Purgatorium (51 page)

I don’t understand? Why didn’t it work?! Why?!

I am about to throw the book off the bridge when I catch myself. I take a few breaths to relax my temper.

Once across the bridge, I stroll beneath the billboard and look up at Madi’s face.

I grow numb inside again like the way I was before the angels came. No thoughts that cloud my judgment and no thinking about a past that has long since left me behind.

I look back at the bottle of whiskey in my hand. It compels me to drink. I take the cork out and hold the bottle up. Then it hits me.

I gaze into the bottle, imagining a small demon swimming around inside of it. Memories of my idleness run through my head. Years upon years of heavy drinking, mixed in with poor decisions, flood my memory bank.

This was my desire.

It poured into me like an addiction. Like a poison, it consumed me. Made me see the world differently. The way I wanted to see it. Maybe because I felt my life wasn’t good enough or I used it to cover up my own failures. I really am worth nothing.

I put the cork back in it and raise it high above me. I get ready to throw it when I feel an urge to suddenly stop. I look at the bottle once again, watching the hard liquor sway from side to side. It puts me in a trance that I can’t seem to escape from. I put it in my jacket pocket, for reasons I don’t understand.

I see the twister accelerate rapidly toward the billboard and I continue walking. The winds rip through the billboard, shattering it to pieces. I make my way through the sliding doors to the apartment and walk through the lobby and into the elevator. I press the button leading me to the roof. I wait in utter and complete silence.

50 Minutes

Walking out of the elevator and onto the rooftop, I hear thunder once again.
Sealtiel is
looking through the telescope. Lightning flashes, illuminating the city. The sudden flashes make me wince.

“Love looks through a telescope and envy, through a microscope,” says Sealtiel, staring at me through the telescope. “Please stop your incessant pattering on about your inferiority. I’d much rather not have to be privy to it. This is good-bye! I well tell the rest of the angels to pack it up. You can handle the next three days on your own. You seem to like that anyway, since you find us to be worthless.”

I stand straight and hold out my hand to him. No longer a man with no value but instead, a man that knows what he is worth.

He looks at me as if he were solving a puzzle. “You found out what your desire was? The five letter word for your true sin, didn’t you?”

I nod.

Sealtiel smirks at my declaration. I take out the logbook from my jacket. I put in S/L/O/T/H. The latch unlocks.

Sealtiel locks it back with great resolve. “In your own time,” he says. “So what do you desire now?”

I desire to never let myself give up. Life doesn’t happen to you, it happens for you.

Sealtiel proudly nods to me.

As I put the logbook back in my jacket, I notice my watch that Sealtiel is still wearing.

“Do you understand what makes this
watch
so important?” he says looking at me. “Why is it something to be desired over? It’s another thing I will never be able to emotionally understand. A gift given out of love. That is a hidden treasure in itself. A treasure I will be forever jealous towards.”

I keep looking at the watch now, thinking that it might be my token. He has been eyeing my watch ever since I met him. He knows something. But why would he keep my token from me? Unless…I quit thinking so he won’t read my mind.

“Perhaps you’re still here, not because you think you can’t win, but because you are afraid to win. Madi and Anna could still be alive. And I get it—you want them to remember you as a good man, not a cheater.”

Sealtiel walks over to the elevator and presses the button. “But think about this, were you ever a good man?”

Lightning strikes as the elevator doors open.
Sealtiel
walks in. “Best of luck to you. Hopefully the book will give you more insight on your token,” he says, grinning through his teeth. The doors close behind him.

I ponder, there is only three days left. My token could be my watch or Madi’s ring. Though if it is my watch, then my demon could be Sealtiel. He has had greed-like tendencies today. I think back to the toast at the restaurant. He wants to be human, I remember him telling me. It would make sense.

I think about the waitress and how she is somehow a part of all this too. I take out the key to her apartment.

Let’s find out who you really are.

I look at the hourglass on the ledge as it
flips over.

