Taking a stroll on the south-east corner of town for longer than twenty minutes will inevitably get you noticed by the suits. The neo-mafia gang that resides here is ironically called the "Dreamers".
Word on the street is the Dreamers were organised by Billson's older brother - but not his eldest - famously known as "The Crowbar", due to his immense strength and inability to be anything less or more than a tool. I knew him as Carter, but his personality changed the most after their mum died around ten years ago whilst me and Bill were playing hide and seek.
His mother was stabbed to death in front of their house. Bill saw the whole thing. Of course he didn't do anything - because he was ten - but he does torture himself with the guilt.
Dion, being Billson's eldest brother, took it well. He decided he'd hold his feelings close and make it big with his band, Dionysus Reigns, and moved out of the sticks. He's been on tour nearly every day this year, excluding weekends. Unfortunately for him, he's been doing the same set today about six-hundred times.
Billson shut himself in his room for three months after it happened. Then when he was fifteen, someone reminded him, and the trauma affected him so much that he shut himself in again for three years. He finally left when he turned eighteen. Since then, I've tried to maintain a strong enough bond that he can confide in me, yet I must admit he hasn't confided in me once since we became friends all those years ago.
There's no way to make things simple, they have a complicated family relationship.
I had spent just about enough time in the south-east of the sticks to have eyes on me, so I take the time to get a sandwich from the nearest convenience stop. The walls outside are thick with spray paint graffiti that spans streets and corners to craft magnificent murals and shows of talent. The air is thick with cigarette smoke. Two men in suits and open-buttoned shirts open the doors behind me, with at least one eye each on me. I take my sandwich, pay for it, and leave, all in less than two pages.
As my eyes adjust to the daylight, two more men in suits and open-buttoned shirts stand against a clearly-expensive transportation vehicle. One man is smoking a recently lit cigarette, while the other taps his foot while eyeing his watch. As the smoking man notices me, he stubs his cigarette out on the floor beneath him, and opens the car door. Before I have a chance to decide whether this was for me or not, the two men behind me push me in. One circles around the car, forcing me in the middle seat.
My least favourite seat.
The tragic comedy, I'm being kidnapped by an organisation again.
Mafia are nothing to scoff at. If you've never been approached by someone in a syndicate, you've been very lucky your whole life.
I'm guided to a run-down building that looks to be an old pizzeria. I would usually assume that I'm being brought here to be executed for wandering in places I shouldn't have.
For at least four hundred loops.
Then a thought pops in, as thoughts do.
If that were the case, the whole mafia would be awoken from the loop, or worse case, have always been separated from it.
I am ushered into the run-down pizzeria named 'Mike's Pizza Joint' - with the neon lights broken and the mascot rusted - through the front doors, and am greeted to an actual running diner.
Men and women dressed in the swankiest suits you could find. Black, navy, even a lighter navy. Heck, even a couple grey suits too.
One of the men ushering me clears his throat and the whole room goes silent. They pave the way for us, like we were celebrities. I hesitantly start to walk forward, and am grabbed by the arm and forced to walk faster. We make our way to the kitchen, towards an elevator, and press the only button there.
Down.
What was supposed to be seconds felt like an eternity being sandwiched between two gruff men in suits, but the elevator did eventually open the doors. Normally, elevators in England don't have music, but this particular place took the initiative to try and bring it back to the mainstream.
In a run-down mafia-owned pizzeria.
To anyone's surprise, the music is good. It's a slow jazz improvisational piece that uses just a piano, saxophone and bass. The guy on my left looks at the guy on the right.
"This your guys?" He says.
"They worked in it without me knowing."As right guy presses the down button.
"That's gotta sting. How'd you take it?" Smirking as he responds.
"Well in my anger, I took it to the boss. Boss took one listen and loved it so much she put it on the system immediately."
"No-one takes you seriously, huh?"
"Not a damn soul."
The doors open and we leave in almost perfect unison. I trail shortly behind.
The receptionist at watch just ahead of the elevator is filing her nails, while someone behind her is filing papers. She looks at us and nods in the direction of the ornate wooden double doors at the end of a comically long hallway.
The floors are paved with a beautifully designed red carpet, carefully painted with gold that spirals upward like a tree that got struck by lightning too many times.
It almost made me forget I'm a hostage again.
We greet the door. The guy on my left does the honours and knocks on the door four times, followed by a lighter two additional knocks, and the doors swing open as if the door was sentient.
Ahead of us was an extremely decorated antique coffee table with three cups and saucers lay amongst the linen cloth that stood between themselves and luxury.
