Edge of End, Page 2

  Chapter two: I wasn’t alone

  Regarding the seemingly abandoned houses (I say seemingly because although they looked abandoned from the outside, I had no way of knowing), I pushed deeper into the town, at the same time feeling some heavy weight of mystical gazes on me, even though I hadn’t seen any living soul other than the girl and her mother.

  I walked along the road trying to take in the sights and at the same time wondering what kind of town this was. Every house had a different style. You could even say that every house was from a different era.

  I had no idea how I knew this, maybe from watching historical movies in the past, but the influence of the past and present had left an impact on the town’s houses.

  A number of cars sat parked up in front of some of the houses with a thick layer dust covering them, clearly being sitting there for several years untouched.

  I peered behind me, back to the house of the mystical looking woman and her daughter, then to the town’s entrance which was further in the distance behind me.

  I didn’t have any idea how long I’d been travelling or how much time had passed. I wasn’t wearing a watch, and there was no sun to guide me, just the gloomy daylight from an incomprehensible source illuminating both me and the town.

  The wind had stopped blowing. The usual sounds of nature that you’d expect to hear were absent–complete silence, broken only by my footsteps.

  This town reminded me of the clichéd towns, where the army or scientists experiment and test their atomic weapons, then abandon. It seemed to have been built for the purpose of nothing and with that in mind, I even thought of it as the town of nothingness.

  A ghostly smile briefly came across my face when I noticed a sign reading ‘café.’ There might be a working telephone inside. My legs lugged me towards it.

  The notice hanging on the door said it was open. I tried to figure out anything inside, but the shiny windows showed only my reflection. Unlike the house windows, the windows of the café had been cleaned. Either that or the dust hadn’t touched them yet.

  In the reflection I saw a blond-haired man peering at himself, with narrowed blue eyes–his eyes reminded me of the girl I had seen swinging in the yard. I checked myself over like I was seeing my reflection for the first time. This is you, my mind told me. I even nodded to myself as yanked the door open.

  Inside, the café appeared small compared to the size of the building. The bar sat right in front of the door. I slipped in hesitantly and cautiously looked around as if I was waiting for a maniac to fall upon me with a knife.

  Instead, I saw a woman behind the bar who was most likely the manager, and a man sitting opposite her. As I entered, she raised her head acknowledging me as she peered over the man’s shoulder, but the man didn’t flinch.

  Closing the door carefully, I walked in and seated myself at one of the small tables and waited for the woman to serve me. From out of the corner of my eye I caught her whispering into the man’s ear. She did so without turning her eyes away from me.

  Her expression wasn’t unfriendly–more curious. I tilted my head slightly to avoid her imposing stare.

  It was at that moment I realized, I was stranded. Thoughts began racing through my mind. I might have been robbed, kidnapped and dumped far away from home. Since I didn’t remember what I had been before and what kind of business I had been doing, who knew? It could be true.

  The only questionable thing was that I didn’t seem to have been beaten: my clothes weren’t ripped, and there were no apparent wounds, nor did I have a headache. As far as I knew, the cause of losing my memory could probably have been a good strike to the head, which surely would have been aching by now. With this thought playing in my mind, I ran my hand along the backside of my head in search of a bump. Nothing!

  I heard someone distinctly clearing its throat, and I lifted my eyes instinctively. The woman was eyeing me from head to toe with her stern look. She didn’t have to say anything; her eyes said, ‘What the fuck are you doing in my café?’

  She was a rather plump woman with a round face and a mass of frizzy dirty hair that sat matted and tangled on her broad shoulders. If it hadn’t been for that hair of hers, I would have thought she was a man.

  “Don’t even try,” she cut me off with a gesture as my lips twitched to utter a word. “No coffee!”

  “What? I didn’t even…” I stammered, my fingers flinching in my empty pocket.

  “He didn’t,” she chortled, glancing back at the man who still hadn’t turned his face to me yet. “Did you hear him Malcolm? Have you ever met anybody like him?”

  The man didn’t respond. I was perplexed, wondering what that coffee had to do with her.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry,” I tried to change the subject and ignore her blatant laughing at me. “I’m lost. I need a little help to get back to my hometown. Do you have a telephone here?”

  “Telephone?” she sniffed smugly. “What the hell do you need it for? Who are you going to make a call to?”

  She caught me by surprise. She had a point. I had no numbers in my mind to call.

  “Can you tell me where the police station is?” I replied instantly. “I need help, really!”

  “There aren’t any police stations here,” she replied. “I’m not the right person to help you, young man. If you need anything to drink, spit it out, or get the fuck out of my café.”

