Purgatorium (5 page)

He takes a book off the floor. “Do you remember what this one is called?” He slams the book on my desk. “Or how about this one?” He picks up another and slaps it on my desk. “Or this one, or this one, or this one.” He stacks my desk with all my books. All the while I can’t seem to remember any one of their titles.

Without giving me time to speak my mind, he starts up again. “I see you also only work five minutes a day. How much do you get paid for that? Five thousand dollars a minute?” He laughs. “I mean, it has to be close to that to afford those nice expensive clothes, that sports car, that bachelor pad. How do you find this job gratifying enough to stay?”

He blows smoke in my face again. I try waving it away.

“Excuse me,” he laughs. “But have you coughed once since I’ve been here blowin’ smoke in your face? Better question, do you remember the last time you
did
cough?”

I realize that I haven’t coughed even once despite the smoke.

Raphael
grabs the book out of my hands, slams it shut, and throws it into the trashcan beside my desk. He reaches in and pulls out one sheet, flicks another match, lights it, and sets the page on fire.

“What I’m trying to say is, you’re a conformist in a rule-bound society living by the seconds of time you’ve been dealt. You are a slave. And I am here to set you free, brotha.”

I feel a shock run through my entire body. I’ve been able to control my reactions until now, but what he said is starting to make sense. My head hurts as I try to figure out a logical explanation.

Raphael’s
cigar has gone out. He lights it again using the burning piece of paper.

“Time’s up, but I’m in a good mood today. I’ll give you a second chance if you think you deserve it.” He gracefully pauses and waits for me to respond.

I panic. I need to think.

“Write me a short story. No wait! Even better. Write a name for our company. A simple name. Go crazy. Start naming mascots and add company at the end of it for all I care. You like sports, right? Anything that pops in your head. Go!”

I don’t respond. Where are my manners? He hands me a blank piece of paper and pen.

“Go on. Don’t have all day. Really though. Don’t have all day.”

I try to think, but the words don’t come out. I begin once again repeating how content I am but what I am feeling doesn’t’ make any sense. I stop repeating and start thinking of why I can’t think of a simple title. A feeling I never felt before causes my heart to race, my forehead to sweat, and my body to stiffen. What is happening to me?

“Let me guess. Writers block? Do you feel content now?” Raphael asks impatiently.

I become instantly frozen by his words.

Raphael
throws the smoldering piece of paper in the trash, which ignites the rest of the used papers, and laughs sadistically as smoke fills the room.

I am still stricken with shock and fear from the words he had just said to me. I hear the elevator doors open in the hall. My watch beeps.

35 Minutes

The smoke fills the room, making it hard to see Raphael. This is my chance to get out of here.

I rush out towards the elevator. The doors are open. As the elevator doors close, I watch smoke fill the hall, no sign of Raphael following.

I exit onto the street outside my office building and stride towards the lighthouse restaurant. As before, there’s not a single person to be seen. I cross the street, but suddenly a red Ferrari speeds towards me. Before I can move, my body slams against the hood and windshield, and I’m thrown into the street.

I tumble across the asphalt, finally coming to a stop on my back. I’m surprised to be alive. The Ferrari door opens and a bare foot steps out, followed by another.

I look up and see a man, late-thirties, with a long blond ponytail and nicely trimmed beard. His skin glows with perfection and his friendly smile is oddly disarming. His elegance is like the others I’ve come across today. He’s wearing a navy blue tie with a charcoal suit of the latest of fashion, but strangely not at odds with his bare feet.

He doesn’t look at me, but at the dented hood of his car. He lays his hand gently on the hood and kisses it, shaking his head sadly.

Strangely, I show no signs of trauma. My suit isn’t torn and I realize I don’t even feel injured.

More amazed than angry, I rise from the pavement to confront the driver, but I don’t know what to say. He has a King of diamonds protruding from his breast pocket just like mine. He looks back at me, repeatedly twisting what looks like a wedding ring, as if it is some kind of a nervous habit. I brush myself off.

“I’m Uriel. Hope I didn’t ruin that beautiful suit you’re wearing. Very nice.”

He makes his way towards me, his toned body and grace lending a certain polish to the way he moves, almost as if he’s on a runway.

This guy hits me with his car and he’s wondering about my suit? He could have killed me!

I’m going to tell this man off!

Just as I’m about to speak, he puts his finger over my lips. “May I?” he asks, and feels my jacket.

“Gucci. A man who knows style, I admire that.”

I step out of his reach just as a driverless car rounds the corner and barrels in our direction. We dive out of the way.

“Not one of those people who gets up from a car crash and feels fine and perky afterwards, eh? Got it. But can I say something?” He points at his damaged car. “How in the hell did you not see me? I mean the fiery red body, chrome detailing?” Uriel looks at the passing cars. “Especially since my vehicle is the only one with a driver actually in it—at least for the time being.” Uriel pauses while I look at the passing cars, all driverless. “Kind of makes you wonder where everybody is, doesn’t it?”

For the first time, I realize that I have been the only one here. Why have I never noticed this? It’s like I was blinded by what was going on around me this whole time. Like I was on some kind of autopilot?. I need answers. I’m about to speak about this revelation when he puts his finger on my lips again.

“You’re not much of a talker. Good. I prefer shy people.”

He smirks, his words dripping with innuendo. He rubs my lips with his fingers. “Shy people tend to be the most interesting when you get them alone. They’ve got so much bottled up inside.”

He stops when he sees I’m starting to get pissed. Uriel shrugs. “Well, I hope you have insurance, because I know I don’t.”

Why is my insurance relevant?

He turns me around and removes my wallet from my back pocket. He looks inside and sees only the single, white business card and some cash—no insurance information.

I feel a chill overtake me.

