Lord of Time Page 3

  “Of course I’m sure.” Alfred glanced back at his phone. “As I said, it’s ten—” The words froze in his mouth. The display now showed seven thirty. He looked at Pacific then back to his phone. “I don’t understand,” he said, confused. He touched the screen a few times. The time didn’t change.

  “Is there a problem, young man?”

  “I think so,” Alfred said. He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “This damn thing is not working.”

  “Oh, the cell phone is fine,” Pacific said, his voice deeper and graver than before. “The problem is the time, I fear.”

  But Alfred wasn’t listening. He was too busy turning his phone off and on and praying that whatever had happened didn’t happen again. He needed the damn thing to work, and he still had to reply to Mr. Solidali’s message.

  Alfred watched the home screen with anticipation.

  “Ten to nine,” Alfred said, sighing with relief.

  “Good to know,” Pacific nodded. “Time’s a trickster if you don’t know how to handle it.”

  Alfred put the phone back in his pocket. “My boss will kill me,” he mumbled to himself. “I need to go now.”

  “Pray, young man,” Pacific said, raising both hands. “Indulge me for one more minute and let me ask you a very important question.”

  “What question?”

  “Would losing this job of yours really be the end of the world?”

  Alfred narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Beg your pardon?”

  “It seems obvious to me you’re fully invested in it,” Pacific explained. “More than that, in fact. You’re devoting your life to it. Why is it so important?”

  “I work at the Spear,” Alfred said flatly, as if that fact explained everything there was to explain.

  “Ah. The Spear.” Pacific looked impressed. “They say only the brightest minds work there.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Alfred said, straightening up a little.

  “I suppose one additional, foraging bee bringing pollen back to the hive is considered valuable to the overall system.”

  Alfred shook his head slightly. “What?”

  “Nothing. Just thinking out loud. I don’t want to keep you further. Of course you need to go. You don’t want to be late. Off you go, then, Alfred White. Have another painfully average day.”

  Alfred walked away as fast as he could, trying not to look as though he were running.

  While half walking, half running, he decided he didn’t like that man. At all. He would take the longer way to work the next day and avoid the park altogether. He had better put that memo down in his agenda before he forgot.

  A notification appeared on his phone. It was another message from Mr. Solidali. This one started, “Disregard previous message. Read this instead!” Once again Alfred’s mind focused exclusively on the message. He kept walking and reading until he was in front of the iconic Spear and then on the twenty-fourth floor. There, a cubicle heavy with stacks of paper announced the start of a very long day of work.

  3

  Déjà Vu

  Alfred White woke up to the sound of an alarm clock. He rose from his bed in a fluid motion, picked up his phone from the bedside table, and turned off the alarm. He then looked at the display with bleary eyes; it was seven thirty in the morning.

  He felt tired. He had slept poorly the night before and lost many hours to his thoughts.

  The previous day he had faced a problem at work, something he could not solve right away. Now he was afraid of Mr. Solidali’s reaction. He would not be pleased. Alfred was certain of it.

  This was a bad time for problems. His company was in the middle of the biggest project of the quarter, and they needed everything to run smoothly. Alfred knew he needed to solve the problem quickly. His survival on the twenty-fourth floor was at stake.

  Alfred started preparing faster than usual. If he got to work sooner, he might be able to solve the problem before his project coordinator found out.

  As always, Alfred followed his carefully planned morning routine, joined the stream of people walking on Main Street, passed the street newspaper vendor yelling about increasing rates of suicide, bought his breakfast, and finally headed toward the park.

  By the time he passed the park’s gate, his eyes were fixed on his phone’s screen. He was studying a project’s note that might help him solve his problem. He was focused on the task, his feet moving automatically, following the usual shortcut that would bring him faster to the Spear.

  “A jolly good day to you, Alfred White.”

  Alfred’s stomach sank to his feet as he looked in front of him, where an all-too-familiar face was smiling.

  Right, Alfred thought. This is the fucking icing on the cake. He had completely forgotten about the annoying weirdo.

