The Stranger

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. For as many nights as Jack Bradley could remember, he would wake abruptly from his restless slumber. In a state of gloomy reverie he would shuffle to the window, the holes in his socks catching and pulling splinters from the well-worn wood floor. After years of flipped ash trays and spilt coffee and whiskey, Jack had removed the carpet long ago. Something beckoned him to the window, almost by name. Not in any audible form, but he could feel it in his chest. The syllables of his name beating in syncopation with his heart, the purple clouds in the distance, an invitation from a nameless void.

“Tomorrow will be better.” He thought to himself, as the feeling faded along with the clouds.

Contritely exiting the bar, wallet empty and ego bruised. He had spent the last few hours buying drinks for a stranger in hopes of not spending another night alone. Jack sarcastically laughed to himself, “Doesn’t get much better than this!”

There had been nothing on the news, no radio broadcasts… no warning of the thunderous storm Jack Bradley now found himself engulfed in. Seemingly showing up out of nowhere, without warning, like all the horrible situations he found himself in. No end to the rough weather and terrible times that followed him around like a loyal dog. Cell phone bill is a month past due… there is a phone booth across the street, but why kid himself? There’s no one to call. What Jack thought of as his, “unfortunate destiny” had seen to that.

As he sat there on the curb, failing to light a wet cigarette, time and time again. Lacking any urgency to get out of the downpour and accepting his bad luck and misfortune. Glancing at his watch, noticing both hands almost in line with the 12. The familiar purple clouds billowed out in all directions with Jack centered in the eye of the storm. Flashes came and went, igniting the sky into shadow puppets of ancient gods, known and unknown. As Jack watched with a besmirched smile on his face, it suddenly seemed as if the rain was no longer falling in large drops, but each one, singularly stretching from the black clouds above, down to the flat black wet asphalt; no longer moving but almost vibrating in place. The lightning striking closer, with more frequency now… Only to be followed by a cold, hollow silence. In fact, Jack heard nothing at all. The silence was such a strange feeling. Each moment seemed to sprawl out in front of him, each silent second longer than the next. With that last, almost endless second, came a footstep on the pavement, amplified by the silence.

Jack stood up, to investigate the translucent cables of rain, with the pitch-black background giving them a funhouse mirror-like effect. The steps were getting closer, but from which direction was difficult to decipher. They seemed to come from every direction at once.

As Jack’s anxiety reached its limit there was a voice. Its familiarity sending a cold chill down his spine, odd as if it was not being received through his ears but he could feel the vibrations of the words through his whole body, absorbing the sound waves through each pore. There was a cool evenness to the tone, not threatening in any way, but demanding respect with each annunciation.

“Jack Bradley, I presume?” and as Jack felt the question hit his body a silhouette formed behind the curtains of water in front of him. He felt that his jaw had been slack for some time now, and was just regaining the feeling to his tongue, not quite able to manipulate it into a response presently. As Jack fought to regain his familiar senses, the specter from outside the veil seemed to grow closer; the still streams of rain seemed to flicker and bend, the water repelling around and outlining the figures shape perfectly. Now two well-polished shoes, toe to toe with Jack’s own, worn boots. With the rain bending around them both, producing an invisible umbrella of sorts. It was colder now… Jack’s breath, visibly labored… while the trenchcoated stranger in front of him seemed as if, they may not be breathing at all. The strangers coat and hat, curiously dry.

The voice spoke again… “You are Jack Bradley, are you not?”

With amplified senses, Jack took in the figure before him, tall and brooding, but not in any sort of impatient way… At least that Jack could make out. A long grey coat covered most of the entity before him. All appendages and features matching his own. With a black hat that made Jack think of an old private detective film. Staring into the face though, he could not discern any exact facial features… they seemed to stretch and distort the more Jack tried to focus. With a combination of adrenaline, confusion, and fear he responded.

“I am,” was all he could manage in a trembling monotone. It was almost an automatic reaction.

The being before him began slowly reaching, gloved hand, to unlatch the buttons at the waist of its coat. With excitement and dread Jack stood, frozen, even if he wanted too, he would not be able to make his worn boots move. In fact, he could not even seem to blink.

The jacket opened now, and the other gloved hand reached inside.

“If this is my time, its my time…” Jack thought to himself. Fully prepared for the end it seemed.

Instead of the end though, the specter produced a box, about the size of a classic novel. It was covered perfectly as if by some department store gift wrapper, with folds and lines so perfect you had to strain to make them out. The paper was a plain brown though, nothing obviously special about it.

As Jack reached out for the package, the other gloved hand appeared abruptly meeting them in the middle. On the crisp off-white envelope was Jack’s name. Looking questioningly to the figure before him, receiving only a swift nod. With that he opened it, and read the words typed perfectly on very fine stock.

“Within this package lies all you will ever need. You must never open the box, for your destiny is inside, and one must never see their destiny. Only picture it, in the mind. The decision is yours to make Jack Bradley.”

“What is this?!?” he shouted to what he could only assume was a face.

“Do you accept?” with an even chill that made the hair on Jack’s arms raise. And again, Jack found himself voiceless.