  What the… What a rude woman! I narrowed my eyes at her complete loss for words. For a split second I even thought of punching her right in the face. I wanted to teach her a good lesson, to never talk to customers in the way she had just spoken to me. I clenched my fists angrily.

  “Why don’t you go back to your house?” she said, tearing her eyes off me as she turned around.

  “House?” I replied, slightly taken aback. She took a step and paused. “I told you I’m lost here. I’ve got no home, where the fuck am I supposed to go?”

  She remained staunchly in front of me, and I wondered what I’d said that made her freeze.

  The man at the bar lowered his glass to the counter slowly as if he were considering my words.

  “Haven’t you been into any house in this town, young man?” the man spoke for the first time since I’d been in the bar. He spoke with his back to me.

  “No,” I replied.

  Although I could only see the right side of his face, I noted a smile resting on his lips.

  “Pour him my favorite drink,” he ordered the woman in a hoarse voice.

  Then he finally turned his face to me. I stared at him wonderingly, and then my wonder turned to awkwardness. The left side of his face was wrapped with a black rag covering his eye and cheek. His gray hair escaped from under the rag and fell across his forehead. With his one eye, he looked at me sharply until the woman reached behind the bar.

  “What is your name?” he asked me and then shook his head. “Do you have one?”

  “My name is…” I stumbled anxiously. I had surely had a name once, one which I couldn’t now remember. But I should be called something, shouldn’t I?

  “Jonathan,” I replied with great uncertainty. It was the first name that popped into my mind, also the name that the mysterious woman from the first house had called me.

  “Okay. Let it be Jonathan,” the man said standing up. Holding his glass he moved towards me. “May I?” he pointed at the chair in front of me.

  I nodded. The woman took a bottle from the shelf and poured a colorless drink into a glass.

  “Tell me Jonathan, what do you think? Who are you?” he asked as he sat down.

  I stared him in his single light brown eye. I lingered, not because of his question, but because I was wondering what had happened to his other eye and to the other half of his wrinkled face.

  “It makes no difference,” I answered gruffly after a little while. “I need to get out of here. What is this city? Where am I?”

  “It makes no difference,” Malcolm (that’s what the woman had call
ed him) parroted.

  “Okay, I get it,” I grinned slyly. He was treating me like I had treated him. “Why are you so interested? Maybe I’m a tourist or a businessman.”

  “You look like neither of them,” Malcolm cut me off.

  “Maybe I’m a killer,” I shrugged.

  “You might be,” he said, taking a sip.

  I eyed his drink, and my mouth hung half-open. Malcolm was drinking a dark yellow murky looking liquid which appeared to be boiling in the glass, but no steam escaped it. “Good drink, you should try one,” he said, noticing my shocked stare.

  I shook my head involuntarily. Malcolm laughed a silent laugh. “It does look nasty, but it tastes good.” He shot a look back at the butch woman demanding my drink with his harsh stare. Then he turned back towards me. “I know,” he resumed. “You don’t remember who you are, do you? I suggest that you don’t even try to bring your memories back. You won’t get anything good from them, believe me. I was like you when I found myself in this goddamn town.”

  “Which town?” I quickly asked. “I saw a sign at the town’s entrance. It was…uh,” Squint-eyed, I forced myself to remember the name. “Mors… Morski… Morsfinis, isn’t it? I have never heard of it before.”

  “And you have never been to it before,” Malcolm added.

  Placing my drink in front of me, the woman interrupted what he was saying. I looked down at my drink in wonder, expecting to see what I’d seen in Malcolm’s glass, but mine was clear and calm like water.

  “What is this?” I asked, still staring down.

  “It’ll cool you down,” the man said. “Tastes like shit, but it’ll help.”

  He said it as if he had actually tasted shit before. But why was I so surprised? He might have.

  I placed my fingers around the glass with uncertainty. “You said you were like me. Have you succeeded in recovering your memories?”

  “Some of them, kind of,” Malcolm replied.

  “What did you do? Where did you go? I haven’t seen any living soul on the streets or in the houses. Are we alone in this town?”

  “Too many questions, but you haven’t asked the right one yet.”

  “Which one is the right one then?” I asked impatiently.

  “The time hasn’t come yet. You’ll get it soon. I’m just worried that you’ll be disappointed,” he sighed.

  “Why? What is it out there? Just tell me straight,” I grumbled. “You’re talking in riddles.”

