A Reckoning

It was early when I strode into Grand Central Station. My train wasn’t scheduled to leave for another hour. But I hated to rush. I glanced at all the people scurrying to get somewhere. I was not one to scurry. As I entered the building, I peeked at my image in the enormous glass door, and smoothed out my skirt, satisfied with my reflection.

I made my way down the marble staircase to the lower concourse, barely noticing the two men I passed. But I sensed that they both turned to watch me descend. I could feel their eyes on me.

I still got it! It was nice to know that I could still turn a few heads as I walked across the concourse.

“It’s time.”  A voice in the crowd stopped my reverie. I looked at the stranger who had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Pardon? Are you speaking to me?”

“It’s time,” the odd little man repeated, as he neared me.

He was a troll-ish fellow, with a large head and hands that didn’t seem to fit his petit body. Not at all someone I would normally notice, much less speak with. The top of his head barely reached my shoulders. He was dressed in an oversized gray suit and orange tie that clashed with the yellow-ish tint of his skin. Honestly, he looked quite clownish - with his small frame, protruding large features, and his ill-fitting clothes. I almost smiled at the sight of him. Almost. Except that his face was stern and his eyes were piercing, unforgiving. His countenance displayed every bit of a man on a mission.

I could tell that he was a serious, humorless fellow.  Instinctively, I wanted nothing to do with this runt of a man. No matter how comical he looked.

“Do I know you from somewhere? What do you mean, it’s time?” I furrowed my brow as I questioned the man now walking in lockstep with me. I wasn’t too worried about him. 

At least, not at first.

I thought it was just a case of mistaken identity. He was no more than a fly would be on a horse-just someone to shoo away. A nuisance. Besides, the train station was crowded. A blur of people moving here and there. Arriving and departing passengers. Greeters and well-wishers. I was hardly alone.

Safety in numbers, I thought. 

Still, it was New York. Growing up in The City - New Yorker’s always refer to their city as “The City” – I was unaccustomed to engaging strangers in conversation. Looking was fine. I had always liked garnering the attention of strangers from afar. But talking to a stranger? That was not okay. Talking meant making a connection. And I most definitely did not want to make a connection with this little elf.

Not knowing what he was after, I started to worry. Best to keep moving. I picked up my pace, figuring that would discourage the peculiar little chap from talking. My high heels clickity-clacking along the marble floor.

“I mean exactly that. It’s time,” he said, his breath coming hard, as he tried to keep pace. 

I started walking even faster. But as much as I tried, I couldn’t shake him. He needed two steps to my single one, but he still kept up. Soon, I was almost jogging across the long concourse, with him running after me. Clickity-clack, clickity-clack. Worry turned into anxiety, taking root in my stomach. It began to grow, like an unwanted weed. I was breathing heavily now, jogging along the concourse while trying to quash the unease that had tightened its grip around my heart.

It was no use to try and lose him.  The little fellow was determined.  So, I stopped and turned to confront the man.

“Time for what? Look, I don’t know you. You need to leave me alone.”

By now, alarm bells were blaring inside my head. I looked around for help. A policeman. Or anyone. So many people around us, but no one was paying attention to me and this little man. I could have screamed, but I didn’t. I swallowed the fear that was creeping up in my throat. An inner voice told me to calm myself. Survival instinct? Maybe. I took deep breath and faced him.

“Leave…me…alone,” I said again, more firmly this time. I needed to gain control.

“I can’t,” he replied. “When it’s time, it’s time.”

“I don’t know you. Either you leave me alone, or I’ll contact the police.” I started shaking, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

That’s when I heard the announcement. “Final boarding call for the train to Ossining. Track 5. All aboard. Departing in two minutes.”

Track 5. Just ahead. I hadn’t planned on going to Ossining, but it was an escape. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but I had to get away from this little guy. 

Sprinting to the gate, I knew the troll-man couldn’t keep up. Not with my sudden burst of speed. Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity-clack. I reached the platform just as the bell - signaling the doors were closing - chimed. I squeaked through the closing doors, breathing a sigh of relief. Sitting in the first seat by the door, I closed my eyes and exhaled. 

I’ll deal with wherever I am heading in a bit, I thought as I took another deep breath, relishing in my escape.

I opened my eyes again, exhaling. 

The euphoria of my small victory was cut short as I looked around the car in which I found myself.   No one was on it. Not a sole. Just me. I didn’t notice when I boarded, as I had been in such a hurry to get on before the doors closed. My only choice had been to run to the nearest car on the platform. Otherwise, I would have missed the train completely. And I wouldn’t have escaped that awful man.

I shivered as I looked around. It didn’t seem possible that a train from Grand Central, in the heart of The City, especially on a busy afternoon, could leave the station with an empty car. With not a single other person on board. It didn’t matter where the train was heading. It was impossible. Eight and a half million people. Not counting visitors. I started to hyper-ventilate.

“Wh…wh…what’s going on?” I muttered. I could have shouted. It wouldn’t have mattered. No one in any of the other cars could have heard me over the rumble of the train as we started rolling down the track.

As the train moved, I saw the far door connecting the train cars start to open. My breathing slowed.

