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 I stepped out of the bar at a little past one onto a trash littered street. The strong stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol clung to my clothing and breath. The muffled sound of the music playing from the juke box thundered through the walls of the pub, as I stole quick glances up and down the street to see I was its sole inhabitant.

 I proceeded on my way up the street heading towards the small apartment building called home, looking in the windows of closed shops as I passed just like every night on this sad walk of shame.  Just another day, the same old shit. I lit up a cigarette just to have something more to do than walk.   

“You bastard you didn’t have to do that to them!” came a shout from an alleyway on my left.  I stopped in my tracks, and beheld what was going on. A tall man, looking to be roughly in his thirties was shouting at a small, elderly man in tattered clothing, which gave him the appearance of a bum.  The smaller man spoke in a raspy voice, and from where I stood I could not make out what he had said.  Whatever it was it did not please the taller man, who pushed him up against the brick wall of a building that lined the alley, and then slung him to the ground. 

As the assailant walked away he shouted a warning to the old man to turn something back. With that he emerged from the alley, shot me a menacing glare, and spoke out a warning to me. 

“Whatever you do,” the man said, pointing his finger at me. “Stay the hell out of there. If ever there was an impulse to do the right thing, it is not now, not tonight. Leave that piece of shit to rot and go on your way.”

 I gave a glance to the poor old sod lying hurt in the alley and looked back at the man.  

“Get fucked asshole,” I replied angrily. “Are you going to leave me bleeding among some trash bags like you did him?” I pointed towards the bum, not breaking eye contact with the stranger. 

“No,” the man said as he turned his back to walk away. 

“You’re damn right no,” I shouted. “I’m not some old man that’s easy to push around.” 

The stranger kept on walking, just before he was out of audible distance I heard him shout, “It’s your funeral asshole.”   

Thinking better of shouting back a rebuttal I remembered the old man.  Hurriedly, I sped down the alleyway until I had reached his side.  

“Are you okay sir?” I asked stupidly.  “The man just had the shit kicked out of him,” I thought to myself. Of course he was ok.” I lent a hand to him and helped him to stand on his feet.  Save for a small scrape across his left cheek he looked fine.   

“Yes I’m quite alright, thank you,” the man replied in a hoarse and croaky voice, which sounded like it belonged more to a frog than a human being.  He reached into his ragged overcoat and withdrew a small note-pad and pen.   

“Do you think you need a doctor or anything?” I implored; watching as he scribbled over a page in the small book and feverishly wrote a new entry in its place. He pocketed the book and pen, and then looked at me as if I had just suddenly appeared from thin air. 

“What I need is not important,” he croaked “it’s what you need that matters Jack.” 

“What do you....?” the question halted in my throat, and I threw the small frail man a look of puzzlement.

“How do you..?” 

“Know your name?” the man rasped, cutting me off in mid-sentence, all I could do was shake my head yes.

 “I know your name Jack Rollins because I arranged this little meeting of ours.” The stranger whispered in his hoarse voice, and breathed heavily at the end of each reply as if it were a physically exhausting task. 

“I don’t understand.  Arranged what meeting? How? Who are you?” I stabbed each question at him, starting to feel uneasy. 

“It was your...” the man erupted into a violent coughing fit, flecks of blood and saliva splaying from his mouth. A few minutes passed until the man was able to talk again. “...fate Jack. You were destined to walk from that bar, at that time, and arrive here exactly when you did, which brings us to right now.”  

“What are you talking about? Are you a little drunk...?” once again the toad like voice of the man cut me off.   

“Jack with the questions you want to ask me we could be here all night, and I have not the patience for such a thing.  So please if you’ll just listen to me, not talk, but listen to me I will answer every thing you wish to know.”  

“All right, I’ll humor the little drunk bastard for now, I thought. “But the second he says he’s God, I’m outta here.” 

“My name is the name of every body that has lived, does live, and shall live.  My life is the lives of all.  Everything that has happened, and shall happen, happens only because I have cleared it to.” A cough broke his chain of explanation, but he quickly resumed. “I have crafted the sorrows and triumphs of peasants, the rise and fall of kings, and the victories and defeats of gods.” 

“So you’re God, huh?” I asked, noting that didn’t take long at all. 

“No,” the man replied. “I never said I was God, Jack.” 