  Alfred breathed in, thinking fast. He turned toward Pacific but kept walking. “Good morning, sir,” he said, stretching the corner of his mouth in a smile while quickening his pace. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m in a rush and really can’t talk with you today. I am very, very late for a meeting and I gotta go before I—”

  “You’re a liar.”

  Alfred stopped midstride and stared at the man in disbelief. “What did you just say?”

  “I said, you’re a liar,” Pacific repeated. There was no malice in his tone. He looked like somebody who had just made a comment on the weather.

  “No, I’m not!” Alfred puffed his chest and glared at Pacific. “I’m just in a rush. That’s all!”

  Pacific frowned. “Why do you look so offended, young man?”

  “Why? You just called me a liar!”

  “Again, why so upset?”

  “You called me a liar, and you’re asking why I’m upset?”

  “You’re acting like I said something mean to you, but I didn’t.” Pacific looked at Alfred with a knowing eye. “Lying is a virtue if it’s cultivated well. Your problem is that are a very poor liar, Alfred White. There you go. Now I’m being mean to you. See the difference?”

  Alfred did not. He stared at the man who called himself Pacific and thought of something harsh to say back to him. However, he couldn’t come up with something good enough, and that made him even more upset. He had never been good with quick remarks.

  Alfred stood there, looking vaguely comic with his raised eyebrows and half-opened mouth.

  “You said you gotta go,” Pacific remarked, pointing in the direction Alfred was headed. “And you also said you’re in a rush, as if time itself owns you. In fact, it’s quite the opposite, but a poor rider will let a horse carry him if he has no idea how to use the reins.”

  Alfred had no clue what Pacific was talking about. Then again, the man was a few inches away from insanity. He was probably just a loony sitting on the same spot every day, hoping to snatch conversation from strangers.

  Alfred considered his options. He had better things to do than waste time with this man. He needed to get moving.

  And yet there was something that kept him standing there, something Alfred could not quite put a finger on. Was it because he wanted to get even with him? Was is it because of something Pacific had said? Or was it the way he had said it?

  Pacific spoke again. “And of course you don’t want to be late,” he said. “Your reptilian brain forbids that. Doesn’t it?”

  Alfred glowered at him. “My what?”

  “Your amygdala,” Pacific explained. He touched the frontal portion of his temporal lobe. “It’s the oldest part of your brain, responsible for primitive survival instincts like fear. Right now your amygdala is telling you to be in a rush. If you’re not in a rush, you’ll be late. If you’re late, your boss will fire you. If he fires you, you won’t have a job, which means you’ll have no money to buy food, clothes, or shelter, and you will starve and die.”

  Alfred’s heartbeat quickened.

  Pacific’s words resonated inside him like the tolling of a bell in the middle of a cave. They stormed like an invading army, crushing the walls of his soul and con
quering his spirit.

  Suddenly Alfred’s rage collapsed into a fear with no name. It seized Alfred from the inside out and paralyzed him.

  Pacific was right. That realization frightened Alfred so deeply and so quickly that his body started shaking. Every single word the man had said felt right.

  But, just as urgently, his mind warned him he couldn’t afford to listen to this man. He needed to get away from him. He needed to get back to work.

  Alfred swallowed. He clenched his fists and looked at Pacific with contempt. Pride overtook him once again. “You don’t know me,” he retorted with defiance as his words betrayed him. “You have no idea who I am. I’m a busy person, and you’re wasting my time. Don’t ever talk to me again! You hear me? Leave me alone.” Alfred started walking away without waiting for a reply.

  A red ball hit him hard on the chest.

  “Ouch!” Alfred exclaimed, recoiling.

  The ball bounced three times on the grass before rolling toward Pacific. The man picked it up slowly.

  A small boy no older than eight came running toward them. “I’m sorry, sir!” he said. “Can I have it back? Please?”

  “Of course you can, miniscule fellow,” Pacific said. He patted the child’s head and handed him the ball. “Off you go, now. Adults are talking here.”