55 Minutes

I take one last look at the city view. Thunder reigns from the sky as lightning swarms around the small town that I created. Twisters are still reeking havoc as I turn away and head back to the elevator.

I think about Madi’s ring and
start to remember what Gabriel said about my token. ‘A gift that can’t be taken, only given.’ I realize that Madi’s ring is not a gift that was given to me. It was a gift I forgot to give. Madi’s ring isn’t my token.

I sit there as the elevator starts to slow down. I gaze upon the painting and begin to realize, if Madi’s ring isn’t the token then its purpose for even being here is just another thing to inflict emotional pain onto me. That means Sealtiel could actually be my demon and if my watch was the token, then all he has left to do is wait till I smash all the hourglasses. The doors will open, he walks in, and I become stuck here!

My anger bottles up and releases all at once as I bring my hand back and slam the painting with my fist. I pull my arm back and notice the painting didn’t even move, not even a scratch. I find humor in its significance towards my situation.

No matter how many punches I throw, it will never be enough. I must find a way to slow my demon down long enough to where I can fight back, I think as the elevator arrives at my stop.

I slide out and walk down the hall. I stop at the waitress’ door and glance at the number 5. Suddenly, I remember the key I found. Taking it out of my pocket, I recognize the number 5 displayed on it. I put the key in and turn it, unlocking the door.

Pushing it open, I see nothing but a dark room. I turn on the lights and become instantly confused by what I see. I look around and notice the whole place is an exact replica of my own. From the wooden floors, to the couch, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. Everything is the same. I quickly go over to the fridge and open the freezer. I glance in to find the gun I wanted her to keep safe is still inside.

Maybe I can trust her.

Feeling a chill in the air, I head back to the front door.

I walk out her apartment, open my door, and quickly head into my living room. Lightning can be seen outside my window as the thunder screams out in a mad roar. I strut over to the kitchen counter and take out the bottle of whiskey from my jacket pocket. I open the trash can and raise the bottle over it. I am about to release it from my fingers when I stop myself. I can’t seem to do it. Instead, I place it on the counter.

I will throw it away tomorrow, I think to myself.

I walk to the bedroom, past the framed American flag on the wall, and look over to my blueprint still hanging there.

As the thunder outside gets louder, I am shocked when I hear Madi’s voice.

“Happy birthday to you,” she sings.

I turn around. Madi stands in the doorway, holding a single lit candle in a birthday cupcake. She walks closer to me until she is holding the cupcake near my mouth. I feel my heart sink, knowing what I have done to her.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Author, happy birthday to you. Make a wish.”

I wish I could take it all back, I think. I blow the candle out and she is gone again. Sadness overwhelms me as I begin to think back on what she just said. Author? I just remembered about the logbook I have yet to read.

Lighting strikes. The thunder gets louder. I grab hold of the book out of my jacket and flip to the first page. It reads, “A Face to Call Home.” I peruse through the pages. It is filled with my own writing.

My name is nowhere to be found, which brings me down just a little. But nevertheless, I did it. I actually finished a book, I continue thinking, with joy. Eager to start reading, I flip back to the first chapter page.

“
New Year’s Eve is like every other night; there is no pause in the march of the universe, no breathless moment of silence among created things by which the passage of another twelve months may be noted. And yet, no man or woman has quite the same thoughts this evening that come with the encroaching darkness of other nights. This one eve comes with newfound hope; it revolves around second chances and regrets. Let the end of days speak swiftly to every hard of hearts, so that the new year will bring to each no doubts but simple clarity.”

Reading each successive page, I plumb the depths of my soul.

I look over at the time: 58:01.

I abruptly stop reading, remembering why I wanted the book in the first place. I flip to the very end and see a checklist of four things my past self had drawn up. I scroll down to each step:

• Remember there are 9 hourglasses to break.
  
• Must make it out under 42:02
  
• Keep my promise to Madi
  
• Trust Stephanie
  

I stop as I get to number four on the checklist. I stare at it not understanding. Questions flood my mind. What does this mean, I think, looking back in curiosity. I read it again: Trust Stephanie.

