Arthur Kirkland had everything he'd ever thought he'd want. His house was big, an old mansion that he had bought off of his father. His bank was full to the brim with notes from the business he ran. Growing up in the mid 1950's, this was no easy feat, with the stock market plunging in as many cities around the world. His small publishing company had become worldwide though, with him at the head.
How could somebody be lonely, he had reasoned, with all this around him or her? How could he be lonely when he always had a good book by his side and a smiling neighbor to the other side of him; though they always failed to come over for tea when he requested it? This never really bothered him much though, because all he had ever known in his life was distance.
His family hadn't been close, his brothers bickering so much that the moment they turned into legal adults, they had high tailed it out of their hometown of London. Each starting their businesses, and becoming something of a phenomenon in the business world. Some blamed this on the weirdness of the family in general; or as others had called it, the use of witchcraft.
Arthur hadn't been any different, being the youngest and the most troubled of them all. He was a strict man, with a firm hand and firm green eye that never left anything for leftovers. His first impressions were lasting ones, because they never changed. His demeanor was set so that he scared many people away without ever really meaning to. Not to mention, he was highly prejudice over French people… but that would come later.
So, one afternoon, at the market; he had overheard them talking. Friends? Maybe they weren't, acquaintances at the most. It did not leave any goodness in the fact they were talking about the young businessman; having not known the choppy blonde haired man was right by them.
"No friends." The group had whispered, "No friends or relatives to visit." Another agreed, "Even I can't stand to be around him." The third reasoned, "He's always asking us over for tea, and I went once. We talked about business and then he pretty much kicked me out. He doesn't even smile."
Arthur looked down, at the apples he had been examining before. He ran his thumb across the glossy surface, nibbling on his bottom lip.
"Rude." He whispered, more to himself than anybody else. He would lie to anybody who asked why his eyes were just a tad wet.
"What do you think will finally get him to move? I understand he's a business tycoon, but that doesn't mean he has to be a lonely asshole." This last sentence was hushed with laughter afterwards.
Arthur nibbles harder on his bottom lip, locking it into place so that it wouldn't tremble. Only children cry, he reminded himself.
It was only after that he left the market, sat his groceries on the table and sat down, did he realize he really was alone.
His house was huge, but it was filled with an eerie silence instead of the padding of feet from children, and the calling of supper being done by a wife.
His thoughts overtook him, and before he knew it the window across from him had darkened by the earth swallowing the sun.
He made a rash decision; letting his thoughts guide him. He brought his hand over to the table sitting beside the armchair, resting it on the phone, before he quickly drew it up to press it against his ear. His fingers flew over the rotary dial, pushing numbers on it as he went.
The line went through, as he stapled his fingers on the arm of his chair. He hadn't called his father in years, probably five or six.
"Kirkland Residence." A gruff voice grumbled, and Arthur had to hold back a smile. When he was little he knew his father was working on paper, because his voice would get oddly grumbled. Any other time it was airy and quiet, kind of like the man himself.
"Father, it's me, Arthur." Honestly he wasn't sure what to say. How do you talk to the man you had forgotten about for the last half a decade?
A silence was heard through the line, other than the buzzing that told him his father was breathing into the mouthpiece.
"Artie, what do you want? I haven't heard from any of you in ages." There it was, that gentle voice. At least Arthur knew he had the mans utter attention.
"I was wondering…" Arthur trailed off, picking at his armrest once again, "How you met mother with all your work?"
Another gust of static swept through the phone, and Arthur almost pulled it back from his ear in irritation.
"Why?" His fathers grumbled voice was back, though he could not hear the rustling of paper in the background the young blonde knew it would be there.
"I'm just wondering…" Arthur trailed off, huffing softly. His father didn't know he was down in the dumps from earlier this day, because of a few gossiping girls at the market.
"Arthur I've got a lot of work to do. Go lay down and call me when you have a clearer head."
