,” Michael says. “That’s Sandburg, from his book
Autumn Movement
.”

Michael
picks up his camera and quickly takes a photo of me. “Ye be lion or lamb? If March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb. Wouldn’t you agree?” He pulls the photo out of the front of the camera and waves it back and forth.

I am completely perplexed as I think about Michael’s behavior on the subway. How can this guy be an angel? I anxiously look over at the clock by my bed to see the time has a few more minutes to go till 5.

“Lion, being a soul survivor, or lamb, a lost soul is my point to you. I’m sure you know by now what each one of them means.”

So if Michael is actually here right now, then I am in a coma. I start to panic at the thought. I go to pick up my watch and put it on. I look at the time making its way up to 5 minutes.

“Why only sixty
minutes
? That’s the question you must answer by the end of this day,”
Michael
says, looking out the window.

He casually stands up, steps closer to me, reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls out the balisong knife, quickly flipping it around in trebuchet style again. He takes my right hand and places the knife in it.

“To become a lion you must be ready for your prey.”

Fear stricken, I drop the knife and run for the door. I blink my eyes once and Michael is standing by the doorway with the knife now in the palm of his hand. I quickly stop and fall ass first to the floor.

“No need to be afraid anymore,” Michael says to me, holding out his hand for me to grasp up on. I don’t take it.

“Don’t think of us as archangels of the Lord. We angels are God’s number one soldiers that he has personally chosen to go help out souls, like you, to find their way back home. Believe us or not, we are all you got if you want out of this place.” Michael looks to me with a glorious smug smile on his face.

“We might have come at you a bit strong the other day. But rest assure that it was the only way for you to see the full picture of what has become of you in this place.”

Michael holds out his hand even further towards me. I look at him, not wanting to take it. I am fearful of not knowing what he is going on about and why this has to happen to me? What did I do to deserve this?

“You have grown accustom to a world that has forced you to go by a set system. It has put a barrier around your humanity. Up until yesterday it has made you numb and emotionless towards your surroundings. Ever since we accumulated fear in you, pieces of that barrier has been chipping away, making you feel less numb and more probable to interact with socially. In layman’s term, we used a scare tactic to jolt out a huge emotion from you that awoken you from a trance. Humans have done many studies on this with heavy sleepers. You see, fear is a strong emotional response. It’s the one thing that can instantly wake you up from a deep sleep. It’s truly amazing how you humans are so easily afraid. To say we didn’t mean to frighten you is an understatement. Please accept our deepest apologies for yesterday.” Michael extends his hand even closer to my face, almost touching my nose.

I quickly stand up and search my apartment for another way to escape. I look back to Michael and he has disappeared. I turn my head to the kitchen, then over to the bathroom. Nothing. Am I going out of my mind? I am drenched in sweat from everything that has happened to me this morning. I go for a towel to wipe my face off. I get to the kitchen and open up my cloth drawer. As I pull it back, I see Michael’s knife lying inside. I back away from it slowly and my back hits a hard object, stopping me in my tracks. I jump up, quickly looking over behind me. Michael is standing there, not amused.

“Pleasantries are over. If you want to be stuck here for the rest of your comatosed life, be my guest.”

Michael walks over to the door and opens it. “You wished to never have met me? Well here is your chance. It’s approximately 3:07. Walk out of here before it reaches 5 and you won’t remember or see me again. I have put up with you for so long that I am getting tired of it. So please, do us both a favor and leave.”

I slowly walk to the door, passing Michael’s disappointed gaze. I feel a coldness in the air once I step outside my door. I turn back to Michael, who looks dignified and sure.

“The reapers will be here any moment, don’t you worry. Soon you will be back in your bed, time resetting back over to zero, and you not having a clue about anything other than your timely strict schedule.”

I turn away from him, not wanting to believe anything he is saying. It can’t be true. It’s unheard of. I am just dreaming, that’s all it is. I just need to wake up.

I begin to walk down the cold hallway while still hearing Michael’s rambling. The cold air gets stronger with every step I take away from the door.

“You will forget all about yesterday, the other Angels, feeling any kind of new emotion, and even…Madi.”

I stop.

Madi?

I turn around and Michael is gone again. I stand there in the hallway, blowing out cold air from my mouth. All the while I can only think of her. I remember her face, smiling. It brings me a sudden warmth.

What if he is right?

I look towards the elevator and back to my door. Fear tackles me. I feel my heart pumping a mile a minute. My breathing becomes unstable. I don’t ever remember feeling like this before. At least not since yesterday, that is. Though I am afraid, I have never felt more alive. I turn around and walk back through my door, closing it right away.

Instantly, my bodies temperature feels back to normal. I go over to the kitchen and take the sharp blade out of the drawer.

I look at the knife in my hand and wonder if I can even do this. I am not a fighter. I don’t really even know who I am.

Michael appears in front of the counter. “Welcome back to the land of the lost souls.” Michael opens a drawer in one of the bookcases and takes out a pair of running shoes. He throws them to me.

“Put these on. You’re going to need them.”

I stare at them for a moment before I shove them onto my feet, not liking my decision to stay already. I tie them tight and notice they feel a bit weighted at the bottom.

“Nice tread, wouldn’t you say? Those are cross-fit X shoes. They were made for extreme cross country marathon runners. The unique design was created for a purpose—to withstand hazardous weather climate change. It might seem a bit heavy on the legs at first, but the longer you wear them the lighter they will become. Your body should have gotten use to the weight by now. The reapers might have taken your memories but the body you built while you have been here is still the same.”

I walk around the living room, having to force my legs to move one step at a time.

The shoes are heavier then they appear. How long before they begin to lighten up? Why are these shoes so heavy anyway?

I fall to the ground. Looking up, I see Michael make an expression on his face almost as if he were shocked and confused at the same time. He shakes his head at whatever thought rolled around in his mind.

“It has a built in cooling sensor when the terrain gets a bit icy. It will auto eject spikes out from the treads giving you stability towards any icy structure you decide to clamp yourself on to. This will lock you in place with every step you take, so as not to slip or fall. Once you detach yourself from said structure, the spikes will reverse themselves back in and they fit pretty snug too.”

Why do I feel like I’m going to be meeting my dark hooded friend from last night again? I’m dreading what he has in store for me next. I walk around feeling lighter than air, a complete difference in my steps.

Michael gets out a book and places it on the countertop. “This is a guide to taking the first steps in becoming a soul survivor.”

Who wrote it?

“Why you did, of course,” he says to me nonchalantly.

He flips to the first page and I see my handwriting along the pages. Amazed of how much a likeness it is, I still don’t give him any look of satisfaction that he is right.

“Chapter one: Know thy enemy.”

Michael walks to my bedside table and takes hold of my alarm clock. “You may remember them from last night. Dark hooded, skeletal mask, cold. They are the timekeepers that bring balance to how things go around here. If you were a puppet, they would be your puppeteers and the strings attaching you to them would be time.”

He shows me the scrolling clock making its way further up.