Who is Stephanie?
I wonder as I hear the final seconds coming from the alarm clock, ticking away to my indelible vulnerability.

59:58….59:59….60:00.

The radio plays “The Light in the Piazza,” though the song is a little muffled. Inside the car, I can barely move. “Anna? Madi? Are you okay?”

I can hear Anna crying in the backseat. I look over to the passenger seat where Madi is crying as well. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” she cries out.

I look to the backseat. Anna is still wearing her seatbelt. “Everything is going to be okay, little girl. Are you hurt?” She shakes her head. “That’s my strong girl. Can you look at me?”

I
watch
her slowly raise her little head to see me. She shows me the snow globe in her hands, letting me know she kept it safe. A set of headlights flash from behind her, blinding me. All I can hear is the song still playing as the lights from behind Anna get brighter.

SLAM!
I feel my body pushed against the seat and then toward the dashboard. I look outside as our car ricochets into the guardrail, breaking through it, and then grinds to a halt as it teeters on the edge. I open my eyes to see Madi’s brown eyes staring back at me from the passenger seat, not once ever blinking.

Everything goes blurry while the song comes to an end, “The light in the piazza, my love.” Out of nowhere, I hear the sound of an alarm clock going off. Beep…Beep…Beep…***

FRIDAY

Jehudiel

I open my eyes, which feel swollen and bloodshot. Looking down at myself, I see long hair draping over my shoulders and onto my chest. My full beard brushes against my sternum. I cup my face in my hands, remembering what I have just seen. They’re both dead, I think in horror. They are both dead because of me, I lament.

I lift my head up, releasing my hands from my face. Opening my eyes, I stare up towards the ceiling. To my surprise, I find something odd in the light fixture above my bed. I tilt my head, having never noticed a black light bulb inside there before.

I take the controller off my nightstand and turn the light on. My whole room is lit by the ultraviolet glow of the bulb. Seeing clearer, I glance around the room and notice a splatter of different coats of blue and black paint all across the walls that goes down to the floors, which wasn’t there before. Looking back up, the word “Lust” is spelled out on the ceiling.

What does this mean?

My eyes slowly adjust to the fluorescent light. As I wander around the blue lit room, I find it rather ironic. The blacks and blues seem to distinguish a part of my soul, making it relevant to how I feel at this very given moment—broken down and beaten. Like someone has taken hold of me and pounded me till I was black and blue in the face.

I chuckle like a crazy person at the symmetry I just uncovered.

I look over at the handbook appearing once again by my night stand. I look through my drawer and find a matchbook. I take the book in my hand and strike a match. Holding it underneath the pages, I watch it catch fire. I stare at the fire melting every piece of it away for a minute, then reach my legs over to put my feet on the ground. I throw it in the trashcan by my bed, then look over at the American flag, hanging on my wall. I lift it up, off the wall, and smash the frame to the ground. I yank out the flag, flinging the broken pieces of glass everywhere around the room.

Here is to you, father, I think to myself. I bet you would get a kick out of this if you could see me now. I throw the flag into the fire.
I told you it was funny, father,
I think as I watch the flag slowly burn. The ashes float up and out of the trash can, flying softly in front of me.

I look back over to my bed and notice that up above it lies a painting of an angel holding a skull with the words R.I.P just below it. The ultraviolet rays helps brighten its message towards me.

I think the graffiti artist is trying to tell me something.

Looking down, I pick up my snow globe from the nightstand. I stare into it and think of Anna holding on to it in her last few seconds before the crash. I clutch the globe tightly between my fingers, replaying the whole incident in my head. I walk over to look out the window, staring at the hourglass reflecting off of it, and knowing with all the time in the world I could never stop them from dying.

After a few moments, I lay the snow globe down and walk over to the curtains, pushing them a little bit apart. The sky seems like something I would see in a painting. Shades of pink and blue scattered around with white creamy clouds. There are pink plum blossoms covering the ground and trees for as far as I can see. So painfully beautiful, I think.