"Wait!" Arthur gasped out, through the phone, "Please? I'll do something for you… You told me a while back you wanted a family reunion? I'll get a hold of Scott and everybody and ask them… I just need this bit of advice, then I'll leave you alone." Arthur's words gushed out, faster than he anticipated.
Another silence was held out through the phone, before a soft whisper of, "I can't tell you."
This time the silence was all Arthur's own.
"You can't tell me because you don't want to tell me, or you can't tell me because you honestly aren't sure how you met her? Because only the first option seems pliable."
"I can't tell you, because I'm not allowed to tell you." His father sounded exasperated now.
Arthur's eyes twitched, oh how he wanted to reach through the phone and strangle the man who had raised him.
"If you're worried I'll tell me idiotic brothers, then you should be happy to know I talk to them less than I talk to you."
"Why in the world would that make me happy?" There was another long held silence, which Arthur very much wanted to break, "There is no way I can tell you… but I can let you see for your own eyes."
Arthur paused, his fingers faltering on the armchair, "What, going to build a time machine?" He teased, his patience dwindling down.
Arthur father let out a laugh, "If that's how you want to think of it, then you think of it that way."
Arthur rubbed at his head, taking a deep breath," Father have you been drinking again? You know I'm outside of London now, I can't come get you from bars!"
"Every time I tell you an honest answer, you accuse me of drinking! Stop it." That airy voice was again back. It made Arthur smile. His father had changed in quit a lot of time.
"Well when you act that way, what am I suppose to think?"
"You are supposed to think what any great son would think…"
"That you're getting a bit senile?"
"Rude."
Arthur let out another laugh, and he crossed his legs, shaking his head. Oh he should contact his father more, it really wasn't that bad when you didn't have to live with the man.
"Look," His father started, and Arthur turned his attention back on him because of the serious tone, "I'll send you something through post, okay? Just flip to page 243, and do everything it says."
Arthur opened his mouth to reply back, but the line went completely blank and he blinked.
"Bye." He whispered, the phone resting back on it's holder with a soft 'clack' that just made the silence in the large house even more deafening.
It took two weeks for the package to arrive from his father, and another week for him to even open it.
He'd never admit to being scared, after all his father would never intentionally send something… dangerous to him.
If his brothers could see him right now they'd call him a baby, and tell him he needed to get his big boy pants on.
This caused a sort of anger to sweep through the British man, and he grabbed a knife from the kitchen, cutting through the box to what was hidden inside. All that rested there was a thick book, the binding falling off and dust coating the pages that his father hadn't been able to brush off.
Arthur's body slumped down into a chair, looking the book over. His father had to be screwing with him. There couldn't be any importance in an old book that looked like it had went through the wash one too many times.
He ran his fingers through his choppy hair, pulling at the strands lightly and closing his bright green eyes.
His eyes slowly opened, glancing at the book, and trying to think of all the paperwork he would be putting off by just looking through the pages.
"Oh bloody hell…" He whispered grabbing the book and placing it gently on the table. He slid his nail under the first few pages, and started to flip through mumbling the page number under his breath as he went.
"220… 230… 240… 243." He paused and looked down at the page in front of him, tilting his head to the side.
"What is this nonsense?" He grumbled, staring down at the words. They weren't exactly foreign to him, his father had taught him how to speak a few words in Latin when he was very young, and this page was full of the scripture. He ran his finger across the first few lines, then his gaze lifted up to a picture on the opposite page.
It was a picture of a small boy, with a wicked grin on his face. He was dressed in all black, except for a collar around his neck that had blue circling it. His hair was chopped almost like Arthur's except a darker shade of blonde, and his eyes a deep set blue. To be honest, it freaked Arthur out just a bit. He didn't 't look natural, his face a bit too pale and his expression full of shadows.
Arthur flipped the book over, careful to keep his page, looking for a note or something from his father. What was he supposed to accomplish with this? Perhaps his father had sent him the wrong book, which was very possible.
