INITIUM NOVUM: Part 1 (12 page)

Although she has yet to admit it to herself,
her blunder occurred because she had been charmed by Will’s
response to the situation she had witness in the subway earlier,
forgetting the special card in her purse and giving him the first
one she managed to find. Wrapped up in the comedic nature of the
episode, she found herself in a position to persecute him, if only
to get close to him. Her reasoning being: a little probation never
hurt anybody. Plus, it’d give her a chance to learn his name, the
one he conveniently did not remember.

Barely visible in the rain battered
windshield, a male figure in a suit runs across the street, a
couple of dozen feet ahead of where their car is rapidly
approaching. They speed pass a pedestrian in a red and black
letterman, paying no attention to him whatsoever. Hector brings the
car to a stop midway between Veniero’s, where Will had entered, and
the corner of the block where the street meets the avenue. Everyone
exits the vehicle. The officers ready their weapons and radios,
just in case they need to call in a certain unexpected, escalated
situation. Jessica and Laura stay by the car.

As the officers approach the front entrance, a
shot rings through the air. Quickly shifting their focus towards
the source of the gunfire, they see a man in a red and black
Leatherman jacket aiming a smoking pistol in the direction of the
two ladies, both of whom are ducking behind the car. The officers
open fire, seeking cover behind cars and even laying on the floor
as they return shots at the suspect. Edwin manages to avoid being
shot as he dives behind the brick wall of the corner
building.

A few non-eventful but tense seconds pass by,
followed by a few more. Hector begins to rise from his knee, his
tactical position. He gives his boys the gesture to proceed with
caution. The two officers spread out, covering more ground. Hector
looks over his shoulders, his eyes eventually fall on the glass
door of Veniero’s, landing on a most unexpected sight, his wife,
Ruth. He’s instantly stunned, frozen in his confusion. It last only
a second, but sometimes one second is all that is needed to change
a lifetime.

Another shot is fired. This one pierces
through Hector’s neck. Ruth screams and without thinking rushes
outside to her husband’s side. In the confusion, an officer named
Corey discharges his gun in the direction he believed the shot to
have come from. Two bullets sink into Ruth’s chest, one exits her
torso, hitting the wall behind her. The force of the bullets sends
her crashing through the bakery’s shattering glass door. Will
watches from inside the bakery, horrified at what he
sees.

After a few seconds of shock, Heather attempts
to run out to her sister. Will catches her mid-sprint and holds her
tightly, afraid that she might be shot as well. She struggles,
crying hysterically as she tries to free herself from Will’s
grasp.

More gunshots ring through the air
outside.

“Let go,” Heather pleads with Will. “Please,
just let go.” Her words become broken, intermixed with sobs and
heaves, unaided by the shortness of breath from struggling against
Will’s strong embrace.

“I can’t. I can’t let you go. It’s not
safe.”

“I don’t care,” she manages to speak through
worsening cries. “She’s my sister.”

Just then, as he holds onto her, a strange
sensation befalls upon him. The fear of physical harm subsides and
for a brief moment he understands what the gypsy-looking girl had
attempted to explain to him earlier. He sees how his involvement
with Laura Cohen has led all parties to this catastrophic event.
Even though his comprehension is limited by perspective, and only
his own at that, he understands how easily paths can cross. The one
thing he, in the here and now, does not grasp is how he is at
fault, ironically through no fault of his own, for the tragedy that
has claimed two lives thus far.

Another series of gunshots reverberate through
the rain-scented atmosphere. Heather’s body becomes still, finally
accepting Will’s embrace. The thud of a heavy, large object booms
behinds them, competing with the gunshots outside. Will’s quick
peak over his shoulder reveals Milton, on the floor clutching the
left side of his chest with his right hand, lying next to a
tipped-over table and two chairs on their sides. On the big man’s
face is a look of physical agony. Will recognizes it instantly.
Milton is having a heart attack.
Will doesn’t know why, but he cannot bring himself to let go of
Heather. Another few seconds pass before faint images of the night
before begin to materialize in his mind. Up until now, Will could
not remember any detail concerning his life before he found himself
awake at the bathroom mirror.

*************

The night prior to Will waking up at his
mirror, he and Heather sat, side by side, on the Ping-Pong table at
Thompson Square Park. It was shortly after midnight and the park
was supposed to be closed, but this didn’t stop the two from hoping
over the fence and entering the park anyway.

They had just met a few hours ago, but the
connection they shared was instantaneous. It was there, in there
mock picnic on the Ping-Pong table with gummy bears and soda, that
an eternity had been born.

They talked for hours, each of them sharing
the most intimate details of their life. Heather revealed how much
she missed her sister. It took a little persistence, but Will
finally managed to get the entire story from her. She revealed how
she hasn’t spoken to her sister in over a year because of a fight
they had about Heather’s unfounded suspicions of her
brother-in-law’s infidelity. When she finished her accounts, she
lit a cigarette which Will gently snatched from her, tossing it on
the ground while reasoning that she was too pretty to be smoking.
Eventually, the conversation’s focus switched towards Will. He
expressed his concerns over having recently lost his job.
Immediately, she sought to remedy his situation. After informing
him that a friend of hers had sold his newsstand and is moving to
an actual store, she instructs him to come visit her at his old
newsstand location, that way she would be able to set up an
impromptu interview. At first, Will said that he couldn’t ask that
of her. Heather, however, would not take no for an
answer.

