Purgatorium (11 page)

“Your brain is controlled by time. When you leave, to when you go, are based on certain timed sequences that you have been forced to execute on. If you leave before the specific time or long after, they will know. You witnessed it firsthand just a few seconds ago out in that hall. Got cold pretty fast, didn’t it?”

I cringe, remembering how it felt. Almost like hot knives prodding my skin.

“The cold air is like their own personal cologne.”

Michael puts the alarm back and walks up next to me.

“They are the only things floating in the way between you and freedom. There is just one way to stop them.”

I see his eyes gaze down to the butterfly knife in my hand.

“Well you’re halfway there. Let’s see it.”

I begin twirling the blade in and out, almost dropping it.

“Remember, a reverse twirl, a backhand opening, and then aerial it. Once you learn the hardest part, everything else is easy. I want you to keep trying this the whole day.”

I turn stiff as Michael gets aggravated. “I want you to listen and listen well. Playtime is over. Next Sunday, your heart monitor will stop, the machine keeping you half alive will be unplugged, your soul will cease to exist here, and you will be sent to the devil’s playground for the rest of your soulless existence. So, if I were you, I’d start manning up right now.”

Michael throws the book out the window. He calms himself as I register what he said. Michael goes to the bathroom and looks at the mirror. I ponder over what he is staring at as he takes a picture of it. He looks at the developed copy coming out of the camera and smirks at it.

Exasperated, I decide to try the reverse twirl. After flipping the knife once, it drops to the floor. Impossible, I think.

“We all fall down sometimes, but it’s what we learn from it that brings us back up.” Michael smiles at me, but it’s too sharp, too predatory, too steeped in the promise of violence. It’s almost a threat—bared teeth rather than an expression of joy.

I pick up the knife, try the twirl again, and immediately drop it.

“I’ll make you a deal. Each time you drop it, I’m going to slap you. Sounds fair, right? Since you act like a child, maybe I need to treat you like one. Punishment can motivate in ways you can’t even imagine.” Without any hesitation he slaps me across the face.

I nervously try the first move again, but once more the knife drops to the floor. I feel another quick, painful slap across my left cheek.

“There are two truths in this world. You can either adapt or change. You have to make the choice. By today’s end, you will feel fear, anger, pain, and you will feel alone. Only then can you truly make the choice if you’d rather live or die.”

Michael reaches out and touches the window. Almost as if he saw something in its reflection.

I try to speak, but for some reason I still can’t. I try again. No words come out and my mouth does not even move. I sigh heavily and look up at Michael.

“When you finally know the truth about yourself, only then will your voice be heard,” Michael says, looking down at me and continues. “And the only way to see the truth is for you to let us help you.”

How did this happen to me?
I wonder.
Why don’t I remember anything about my past life? What did I do to deserve this? Where are all my memories?! I want answers! Who am I?! Why can’t you just tell me?!

I feel a surge of intense fear at my lack of control over the situation, this stranger’s presence in my apartment, my inability to speak, and that I don’t not even know who I really am.

Michael looks at me as if he were reading my mind. “Sad, the reapers take more out of you than just your memories. It must be hard to be mute. The power to speak…it’s a shame, really, so many people take it for granted—just like a name. You see, a name to some people is just a name. But a name…a name is the identity of the soul. We all know your true name, but we will not share it. You, and only you, can figure out your name and what miracles may come when you do.”

Did he just read my mind? I stifle every thought I had down, determined to find out everything about me.

Michael
looks around the room and sees the bookshelf near the doorway to the living room. He walks over to it, reaches up, and runs his finger along the spines. He stops at
The Man in the Iron Mask
, looks over at me, and pulls the book out. He opens it and starts leafing through the pages.

“A classic story about a man not knowing who he truly is, and yet he still manages to find redemption in the end. You may want to read it again. Get your mind straight.” My
watch
beeps.

5 Minutes

Without a moment of hesitation, I head straight to the door but Michael is already there first. He brings his hand out and stops me from going any further.

“This is what I mean when I say get your mind straight. Did you just see yourself in that moment? Once it turned five you shut down on me. You completely resorted back to what you were before. A hypnotized little drone following the system’s antiquated protocols. Do you see your strings now, Pinocchio?”

He is right. I could see myself moving but I didn’t have any control over it. I feel afraid once again as I continue to move my body closer to the door without any say so in the matter.

“I know how to get you to stop. Let me tell you another story,” begins Michael. “A telling of a story distracts the brain’s primary functions. It’s like if you were to watch a movie, your brain becomes more focused on the tall tale than what’s going on around you.”

He pauses, looking at me. I look towards the door, letting him know the time is up, but instead of leaving he walks over to the piano. He breathes in deeply, closes his eyes, unbuttons his jacket, and seats himself slowly on the piano bench. The piano is silent. Michael begins playing “The Light in the Piazza.”

“You see, there are lots of souls out there just like you. I can think of one in particular, actually. His name was David. Well, at least he thought his name was David. He didn’t actually know his real name. Can you believe that?”

I feel a chill go up my spine. I look around to make sure there is no frost on the floor or walls. My watch reads: 5:25, 26, 27. The time makes me feel intensely worried as Michael continues to tell the story.

