Nothing Lasts Forever

by causeway-bay

Angela is working in her study. Everything seems perfectly normal. She believes to be alone in the house, when, suddenly, there is a knock on the door...

(Author's Note: The following story's basic concept was inspired by Stephen King's short story "Umney's Last Case", available in his collection "Nightmares & Dreamscapes".)

"And worst, there were dreams come true."

- Clive Barker, "Dread"

I

I remember exactly when the nightmare started.
The nightmare started forty-six hours ago. And it's not over yet. No, not yet.
In the meantime I might as well try to write my way back to sanity, although I'm not sure that this can be achieved at all. I'm still waiting for that familiar sensation I normally experience when a nightmare comes to its end and I wake up, grateful to realize it was all just synaptic fireworks.
But this time, I'm afraid, I will be waiting for a very long time indeed for that to happen. Everything has been so real, anyway, that the possibility of it all being only a bad dream is nothing more than wishful thinking.

What have I done to deserve this ?

II

I was sitting at the desk in my study, going through some files, when I happened to look at my laptop. In the lower right-hand corner there was, as always, the time and date. Only then, in the late afternoon of that day, did I realize that it had been exactly one year since Tony and I had parted ways.
One year.
That was the day before yesterday.
Now, two days later, time and space have ceased to bear any kind of meaning to me. Literally.
I started remembering how it had gone down back then, our final discussion, here in this very room. Here where we always seemed to find ourselves when having important conversations. Now I wish I could return to that day and take back all the things I said, begging him to stay instead of telling him it was over. But even if I could, I could not.
Doesn't make sense, does it !? Yes it does. I know that now. I know so many things now that I wish I had never heard about them at all.

(Come on, Angela, get a hold of yourself.)

I know. I know.
Let's tell this story exactly as it happened. One word after the other. Slowly. Rationally.
Rationally, ha ha.

Okay. I was thinking of Tony, feeling the urge to give him a call. I started reaching for my phone when there was a knock on the door.
Who could that be ? I was alone in the house at the time, and Mother usually doesn't knock. Strange. But burglars usually don't knock either, do they !?
"Yes, come in", I said.

That was when the nightmare started.

III

As the door opened, even before I could see who was coming in, I experienced the strangest of sensations. It's difficult to describe, it was like a flash through my mind, or maybe more like a whiplash. I have been trying to figure out what that was since then, but I have been unable to come up with a satisfying answer.
Anyway, the door opened and in came - a man. It was a relatively young man, dark-haired, late twentyish, although he did have the juvenile looks of someone who appears younger than his years, so he might as well have been a thirtysomething. He looked strangely familiar, although I was immediately sure that I had never seen him before. He was dressed casually, blue jeans, black shirt, a fine black leather jacket. He was at least six feet in height, rather lank, and - he was smiling.
He closed the door behind him, and then faced me. Still smiling, he said:
"Angela Bower, I presume."
I stood up and took off my glasses. I said, somewhat weakly:
"Yes ?!"
He looked down for a second, grinning, then walked towards my desk. He offered me his hand.
"Ms Bower. I can't begin to tell you what an honour it is to finally meet you."
I took his hand. It was cold, but it was a pleasant handshake. I was beginning to feel confused. Usually I don't like it when I have to shake a cold hand.
"I'm sorry, Ms Bower. My hands are always cold. Always..."
He had read my mind, I knew it immediately, knew it as surely as I know my own name. It was preposterous for someone like me to even ponder the existence of such a thing, but believe me when I tell you that now, two little days later, the existence of mind-reading is the least of my concerns.
"May I sit down ?", he asked, and we both sat down, facing each other. He was wearing a laptop bag which he put down.
I looked at him. The most curious thing was that I didn't feel threatened by this stranger who had walked into my study. He had a benign face but there was something in his eyes, something about him, that made me feel uncomfortable.
"What can I do for you, Mr...?"
"My name is of no importance to you, Angela. I hope you won't mind if I call you by your first name."
He spoke English with a British accent, although I had a shrewd suspicion that he wasn't a native speaker.
Then he cut right to the chase.
"Angela, you and I have unfinished business."

