Wicked Time Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Dedication

  A Grey Man

  The Trickster

  Déjà Vu

  In the Name of Fear

  Emerald Green

  Six Feet Above

  The Richest Place in the World

  A New Beginning

  Acknowledgments

  Sneak Peek of Time Reaper

  A Grain of Sand

  Did you like this book?

  About the Author

  WICKED TIME

  Michele Amitrani

  Copyright © 2018 Michele Amitrani

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used, edited, transmitted in any form or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), or reproduced in any manner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the Publisher’s permission. Permission can be obtained through

  www.micheleamitrani.com.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  www.micheleamitrani.com

  ISBN (ePub): 978-1-988770-07-9

  Kindle Edition

  First Edition 2018

  Published by Michele Amitrani.

  Cover Design by Benjamin Roque

  To those who know that time is just a story

  A Grey Man

  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 yawned. His jaw cracked a few times, then he stretched with a moan, got off his bed, and headed to the bathroom.

  For a while, the piss hitting the toilet’s water was the most prominent sound in the small apartment. From the partially opened window in the bathroom came the noise of cars moving, occasionally honking, and the soft, muffled drops of rain.

  His home was on the second floor of a five floor building located near the city centre. Alfred could hear people talking in the street. He grasped fragments of their conversations. Sometimes, at night, when the city was quiet, with fewer cars and the shops all closed, a homeless person would shout something in the darkness, and Alfred could hear everything as if the man was right beside him. It wasn’t easy to sleep with that constant noise in the background, but Alfred liked that place because the rent was cheap, and the building was just a few blocks away from his new workplace.

  Alfred flushed the toilet, washed his hands, shaved his scant facial hairs, and brushed his teeth. While wiping his chin with a towel, he glanced again at his phone and checked the time.

  It was seven twenty, now.

  Alfred frowned, and stared at the display for a few seconds. The number twenty was replaced by the number twenty-one.

  “What the Hell—” Alfred’s finger touched his device’s display, but nothing changed. He turned it off, and powered it back on. This time, a much more decent seven forty-one glowed back at him.

  Alfred sighed with relief. Last thing he needed was his phone dying on him.

  Once he made sure the device was working normally, he headed back to his bedroom, opened his wardrobe and searched inside it. Five steel grey jackets and five trousers of the same color were flanked by five white shirts. Alfred picked up one jacket, one pair of trousers, and one shirt and started dressing in front of the mirror.

  When the top button of his shirt had been buttoned, Alfred picked up a small gel container and combed his hair. He studied his reflection in the mirror. A young man in his late twenties looked back at him. His dark eyes were besieged by shadows, his skin was more white than pink and there were lines on his forehead that made him look much older than he was. His face was sharp, his cheeks hollow and his overall body was thin, and getting thinner. He had lost almost ten pounds in the last thirty days.

  Alfred didn’t care much. He knew it was a temporary thing, caused by the stress of moving to the big city and by the many demands of his new job.

  Soon enough he would get used to the fast paced rhythm of his new life. He was fine. Everything was going to be fine. He just needed to settle in, get comfortable, and go with the flow.

  It didn’t occur to him that he had the same mental conversation the day before.

  And the day before that.

  Alfred straightened up, smoothened his jacket and glanced one last time at the mirror before heading toward the entrance door of his apartment. He picked up a black umbrella from a coat hook and left his home feeling more tired than when he had come back the night before.

  ***

  It was cold and rainy. The morning sky was besieged by countless iron clouds slowly moving toward a sun already stifled by greyness.

  A stark wind blew from the North. It moved the branches of the leafless trees lined up beside the wide street Alfred was walking, Main Street. The plants were some of the leanest, barest trees he had ever seen, set apart by a dark color that reminded him of mud.

  Many other people were walking on Main Street. They were all hurrying to their destinations, occasionally glancing around but mostly looking at their cellphones, their eyes intent on the devices colorful images, messages, and notifications.

  Alfred blended in very well with the rest of them. He checked his cellphone and perused the Web.

  Just another grey man, wearing a grey suit on a grey day.

  Eventually he arrived at the intersection between Falser and Main, where a street newspaper vendor, a woman in her late forties with long, tangled hair, wearing a worn coat and a pair of heavy rain boots, was shouting the latest news to the passersby.

  “City council approves tax break!” the woman announced loudly, waving a bunch of newspapers toward the passersby. A few stopped by to buy one, then moved on.

  Alfred didn’t stop. He continued walking on Main Street for a while longer, then, at the second intersection, he turned left on a narrower, less crowded street at the end of which a food truck was selling something sweet that looked a lot like crispy crepes.

  Alfred had never really gotten the name of the food right. The vendor, a short, old lady from Thailand with a broad face and an easy smile, had told him the name the first time he had bought one. To him it sounded a lot like ‘Kanbuag’, or ‘Kannung’. Now, when Alfred ordered one, he just called it Kanny.