  “Thanks, sir.” The boy ran away as quickly as he had come, disappearing behind a nearby bush.

  Alfred was massaging his chest vigorously. The pain was still there. “That hurt,” he said, wincing. “That freaking hurt.”

  “Bad karma, maybe?” Pacific seemed to enjoy Alfred’s predicament. “You have quite a temper, young man, and no love for wise advice given freely. I was trying to make a point there, and that was no way to interrupt me.”

  Alfred snorted. “I don’t care what you think.” He started walking away.

  He didn’t get far.

  Once again, a red ball hit him hard on the chest. “Ouch!” Alfred exclaimed.

  The ball bounced three times on the grass before rolling toward Pacific exactly as it had before. The man picked it up slowly.

  The same small boy came running toward them. “I’m sorry, sir!” he said. “Can I have it back? Please?”

  “Of course you can, miniscule fellow,” Pacific repeated. He patted the child’s head and handed him the ball. “Off you go, now. Adults are talking here.”

  Alfred’s mouth was wide open as he watched the scene unfold. Every word Pacific had said, every movement he had made, was an exact copy of what had already happened.

  Alfred was no longer massaging his chest. He was no longer breathing, for that matter. He was staring at the boy as he disappeared behind the very same bush he’d gone through the first time.

  There was no way Alfred could explain what had occurred. It was the weirdest thing to ever happen to him, like watching a movie clip twice in a row. Except he was not in front of a screen.

  Alfred looked at Pacific, who sat with his arms folded, looking at the bush where the boy had disappeared.

  “Marvelous thing, déjà vu,” Pacific said. “An acquaintance of mine once described it as a ‘tic of the time.’ I’m not sure that’s the most appropriate way to define it. However, when déjà vu occurs, it’s always fascinating. And it’s even more fun to create. Did you enjoy it?”

  Alfred breathed in slowly. He looked at Pacific, then at the bush, then at Pacific again. “You … You did that?”

  “Of course I did.” Pacific gave him a conspiratorial look.

  Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “H-How?”

  Alfred knew the question sounded crazy. He wished he could take it back, but at the same time, he really wanted to know more.

  Of course it didn’t happen, said the voice of reason inside him. You can’t rewind real life.

  And yet it had happened. He had seen it with his eyes.

  Déjà vu. Alfred let the words sink in. He was familiar with the concept, of course; he’d had his fair share of déjà vu before, but never like this. This was something completely different.

  Pacific looked at Alfred behind his sunglasses. “How, you ask?” He paused, and patted the empty place on the bench beside him. “Well, if you want an answer to that question, young man, you won’t go to work today. No, you will stay here with me, and we will talk.”

  Alfred’s face was washed blank with confusion. “What?” he asked.

  “You heard me, Alfred White. Take a day off. Do it, and I’ll answer your question right here, right now.”

  Alfred flinched. “I … What?” He took a step back without even realizing it. “Are you serious?”

  “As serious as a corpse at a funeral.” Pacific seemed amused by Alfred’s puzzled expression. “What do you say? One day of your work in return for one day of knowledge. It’s a steal. Get it while you can.”

  A nervous smile flashed on Alfred’s face. “I … I don’t think so.” He glanced at his phone. “I need to go.”

  “Why? You are dying to know the answer. I can see it.” Pacific’s hand was still patting the bench’s empty spot. “You can take a day off and learn exactly what happened, or you can keep walking, go about your life, and never see me again. Do you really want that question nibbling at you for the rest of your life?”

  Alfred stood there, speechless. “Nothing happened,” he said stubbornly, stressing both words while trying to convince himself they were true. “Nothing. It was just … just …” he trailed off, not knowing how to end the sentence.

  “Just déjà vu,” Pacific filled in. “One. Short. Little. Déjà vu.”

  Alfred licked his dry lips, thinking of what to say, unsure of what to do.

  The two men stared at each other while a daunting silence stretched, and time with it.

