Purgatorium Read online

  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.

  “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 u
p 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?”