I shut the curtains, not wanting to see anymore, and walk over to the blueprint hanging on my wall. I see no new answer beside the question mark I drew. I turn back to the foot of my bed, pick up my robe, put it on, and walk out the door, dragging my feet. I head down the small hallway, running my fingers against the wet paint on the wall, turning them to a shade of blue.

The living room appears to take the same art style that the bedroom had displayed. Everything from the kitchen, bathroom, and closet has been covered in graffiti.

They could have at least changed the color scheme, I think sarcastically.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the half drunk bottle of Macallan, resting right on the kitchen counter right where I left it last night.

Like a madman, I run over and unscrew the cap, tilting it back. It warms my throat. Even though I still can’t taste anything, it gives me complete satisfaction to the last drop. When I bring it back down, the bottle is empty. I am left thirst quenching for more. I have a feeling the alcoholic in me has fully risen to the surface.

I remember the flask in the closet. I run back to the closet, find it, and head into the bathroom. I suddenly recall that only water is inside it, so it does me no good.

I scream to myself,
Why would anyone put water in a flask?! Why?!

I look down at the flask and read the inscription:
Après moi, le déluge
. I think back to the park where I had a chance to let her go. If I just didn’t say ‘I love you’ to her then none of this would have happened. She would still be alive and living a much happier life without me, and I wouldn’t be stuck here!

I grab a pair of my pants and rustle them on. I put the flask in my pants pocket and slowly put on the rest of my clothes as if I am just going through the motions.

I go and look in the mirror at myself. My face is spotted with blue paint. Some is also in my hair and down my cheek. I look past myself and see the reflection of the hourglass. It taunts me. Taking my wet painted fingers, I trace the outline of the hourglass. All the while my mind is racing with uncontrollable thoughts and feelings. The poisonous drink has finally set in to my system.

I grow dizzy and unaware of things around me except for the hourglass I traced on the mirror. The black and blue graffiti on the bathroom walls seem to collide together. The ultraviolet sears through my eyeballs, making me blind from any other color that escapes me. Delusions enter my thoughts, creating holes of questions flowing from the inside to the outside of what I believe and despair. The black paint seems to run down the walls covering everything but the mirror in front of me. Everything but the hourglass. I am in the darkness to my own thoughts.

Is the hourglass me or am I the hourglass? If the hourglass is me, then can I break just as easily? Will I then be able to breathe the cold air knowing the reapers would soon be coming to witness the shattering pieces of my body across the bathroom floor? Would they come for me then? Or will I forever be trapped in the sands of my past life until my worldly body breathes no more?

I snap myself out of it. The walls turn back to the abysmal black and blue paint job they once were.

I know the real reason why I am truly here. I am a murderer and I deserve every bit of torture this place inflicts upon me. All this time, I thought I was stuck in a world where I was surrounded by the good memories in my life but it’s the total opposite.

Everything here is supposed to remind me of what I have lost. I made this place to torture myself, not to help me remember. I put the flask back in my closet. My reflection, independently of myself, moves his lips. “You don’t belong,” it keeps repeating over and over again.

Enraged by my family’s death, the weight of my past choices, and my reflection’s ramblings, I smash my head into the mirror. There are no noises, only silence now. My head seems to hurt more mentally than physically. I feel dizzy. Looking at the blood spots around the broken glass in the sink makes me realize what’s the point of bleeding. To bleed and yet not feel pain. Another cruel joke that has been placed upon me.

What would happen if I cut my wrists? Would the blood be ever flowing with no end? Would I even bleed out? If so, would I still be here? Or would the blood reproduce itself back inside my body? Questions after questions after questions. I am so tired of all the questions. Maybe it’s time I get some answers.

I slam my head into the mirror again and again. I look at the broken hourglass in the mirror’s reflection and I just don’t care. I keep going until I am overcome by dizziness and fall to the ground in front of the sink.