I went to ask another question, but found it answered before I had muttered the first word. 

 “Exactly how do I do this?” the man looked eager to show me something. “All with this,” and he pulled the note-pad from his overcoat once more.  A laugh escaped my throat at the sight of it.  

“A notepad, huh?” I laughed out loud. I’d heard some crazy tales on these intoxicated nights but this one took all. I was already anticipating sharing it tomorrow night over a few beers.  

“I’m sorry pal, but I’m nowhere near drunk enough to buy into this bullshit.” And I turned my back to walk away.   

“How do you like the fate you’ve been given Jack?” the man croaked from behind. “Your ex-wife Linda and her new husband James Martin living with your children, your failed attempts at becoming a writer.  A cruel hand you’ve been dealt indeed.  You knew you should’ve won that custody hearing for your daughters Rachel and Amber, but it was your fate to have a lawyer who didn’t have a clue to what he was doing.” 

I ceased walking and turned to face the man once more. “How do you know about Rachel and Amber? How do you know about any of this?”  

“Let’s jus’ say that I’m a writer of sorts, Jack. With a book, that everyone would kill to read.” He shook the little book in his hand to put emphasis on it. 

“I don’t care about some damn book.  Just tell me how you know my daughters or so help me god I’ll crush the life from you!” My fists were clenched at my sides, my breathing becoming faster.    

“There’s no need for hostility Jack,” the man calmly spoke. “I know about Rachel and Amber because I allowed you to have them.  As I said before, nothing happens without my say so, or my writing so. You were destined to have two daughters, to fail as a writer, to lose your wife and children; all because I wrote it down.” 

“And you think that in telling me you’re the reason for my life being the fucked up mess it is makes me feel better?” My fists had clenched so tightly I thought the tips of my fingers would pop through the skin of my palm. 

“Does it?” Was all the elderly man replied. 

The tight lid that had been holding back my anger blew with all the subtlety of a volcano blowing itself to pebbles.  

“Does it fucking hell, you stupid bastard!”  My whole body shook, every inch of skin burned as if molten metal flowed through the veins beneath.   

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cave your damned head in.” I looked at the man.  My outburst and threats seemed not to faze him at all, only fueling my frustration more.  I began to wonder if I would even wait for his reply, or just tear him to pieces before he had a chance to say one word.            

“I’ll give you one good reason why you won’t,” the bum calmly spoke. 

“You mean why I shouldn’t.”  I corrected him, wishing my words were a knife to stab through that smug, calm face of his. 

“No Jack.  I’ll give you one reason why you won’t, and that simply is because of what I’m going to propose to you. I told you I was a writer Jack, and as a writer I posses the power to edit a few details of the story that is you. Take out whole sections, and write in something new.”     

The man walked forward, his upper torso hunched slightly forward.  He came to rest in front of where I stood, and gripped my arms in his hands.  A great feeling of unease settled on my insides as his grey, piercing eyes locked onto mine. “What if I told you events in your life could be changed Jack? What if you’d won that hearing for your little girls?  What if you did become that successful writer you always longed to be?  Would you do anything to have this?  Would you not care what had to be done to achieve it?” 

Though my anger still seethed inside of me, and I was skeptical of this line of questioning, I found I could not lie. “Nothing would matter other than having them.”

My frustration seemed to depart from my body, as quickly as the words that I had just spoken. The man freed my arms from his grip, and took a step back.  

“Go home Jack and go to bed. For you have a whole new day ahead of you tomorrow,” the man spoke in his hushed voice. He produced the notepad and  furiously scribbled over something, and wrote something else in.            

“Wait a minute,” I spoke as if coming out of a trance. “Wait, what do you mean? What’re you writing?”            

“Go Jack,” the man commanded. “You’ll see tomorrow and if you should need to speak to me I’ll be here.” 

I went to ask a question but decided against it. I turned and walked up the alleyway, all the while thinking, what did I just do?  

* * *  

“Daddy, daddy, daddy!” Thump...thump. 

“What?” I stammered groggily as I shot up in bed.  There sitting on top of my legs were two little girls, identical in features.  Each had long brown hair, and green eyes, and smiles across their faces.  It took a moment to register that these were my daughters, Amber and Rachel.  A smile spread across my face, and tears nearly broke from my eyes. 