IV

"Are you associated with one of my clients ?", I asked him.
He grinned by way of an answer, then mused:
"BowerAdvertising Inc. Located in the ITT American Building on Madison Avenue. That was one of my better ideas..."
"I beg your pardon ?"
"Angela, Angela. I could have put you anywhere, but you always seemed so adamant that one day you should be regarded as the queen of Madison Avenue that I just could not resist. Ugly little obese Angela Robinson, always the odd one out, never part of the gang of cool girls, always part of nerdy Debating Societies - but bright, smart, able. Now look at you: a beautiful and successful woman, the world at your feet. I believe a Thank You is in order."
I was getting increasingly nervous. This guy was giving me the creeps. He knew a lot about me, perhaps more than I could imagine, that much was obvious.
Had I known the truth then, I probably would have fainted. Thankfully, my visitor had decided to give me the truth in (barely) digestable doses.
"Who are you", I demanded to know, "and what do you want ?"
He didn't answer me directly. Instead he mustered me in an affectionate way.
"Angela, when was the last time someone told you how stunningly beautiful you are ?"
I wasn't interested in his talk, but I couldn't help myself. I involuntarily tried to remember when someone had made me such a compliment. I was unable to.
"Of course you are. You want to know why that is ?"
I was starting to get used to his strange talent in mind-reading, so I braced myself for what was to come. As it turned out, I could never have been prepared for it.
"This is a little difficult to explain, Angela." He laughed weakly, as if embarrassed. "Which is actually quite funny, because it shouldn't be difficult."
Indeed, he seemed to be somehow desperate for the right words.
"You see, Angela...wait a minute."
He reached in his laptop bag and took out something that looked like it had come right out of a science-fiction movie, like "Star Trek". It was a pad with a black reflecting surface that looked like glass, although I was immediately sure that it wasn't. On the flip side, of which I was able to catch just a glimpse, was the familiar Apple logo.
My visitor pressed some barely visible button and waited. I spoke up, asking the only question any human being would have asked right there and then.
"What is that ?"
"You wouldn't understand." He sighed. "You probably won't understand anything, anyway. But please feel free to surprise me. In fact, I'm sure you will."
He then started touching the pad with his fingertips, making ridiculous movements, but somehow it all seemed to make sense to him.
Ironically, things started to make less and less sense to me. But who am I to complain ?! Sense is one of those concepts whose meaning, if ever they had one, is now obsolete.
Because what came next literally made my world collapse.

V

"Yes," he finally said, "here it is, 'Operation Mona'."
"Come again ?"
He looked at me again, smiling smugly.
"Angela, you wanted to know who I am. Well. Let me tell you a story."
He suddenly laughed as if this last sentence had some funny meaning to him. If it did, the joke was beyond me. It isn't anymore, ha ha, but it was back then.
"In fact", he continued, "that's indeed what it is - a story. Remember years ago, when you got into a fight with your mother after she had almost burned down her place and you suggested she move to a condo ?! She had to have her gallbladder removed and then she told you her story. The story about why you don't have any siblings."
"How the hell do you know that ?!", I said, my body rising as did my voice. I felt my heart picking up speed, and as I was standing there, jaw dropping, my visitor touched his pad again, looked at me and turned it around, so that I could see the other side.
The other side. Oh my God, I'm losing my mind.
What I saw made me sit down, no, wrong, fall down again immediately.
On the surface of the pad a movie of sorts was running. Only it wasn't a movie. It was the scene my visitor had just described, and that I remember so well. He couldn't know about it, because I never told anyone, just like Mother didn't, and most definitely not a complete stranger like him.
The movie scene on his pad showed me sitting on the edge of Mother's bed, while she was telling me about her illness after my birth:
"The day you were born was the best day of my life.", Mother was saying. "Robert and I had the most beautiful little baby girl the whole world had ever seen. A little angel in diapers. And we wanted to have five more little angels, just like you. Only that wasn't to be. See, a few months later I got sick, and there were complications, and the doctors told me I couldn't have any more children."
At that moment I must have fainted, or at least passed out for a few seconds, because I don't remember what happened next.
When I was conscious again, I felt the surface of the desk underneath my face, while he was still sitting there. It hadn't been a dream, after all. I could only muster enough strength to ask him again:
"Who are you ?"
He looked at me, musing silently. The pad was lying in front of me on the desk.
"The question, Angela", he began, "is not who I am. The question is - who are you !?"
I started shaking, teeth chattering. My scared-to-death look must have prompted him to answer my previous question as well as its many unspoken friends.
"Okay. I'll tell you something about me first. I think you deserve that. And believe me when I say that in this respect you are the absolute exception among my literary characters."
Again, this bright smile. Only now it was scaring the hell out of me. With good reason, as it turned out.
"Angela, the world I come from is so far away from yours that you couldn't even begin to understand where it might be. I could try to ease your mind by simply stating that I come from the future, and in a way that would be true, because my world is located in the year 2010. But at the same time, it would mean lying to you, because omitting part of the truth is tantmount to lying. And you, exceptional as you are, deserve the truth."
I had stopped trying to catch up with him. I simply took it in. I knew he was telling the truth. Yes, the more ludicrous his speech became, the more I was convinced, beyond any kind of doubt, that he was telling the truth. Deep down inside my soul I knew it.
"You know, many years ago, when I saw how you found out about Tony having an affair with one of his fellow students, I originally sided with Mona, who told Tony to keep shut about it. Later on, I felt that he had made the right decision in telling you. So who am I to withhold the truth from you ?!"
I could feel how my fingernails were entering the wooden surface of my desk.
"Let me be blunt, Angela. In my world you don't exist. You are a fictional character, invented by some guys for a Hollywood television series. A very successful television series, I might add. This televison series..."
He leaned towards me, tapping the surface of his pad, where a freeze frame from that movie was still visible. I didn't dare look at it closely. I knew I would faint again if I did.
"Although the series ended years ago, there is still a considerable fan base out there continuing the legacy with their own imaginations, each and every one of them thus creating their own universe of events."
I felt my sanity taking a hike. Then my visitor concluded:
"And you, my dear Angela, are the focal point of my universe."