  “Drink it,” he ordered pointing to the glass in my hand. “Then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

  Why did he want me to drink it? One drink couldn’t make things worse, could it? Besides I needed answers, even if they were going to come from a man who didn’t appear to be completely sane.

  Ever so slowly I brought the glass to my mouth and with one big swig, I skulled the whole drink. With great difficulty, I forced myself to swallow. Malcolm’s face lit up clearly pleased. As soon as I’d downed it, I got his meaning about the taste.

  I tossed the glass onto the table, looking down at it with disgust. The man was laughing.

  “What the fuck?” I exploded.

  “And that shit is his favorite drink, can you believe that?” It was the woman’s turn to speak from behind the bar.

  “Cigarette?” Malcolm held out a gray pack, one without labels.

  “You promised me answers,” I reminded him, the nasty taste still sitting in my throat like glue and no matter how many times I gulped, it didn’t want to be washed away.

  “Yeah, sure. It’s going to be a long talk, I suppose. We can share my cigarettes.”

  I had no idea if I had ever smoked before, but my body seemed to think I had. At that moment I felt a great desire to fill my lungs with smoke, so obediently I stretched out my hand to accept his offer. Malcolm readily lit it up for me. I inhaled deeply and then breathed out again filling the air with white puffs of cloud. Malcolm’s laugh washed over me coming from far away.

  My body froze. My eyes remained fixated on the foggy clouds soaring above me and as hard as I tried I couldn’t move my head.

  Time had stopped. I stared in awe at the smoke hanging stationary before my eyes. Malcolm’s laugh faded into nothingness, and the silence of the street crawled into the bar.

  For a split second the light disappeared, and darkness surrounded me.

  Several pictures flashed before my eyes like a scene from a movie.

  I spotted a man running in front of me, out of breath. We were in a dark, narrow alley. I was right behind him, following him. Then the picture was vacuumed up out my sight and before I knew what was happening, I found myself in the café again where I clearly heard the sound of a gunshot.

  I blinked. My body began to obey my head again.

  Startled, I jumped back up onto my feet and scanned the café. The woman and Malcolm had disappeared like the smoke of my cigarette, which was lazily vaporizing into the air.

  “Hey,” I cried out irritated. “Are you playing with me? You fuckin’ asshole. This isn’t funny.”

  Nobody answered me. Crushing my cigarette onto the floor with my boot, I rubbed my eyes.

  A cheerful cry reached my ears coming from outside. I rushed to the door and threw it open. There in the middle of the street was the same blue-eyed little girl–Melissa–with a playful grin on her face looking at me.

  “Hey,” I called. “Where’s your Mom?” I thought she could have been nearby, and I would finally have a chance to talk to her.

  She giggled in reply. “Catch me,” she said ignoring my question. She started off at a run and headed down the street. Did she want to play tag with me?

  I leapt off the bar’s steps with one giant jump and sprinted after her. I was shocked as I found her much faster than an average girl of her age.

  “Hey! Stop!” I called after her picking up my pace. She halted, stood motionless until I reached her. Leaning forward, panting, I placed my hands on my knees. “You’re a very good runner,” I told her breathlessly. “Where is your mom?” I asked.

  She didn’t answer and instead just narrowed her eyes at me.

  “What?” I asked indignantly. I knew that I had met this girl before–before I’d found myself lying in the desert with no memory. The way she was watching me was too familiar. It was like déjà vu. “You know me, don’t you? Tell me, where do you know me from?” I demanded.

  She displayed reticence and looked towards the house on my right then lifted her hand to indicate it.

  It was a dark brown wooden two-storied house with a white door. The windows, covered with white curtains, were open. In front of the path leading to its entrance was parked an old Ford.

  I turned to ask the girl why she had brought me to that house, but she had gone. I hadn’t heard her sneaking away. But she had, leaving me alone in the middle of the street yet again.

  “Hey! Where are you?” I shouted. I began to hate that street. “Is this some kind of game?”

  She didn’t reply. “Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “Let’s see.” I made my way towards the house trying to figure out what Melissa had wanted me to see inside it.

  The gate in the fence wasn’t locked. I passed through the garden up the path. Dried leaves crackled under my feet and floated into the air as puffs of dust, hovering around me as though gravity was momentarily absent. I reached out my hand in an attempt to touch it and felt nothing like touching air.

  Looking at the dust in surprise, I managed to reach the steps as white as the front door. My boots left dried clumps as soon as I put my foot up to climb them. Before I even reached the door, it swung open by itself. Next moment a big stream of cloud escaped the house and encircled me at dizzying speeds.

  I became lost in those clouds, my senses blinded.