“Wake up sleepy head. You’ve made us late for school again.” Exclaimed the girl resting on top of my left leg, which was Amber. 

“Yeah sleepy head wake up,” chimed in Rachel, who had my right leg pinned to the mattress.  

“School?” I asked, throwing them a puzzled look.  They looked at me as if I had lost my mind. “Oh yeah school.  Okay.  Well you two go make you some breakfast and I’ll be there in a minute.”  

“We don’t know how to make breakfast,” said Rachel; while throwing me an even more baffled look. 

“Well there’s got to be cereal in the kitchen.” I told them. 

“It’s on top of the ‘fridgerator.  We can’t reach it,” exclaimed   Amber. 

“Alright, how ‘bout this?  You two go get ready and I’ll get you some breakfast.” I asked. Without replying they shot from the bed and out of the room. 

 I sat confused as to how my daughters woke me up, and even more than that, where the hell was I?   This was not the little apartment that I had passed out in last night.  I was laying in a king sized bed I had never seen before; in a bedroom I had never seen either. 

To my right sat a little bedside table with a lamp and an alarm clock that showed it was eight: twenty-five in the morning.  I got out of bed, my feet freezing on the cold, wood floor, and walked over to a dresser to the left side of the room. 

On top of it sat pictures of Amber, Rachel, and I on some beach. Photographs I had never seen before, or remember being taken.   I walked to the doorway and peeked down the hall to the right. There was an open door at the end, and from here I could see a white porcelain sink, so it was obviously the bathroom. 

Half-way between me and the bathroom was the top to a flight of stairs, and in front of was the doorway to what looked like Amber and Rachel’s room.  I glanced to my left to see green curtains with sunlight casting through them.   

From downstairs came the call for daddy and I knew my curiosity would have to be put on hold for a little while. 

* * *  

Three hours later I finally found myself back in the strange building I obviously called home.  Fumbling to find the right key on the key ring was the last of a very hectic past few hours.  I strolled through the house until I came across the living room and threw myself onto the all too inviting couch. 

A laugh escaped my throat upon reviewing the morning’s events in my mind. Amber and Rachel no doubt probably think their father has gone crazy. I’d fumbled around the kitchen looking for everything from silverware, bowls, and cereal as they shot puzzled looks to each other as to why I was asking where stuff was in my own kitchen. 

That was just the beginning however.  After that it was time to embark on taking them to school and right from the driveway I turned left instead of right and drove all over the neighborhood at least twice trying to find the way out.  I thought I’d caught a break when I got behind a public school bus and followed the bus to its final destination only to find out my daughters were not in public school, they were in private school. 

Amber and Rachel’s tempers eventually ran out and explained to me the way to get to Morris Elementary.  I dropped them off and was relieved to hear they had ballet practice tonight and Cheryl’s mom would be bringing them home afterwards.  I apologized to them for my odd behavior and promised them ice cream when they got home.   

Thankfully, I was able to find my way back to the house and had made a note to write the directions out should I need them later.  Instead here I lay on a strange couch which should be familiar seeing how it’s mine, but none the less, it like the house was alien to me.   

I sat up and began to explore the house to become familiar with it.  The living room led into the kitchen which led to a small hallway with a closet for storage beneath the steps.  At the first floor landing was a door which I made my way through.   There were numerous pictures of me and the girls on the walls, a desk with a computer near the back, and along the back wall was a book shelf.  I made my way to this to inspect its contents.

Pictures of me with people I do not remember, such as Amber and Rachel in pink fairy costumes. There was a whole volume of encyclopedias, tons of novels, and to my bewilderment a whole section of novels with my name on the spines.  

 Obviously in this crazy alternate universe I woke up in this morning my writing career had taken off instead of blowing up on the launch pad.  I was a New York Times Best-Seller and one of the horror/suspense genres’ acclaimed greats. 

There was my career right before my eyes. I picked up “Severing the Spine” and “The Smithfield Shotgun Slaughter”.  I’d have to read them all, a need burned in me to start out then but one novel caught my eye above all else. I snatched it from the shelf on quickly thumbed through the pages.

The book was titled, “The Old Man’s Proposal”. A three hundred eighty four page novel that was heralded as my best work.  I flipped it over and read the back which sounded all too familiar.