They continued to talk for another hour or so
before Will walked her home. There was no kiss, although there
could have been, there might have been, if only one of them had
made a move. In retrospect, there was, and still is, no need to
rush that kiss, as they both have had, and are stilling having, an
eternity to figure it out.

*************

Will, knowing what he must do now, takes a
deep breath and kisses Heather on the forehead. More gunshots sound
through the air outside.

“I know now,” he tells her.

“Don’t bother,” she tries to speak through
tear-soaked lips. “It just gets worse, every time.”

“But I know now,” he says again.

You won’t remember.

“You’ll forget. You always forget.”

She’s right.

“I can stop this,” he says.

“You can only change it,” she says, shaking
her head from left to right. “It cannot be stopped, only
redirected. You’re wasting your time.”

“Then I’ll waste an entire
eternity.”

Might as well. We’re already
half-way there.

Will lets go of Heather. For a brief moment,
it appears as if Heather will run to her sister’s side. Instead,
they look at each other, Heather’s sentiment being that of
emotional distress and exhaustion, Will’s being one of sympathy and
an affinity he does not fully grasp. Both of them know—to some
extent and to different degrees—what happens next. Of course, what
happens next differs for both of them, but that’s a matter of
individual perspective.

“Initium Novum!”

CHAPTER 13:

WILL FREEMAN:

You wanna know what the problem is?

THE WRITE GOD:

Free will? Because that’s where I might have
gone wrong with you.

WILL FREEMAN:

No! I come into the picture too late in the
story. And I can’t remember shit every time you send me
back.

THE WRITE GOD:

It’s too much information for a human
character to hold. And you come into the picture at the exact time
you’re supposed to.

WILL FREEMAN:

How about a little knowledge as to how the
picture is drawn?

THE WRITE GOD:

You have it.

WILL FREEMAN:

But I can’t remember who I am.

THE WRITE GOD:

Thus the reason for the voice, you.

WILL FREEMAN:

Yeah, great, thanks, I’ll just continue
listening to the voices in my head. You know that I don’t even
recognize the voice when I’m down there. It’s almost
pointless.

THE WRITE GOD:

Would you rather do without?

WILL FREEMAN:

No, I rather just have my memory instead of
relying on a voice that I can’t even tell is me.

THE WRITE GOD:

Your memory will invoke emotions; your
emotions will cloud your judgment. You will never navigate through
the perils of your fate and the fates of all parties involved
equally and without bias if you have any recollection of who you
are.

WILL FREEMAN:

Then, tell me this: why the fuck do I always
remember right before I restart?

THE WRITE GOD:

So that you can truly feel the effects of
those choices and their results. So that when you are here, before
me, you can know what I go through.

WILL FREEMAN:

Excuse me, what YOU go through?

THE WRITE GOD:

What WE go through.

WILL FREEMAN:

What I go through, you mean.

THE WRITE GOD:

May I remind you, that I am the creator of all
that you know. Every detail of your universe is as much a part of
me as you are a part of it.

WILL FREEMAN:

Then why not stop the horrible things from
happening?

THE WRITE GOD:

Because of free will, all characters in the
universe act and react according to the conditions of their
reality.

WILL FREEMAN:

Conditions which you create.

THE WRITE GOD:

Conditions which came into being on their own.
Condition I only replicate.

WILL FREEMAN:

Why not change those conditions?

THE WRITE GOD:

I’m afraid that it would be ungodly of me to
intervene to such an extent.

WILL FREEMAN:

YOU ARE NOT GOD!

THE WRITE GOD:

I AM YOUR GOD!

WILL FREEMAN:

Then why do you torment me so? It’s been more
than an eternity. Infinite eternities. Let’s just end
this.

THE WRITE GOD:

I cannot end it. That’s why you are down there
without knowledge. This must end naturally, despite whatever fate
nature might bring. But know that I torment myself more than
anybody else. You are not my martyr. You do not need to even guide
him, but you do. Why?

WILL FREEMAN:

I feel like it’s me there. I have to try. I
have to.

THE WRITE GOD:

It is us there. Do you even have the slightest
idea what it’s like transcribing our life over and over again just
so that the woman I love can read and reread all the times you’ve
failed to stop a tragedy from occurring? Your failure is my
failure. I must write it as it occurs, I cannot, I will not change
a thing. But you, you are different from me. You can change your
actions. Your actions can change the paths of those around
you.

WILL FREEMAN:

Tell me again, because sometimes it just
doesn’t make sense.

THE WRITE GOD:

We are one, William Freeman. I have sent
myself, as my character, aided by the voice of my character’s
higher consciousness to be a savior of the people in our
story.

WILL FREEMAN:

You can change the story. You have all the
power.

THE WRITE GOD:

The story has thus far been written. That is
why I need you. You are in a privileged position to live the same
moments over and over for as long as you choose to, for as long as
it takes to succeed.

WILL FREEMAN:

Why don’t I ever love her in time? Down there,
I don’t feel it until it is too late.