Behind those sat three people. Two grown adults sitting on red cushioned armchairs, and a woman closer to my age sitting sprawled out on a red velvet sofa in the middle. I recognise the man on the right as The Crowbar - a built man with arms that look like they were ripped from giants - but the other two remain strangers to me. The other gentleman was a more slender build, draped in a fine suit and a fedora which leaned over his eyes. His long black hair was tied back into a ponytail. The woman was dressed in a suit, also. A maroon red suit with a pair of heels the same colour. Her long red-dyed hair was laid out among the sofa she resides on.
"Proceed, gentlemen." Commands the man who clearly was not The Crowbar.
We proceed accordingly, through a room that felt like it was 60ft long, and pause at least five steps away from the table. The two men at my side bow as low as possible, giving me the idea that this mafia gang is strangely Japanese-themed.
The man on my left grabs me by the back of the head and forced me into a bow to their level.
It feels extremely awkward.
We raise our heads - or at least they do, mine raises with the man's hand pulling it back - to the woman staring me down with great distrust.
This woman had strangely, faintly familiar features. I can't put my finger on it, but some things here just seem like I'm meeting someone again for the third time but I can't remember their name or where I knew them from.
"I assume you know why I had you escorted here." She means kidnapped. "Who are you and what's your game?"
I hesitate, but the man on my right nudges me, and truth comes spilling out.
"A man named Raphael told me to come here. He said you'll recognise something's different, and maybe join our cause."
Straight to the point.
"That didn't tell me anything about your name or your game." She retorts. "Crowbar can break your limbs in ways you can't imagine could be done, so spit it out."
I attempt to say my name, but it continues to escape my mouth as air to me, yet everyone accepts it as if they heard everything, "and I'm just visiting. I was told to loiter around to get your attention."
"You have my attention, and frankly, I'm annoyed." She states, clicking her finger once at such a strength that the sound could be heard reverberating around the room. An entirely brand new man in a suit appears from behind a door I never knew existed and hastily walks to the table. "We'll have three green teas. The cheap kind." As she shoos him away. "Explain what you said earlier."
"We've been stuck in a time loop that keeps us tethered to June 7th, and Raphael says he might know a way. He believes you're involved and wants me to recruit you to our cause." I say in less than 2 pages.
"You're testing my patience." She pushes, cracking her fingers one by one.
"You have to believe me." I plead.
"Why?" She tackles back as the tea comes out in polystyrene cups on a silver tray. The man from earlier holds the tray at a level in which we take the cups for ourselves.
No coaster, no saucer, we're just made to hold the cups throughout the whole duration of this encounter.
"What the hell can you say to convince me that what you're saying is true?" She continues.
"Haven't you noticed that the people in this town all do the same thing? People moving the same way? Routines repeated? Sentences being repeated? Anything?" I plead once more.
"You're on strike number two. You saying my boys are repetitive? Convince me this shit ain't real." She attacks.
My brain stops working. What can I say to convince her? I go back through my fractured memories.
Zidane and Raphael explained a power that awakened within them following my trip through the train, so maybe I've finally gotten my gift?
It's hard to attain, and almost impossible to explain, but I do my best. Inspired by Goku, I close my eyes and focus on the tea, hoping it will explode, levitate, maybe even set ablaze, but I feel nothing. The cup filled with pound store green tea stayed stationary in my hand. I open my eyes to a sight I could have never expected in my whole lifetime.
The green tea is no longer green.
I am at a loss for words.
The tea is somehow red.
Which means…
I can manipulate tea.
I push the cup forward, and am interrupted by the man on my right lunging forward to grab the cup, which stayed in my hand. The man who isn't known as The Crowbar rapidly ascends from his chair and places his hand on his hip to reveal the outline of a gun in his trouser pocket.
"This is my proof." I say softly.
The woman stands up at a strong 6' and leans forward with her hand in her hip as if scolding a child. After a short deliberation, she sits back in her sofa and stretches outward to fit the whole thing.
"Kid," she starts, "I really wish you never showed up. I was gettin' comfortable." She gestures me forward with her index finger, and as if being pulled by a lasso, my body follows her.
"I'm Ariel. My men call me Mermaid." She gestures towards the man who isn't known as The Crowbar. "This is Shun. My men call him Shun." Shun nods and reverts himself to his previous station cross-legged in his chair. "If you've got me on your side, you get these guys by proxy. They go with me everywhere."
I don't try to question whether 'everywhere' was entirely literal. I simply hold out a free right hand and hope she is willing to join us.