VI

Apparently he had decided it was time to give me a break. I don't think I made the best possible use of it, because I snapped at him:
"You are insane, Mister. Utterly and completely insane."
He smiled weakly.
"Come on, Angela, don't fight what deep down inside you know is the truth."
"I have a life. A job. A son, for God's sake."
"Don't forget the lost love. Weren't you going to call him just before I entered ?!"
I was stunned. I couldn't retort. When comes the point at which your system shuts down in order to protect you from overloading ?! I'm still waiting for it.
"Angela, I could take away your son just like that", he said, snapping his fingers. "And you know what the irony of it would be if I so decided ?! You wouldn't even know it. As far as you are concerned, you would never have had a son. In case I'm not making myself clear: Your world, Angela, your universe, is entirely at my disposal."
All of a sudden, my life rushed through my mind in images, like in a time lapse. Until one image filled my entire world.
One year ago...
"Yes, one year", my visitor said. "one year already. One year without Tony."
"What did you do to him ?!", I said, my voice rising again. I knew now who was sitting opposite me, knew who my visitor was. My mind had resisted to accept it, for it meant accepting lunacy, but I was now willing to pay that price to finally know the truth about Tony and me.
"I didn't do anything to him, Angela", he said very calmly, "I merely did what I thought and think is best for him. Don't you remember what you told him when it was over ?"
Yes, I did remember. How could I ever forget...
"Why ?", I demanded, my voice trembling, my eyes filling with tears. "Why didn't you allow me to be happy with Tony ? Talk to me !"
He looked at me, very seriously, like a chess player contemplating his next move.
"Angela, Angela. If you only knew how many times I have been asked this question. Well, I suppose it's not really any consolation to you, but in most universes you are happily married to Tony. You, however, are my version of events, and my idea of your life is...somewhat different."
"Answer the question ! Why ?"
Again he looked at me. Then he dropped the bomb.
"Because I love you."

