The courage to change the things I can.
I run up the stairs and there is no ticket barrier. I blink away the brightness of the world outside. The pavements are full. I glance over my shoulder before stepping off the kerb, ignoring the horns as I run along the inside of the cars.
There it is. The building is up ahead of me. I can see it. I glance at my phone. 11:58.
The realisation hits. It is over. I won't be able to make it in time. I still need to get to the building and get past security and climb the stairs to his office.
I stop running. I stop moving. I bend over at the waist and gasp for air, just as I did in the tunnel. I pull the blue phone out of my pocket. I press redial. I call Reeves. I'm met by the familiar sound of the phone ringing. Just ringing.
I look at my watch. 11:59. I only have one choice left now. I no longer have a decision to make. Again, it has been made for me. I push my hand back inside my pocket. I pull out my red phone. I dial another number, the only number I have on the phone.
"Ah, Jeffrey," he says. "It is so nice of you to make contact again. How can I be of assistance?"
"I need to sort something out with you. Anything. I need to plead with you for mercy," I say.
He pauses. "I really would like to help you, Jeffrey, but we had a deal, remember?"
"Break the deal."
"Unfortunately, you are already too late, my dear old friend."
My words are broken. "But it is not even 12:00 yet," I say. "You said 12:00."
His high-pitched laugh gains momentum, like a runaway train. "You only hear the things you want to hear, Jeffrey. You forgot the intricate details of our arrangement. I said 12:00. You inconveniently forget that I said I have the same time as you, give or take a minute. Well, I have taken a minute, Jeffrey. My sincere apologies about that. If only I had decided to give a minute instead then maybe things could have been rather different. Please don't trouble yourself with telling Reeves now. You need to save all of your energy. He'll find out for himself in due course. You go home and get some rest, Jeffrey..."
The phone goes dead for the second time in just over an hour, give or take a minute.
DAY TWENTY-TWO 22ND JUNE 2018
My arms are in a straight line, my open hands by my side, down by my hips. Normally I'm a side sleeper, with my knees raised high, resembling a step. Now, though, I lie on my back, my upturned head sinking into the depths of my pillow. The sticky bed sheet feels like it will need to be prised from my perspiring body.
It was dark when I went to sleep, which is the norm, even for me. Many hours and countless dreams passed before the sunlight crept through the flimsy fabric of the curtain. Opening my eyes briefly, I absorbed the delicious curve of Erica's backside as she sleepily pulled herself from the bed, commenced the arduous routine of preparing for another working day. Normally, my eyes follow the fluid movements of her naked body as she dresses. Usually, I tell myself I must be the luckiest man alive to be the only one to see her naked that day. Often, my hands drift to my stiffened cock, my movements light, my breathing heavy. This morning, however, I closed my eyes and blacked out the world around me. I sensed her muffled movements as she dressed, and I tasted the sweetness of her kiss as she left, but beyond that I was oblivious to everything outside the world that existed only in my mind.
I think back to that Friday afternoon. The 1st day of June. Spring had blossomed and we had the whole summer to look forward to. I didn't realise it then, but this was perfection. I should have savoured the moment. Ironically, hardly anybody is ever lucky enough to be told that this will be their last day. If they were, then surely they'd embrace life for everything that it offered? I didn't realise it then, and I didn't fully believe it over the days that followed, but now I am certain: the life I lived then ended that Friday afternoon.
My phone rings.
I jerk up in one movement like I've been stabbed through the thigh with a needle. I scramble around amongst the mess on the floor, searching for my phone. Only now, I have two phones, don't I? My jeans lie in a heap. Searching inside the pockets, I pull out the red phone, the only one that matters. I stare at it. I keep staring to make sure my eyes aren't playing tricks. No. It isn't ringing. My hand disappears inside the other pocket. I pull out my other phone. The phone I've had for years, the one I bought. My blue phone. This phone is ringing. I slump back on the bed, with none of the energy or urgency I mustered to sit up. Any calls to my blue phone relate to the life I lived prior to that Friday afternoon on the 1st June. That life is not important. Not really. It is not a matter of life and death.
The ringing is drowned by my duvet until, finally, it stops. Take a deep breath. I start counting, praying for silence, only when I reach the number three, the phone rings again. Stops, then starts again. My mind is aroused by mild curiosity. Somebody in the world really wants to speak to me. And not him. I suffocate