Luckily for me, she takes my hand and grips it with the strength of resolve which I desperately need.
"What's the plan?" Ariel begins. "If we're in some time loop, me and my guys won't meet quota tomorrow - or ever, for that matter."
"Raphael said he'll explain at the compound."
"Raphael this, Raphael that. Who is he?"
"You've never met him?" I question, begrudgingly.
That means he sent me out to do his dirty work.
I feel like I should be surprised, but somehow, this feels in-character.
"He would know if he met me, and I feel like I would know if I met him." She gloats, emphasising her infamous reputation.
But that's still strange. Raphael spoke of her like they worked really close together. He described her personality like they were best friends.
"So when we meeting this guy?"
"Today."
"Don't get smart cause I got comfortable. I'm asking when."
"Raphael said that he can send a car for us if we reflect light onto the clock tower."
"Did anyone ever tell you that you've got a real punchable face?"
"Yes. I'm not joking, we have to stand outside and reflect light onto the clock tower somehow." I reiterate.
"Right." She says, pausing for effect. "I got it."
We make our way back to the elevator, which I'm very grateful for it having an eight-person limit.
However, I wish it was a nine-person limit, as The Crowbar's sheer weight counts as three people, making the elevator ride slow and awkward. The music was still really nice though.
As we eventually leave the elevator, Ariel leads us as she grabs a silver platter from the kitchen we pass through. We follow suit shortly behind her, but I remain between the two men who escorted me here, with one in front and one behind me.
We enter the restaurant area ahead of the kitchen and Ariel clears her throat. Faster than earlier, all men and women on the restaurant floor stand to attention. Pizza slices held tight in hands, bitten pizza dripping from mouths.
"I'm gonna be gone for a while. You'll see me later, right?!" States Ariel, loud enough to be heard all around the room.
Yes, Mistress Mermaid!" Say they, in perfect unison, as they all perform a 45-degree bow, regardless of their pizza-related responsibilities.
We leave the restaurant in single file as Ariel guides us to the front door as if we weren't already aquatinted. When we eventually leave, Ariel hands Shun the tray and nods to him. Shun takes the tray, looks up to the clouds, smirks, and holds the tray at such an angle that it reflects the sunlight perfectly, directly onto the clock tower. After five minutes and thirty seconds, a black car - somehow slightly swankier than The Dreamers' escort vehicle - pulls up next to us. The passenger door opens for me, as the driver - a man clad in a pinstripe suit and sunglasses - gestures to the back for our three new companions.
The two men who escorted me here bow their heads and leave us behind.
Ariel does not argue a single thing, they all oblige alongside her. Shun enters behind the driver, as The Crowbar opens the door behind me and forces his way in, pushing my chair forward as if it was an obstacle in his way. Ariel climbs over him and sits more on his lap than on the middle seat. He wraps a single arm around her as a makeshift seatbelt.
Despite Raphael's compound being estimated on the far north-west side of town, we arrive from the other side of town in thirty words or less. Raphael's pinstripe partner proceeds to open his door first to exit the vehicle, followed by our guests' doors next. I let myself out to save time.
We all proceed to the only thing that could be considered a front door. As we get closer, approximately ten steps away, the door opens to reveal Raphael himself standing just behind it. Lab coat, white gloves, unkempt hair and rectangle-framed glasses.
Just as I remember him.
"I never doubted you for a second." He praises.
"You made me do your dirty work." I retort.
"Work isn't something to complain about at your age." He clashes back in a snarky tone. "Come in, all of you, please." He insists, turning around. His coat following shortly after.
The Crowbar pushes me aside to make room for Mistress Mermaid herself, as Shun follows behind her. The Crowbar follows suit after him. I proceed shortly after him.
Greeting us are the same walls I remember, filled with monitors and notes sellotaped to open spaces.
"You put a lot of work in, huh?" Ariel teases.
"Work isn't something to complain about at my age, you see." Raphael says over his shoulder as he guides us to a room ahead of the main monitor space.
We are led into the same familiar corridor, back into the same meeting room that endured my sister's frustration to find a completely tidy room in its place.
I quickly deduct that it's because of the time loop and move on.
Here to greet us in said room, are three people. Two of them familiar.
Zidane, a girl in a violet tracksuit, and God, herself.
"I would've rolled out the red carpet, but this was all I could find on short notice. We do have one or two more coming later, though." Raphael proceeds. "Please find somewhere to sit. This information might come as a shock to some of you."
I sit one chair away from Zidane, as Ariel and her entourage sit next to each other next to Violet, who side-eyes them as she chews her gum.