“A simple apology would suffice,” Uriel continues. “Saying you’re sorry is powerful. It hints of starting over, you know? I’m a big believer in second chances.” Uriel’s gaze drags my eyes to his. I see the green tint in them, just like mine, just like all the rest.

“How about you?”

Shivering, I realize this is the fourth time today someone’s talked to me about second chances. This cannot be a coincidence. What second chance are they all referring to? I am about to say something when Uriel slaps me across the face. “Now we’re even. You totaled my car and I slapped your face. I think that was a fair trade.”

Before I can reflect further, a silver Carrera convertible pulls up beside us, driverless.

“Not bad,” Uriel says, “not bad at all.” He drags his hand over the car door, turns to me with a smirk, and hops in.

“It’s been real nice chattin’ with ya—keep the Ferrari. It’s about time I got a new ride. Brrrrrr. My nipples are chilly!”

I watch in stunned silence as the car speeds away.

“Have a nice day, Gucci!” Uriel shouts, laughing.

I stand alone in the street again. My hands shake as I look at my watch: 45:10.

Late!

I run across the street to the lighthouse restaurant and go inside.

There’s no one here.

I take a seat at my table.

It doesn’t make sense. Where is everyone? Has it always been this way and I just never noticed?

Suddenly, a man—mid-thirties, wearing light blue suspenders and a fedora with a
Queen
of hearts card tucked into the ribbon running around it—stumbles out of the kitchen, carrying a bucket of water with soapy green foam on top. He trips over his own foot and drops the bucket, some of its water sloshing onto the floor. He quickly rights himself and puts the bucket down beside me.

His close-cropped hair makes his prominent nose and ears even more noticeable, but he exudes a certain awkward charm, though with a complete lack of grace and a sense of humorous exasperation. Despite his odd manners, his angelic face, vogue-like attire, and raw sex appeal make him seem like he comes from money.

“It’s all in your mind,” he says with glee. He continues to repeat it, letting me know right then that he is of special needs. He taps my forehead and repeats it again but this time softer. “It’s all in your mind.”

He suddenly begins to sing, horrendously out of tune. “Humpty Dumpty went to sleep. Humpty Dumpty sleeps four weeks. From all of the places to all of his sins, he can’t bring his memories back again.”

He falls silent and unscrews the lid of my saltshaker, pouring its contents out on the table. He pulls four small tin foil balls out of his pocket, puts them into the shaker, fills it up with toilet cleaner, and screws the lid back on. Covering the holes with his thumb, he shakes it vigorously, looking at me all the while.

The shaker slips from his grasp and flies into the air. I stand up, knocking my chair backwards, and jump out of the way. The shaker hits the floor, exploding on impact.

“Needs water to dilute it, but it’s hard to find water in a waterless place,” he says. “They call me
Jehudiel
. What do they call you?” He takes a drink of wine straight from a bottle on the table.

Before I can answer, he sneezes and blows out the wine all over my face.

“Just releasing that ol’ demon,” he says. “Don’t bless me.” He laughs. “Salem witch joke.”

He throws me a napkin and I start to dry myself off.

“Not for your face, silly. You’re bleeding.” He points to my neck.

I touch the napkin to my neck and come away with blood.

“Got lost in wonderland again, haven’t we, Alice?”

Who is this weirdo and why is this happening to me?

I am about to speak my mind when he stops me once again. “Have you seen my silver? I’ve misplaced it. Can’t have gone too far.”

I finally open my mouth to respond, but for some reason I can’t speak. I try again, anything to make a sound but—nothing.

Why can’t I speak? What’s wrong with me?

“Cat got yer tongue?” he asks in a Yorkshire accent. “Don’t worry your little head about it. You’re fine. Just quiet is all. God’s got a sense of humor, I suppose.”

I try to sing the alphabet song. Still nothing.

Jehudiel
grabs a bottle from the bar, a corkscrew from his pocket, pulls the cork, and starts chugging the wine, all while seriously eyeing me. He downs the entire bottle, takes a breath, and looks totally satisfied.

“God is like a fine wine. Once you’re engulfed in his love, he gives you a great buzz.” He laughs, bending over and slapping his knee. “I crack myself up sometimes. Have you seen my silver? Oops, I said it again! Naughty me!”

This guy is completely nuts.

“Oh, how that hole is vast and deep, white rabbit,”
Jehudiel
says, his face becoming serious again. “White? Envious was the man in white. What was your name again?”

It’s Knave right? Even if it is, I can’t say it.

I need to get my head straight.

“Are you a gambling man?”
Jehudiel
reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a stack of playing cards, shuffling them in front of me. For some reason, looking at the cards holds my interest in a way I can’t explain. It’s as if a hidden side of me wants to play. A side I can’t control.

First my voice and now I’m addicted to gambling?

He plays the cards like a magician, making one card disappear, then reappear in his other hand. “Keep your eyes focused,” he says. “The mind has the ability to play tricks on you. One day you are the fool,” he shows me the joker, “and the next you’re the king.”e He flips it around and it magically turns into the king. “Life is like a game of poker, everything is built around chance.”

He lays five cards down flat on the table. “Let me predict your future.” He turns each one over to reveal a royal flush of hearts. “The Royal Hearts family,” he says with dread in his voice. “A crossroads between love and survival is in your future. You will be allowed to choose only one. It’s unclear the path you will choose, but it will not matter because each leads to the same conclusion.”

He shuffles the cards back into the deck. I wait, half expecting him to finish, but after a few seconds of silence I begin to realize that he isn’t a fortune-teller or a magician, but just a nut in a bar. I look over the bar to see the royal flush masks, noticing each one has a heart symbol on the left side. The Royal Hearts family. Just a coincidence. Doesn’t mean a thing.