“He was a man following the American dream. He fell in love when he was young and got married, but he thought it was more important to make his mark on the world. Though he hadn’t intended to, the man had a baby with his wife. He let his wife know everyday how he regretted her having the child. He sunk deep into this rabbit hole, and his life and thoughts became darker and darker. But no matter what he did or said, his wife stayed with him in his darkness. Her love was strong, but he never valued her love. He went so far down that hole that when he hit bottom he thought he was finally free from all the pain, but God had other thoughts in mind for him. Death wouldn’t be his fate. Instead he was given a second chance. A place that God built to test your mind, body, soul. A place that showed this ungrateful man things he had done in his darkest moments—his sins,which haunted him every day without ceasing. A place that ultimately locked his soul up. He never could understand that where there is a lock there will always be a key.”

Michael stops playing, then holds out the photo he took of me in his left hand and sighs. His breath hangs in the air.

I turn my head quickly to look over at the time which reads 6:00. Wild panic takes over me once again.

“I can tell you still don’t quite understand what I am trying to say to you. It’s okay. It’s always hard to take in the complexity of a place like this and figuring out what parts we all have to play.”

I stop, my heart racing with the spike of adrenaline as my body prepares to run for the door. I look at the doorway to the living room and see frost is forming on the doorknob.

Michael continues to look at the photo. As he seems to be distracted, I slowly inch my body closer to the door. I am about to make a run for it until I hear Michael’s foot stomp the floor. I stop moving instantly.

“There are superstitions that say a simple photograph can steal a person’s soul, imprisoning it in its amalgam of polyester, celluloid, salts, and gelatin, leaving it trapped with nowhere to go. Think of this place like a photograph. You would be like the image in the picture which would make me the lighter.”

Michael
reaches into his inside jacket pocket and takes out a lighter. He flicks it open and holds the flame to the photo, lighting it. “Only one way to be free.” Michael stares into my eyes. “We must burn it. Burn it all down.”

I see him stare deep into the fire like it was calling to him.

This is my chance!

I run for the door as I see the walls have started to freeze over. Michael appears right in front of me blocking the door exit.

“With pain comes chaos. With chaos comes retribution. With retribution comes salvation. That is the righteous path we are here to set you on. You may think of our methods as a bit harsh or extreme, but you will soon realize after awhile the effects it will have on you.”

A bit frightened, I begin to wonder what he means by harsh or extreme methods.

“The best results are achieved by first going through the pain. But eventually, you come to like the pain. The more difficulties you have, the more you enjoy your success. The pain becomes a motivator—an indicator, if you will, of a job well done. The reapers are coming to bring us pain, we must bring them chaos. Destroy the rules so you can find salvation.”

A screech echoes through the air. I shudder. The sound is close.
Why do they want to come after me?
I think. I look over to find Michael putting on my black leather gloves over each of his hands. He tightens them in, preparing for a horrible climate change that is soon to occur.

Michael chuckles dryly. “Remember! The reapers are the timekeepers, and they will do whatever it takes for you to not stray from the rules that you have lived by for so long.”

Stray? Stray from time he must mean. I watch him pull back on his poncho as if he was about to enter a western duel.

Another shriek, this one even closer, shakes my resolve. Frost starts forming under the front door.
Michael
backs away from the door and reaches back to push me farther behind him.

“I know you don’t understand what I’m trying to tell you, but you will. While we don’t have total control over our lives, we have a responsibility to live nobly, honorably.”

The frozen door explodes open, a reaper in its wake. Michael stands firm. I look at the dark cloaked figures in fear of what they are about to do. I look to Michael as he stands there like a rock, not afraid and ready to take them all on if he has too. A courage I do not possess at the given moment.

“Today, we die a little. It’s at the borders of pain and suffering that men are separated from boys,” Michael says, still facing the reapers as they enter the living room. “Don’t give them the chance to get their legs on solid ground,” Michael advises. “The minute they touch something, it and everything near it freezes.”

Michael reaches up and pulls off the reaper’s hood, revealing its deathly, skeletal face. “Throw me your knife!” he screams at me as I quickly toss it to him.

Another reaper screams, making me trip backwards through the doorway into my bedroom and onto the floor. I
watch
helplessly as Michael flips his balisong knife towards the reaper.

“Down hood and strike!” shouts Michael.

Michael
quickly jabs the butterfly knife into the reaper’s skull. It shrieks and falls to the floor, but another one is right behind it. Michael kicks off the first reaper’s head with just enough time to dodge another reaper’s attack. Michael pulls his knife out of the first reaper’s frozen skull and stabs it into the second reaper’s face, while the third reaper advances on me.

“Stab it!” yells Michael as he slides the knife to me.

I freeze with fear as if frozen by the reapers themselves. The reaper screams, going in for the kill. I try to flip the knife open but it falls out of my hand and onto the floor. I put my left hand down, stabilizing myself from falling back. My fingers graze something on the floor.

I look over to find the handbook lying beside my left hand. I quickly take it up, turning my head back to see the reaper’s hand getting closer. I shield my face with the book, only to hear the reaper’s loud screech, painful to the ears.

Michael
jumps over, grabs the knife from the floor, pulls the reaper’s hood off, and thrusts the knife into its mouth in a sequence of smooth, confident motions—pure violence and deathly skill. All three reapers lie on the floor and begin to steam, melting the frost that had formed just minutes earlier.

I toss the handbook to the floor, feeling lucky enough to have survived this whole ordeal.

“Never ever let them fly. They form a frozen grid from under their cloaks and can take to the sky. You’re all theirs if they get you in the air. That is the end of chapter one! Any questions, class?” asks
Michael
, closing the knife and placing it back in my right hand. I just stare at it. Michael grasps my shoulder. “Keep practicing.”