Before the Fall

I spent the afternoon at Z-Mart, buying canned beans, 3 boxes of cereal, frozen pizza, chicken nuggets, strawberry yogurt, and some dishes and silverware. Apparently, Clara taking the house in the divorce meant Clara taking all the dishes too. I spent about twenty minutes in the dishes section appraising the plates, 15 minutes more than I was supposed to. I needed a plate that wouldn’t break if I dropped it, but also one I could microwave. Eventually, I decided on a 50-pack of cardboard plates and some disposable party silverware. As I walked to the checkout counter, a bouquet snagged my eye. A pairing of lilies and roses, simple yet strikingly beautiful. We had been here, Clara and I, to pick the floral arrangement for our dining room bouquet.

This is why I usually shopped at Walmart.

Despite myself, I walked towards the bouquet aisle with my basketful of groceries. The fragrance of peonies, sunflowers, orchids, dahlias, and dozens of other flowers immediately filled my nose. The aisle led to a dead end, where a small window protruded from the wall, bathing the flowers in the warm afternoon light. I decided immediately that the small table in my new house needed a bouquet and set about picking out a vase.

After spending an unplanned 8 minutes finding a cute ceramic vase with a red glaze design, I switched my attention to the flowers. Something not too showy, I decided, yet beautiful and fragrant enough to impress any visitors. I was deciding between a wildflower bouquet and a bouquet of multicolored roses when I heard the soft pad of footsteps behind me. I turned around and watched as a man slipped into the aisle.

“Get the wildflowers.” He smiled jaggedly.

He was rough on the eyes, to say the least. His rumpled hair was unkempt, and a loose sweater hung past his fingertips. His eyes, the same color as mine, looked reddened and irritated, with veins reaching across the whites of his eyes. A single wilted daisy lay flattened between two pieces of clear plastic, attached to his neck by a long lanyard.

“That’s…that’s good advice.” I said, without reaching towards the bouquet. I didn’t like it when I had to waste words. Unfortunately, I was often called to useless conversation, so I was quite good at it.

“Are you a florist?” I asked, appraising the crushed daisy.

He didn’t respond but looked at me with a crazed detachment. He lifted his chin slightly and parted his cracked lips. “Who are you?”

“Excuse me?”

He rocked on his feet, shaking his head violently. I stepped back a half-step. This man was obviously disturbed, yet morbidly lucid.

“Who are you?” His voice rose a half-pitch and gained a desperate tone, as well as a strange sense of accusation. “Who are you? Do you know?”

Who was I? I cleared my throat. “My name’s Peter.”

He tilted his head sideways. “My name’s Peter too;” He smiled darkly. “But thank God we’re far from the same person.”

I snorted and turned back to the shelf. Peter, seeing my attention slipping away, walked up to me.

“Peter.” He made a growling noise in the back of his throat. “Stop with the stupid flowers. You won’t get visitors, anyway.”

I glanced sharply at him. “Do I know you?”

Peter looked behind us, at the empty aisles. “Your wife was always the social one.” He said thoughtfully.

My heart beat faster. “Have we met before? Who are you?”

He giggled a little. “Now you’re asking the right questions.” He pulled back his sleeve and examined his hand. “Let me read your future.”

I shook my head. “Sir-”

“Please. Call me Peter. We’re brothers now.”

I ignored him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to sell here, but I’m now half an hour behind schedule and I can take you to court. You aren’t allowed to do business here.”

He slapped the metal shelves. “Busy Peter with all his little numbers. Besides, you wouldn’t even make it to court.”

I rolled my eyes and began to walk away, leaving my basket behind. As I brushed past him. he gripped the arm of my suit. “Let’s see that palm.”

On reflex, I yelled out and pushed him hard with my free hand.

He fell backward, the back of his head connecting to the edge of the shelf with a ringing noise that echoed through the store. His head snapped forward, and he fell to the ground.

The fear that the man was injured or dead immediately stifled any adrenaline I’d gotten from the act of violence. I knelt beside him and slipped my fingers around his wrist.

His palms felt warm and sweaty in my tight grasp, and I felt a stab of dread. My position would never hold in court. I scanned the ceiling for security cameras. There were two that must have seen the violent exchange. Preparing for the truth, I dialed 911.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“I think I just knocked a homeless man into a shelf. His name is Peter, and he may be injured; we’re at Z-Mart, in the flower aisle. Please hurry.”

I hung up.

“Who’s face do you see the most, yet know the least?” Peter opened one eye.

“You’re alive!” I grabbed his hand.

“Really, the 911 call was unnecessary.” He sat up, and I could see an open gash on the back of his head, staining his hair a dark red.

He stood and seemed to notice his injury for the first time. He wiped the blood away with his filthy sleeves. “May I read your future now, Peter?” A thin trail of blood ran down his neck.

“I guess.” I didn’t have much of an option, really. He needed to stay awake until the ambulance came.

He lifted my hand and studied my palm. “Just as I thought.”

In a few startling moments, he seemed to age a few years, his figure drooping and his hands clenching so hard they turned white.

“The Fall is coming,” he whispered. His voice seemed to come from miles away. “The divorce, the job… life always gets too dull.” He grinned, his eyes glittering like shards of glass.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stood. “Where is that ambulance?” I waited awkwardly for a moment, then shot back, “and I don’t think you should be dictating my future. It’s all crap anyway, this future stuff. I’ll make my future.”

Peter swiped a sleeve across his neck, smearing blood across his face. “Pride cometh before the fall.”

I pulled him up by his bloody jacket and pushed him into the aisle of vases. “Take it back!” Vases tipped and smashed against the floor, sending shards spinning in every direction. Running footsteps approached.

Peter spat in my face. “Look at the palms. It’s all in your hands.” He grabbed for my hand, and I stumbled backwards, dragging Peter down as I fell. As I hit the ground, I felt the shards pierce my body. A blinding pain filled my chest.

A medic stood over me, calling to his coworker. “It’s him.”

I tried to stand but was pushed back down. All I could see was Peter’s hand, stretched far above his bleeding head.

His palm was identical to mine.

I could feel people loading me onto a stretcher. I could hear faint words above me, but I was losing conciousness. “Peter Dundrow, formerly diagnosed with schizophrenia and psychotic episodes. Believes he has an ex-wife named Clara and a teenage son.”

I looked towards Peter. “Who’s face do you see the most, yet know the least?” I gasped for air. “A reflection.”

The world spun into blackness.