VII

I guess I'm lucky I couldn't see my own face when he said that. I must have looked like a lunatic, which by then I had probably become anyway.
"Beg your pardon ?!"
What else can you say when God drops by to express His affection for you ?!
My visitor, unless I was mistaken, actually blushed.
"I'm sorry, Angela, I'm not very good at making compliments. Quite like you are at accepting them. That is why we blush."
He laughed, then continued.
"You know, I can see forty on the horizon, although you are correct when you think that I look younger, but the point is, the older I get the more feelings I have for you. I didn't invent you but I picked up the pieces many years ago, and ever since...well, I've got close to you. What can I say, you are my favourite."
Through all this lunacy I had the nerve to blush. He was right about me and taking compliments. Of course he was.
"You could be my son, Mister."
"Would that be such a bad thing, Angela ?"
He laughed again. His laugh was that of a little boy. I liked it. For goodness' sake, I loved it.
"Seriously, Angela. I'm a writer, and writers sometimes fall in love with their characters. It's the most natural thing in the world. Well...in my world, anyway. It's actually quite unclear to me too how exactly it happened. All I know is that I wrote my first story that deals exclusively with you in 1997, and it was an amateurish alternate universe piece taking place at the time you lost your job at Wallace & McQuade. You remember that, don't you..."
I did. Again, how could I ever forget.
"No, that's not what I mean, Angela. What I mean is, you remember how you considered firing Tony for what he did ?!"
I tried to remember, but all I could recall was a strange mix of conflicting emotions when I saw that video Tony had made for me, explaining what had gone down in Mexico. I remembered how mad I was at him when he showed up in person, but other than that...
"Of course you don't exactly remember. I threw that story, unfinished, in the wastebasket. Its content, as far as I have been able to figure out, never became a conscious part of your universe. Fact of the matter is, after almost fifteen years of being with you I think I have developed a little too much affection for you. And I can be jealous."
I understood. He didn't have to continue, but he was on a roll.
"You are successful, smart, extraordinarily beautiful...and you are single. What more could we ask for..."
He had used, with a slight variance in wording, the exact same phrase Tony had used when he proposed to me. Only it wasn't Tony's phrase, was it !? No, it had been his all along.
"Angela, don't tell me you aren't happy with your life as it is. Every time you open the door to your ad company's headquarters on Madison Avenue you know what you have accomplished. After the restart from absolute zero in that shoebox of an office called The Bower Agency you became a shooting star in the business, and now you are where you always wanted to be."
I was feeling increasingly furious. Mainly because I knew that he was right.
"But I could have been happy with Tony anyway. Why did you take this from me ?"
"I already told you. Because I'm jealous."
His voice expressed dead seriousness.
"You know how difficult it is to write, as a man, with a woman's voice ?! Do you have any idea ?! No, of course you don't. That's like asking a cartoon character to imagine a three-dimensional world."
"Thank you", I caustically commented. He grinned again.
"You know what you look like when you say it like that ?! Remember this business about you and Tony being legally married because the IRS had found out about your trip to South Carolina..."
"Don't mention South Carolina."
"I know you hate it. I thought it was funny that you developed a dislike for a whole state because of this incident, so I worked that into one of my stories. I think it was called 'Single White Female'."
I looked away.
"Doesn't ring a bell."
"Why would it. The title of the story is borrowed from a movie which doesn't exist in your universe. A rather mediocre movie, I might add. Anyway, after you had that conversation with your lawyer about what you could do to annul your married status, Tony said you weren't a sheep..."
I indeed remembered this. My lawyer had said we shouldn't worry, because...
But then I saw that my guest had put his pad in action again. Some flicking movements later he showed me images from my past again. On the screen, inside a frame which sported the cryptic words "VLC media player", I was in the kitchen with Tony and my lawyer, who was about to leave and said:
"Guys, would you cheer up please. Come on, it could be worse. If you transported a sheep across the state line you could be lynched."
And Tony, exactly as I remembered, commented:
"Yeah, but at least I wouldn't be married to 'em."
And I saw myself saying, "Thank you. Thank you a lot."
In order to avoid fainting again, I said: "Why do I hear people laughing when I see this ?"
My visitor looked at his pad, as if uncomprehending, then suddenly it seemed to come to him.
"Oh, that. I'm sorry. The television series you were created for is a sitcom recorded in front of a live audience. People are supposed to laugh."

I didn't feel like laughing.
I felt like I would never, could never, laugh again.