Upon a dark night Eric Webb staggers drunkenly through an alley in a slum part of a failure filled town.  Little does Eric know his life is about to change forever.  From the shadows a ragged bum emerges with an offer that Eric cannot dare to refuse, an offer to change his past so his present is everything he wished it was.  Eric awakes the next day to find he lives the lifestyle he always dreamed of, but learns of the terrible price others had to pay to achieve his wishes. Eric sets out to save the lives of those that his desires ruined. Eric will find out that some deals are sealed in blood and tampering with them is a fate worse than death. 

I hurriedly put the book back in its place.  Feeling like a child that stumbles upon something he knows he shouldn’t find. I’d written a book about myself.  This Eric Webb character was actually me.  If so then what does it mean by “the price others had to pay to achieve his wishes?”

Oh shit, what had happened to Linda?  Yesterday she’d been the one with custody of Rachel and Amber, and today they’re living with me. 

I turned to the computer desk behind me and found myself hoping that I might find something that would help my now worried mind.  I tore through the first cabinet but found only printing paper, ink cartridges, and other stationery.  My luck didn’t change with the next cabinet which held only outlines for my novels.  I shifted over to the right side of the desk starting at the bottom drawer.

Bingo! 

I’d hit a home run but instead of feeling like Mark McGwire I felt like an executioner at an innocent man’s hanging.  In the drawer I found an old newspaper that spoke of a wanted child rapist and murderer.  The FBI had been searching for this man for years and eventually his trail had run cold.  Then on a lucky break one of his only victims made him in a town not to far from where I currently sat.  The FBI stormed the house of one James Martin, a false identity for murderer Thomas Shane, on a Sunday. Shane had known the cops were close to catching him years before and had married Linda Rollins two years earlier to help him lie low.  Linda was the guardian of two girls, Rachel and Amber, who were only three at the time of Linda and Thomas’ marriage.  The police are happy to report that Shane did not harm the Amber or Rachel.  There is no doubt had Shane had more time he would have done unspeakable acts to the two innocent youths.  

The paper beneath it spoke of James again and of sentencing, but when you’ve murdered nine children, death is the final verdict.  The carrying out of his sentence was set for an April 23, 2006. They were wasting no time with him, putting him right on the fast track to the gas chamber. That would mean that his time had already come and gone, but another newspaper talked of a public outrage at the postponing of Thomas Shane’s death, which had now been moved to September 15, 2007 for reasons unknown. 

I was angered wishing the bastard’s lungs had already exploded under the weight of cyanide gas but a cold apocalyptic fact dawned on me.  James was an innocent man. I didn’t like him one bit but that’s because he was the guy that was with Linda and my girls at the time. I cannot deny the truth though that James would ever be capable of such heinous acts.   

And what had become of Linda? That answer was even harder to swallow than that of James’. 

I found papers for commitment to a state mental hospital for one Linda Martin. Linda had broken down and not been able to handle the situation with James and the harassment she faced. The nasty letters and threats she received, and then custody of her children being taken from her.  She soon lost all grip on her reality, often just sitting motionless and speechless staring into nothing. Linda’s father had her committed and had made me hold the incriminating papers of his deeds so his wife wouldn’t know what he’d done to their daughter. 

I ran from the room, never feeling the urge to vomit more strongly than now.  I couldn’t recall where the bathroom was though and found myself retching into the kitchen floor.  I laid there beside my vomit crying on top of the hard wood floor.   

What had I done?  I didn’t want things like this! Never like this!  Poor Linda, she did nothing to deserve where she was now.  She was a good woman; I was what drove her away, me and my drinking.  She’d saw it best that our daughters not grow up around that, and she was right.  Even that bastard James didn’t deserve a death sentence.  I once thought he deserved a lot but Jesus never this.

 I picked myself up from the floor.  Feeling disgusted, sick, and angrier than I’d ever felt in my life.  Every inch of my skin burned and my fists were balled so tight it felt as if boulders hung on the ends of my arms.  I pulled the car keys from my pocket and headed out the front door. 

 I have a date with destiny himself, and the motherfucker better have his will wrote out in that notepad of his.