  Alfred rather enjoyed Kannies, and they had been his breakfast since he had moved into his new apartment.

  He waited in line, a very long line. The food vendor was quite popular and getting more popular by the day.

  Once in front of the Thai lady she smiled at him as always.

  “Sawatdee ka,” she greeted him. “Usual, today?”

  “Yes,” Alfred rubbed his hands eagerly. “One Kanny, please.”

  The lady busied herself and after a few seconds handed him the crepe filled with white cream.

  “No change,” Alfred said, waving away the money with a polite gesture.

  “Young man is good man,” the Thai lady said, broadening her already big smile while pocketing the money. “He makes me rich.”

  “You’re welcome,” Alfred said. “Have a great day.”

  While walking back to Main Street, Alfred thought that the woman might have a point. He had always been a good tipper. How much money had he spent on Kannies, up to that point? He never really thought about that. Daily expenses like those add up pretty quickly.

  Alfred decided he would write down the mon
ey he spent on food from that day on. He took his cellphone out of his pocket to write the memo down, but once the display turned on, he forgot entirely of his resolution, and instead started browsing the Internet.

  Something fast crossed his way, and Alfred stopped in mid stride, almost dropping his cellphone.

  “What the—” He looked in front of him. A small, stray dog was looking at his breakfast eagerly, his tongue dangling while his tail whipped left and right.

  “Sorry, buddy,” Alfred said, taking a step back while putting the crepe behind his back. “This is not for you.” He shooed the stray dog away, but the small animal kept his ground, barked twice, then boldly came forward.

  Alfred slammed his feet on the ground. “Get lost!” he shouted. The dog howled, pulled back, and then ran away.

  Alfred snorted. He hated dogs. “Yeah,” he said, looking at the dog running until the animal disappeared from sight.

  The day was getting colder and the wind stronger. Alfred pulled out his cellphone, typed a web address and then resumed walking. He was evaluating a pair of shiny, black shoes he really needed for his new job. Many of his co-workers had pointed out that his shoes were odd and of the wrong black. Some had used the word “inappropriate” to describe them. Alfred didn’t think there was anything wrong with them, but of course he didn’t want his boss to notice that imperfection. So the past couple of days he had spent most of his free time trying to find the right one at a fair price. Unfortunately, all the shoes his co-workers had suggested were very expensive, and Alfred had been reluctant to buy them. But he knew he could delay no longer. He could not risk becoming the black swan of the office just a few weeks after getting the job. He had learned that blending in as fast as possible was the only way to survive in his workplace, and so he kept looking at the cellphone’s screen, his last shred of reluctance crumbling under the heavy necessity of his new life.

  His phone notified him that his purchase order had been completed as he arrived at the end of Main Street, the centre of Downtown, where the buildings were taller than any other in the city and the cars outnumbered people three to one.

  Steel and glass and concrete were ubiquitous elements that made up that world of stores, sidewalks, and traffic lights. But there was something more that met the eyes, if one looked carefully enough, and Alfred was looking at that spot at the moment.

  A block away from the end of Main Street there was a tall gate with a welcoming note engraved in a metal plate announcing: “Welcome to Aion Park: Green Oasis at the Heart of the City.”

  Beyond the gate, there was a sizeable park enclosed in an equally tall metal fence.

  Alfred walked toward that sign and then past the gate, entering the green oasis at the centre of the city. He was soon surrounded by trees, small lakes, and chirping birds. The difference with the rest of the city was striking. It almost seemed like walking on another planet. A few people were walking their dogs. Mothers with strollers were trying to shush crying babies, and children were scurrying around freely on skateboards and roller skates.

  Alfred had discovered the park less than a week ago while looking for a shortcut to get to his workplace faster. Because he didn’t have a car and wasn’t a fan of public transportation, he had been very happy to find out that cutting through the park saved him almost ten minutes of walking.

  Alfred breathed in the fresh air, pulled out his phone from his pocket, and went back to his browsing.

  “Excuse me, young man. Do you know what time it is?”

  Alfred stopped walking and looked up. On his left was a man sitting on a bench. He was looking at him behind a pair of dark sunglasses, his lips curved with an odd smile that looked a lot like a grin. The man was wearing a thick, laminated rain jacket the color of coal that covered him from knee to neck. A beanie of the same color covered his forehead and ears.

  “I’m sorry.” Alfred glanced around, looking confused. “Were you talking to me?”

  “Indeed, I was,” the stranger said, nodding slightly. “I was enquiring about the time, if you would be so kind.” Then he pointed at Alfred’s cellphone.

  “Sure,” Alfred said. “Sorry, I was just … I was distracted.” Alfred cleared his throat, and then he noticed that the man was wearing a wristwatch. “Oh,” he said, looking at the wristwatch. “Did it die on you?”