VIII

"Who is that woman ?", I inquired. "If my life is an invention, if I am an invention, then who is that woman in your movies who looks like my identical twin ?"
"That is your real-life counterpart. Well, real life..."
Again, his boyish laugh.
"What I mean is, in my world Angela Bower is a product of the imagination, and to bring that character to life...well, you know how it works. Movies exist in your universe as they do in mine."
I looked at his magic pad, looked at that woman who was my identical twin to the last dot and comma. Even the clothing matched what I was wearing that day. I slowly shook my head, still walking the shaky tightrope underneath which opened the vast chasm of insanity.
My visitor put the pad back into the bag on the floor and looked at me.
"Angela, I've written many stories about you and what happened to you after Tony returned from Iowa, and most of them are told in the first person. Sometimes I feel so close to you that I have to stop writing for a while in order to be able to keep at least a minimum distance. Empathy is one of my few strengths and it helps me, as a writer, with my characters, because they tend to act like children, demanding your sole attention. You, however, are a grown-up character. I feel so attracted to you it is almost creepy. I keep telling myself that you are merely a puppet on a string, but no matter how much of my own thoughts I may have expressed with your voice, there is always something that you give me back when I write about you. Always. That's why I love you."
I should have felt flattered, but my thoughts were with Tony. Absurd. But what do you do ? It weren't my thoughts, after all. Hardly. I realized there was more of this unknown young man in me than I could ever hope to know, let alone understand.
"Why did you come here ? What do you want from me ?"
Those were equally absurd questions. It seemed natural to ask them, however.
"I don't know. I've been trying to figure that out myself since I started writing this story. I don't even have a title for it yet. It's temporarily saved under ' ', and that, understandably, is far from eventual."
He seemed to be feeling a little uncomfortable.
"You see, this is so difficult to explain, Angela. I am not really here, although your eyes aren't deceiving you. But from my perspective, and I hope you can at least get the idea of what I'm trying to say, I am sitting at my desk at home writing the story about the two of us having this nice little chat. Didn't you ever wonder if your life perhaps may not be more than a story written by some unknown entity living beyond time and space ?! Well, I know you do. And so do I. People in my world actually aren't that different from you and yours. I have a regular daytime job, friends, hobbies, secrets, hopes and dreams. Just like you do. Not exactly what you imagined a God would be doing all day, is it..."
Indeed I thought he was anything but divine, although I wasn't going to tell him that. He probably knew it anyway.
"Are you married ?", I asked him.
"No. Do you think I'd write your world like I do if I were ?!"
"Do you have children ?"
"No. My girlfriend has a son from her marriage, and he is in some ways not unlike your Jonathan was when he was his age..."
Now it was his turn to look away. He looked out the window, musing. Call it female intuition, but I had the impression that under the cool surface there was indeed an emotional and caring character. I suddenly wasn't afraid anymore. Instead I began to experience maternal affection for him.
Then he faced me again, regaining his composure.
"By the way, Angela, my stories about you aren't what one would call consistent. Didn't you ever wonder about d j vus, lost memories, a certain haziness when trying to pinpoint past events ?!"
Indeed that was so. I always presumed it was because I'm getting older.
"It has nothing to do with age. It has to do with the fact..."
"...that you write your stories with premises that are independent from one another. Right !?"
"Da capo, Angela. Give me more of that intellectual magic of yours. I could die for it."
If only he did, I thought.
"And the story I'm writing at the moment represents my view of you and your life right now, I should qualify it. This may change in the future. So if you still love Tony, all's not lost."
One question was waving its arms frantically in my mind. I was sure I didn't have to ask it out loud, but I did it anyway. Old habits die hard.
"How did you get here ? How did you invade my world ?"
"I didn't invade your world. Don't forget, your world is my creation, and I simply wrote myself into it. Of course you don't understand how that works, but you know...the cartoon character and the three-dimensional world again. It may not help you to know this but I based the idea on a short story by Stephen King which works with a similar premise.

Stephen King. Now that sounded familiar. A lone string of sanity, and that was the master of the supernatural.
That's all, folks.