**** 

I drove from my upper class neighborhood to the slums I was just a native of myself last night.  I parked in front of the bar I’d staggered out of last night and walked down the sidewalk to the entrance to the alleyway.  The Gates of Hell now had a picture to relate to in my head and it was none other than the two brick buildings that formed this small dirty alley.  

Somewhere down there was the Devil himself and a foreboding feeling in my gut told me he was waiting for me. I walked slowly looking from side to side looking for him among the numerous trash bags and old newspapers that were scattered along the pathway.  I made it all the way to the other side without seeing him. 

Angered I turned to walk back the way I came.  I jumped back a few steps when I saw that he was now standing right before me. 

“Come to speak with me Jack?” the bum spoke in that croaky voice of his. “Or have you come for something more?  Like, my blood perhaps?” 

“You motherfucker, I should end your miserable existence right here for what you did to James and Linda!” I yelled at the man as I began moving forward with fists clenched. He was unfazed at my display of hatred as if it was something he saw all the time. He spoke again even as I continued walking forward. 

“I, Jack, have done nothing. It was you that put Linda and James where they are.  Did you not tell me that no price was too big as long as you could have your daughters and be that writer you always saw yourself to be?” 

The man was proving a point I did not want or wish to hear. He kept on going, trying to lay the blame and guilt at my feet. 

“You Jack committed your ex-wife to that hospital and you might as well be the gas that James will inhale.” 

“I said I wanted my girls, not for two innocent lives to be destroyed in the fucking process. What you have done is unjustifiable and will soon be murder,” my anger burned through my words as if they were paper, “I’ll make you an offer, one you have no choice but to accept or so help me God I’ll rip your fucking spine out!” 

The elderly man cut me off already knowing what I would say.            

“I will not change what is written Jack.  You should’ve been a little more specific in what you wanted.  I made good on what you wanted, but you see, in order to change ones fate for the better, others must change for the worse.  There must always be balance Jack.  The price of your happiness came with the payment of misery and ruin of other’s lives. Last night you were the one who lived a shattered existence and now you have all you desired.  Let it rest at this Jack for there are some lines you really don’t want to cross.” 

“Is that a threat?” I retorted “The only line I wished I hadn’t crossed was that of this alleyway last night.” 

“The stranger warned you Jack,” the bum spoke matter-of-factly. “You didn’t listen. You put yourself in this position “ 

“Well,” I spoke coolly, with an evil smirk spreading on my face. “Let’s just see what kind of position I can put you in.”  

“You really don’t want to do that-.” His sentence was cut short due to the fist I threw straight into his mouth. The man dropped hard to the ground and I stood over top of him looking him dead in his grey eyes.   

“Change it you piece of shit, that’s your last warning,” I said and pushed my foot to his chest knocking him flat on his back.  I walked over his body and down the alleyway.   

“Some lines you shouldn’t cross Jack Rollins,” the old man yelled which due to his hoarse voice still wasn’t very loud. “Sometimes you just need to grit your teeth and bear it.  You, Jack Rollins, have notably fucked yourself.” 

I looked back at the old man who now had his notepad out frantically scribbling over something and writing something new in its place.   

“Perhaps I should be a little blunter with you Jack?” the bum shouted. “I am Time, I am Life, and I am Death. Maybe not wielding the scythe as most associate me with but the pen after all is mightier than the sword!” 

I started on my way back towards the pathetic little man, with all intentions of murdering him. What he said next, however, stopped me dead in my tracks. 

“Shouldn’t you be at home watching over your little girls Jack?” the man asked with a wicked grin. “After all, there is a convicted child rapist and murderer on the loose.” 

“You son of a bitch!” I yelled but the bum laughed hysterically and so loud that I barely heard the words myself. His laughter seemed to deafen out everything around me, seemed to swallow me.  I turned and ran from the alley, taking the corner and running madly for my car. 

Jumping behind the wheel I brought the machine roaring to life and drove like hell in the direction of home. Something in my gut told me that things had changed for even worse.

 * * * 

It was dark when I pulled up to the house.  The windows were illuminated with light from the inside.  I glanced up to the window that was Amber and Rachel’s room and saw the lights were off.  Please God let them be ok.

 A twist of the front door knob revealed that it wasn’t locked.

Shit

I hurried into the house, slamming the door shut behind, driving the dead bolt home before the lock on the door knob itself.   