The conductor, I thought, relieved. He’ll have some answers. Or, in the very least, it’s another person! As long as he’s not an axe murderer, I’m okay.

Gallows humor! I smirked at my lame joke.

But it wasn’t the conductor. I recognized the gray suit and orange tie immediately. My heart sank. The fear that had been slowly receding, now reached a crescendo.

There was no escape. I was trapped in the train car with this strange little man. No amount of wishing would change that. As he approached, I made a conscious decision to go on the attack. Show him I wasn’t afraid. Make him afraid. That was my plan.

“Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you,” I said, standing. I mustered up what little courage I could find. “I have a weapon, and will use it to protect myself.” I reached my hand into my pocket and glared at the man, hoping he wouldn’t know I was lying.

The man seemed unaffected. He continued to walk towards me. I started shaking.

“Now, Florence, no need to fight anymore. We have made it to the waiting room. It was written that you should be here.”

“Waiting room? It’s a train, for crying out loud.” My voice was raised, sounding a little more desperate than I wanted. “Wait! How…how…Wait! How do you know my name? Who are you?” 

“I know a lot about you, Florence Abernathy. Sit down and I will explain.”

He knew me? I had no idea how. But his mention of my name knocked all the air out of me. My breathing slowed, almost stopping. There was nothing I could do.

“OK, I’m ready to listen. But why do you keep saying my time is up. What does that mean?”

I sat down again, if only to keep from falling. My legs were like rubber, bending uncontrollably. I slumped into the seat, defeated. I could feel my being, my essence, exiting my body. Slowly. Leaching out of me through every pore in my skin. Little by little. I was starting to cease to exist.

“We are in the waiting room,” he repeated. “As for me, I am the keeper of time. It’s simple. You have used all your time. And you have nothing more to trade. So, your time is up. I am here to collect.”

Wild rantings of a crazy person, I thought. He’s a lunatic!

It took all my remaining energy to think. I was still trying to understand.

Focus, I commanded myself. My head was pounding. This was all too much to handle. I tried to ignore the eerie feeling that was beginning to uncoil inside me. But somehow, deep down, I knew he was telling the truth. I just couldn’t grasp what that truth was yet.

“Wh…what trade? What are you talking about?” The questions rolled off my tongue as if by a powerful magnet. I no longer had free will. I was a puppet. His puppet. 

The weird little man sat down next to me and took out a notepad from inside his suit jacket. As he opened the notepad, I saw my name on the first page. “Florence Abernathy.” It was printed like the title of a story, in large block letters. Centered on the page.

Under the title was the date 1951. And a photograph of what looked like a mother holding a small baby. The photograph was in sepia, old and faded. 

“This is you, as an infant. And your mother,” he started. 

“Impossible,” I said. “That would make meee…” 

My voice trailed off as I lifted my fingers, attempting to count, but my brain was no longer a fully functional organ. My hands fell back into my lap.

“Seventy-five,” he completed. “Yes, you have been on Earth for seventy-five years.”

“I’m not…”

“Yes, you are. You were married at twenty-eight to a lovely young man, a brilliant man. A scientist. You had one child, named Olivia. Such a sweet girl. Really, you had such a nice life. It was a shame you had to spoil it.”

“I don’ know wha you are shaying.” My words were started to slur.

“It won’t be long now,” he said. Then he continued. “You got greedy. Vanity reared its ugly head. First came one white hair…you pulled that out. Then more, and a few wrinkles. Yeah. You definitely didn’t like the aging thing. That’s why you came to see me.”

“You…” was all I could muster.

“Yes. In the market below Penn Station. The Midnight Market. You offered me a deal. At first it was only ten years off your husband’s life, to be added to yours. Then another ten. Yes, you took twenty years from him.”

“No shensh. You makin’ no shensh.”

“Oh. I assure you. It makes complete sense. When time is a fungible commodity, as it is in my world, you can sell, borrow, trade, even steal time. Your husband trusted you and you basically stole twenty years of his time for yourself. Twenty years is a lot of time to take from someone. He died soon after the ink on our contract was dry. He never knew what you did.”

“I wooden. En I wood no,” I stammered.

“Well, part of the deal was a loss of memory. You didn’t want the guilt to follow you. So, no. You would not know. Not until now. Time’s up, so now you get to know what you did. We made the deal. Here’s the contract.” He showed me his notepad, but I couldn’t look.

“Oliv…?” I asked.

“Your daughter? Olivia? Yes, that’s the saddest part of this story. She died. Cancer. About five years into our deal. The worst part is that, had your husband lived, he possibly could have saved her. As I said, he was a brilliant man, a medical researcher. He was looking for a cure for cancer. He was so close, so very close, but his work was incomplete. The years you took from him, also ended up taking your daughter.”

The terror that had gripped me earlier was nothing compared to the fear and disdain that now encircled my entire being. Pressing on me in every direction like heavy weights. Crushing me. I was suffocating. Gasping. As the train lurched to a halt, I fell out of the seat.  Writhing on the floor, in pain, my dignity in tatters. I screamed.

The car doors opened and I was no longer in the waiting room.