IX

"Actually", my visitor continued, "his story is called 'Umney's Last Case', if I remember correctly. It was published in 1993, when I was twenty years old and enthusiastic about life. Well, we all were at that age, I presume."
He talked about 1993 as if it was half a lifetime away for him and not just a few years ago, as it was for me. 1993 is crystal clear in my mind. Tony had come back from Iowa half a year before, we celebrated New Year's Eve together, kissing at midnight, happily looking forward to our second chance. And then...
"Then. Exactly. We both know what occurred afterwards and what precipitated it."
He looked at me as if somehow feeling sorry for what he had done.
"You know, I only very recently figured out why I used the image of this room as the stage for the end of The Tony and Angela Show. This was always the venue where important discussions between you and Tony took place. It seemed appropriate."
He shrugged. What was he expecting ? Absolution ? Who was I, a mere creation, a puppet on a string as he had so sensibly called it, to take his confession...
"Why ? I'm still trying to figure out why."
"It actually wasn't that difficult. You and Tony breaking up took, I think, about three paragraphs, perhaps four, I'd have to look it up to be entirely sure, but it's very densely written. In your world that equals what...fifteen minutes !?"
It was closer to twenty, but I wasn't going to tell him that.
"It's quite funny because I didn't know how to do it. I went into that story having not the slightest idea how and why and anything. I pretty much made it all up as I went along."
"Forgive me if I resent the use of the word 'funny' here."
"Duly noted, Angela. The reasoning behind the madness, however, is foolproof. Your life and Tony's had begun to develop in opposite directions even before I got involved. Remember your last conversation in Iowa, when he wanted you to be a housewife for three years ?! You did the right thing and walked out on him."
"It broke my heart."
"What would have been the alternative, Angela ? You giving in to his demands ?! That would have broken your back, and you know it", he spat at me. I felt hurt, because he was right. But I wasn't willing to give up so easily. Against this man I didn't have a chance, but I tried. Heaven help me, I tried. And he let me.
"I did what I felt was the right thing. That doesn't mean I couldn't have made it work with him here in Connecticut. I love him."
"And that's why you broke up with him. Partly because you love him. Partly because he had been offered another brilliant job at some college in a galaxy far, far away and was prepared to turn that offer down so he could be with you. That was when you decided it was time to pull the plug. Wasn't it..."
Tears had begun streaming down my face. Why does the truth hurt so much ?
"Angela. What would have been the alternative for him ?! Being your housekeeper until the end of time ?! Surely not. Yes, you could have made it work with him, but one of you would have had to sacrifice their career. Therein lies the problem. Don't crucify me for it."
"Why", I wanted to know, "did it take years before I realized we couldn't go on like that ?"
"You know, it was really important for me to know that you and Tony tried everything before the final whistle would be gone. And you know it too, Angela. You and Tony did try everything, tried until emotional exhaustion. The calculation simply refused to add up, the circle couldn't be squared."
I was crying. And I wasn't ashamed to. My visitor showed compassion.
"I know how you feel. Believe me, I do. I know all about lost loves. People in my world, as I said, aren't that different from you guys here. Perhaps we are also puppets on a string."

Somehow that made me feel better. But not much.