"Oh lord…" Arthur mumbled, not caring in the bit that he was talking to himself.
He glanced over at the words again, mouthing them slightly. They were easy Latin, almost easier than he had learned when he was little.
Because he wasn't exactly fluent in it, he spoke the words aloud, sounding some out until the sentence fit. He then went through and read though whole passage aloud, a triumphant smile on his face. He still had it! He could still read Latin despite the years passing by.
"That expression look weird with such heavy eyebrows. You look like an idiot." A voice called out from behind him and he let out a very girlish scream. His natural instincts made him lift the book up into the air and he launched at behind him, at the dark figure standing in the doorway.
"Ow! Son of a bitch, careful with that!" That same voice called out, this time a bit angry.
Arthur stood there, panting for a bit. "Get the hell out of my house!"
"Your house? Technically, didn't your father buy this house for you first?"
Arthur shut his mouth after that, his eyes narrowing. He didn't even want to know how this man knew this. He couldn't even see him properly, because the bastard was being hidden by the shadows dancing across the wall from the candle in front of him.
"Come out of there you sodding coward!" Arthur snapped, holding his hand into a fist. He wasn't exactly good at fighting, but he be damned if he was going to let some guy in his home just this casually.
"Why? You already know what I look like. You are the one who called for me, are you not?" Arthur couldn't help but find that amused voice infuriating.
"I sent for nobody! Get out of my house, thief!" Arthur took a step forward, his hand held up and his eyes narrowed. His whole stance spoke of danger, and yet all the man in the shadows did was let out a loud laugh.
"Oh this is even more fun than when I had your father here!" The man called out, and then danced forward, a black cloak sweeping past his legs until he was in the light.
Arthur's whole body went taught, as he gazed at the same boy whose picture was in the book opposite of the words that had just spilled from his lips. He was much more dark in real life, his eyes a brighter blue than was natural, matching the shade of the collar around his neck.
"W-Who are you?" Arthur whispered, stepping back instead of forward this time. Footsteps followed him, until Arthur was backed up completely against the wall, with the man in front of him.
"I am the knight in shining armor, the darkness to the sun, the Cheshire cat to some and Alice to others," The boy twirled slightly, the black cloak rubbing against Arthur's expensive suits pants, "I am a time-weaver, fortune-teller, and wish-granter."
Arthur's back pressed up against the wall, and his breath came in strangled gasps. Either this boy was insane, which was the most possible solution, or he had just somehow summoned a demon into his household.
"Y-You're insane… Get… Get out of my house…" Arthur squeaked out, reaching out to push the man away. His fingertips brushed against warmth, before his hand went through the man entirely.
"I hate it when people do that, feels weird." The boy grumbled, looking down. He straightened his cloak smirking, "Anyways… In other words… I can do three things for you, one of which is what you asked for, one is what you will want in time, and one is something that I will do to prove the second."
Arthur rubbed his forehead. He was not good with riddles, and he wasn't even sure if this even counted as a riddle; rather gibberish instead.
"Speak clearly, you idiot!" He snapped, licking his lips. Maybe it was not the wisest thing to snap at the demons that take the time to appear in your home. Luckily for him though, the demon he had summoned he deemed insane; for all he did was let out another laugh.
The blue eyed boy in front of him let out a hum, looking at Arthur's eyes with speculation. "You are lonely. That is why you called me, that is why everybody calls me. That is why your father called me, and that is why your grandfather called me."
Arthur shook his head, reaching up and letting his fingertips pressing against his own lips, "I did not call you."
"You spoke the words out of the book, so you called me… I can only come if somebody wants change. Otherwise I dismiss it, and live my own life."
Arthur looked down. He wanted change, he didn't want to be lonely again… but he certainly did not think this would happen.
"My father called you?" He spoke quietly, his eyes still down.
The other one nodded, "Of course! Only the loneliest of people call me, Peter the Great!"
Arthur raised his head, looking over at Peter now, "What do I have to do to be less lonely then?"