“Trying to keep someone out Jack, or someone in?” I jumped around and saw the only thing more dread inducing than hearing that voice, the face of James Martin.   

“Where are my girls James?” I shouted with a voice more frightened than angered. “I swear if you’ve laid a hand on them I’ll-“ 

“Shh, Jack you’ll wake the girls,” James pointed to the ceiling up to the girl’s room.  I watched his eyes go from the ceiling over to the couch to the item lying over the back, a white towel which was covered in blood. I felt my legs give beneath me and I found myself on my knees; my arms struggling to hold me.  Tears broke from my eyes and a yell tore through my throat like that heard on battlefields rather than a house in such a peaceful neighborhood.   

“What have you done with them!" I screamed. "If ypu've hurt them I'll kill you, fucking kill you!"  

“Jack what’re you talking about?” James asked puzzled, looking from me to the bloody towel. “I came over because you were supposed to meet us hours ago. Its Linda’s weekend with the kids remember? What the fuck is this Jack?” 

“Where are my daughters?” I asked, puzzled as to what was going on. 

“I told you they’re in their beds asleep.  Jack what’s going on?  Where have you been?” James questioned intently.   I wasn’t listening and went to pass him to get to the stairs.  He stepped in front of me, blocking my way to the staircase. 

“Jack what’s happened here?  I’m calling the cops Jack if you don’t answer me.” James threatened.             

I was tired of his questions, my daughters needed me and before I knew what I’d done I’d struck James across his face and watched him hit the floor. He shot me a look of both anger and shock. I watched him making his way to the phone while trying to shake the fog of the blow from his head.  He was no doubt calling the police but I had more important things to worry about. 

I took the stairs two at a time yelling the names of my daughters the whole way to their room.  I knocked the door open and could see their bodies lying beneath the covers of their beds.  I hit the light switch illuminating the room instantly.  The commotion I’d made and the light should certainly have caused them to stir if not awaken wondering what was going on. 

Dread seeped into my guts once more only this time it was heavy as concrete. “Rachel! Amber! Girls come on wake up!  Wake up daddy’s home!” I said with a voice ringing with despair. “It’s time for that ice cream I promised you this morning.” 

Moving to Rachel’s bed I stroked the hair from her face. Tears dripped from my eyes onto her cheek.  I could tell she wasn’t breathing, and something told me if I looked I would see Amber was in the same state.  I looked through distorted eyes at the teddy bear Rachel clutched, the blood upon it and her hands.  I didn’t want to but I knew I had to.  I had to lift the bed sheet and know what had taken my daughter.   

Nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight.  The sight of my little girl’s naked body, and the bruises on her ribs and dried blood that caked her inner thighs; a sight of their child no parent ever wanted to behold. 

That hysterical laughter flooded into my head once again and stayed there like sheet music that had been written branded onto my brain. 

Where is that old man now? When I am now ready to pay for my happiness in the suffering of others where is he, that hoarse whisperer of one’s desires. I guess he’s just like God when you’re on your deathbed asking for a little more time, he’s just not in that day. 

* * *  

Police today apprehended Jack Rollins, a known child rapist and murderer.  The FBI has been tracking him for many years now but not long ago the trail ran cold.  It wasn’t until yesterday that Rollins was arrested in his home that he shared with his two daughters Amber and Rachel Rollins.  Sadly, it was the lives he took of his own children that led to his capture.  The girl’s step- dad arrived to take the two girls to visit their mom for the weekend but arrived to find that would not be the case  Police also say that there were assortments of tell-tale objects scattered about the house but are withholding that information at this time. 

“Ah Jack, why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?” an elderly man mumbles to himself in a trash littered alley in a slum part of town. He crumbles the paper and stuffs it in his jacket for insulation.   

“Not to worry though Jackie boy.  You’ve got a few more years to go before your story ends.  Who knows, I may just write you a letter? Think maybe in a few years you may be a little more willing to pay that price for your happiness at the suffering of others. Cause your tale Jack just so happens to be one I’d like to see end happily.” 

The old man lays his head against the brick wall he’s resting on and a smile plays across his face. 

“We’ll just have to see if a tired old bum’s memory doesn’t forget about you,” a cough breaks his thought for a moment but he resumes once its passed.

“We’ll just have to see if Time, in all its ever growing vastness, doesn’t forget about you.”