"For the young lady who doesn't know about our situation, I want to introduce you formally. I am Raphael, the smartest person in the room at all times. Here we have Zidane, God, and our escort whom you have already become acquainted." He begins. "Now, to fill you in…"
Raphael explained the situation, the random acclimation of powers between us, and the mystery of us all retaining our free will within the gate.
"…Now don't misunderstand, I still don't have a way out of this. Recently, our friend here went through a trial I had apparently set up that only confirmed our suspicions. I thoroughly believe that humanity outside the cage has entirely collapsed. I theorise that this is all we have left."
With that bombshell, we are speechless. God licks her ice cream cones Violet is eying her nails. Zidane leans back on his four-legged chair with his feet crossed on the table, rocking back and forth.
Amidst the silence, a knock is heard on the door.
"Enter." Raphael commands, breaking the silence. Who arrives is none other than Milli, the mercenary who was the cause of two of my deaths, accompanied by my uncle Deus and a figure that somehow evades my understanding. In their place is a shadowy figure that stands at 6'4" and commands authority. No-one questions their presence, everyone acts exactly the same. Milli is greeted by Raphael first, and sits down a chair away on the other side of Zidane. Deus approaches me and I shift closer to Zidane to open a seat for him. He sits where I was. The figure stands ominously in the corner farthest from the door.
Milli brings out a deck of cards and sets it in front of Raphael.
They're tarot cards.
"Marc, if you will." He commands, gesturing to the deck on the table.
He immediately takes it and shuffles it. Not like an expert, but sloppily - as if he'd never shuffled a deck in his life - and then places it in front of Raphael.
"What are the chances I'll pull a - off the top of my head - Ten of Cups? One in fifty?" He dialogues as he selects the first card on the deck. "But what are the chances of drawing the same card a second try? Then a third? Then a fourth? How about we try a fifth right now!"
He flips the card over to reveal The Hierophant.
"Deus, I require your assistance with my experiment!" Raphael demands, pushing the deck towards Deus. The cards tip over to lay a spread of cards that flow directly between himself and Raphael.
Deus collects the cards into a deck and shuffles as if he'd been shuffling for years. He splits the deck in two, manoeuvres the split decks around his fingers and carefully, precisely, yet also decisively, combines the two halves into a perfect, unwavering whole.
He does this three times.
"Thank you, Deus, that was extremely entertaining. However, I am the show-runner right now." Raphael falsely praises as he takes the deck and draws one more time and flips the card immediately on its front.
The Hierophant once more.
"Zidane, I don't believe you took part last time. Give it a shot!" Raphael exclaims playfully. His angel-like face almost teasing us.
Zidane obliges.
He gets up and walks shimmies past everyone, who also immediately realises how cramped the space is.
He places a his middle and index finger upon the deck, and without warning, a pulse emits among the room. A strong beat as if the room itself mimicked a heart jumpstarting itself back to life. Zidane freezes as if turned to stone, his expression reading the image of fear.
And then…
Nothing.
Zidane draws his card and places it faced down next to Raphael's.
"The Hanged Man…" Raphael ponders, completely unaware of the moment.
He stares at the card unwaveringly, eyes never shifting from every detail engraved into the card's personality. His pupils dilate almost like a cat's, as they remain glued to the card.
Suddenly, he snaps out of it.
"Ariel!" He cries. "I would like your two comrades to select a card each!" As he opens the stage for two real main characters. He kicks back and his wheelie chair rolls backwards to give more space to The Crowbar, due to his immense size.
Shun goes first, always keeping one eye on the most dangerous person in the room.
Today, it's Raphael.
As Shun draws a card, I attempt to focus on the energy I felt previously, but upon his fingers touching the deck, I feel nothing.
His fingers grace the material as he flicks the card into the air and catches it in between his middle and index fingers, and gracefully descends it upon the table.
Shun's card is the King of Pentacles.
The Crowbar isn't so graceful.
He takes a card assertively into his hand and slams it down on top of Shun's, as if paying a parking ticket with small notes and coins. The rest of the deck topples over.
Deus attempts to reach towards it and regroup the cards, but Raphael stops him.
The Crowbar drew the Page of Swords.
"I hate to be condescending, but I assume neither of you recall yesterday?" Raphael inquires.
Shun lowers his head in shame.
The Crowbar shakes his head.
"Today's just a new adventure, huh…" He whispers. Suddenly, he clicks in my direction. "It's your turn!" As he gathers the cards together in a somewhat-neat pile.
I approach it.
Gravity somehow gets heavier the closer I get to cosmic understanding.