Dazed, I hear the piano starting to play “The Light in the Piazza.” It must be 3:10, I think. The same time in which I cheated on Madi. How clever of me to do that to myself. I really am screwed up in the head. Just stick the knife in deeper.

I lie there, still dizzy, not wanting to move. I watch my breath hang in the air as I feel the temperature dropping. I hear the sounds of the reapers screeching in the hallway. I spread my hands apart, accepting that my wife and child are dead.

The door bursts open as I welcome the reapers to erase the pain away but instead, to my surprise, I see the waitress. She flips off the light switch and everything in the whole apartment room is back to normal. Looking around, I see that not only is the ultraviolet gone but the splattered paint is gone as well.

She runs over to me. “Hurry! Take my hand!” she shouts. I look at her apathetically, lying on the ground under the piano. “Get up! They’re coming! Get up!”

She looks around frantically and sees the hatchet in the glass case. She opens the case and pulls the
hatchet
out. A reaper flies in through the door behind her. Ice covers the floor beneath us while freezing over my legs in the process.

The waitress jumps out of the way as the reaper floats toward me where I still lie, unmoving. She swings the hatchet with all her strength at the back of the reaper’s head.
Crack!
It splits and the reaper falls to the ground, the ice below it melting.

Another reaper flies inside. The waitress turns to face it but slips on the melted ice from the fallen reaper, dropping the hatchet onto the floor next to me. She quickly stands up and grabs the piano bench, swinging it into the face of the oncoming reaper. A leg of the bench stabs the reaper in the face. It shrieks and falls.

A third reaper has come in the door and it heads for me. It extends its skeletal hand towards my face. The waitress grabs it by the tail end of its cloak and yanks it; the reaper falls. She drags it back in the living room. Her legs can’t hold steady due to the slippery ice and she falls backwards. She rolls her body underneath the piano as the reaper makes its way back up. It forgets about me and heads for her.

I stare at the alarm clock while the time ticks away to five. 4:56…4:57…4:58….4:59...

5 Minutes

Why would she risk her life for me?
I think, astonished. After everything she’s been through! She’s risking her memories to protect mine. She scrambles out from under the piano, grabs the hatchet, and swings it sideways into the reaper’s neck, severing its head clean off.

The waitress slumps down onto the ground, catching her breath. She looks over at me, the hatchet still in her hand. She walks into the bathroom and sits down a few feet from me while the cold air can still be seen between the two of us.

“You drank a little alcohol, didn’t you?” she says, looking at the bottle next to me. “You can’t drink that kind of stuff in this place. Don’t you remember? Makes you sick in the head. Gets you instantly drunk and hungover at the same time. If I could tell you stories.” I stare at her hoping she will understand that I am not going anywhere. She looks at the mirror shards around me and looks up to see that I broke the mirror.

“I know you’re not stupid enough to not know that the reapers will be pouring in here any second now if we don’t hurry up.” I look forward at my kitchen clock and watch the time tick away, all the while thinking there is nothing left for me anymore.

5:31…5:32…5:33…5:34…5:35.

“You can’t give up, not when we have come so close. I know you may not believe me when I say this but I am your friend. My name is Stephanie.”

Surprised upon hearing her name, I look away from the clock and up to her.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve had to try and tell you my name. I am here to help you.”

She is Stephanie? The Stephanie?
I think. The same Stephanie that my past self wrote about to trust? And how is she here to help me? All she has ever done is get herself killed over and over again. I shiver harder, assuming a new batch of reapers are on their way.

“I have a lot to explain, I know, but after today you will understand why and what it was all for. Or if not for me, then how about for the person still playing your music on the outside? Don’t you wanna know who it is?”

Still looking her, I begin to wonder to myself. I forgot about the music coming from the outside. Someone must be still alive! As I think with new hope running through my mind, I begin to feel colder.

I am going to have to trust her for now, nodding to her.

“Let’s first go find that hidden token of yours, shall we?” She stands up and offers me her hand. I look to her and at my frozen legs.