X

"Angela, don't be sad. I don't think I can express adequately my appreciation of the influence you've had on me over the last fifteen years or so. I'd recommend my male colleagues some feminine influence anytime. I mean we could have a heyday discussing what the world - mine as well as yours - would be without the feminine influence, but I think we'd better leave that to someone else."
"It was nothing. My pleasure."
"You are quite sexy when you are cynical. I like that quality in a woman."
And there it was again, his irritating laugh.
"Can I see your world ?", I asked carefully. Why carefully ? Was I afraid lightning would strike me for committing blasphemy ? I don't know.
"My world is actually not that interesting. I mean, other than the fact that you and everything that is directly related to you is fictional, it is pretty much the same as yours. You would find it easy to fit in. Okay, we are a little ahead in technology, but nothing utopian. Sorry if my iPad seemed somewhat strange to you. I actually write my stories about you on an ordinary laptop quite like yours there."
"I always thought I write those stories myself. Only they're not stories. To me, they are journal entries."
My visitor seemed to approve.
"And I don't blame you. In fact, I would strongly encourage you to keep on doing it. You write your journal entries far better than I could possibly write my stories."
"How can I ever write something again ? I know now that it isn't really me writing those lines. It's you. Everything I say and do is courtesy of you..."
"No, Angela. Please don't see it that way. I said your world is at my disposal, but I didn't say you were my slave."
"You said I was a puppet on a string."
"Just like Tony compared you to a sheep."
He smiled, and I actually did too. Men are all the same, whether they live in my universe or in his, and that goes for their good thoughts as well as their bad habits.
"Angela, the quality I admire most about you is your strength. You are the embodiment of a strong woman. You've had to endure many blows in your time, but you always emerged from it like a phoenix from the ashes. You are a role model for I don't know how many women out there in my world. Not that bad a track record for a fictional character, is it !?"
Did Heracles blush when Athena talked to him, I wondered.
"You will", he went on, "have forgotten all about my little visit here in a matter of days, anyway. When my story is finished, that is. Sorry if I made you feel uneasy. You will wake up one morning later this week, early next week at the latest, and the recollection of our little chat here today will be entirely gone from your memory. I guarantee it."
I felt uncomfortable about this.
"Gone from my memory ? Like in that movie, Men in Black ?!"
"That's it. Minus the Neuralyzer part."
"Lucky me."
"Great movie, though. Oh, and one more thing..."
He reached inside his jacket and produced a small device, no larger than my thumb, which didn't look like anything I had ever seen before, not unlike his magic pad. I had no idea what it was. It was obviously made of plastic and sported the word "Verbatim".
"This is quite embarrassing. I had almost forgotten that flash drives weren't available earlier than the year 2000, so at the last minute I transferred the content of this little fellow here to a printer."
He put his little flash drive, whatever that was, back in his pocket and instead produced a folded sheet of paper.
"I didn't win the Dummy of the Year award for nothing, you know."
I smiled again. He knew the art of self-irony. I like that in a man.
Course I do. It's all so insane...
My visitor held the folded sheet in front of me. I was reluctant to accept it.
"Take it. It's not going to explode in your face."
I did take it, but did not unfold it.
"What's this ?", I inquired.
"The end of this story. I usually write the end of my stories first, so that I may know where I'm going."
"But", I said, confused, "what if I read this after I forgot, as you say I will, all about what just happened ?! Wouldn't that jumpstart my memory again ?"
"I'd strongly recommend you burn that sheet of paper after you've read it."
He looked at me, dead serious again, and concluded, "Whatever you want to do with this piece of paper, the decision is entirely yours to make. I will stay out of it. This isn't a Tree of Knowledge situation. Although you are fictional in my world, I'm willing to accept you as a human being who is entitled to making her own decisions. And to be honest, I am quite sure you'll make the right one. You always do, Angela."
"Almost always."
"Granted. Almost always."
I put the sheet of paper in a drawer of my desk and sighed, burying my face in my hands. When I wanted to face my visitor again, I saw that he had gotten up. He was obviously about to leave.
"Are you leaving ?", I asked, internally slapping myself for sounding the teensiest bit sorry. He answered smiling, also with a faint trace of feeling sorry for having to say goodbye.
"Yes I am, Angela. But I'll always be with you. I promise you, if nothing else, that I'll always be protecting you. Always."
That made me calm down a little bit, and indeed I think I would have considered doing the most stupid thing to myself if it hadn't been for his reassurance. As he stood in the doorframe, the handle already in his hand, he looked back over his shoulder at me. He smiled and said, "I love you, Angela."

Then he left. The door closed behind him.
I was blushing again, and sat there like that for a long time before I found the strength to move.

XI

That was two days ago. I haven't slept since. I'm so tired I could easily pass as delusional by now. The sheet of paper containing the end of the story is still in the drawer. I am going to take a look at it, read it, then burn it, as my visitor suggested. And after that, unless my desperate cling to sanity should still end in falling down, I am going to bed. I need the sleep.
More importantly, I need to forget. It's not every day that God comes into your life to explain why He did what He did to you. Only he is no God. He is, as he said, just a regular guy with a considerable imagination. And it's good to know I'll still be missing Tony even after my life will have gone back to normal, will still be loving him after the memory of the events of day before yesterday will have been wiped from my mind.
So, by the way, will be these lines I have been writing. They'll exist exclusively as part of his story, in his universe, read by people like him. To think that I, little Angela Bower in her two-dimensional world, can thus have an impact on his universe, makes me feel uneasy but proud. I believe him when he assures me that in this respect I am exceptional among his characters. I don't know what I have done to deserve this, but I gratefully acknowledge it. I can only hope his people will find my account of events interesting. What I would like to tell them, if I may, is that I am grateful for the experience their guy has granted me and that I don't feel sorry for the decisions I've made. The years with Tony were the best of my life, and this I most definitely will remember when I wake up from my much needed sleep, when the nightmare is finally over, and then I'll give Tony that call I wanted to make when this stranger knocked on my door.

I'm looking out the window. The sun is shining.
Maybe there is hope.