With every step, I can feel my bones bending as my body is forced harder and harder downwards, yet my body continues to move as if it's unaware.
As we - my body and mind - gradually get closer, I feel eyes upon me. Not by my comrades, but by…
The shadow in the corner.
It glares daggers into me with every second I progress, yet through sheer determination, my body approaches the deck.
I draw a card.
My heart stops.
Time stops.
I feel my body finally descend to the soft carpeted floor.
And then…
I'm standing once more.
The card is next to the deck.
It's The Fool.
My heart continues beating, faster than normal, but beating all the same.
"I expected nothing less." Raphael judges as he shoos me back to my seat. "Ariel, you're last."
Ariel complies as she jumps up onto the table and walks towards the deck.
She squats in front of it and flicks the top card onto its front with her thumb nail, which glistened as the light hit it like a blade.
"And we have The Chariot. Fantastic!" He celebrates, as if he'd come across some revelation in his mind.
"Well? Any questions?" Raphael raises. "We're not getting much older, so if anyone has any questions, I'm not going anywhere any time soon."
I meekly raise my hand. "Any snacks laying around?"
Raphael lowers his head with a sense of growing frustration that he never really showed before since our first encounter.
"No. Anyone else?"
Zidane raises his hand with a confidence that I could not muster. "There were more last time. Where's the other guy?"
"Good question." Raphael places his fist under his chin in thought. "William is avoiding contact. We assumedly have eternity, so it's not like we're low on time. He'll come around." Said with just the same amount of confidence.
Did he just say William?
It's a common name. Maybe best to look past it.
Well, not that common.
"I'm still on the lookout for members of the cause. In fact, I have a job for you specifically." Raphael says, looking straight at me. I've got a feeling three more people exist in the same position as us, and one of them is your friend from school. I saw you both walking to a pastry shop one day, and I feel like her being forced into separate continuities might affect her slightly. So… whenever you have a chance."
Milli raises his hand, "How about the sister?"
"Which one?" Says Raphael as if we had more than one sister in question.
"Maryanne said she 'doesn't believe this shit', and she's 'always dragged into this shit', but is on board. She's just keeping her girls in line." I relay.
"Hm." Milli grunts. Ariel raises her hand hesitantly, but ultimately gains confidence towards the end of the action.
"About these powers you're talking about-"
"They're not really powers." Raphael interrupts. "As I explained, they're more like controlled manipulation abilities. I can print my thoughts onto paper, and I can load my memories onto flash drives."
"So when do I get mine?"
"You don't have yours?"
"I didn't get shit." Ariel says bluntly. I immediately realise she and Maryanne would get along really well. Raphael pauses for a minute, and chirps up.
"What are you the worst at?" He says.
"Art." Ariel continues her bluntness.
Somehow, everyone in the room doesn't laugh, we are simply not surprised at all.
"Hm." Raphael grunts. "I'm sure it'll come to you. In the meantime, it's probably not a bad idea to practice art. I mean, we have eternity, right?"
"Right…" Ariel responds with no inclination to start.
"I think it's time we conclude this meeting, don't you all think?" Raphael states.
"Whatever, I didn't get any dialogue in this chapter anyway." Violet states as she removes a slip of a bandage on her arm, immediately vanishing into a flame that covers her entire body, and leaving only a slight singe on the floor behind.
"As for you," Raphael says directly to me, "you'll be receiving a package sometime soon. I think it might help to understand your friend a lot better."
I take the information as it is, and make my way to the front door.
"You'd be wiser if you listened to him, you know." God says from behind me, directly into my mind.
I know I would be wiser, I am listening, it's just hard to believe everything.
"Well you'd do best to believe. Most of his knowledge was bestowed upon him by yours truly. I'd advise you not to take it for granted." God replies, snapping her finger in what seems to be a town-spread trend, and somehow sending me directly home with no recollection of the journey.
It seems God is the new way home from Raphael's, and also saving him petrol money.
That night, we have dinner as a family. We talk as little as possible like a family. We go to our beds at 10:30PM as a family, and I proceed to die at 11:00PM in popular fashion.
Waking up again feels somewhat different, despite today being the same day I've known over and over again. However, waiting for me outside was a brown paper-wrapped package with my name on it.
I grab the package and make my way back to my room.
I open the package with a paper knife in the shape of a comically larger sword. Slowly, then all at once.
I unravel the paper to find a book. A small but thick pink book that says "Abi Walker" on the front, with stars and hearts dotted around the cover.
As much as I shouldn't read this, it would be very rude to not read a gift.