“If you accept, sign…” while reaching out with a silver- and gold-plated fountain pen.

With a quivering hand Jack grasped the pen… and with an unrecognizable signature… he suddenly found the package in his hands.

The lightning flashed again; blindingly… and when Jack opened his eyes, the sky was clear. Not a solitary cloud or any evidence of the storm he had so recently found himself in the middle of. Still sitting on the curb as if he had not moved, head slowly turning to the side in disbelief. But there, to his side, sat the package. Still wrapped perfectly without so much as a mark upon its surface.

Finding himself back in the comfort of his soon to be former apartment, he sat… in the well broke-in recliner he had found out front of his building. And on the makeshift pallet-cinder block coffee table sat the box. Almost emanating a warning to not look with-in.

The box perplexed Jack. Was this some sort of prank? Some sick cosmic joke? To put all the answers in reach, but to never lay eyes upon. His mind raced, there being only so much talking to oneself before one’s sanity comes into question. Staring at the package, hoping for someone to talk to. If only his phone bill was paid.

Suddenly, Jack’s phone rang out, vibrating on his thigh. His phone was off, so he did not think it possible. Looking down at the unrecognizable number thinking it a scam call; he couldn’t help but answer. The sounds of another’s voice was too tempting. He had been alone for what seemed like a lifetime.

The voice on the other end of the line was kind and warm… informing Jack that they were so very sorry. They had reviewed his account and of no error of his own had been double charged for 5 years. As a sincere apology, the account will be credited, and no payments owed for the next 5 years.

As Jack hung up, he stared at the box. Was this a coincidence? Was he even awake? This must be some sort of dream. Intently looking upon the unassuming parcel. It called and warned him at the same time.

“Damn this box!” He thought to himself, looking away in disgust. Jack’s gaze fell upon the blue dress hanging on the closet door. With embroidered sunflowers, bringing up warm memories of his ex. If only he could try again, if only she would speak to him. His eyes returning to the package; thoughts of love and what could be, racing through his mind.

Suddenly a faint hesitant knock could be heard. It was 2:30 a.m. Jack wondered who could possibly be at his door at this hour. Had he even heard it at all? Was his mind playing tricks? There it was again… there was someone at the door.

Clenching his knees to support himself, Jack stood with a jerk. Forcing his body to move towards the door. With a feeling of dread. “Is the door like the box?” “Should I open it?”

As Jack slowly opened the door, there behind it, stood Amelia. The one, true, lost love of his life. Over his shoulder he glanced at the box questioningly.

The years moved along, and Jack kept his box close. If it was near, things always seemed to come to the most beneficial conclusion. At first it was easy to not think of looking inside. Distracted by all the good that life had in store.

As Jack sat in his very fine antique leather chair, in his penthouse apartment… one of many. Entranced by this mysterious thing before him. 30 years had passed without a single purple cloud. Ever since that night, that storm, which became harder and harder to picture in his mind. All the years of happiness and fortune… was he to give credit to this box? What even lie inside? It isn’t possible for this one box to contain every solution to every problem Jack had ever faced…. Is It?

An anger grew, swelling up inside, with a heat washing over his body. Now sweating profusely, even in the air conditioning.

“I did this.” Jack mused. “Its just a worthless box!” walking over to the podium where it rests. Reaching tan arms and well-manicured hands out to grasp this unnatural thing. It was cool to the touch, a dampness to it now as he wrapped his fingers around the edges.

To his surprise he could not lift it. Unsure of how this could be, he took a step back in shock. It had traveled everywhere with him. Across the country, over borders and oceans. His doubt in the box grew. It must still be some trick. Some illusion. Jack’s mind raced, trying to figure out who would ever play such a long con against him. Drawing blank after blank. Before the box, his only enemy, seemed to be himself.

Now furious at this obscene thing…. It did not deserve his faith; he had waited long enough. What truly hid beneath those sharp brown edges? With vision blurring into red, Jack heard the paper ripping and tearing. Breathing heavily… as a suffocating cold filled the room.

Slowly pulling up each flap of the box, one by one…

With eyes wide Jack finally looked. His eyes began to water, pursing his lips. Then loudly letting out a hard gasp followed by a maniacal laughter. Falling back into his lovely chair. Laughing so hard it hurt now.

“Nothing?!? There is nothing in the box!” Jack exclaimed. Also wondering why, he could not lift this small, empty, parcel.

With head in hands, Jack laughed…. So hard in fact he cried.

As he lifted his sight back up to where the box had safely rested, he saw it was gone. As if it had never been there at all. The oak grandfather clock by the window of his study began to chime, each ring welcoming midnight closer. The interior of the penthouse now illuminated by the mauve clouds circling the building. Trembling, Jack tries to light a cigarette to calm his nerves, but it is wet and refusing to ignite. Now standing, turning to assure himself in the mirror that he shouldn’t be committed… but all that looked back at him was a shifting, faceless figure in a long grey coat. Grabbing the vintage black fedora from the rack next to the door and reached with gloved hand, slowly twisting the knob.

“Tomorrow will be better…” Jack laughed.