  “This?” the man brushed his wristwatch with a gloved hand while shaking his head slightly. “This is working just fine, but it doesn’t keep the time. Not anymore.”

  Silence followed. Alfred decided the man had made some kind of joke he didn’t get, so he smiled too, briefly, then cleared his throat once more and glanced at his cellphone. “Well,” he said. “It’s ten to eight.”

  “Now, is it?” the man sounded almost amused by the answer.

  “Yes,” Alfred glanced at the display again. “Ten to eight, as I said.”

  “Very well, then. Ten to eight it is,” the man said, as if reluctantly admitting a clearly questionable belief. “Thank you.” Then he looked at Alfred’s half finished breakfast. “Are you enjoying your Khanom Buang?”

  Alfred frowned. “What was that?” he asked.

  The man in black gestured toward his crepe. “That looks like one of the sweet delicatessens sold by the lovely lady at Drakonian Street. Am I right?”

  “Oh, this?” Alfred looked at his breakfast. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s quite good, actually.”

  “It must be,” the man said, lifting his arms up until he could lay them both over the bench’s back. “I saw you walking around here yesterday, and the day before yesterday. That was your breakfast every single time, wasn’t it? You must be a young man with a knack for habits. You know, I like good habits too.” He looked at a couple of people who were walking past them. “I sit here, and look at the good people of this city. People like you. Routine people. People who never miss a skip of the clock. Always there when they are expected. Heading toward work, I imagine?”

  “Ahem … Yes, actually,” Alfred said. “I was just—”

  “Must be a fine job,” the man said, cutting him off smoothly. “Must be, if you are so careful to be on time, every day.”

  “Well, it pays my bills.” Alfred said, shrugging. He then glanced at his cellphone and inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry, it’s getting late. I have to go.”

  “Of course you do,” the man nodded, as if Alfred had stated a universal truth. “Late is bad, always. It was nice to meet you, mister …”

  “Alfred,” Alfred filled in. “Alfred White.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Alfred White,” the man outstretched his gloved hand. “Pacific.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “My name,” the man said. “I’m called Pacific.”

  Alfred pocketed his cellphone, and the two shook hands.

  “Have an incredibly ordinary day, young man,” Pacific said, smiling once more a half smile.

  The handshake lasted longer than expected, and Pacific’s grip proved to be way too strong for Alfred’s liking.

  When their hands separated Alfred quickly turned his back to the man, and resumed walking faster to make up for the time he had lost.

  While walking, he decided that that man had definitely been on the weird side.

  Pacific? What kind of name was that, he found himself thinking. Not to mention his clothes. He looked like a mixture of Neo from The Matrix and an undertaker.

  A few minutes later, Alfred reached the end of the park, walked past another gate, and once again found himself inside the world made up of steel and glass.

  Right in front of him a skyscraper taller than the Tower of Babel and shinier than a diamond dominated everything. This was his workplace, the newest building in the financial district, one hundred and eleven floors tall and made up with enough glass to shroud a small planet. They called it the Spear, the very symbol of the corporate world that ran the city and the latest pride of the City Council.

  A stream of people dressed with the same clothes were hea
ding toward the building, like an army of ants seeking the shelter of their anthill.

  Alfred passed the entrance door of the huge building flanked by two security guards and then he put his badge on top of an iron pillar that flashed with a green light, granting him access.

  The inside of the building made everything and everyone seem small and insignificant. Hundreds of people were walking in an orderly fashion, like blood cells inside a bloodstream. Alfred took one of the many elevators available and pushed the button to the twenty-fourth floor. The elevator was packed with silent people looking forward, their expressions completely blank. No one spoke. They hardly seemed to breath. Some got off as the elevator stopped, and more came in.

  Once on the twenty-fourth floor, Alfred got out of the elevator and walked down a maze of white corridors packed with white collars, and finally got to his cubicle, the farthest one away from the boss’s office.

  He sat behind his desk, took the first stack of papers out and started sorting it.

  Less than one hour later, he had completely forgotten about the man called Pacific.

  The Trickster

  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 followed his carefully planned routine, as he did every morning. He showered, brushed his teeth, dressed, studied his image in the mirror and then went out.

  Once again, it was a cloudy day. The wind was even less forgiving than the day before, and the temperature had dropped drastically last night. Alfred had decided he needed a new, heavier coat. He picked up his cellphone, checked the website where he had bought the shoes the day before and added a black coat to the cart. He was about to purchase it, but then hesitated. He went back to the product’s page and looked at the coat’s picture a few more times. Back and forth he went, time and time again, analyzing the pictures carefully. He started comparing the black coats with other, similar coats, which had slightly different shapes and colors. He crooked his mouth to the side and furrowed his brow, trying to remember what kind of coat people working on his floor were wearing. Was it black, was it dark brown? Or was it a very dark shade of grey? He couldn’t remember.