  Pacific made a vague gesture. “No big deal, déjà vu. Just a nuisance.” He raised an index finger. “But it can become much more than an inconvenience if you let it. You know why? It’s because you can lose yourself in nothingness more easily that you can imagine. It happens fast. When your whole life starts to look like the same old movie, the daily routine and habits make everything look stale. The repetition, the copy-and-paste of one day onto the next, are like repeated cases of déjà vu carrying you closer and closer to the grave. Let me ask you this question: is your life starting to look like déjà vu, Alfred White?”

  Alfred’s heart bounded heavily against his chest. He knew, inwardly, that Pacific was right. But admitting it would have been too much to bear. It would have meant denying his whole life up to that point. He couldn’t afford that. And so he turned without replying and walked away from Pacific. Before he knew it, he was running.

  When Alfred was well outside the park, he took his phone out of his pocket with a new resolution. He would never see that man again. Never.

  This time he wrote the memo down, so that he would make sure to remember. He needed to stay away from that man, away from his madness.

  When Alfred approached the gigantic building made of glass and steel, his heartbeat steadied. The Spear was something he could understand, something familiar, and it made him feel better.

  It made him feel safe.

  And he wanted no more than that now. He wanted to follow orders, to blend in, to be forgotten.

  Alfred walked with long strides toward his safe harbor, past the stream of people, past the entrance of the Spear, and up to the twenty-fourth floor. He sought the security of the place where he spent most of his waking time, surrounded by like-minded people busy with tasks and moving with purpose.

  Alfred finally entered his safe cubicle, his world inside the world, where a tall stack of papers was graciously waiting for him.

  “Are you okay, White?”

  Alfred whirled on the spot. It was Mrs. Debby Johnson.

  “Yeah,” Alfred said hastily. “I’m great. Thanks. Why?”

  “You look … paler than usual,” Mrs. Johnson said, looking at him carefully. “And you’re wheezing.”

  “I’m good,”
Alfred lied. “Bursting with health. Never been better. I swear. If you’d excuse me, I have work to do.”

  Alfred gladly embraced his work that morning and shielded himself from the unexplainable things that had happened in the park.

  He successfully solved the problem he had faced the day before and looked for more things to do in order to keep his mind off Pacific.

  Jack Smith had been sick for the past couple of days. It had started as a harmless cold but had turned into a fever, judging by Jack’s shiny eyes. His colleague hadn’t called in sick, of course, even thought he could have used a day off. You didn’t call in sick on the twenty-fourth floor. You called in dead.

  Alfred also knew that Jack was behind on a couple of project evaluations. He had overheard Mr. Solidali talking to him the previous day. Helping Jack looked like a great way to keep his head busy.

  “You want to do it?” Jack said, a puzzled look creasing his forehead.

  “I’d love to,” Alfred answered with a bright smile.

  “Why?” Jack asked. He looked surprised enough that he had stopped munching on his chocolate chip cookie.

  “I’ve got nothing else to do.”

  “Are you done with the Jonny Case Cascade file?”

  “Yup.”

  “What about the cross-functional roundabout?”

  “Done and done.”

  Jack looked at Alfred intently. “Well,” he said in the end, shrugging, “yes, sure. Help yourself.” He cleared his throat. “And … thanks. I guess.”

  “No,” Alfred said, while quickly taking the USB flash drive Jack was handing him, “Thank you, kind sir.” That said, he disappeared inside his cubicle.

  It didn’t take long for Alfred to finish Jake’s assignment. When he was done, he looked around, wondering what else to do.

  He heard the soft, rhythmic typing of Mrs. Debby Johnson just a few feet away. An idea bloomed in his mind. He peered over the partition into her cubicle. “Mrs. Johnson,” he said as quietly as possible. She startled very easily. “May I speak?”

  Mrs. Johnson’s head jerked to the side so suddenly, Alfred thought her neck would break. “Isn’t your brain aware of your mouth?” she snapped at him. “Can’t you see you’re already talking?”