Peter tapped his chin, turning another circle. He skipped to the side, seeming to look at Arthur's shoulder, and then he did the same to the other.
"You let me take care of that. You needn't do anything, except in the end I will give you one wish. I want you to make one wish now, and then when I have done what I need to do, you can change it."
Arthur frowned, "What do I wish for?"
"I can't answer that for you. What is the most important thing to you are the moment?"
Arthur looked down, pulling at the collar of his jacket, "I want my brothers to be scared of the largest business in the world, which would be mine."
"Then, if that is what you want when this is all over, I will grant you it."
Arthur pursed his lips, "So you're a glorified genie?"
This caught Peter's attention, his eyes glowing bright for a moment; his face clearing of all color, "I told you what I am, and I am not a fucking genie."
Arthur had the urge to step back again, but his back was still flush with the wall, "I-I apologize for rising to assumptions…"
"Genies give you three gifts, I give you one. They give you material things; I give you long lasting things. They let you decide first off the bat what you want… I tweak you a bit first."
"Tweak?" Arthur whispered. He wasn't sure he wanted 'tweaked'.
"Of course!" The jubilant boy who had first appeared was back, giving another twirl, this time grabbing Arthur's hands and swinging him around with him, "You are like this for a reason, but fate and time shall give you what you want!"
"T-Time?" Arthur stumbled a bit, bumping into the corner of the table. He winced and tried to pull his hands away from Peter.
"Time…" Peter hummed softly, "Time is a funny thing. You know Time never really stops? It just matters what stream you look in though they all fall into the same destination if nothing interferes. But that's your job! If you want to, of course."
Arthur huffed and finally pulled at least one of his hands free from Peter, trying to stop the room from spinning, "I-I don't think it's very wise to mess with time. Perhaps we should leave it alone?"
Peter paused, his footsteps falling silent, and he gazed up at Arthur again.
"I'll make you a deal, the same deal I make with everybody else," Peter gripped Arthur's hand tighter, making the British man wince, "You will see what I have to show you for yourself, and then you will make your decision."
Arthur peered down at him, and blinked. Okay he was definitely in some type of coma, probably having been wacked in the head by something on his way home from work, or perhaps one of his many stacked books had fallen off a shelf; onto his head.
"What kind of thing will you show me?" Arthur had long ago decided that he was going insane. After all, how many times did a demon appear in ones own home and promise to grant them a wish? He wanted the wish himself, right now, but he could be patient.
"Every night, I will show it to you, until you have seen enough… or you cannot take anymore." Peter said, looking down at Arthur's hand. He flipped it up, running a finger up one of the creases in his skin, "Then you will see exactly what you have to do, and where your heart will lead. Only then, will you be less lonely."
Arthur felt something stir in him. To be less lonely… He would do it then, he would do whatever it was.
"I'll do it. I'll do it then, bloody hell I'll do it!" Arthur threw one hand up in the air, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself. He must be a gentleman, after all.
Peter's expression went happy, gleeful, and excited. He started to twirl again, his black cloak swishing across Arthur's perfectly polished floors.
"Good! Good!" Peter clapped his hands, jumping slightly now, "Then every night I will give you the third thing for you! For you, this time may seem like weeks, to the people here, it will seem like one night."
"Wait!" Arthur gasped out, his eyes widening, "Weeks?!"
"Well I assume so. I'm not sure what time stream fate will pick for you, but we will find out the first time you go. I can't be with you through it all though…" Peters happy expression fell into a pout, "You wouldn't understand as well if I did."
"I can't be gone for… weeks at a time!" Arthur gasped out, taking a step back. Peter narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on Arthur's hand once again, the bones grinding against each other.
"I told you, time streams are weird, keep up!" Peter snapped, "For you it will be one night here, but there it will be many… But you must not be confused. We aren't going back in time, we are merely entering another one that isn't yet caught up to this one."
Arthur rubbed his head, feeling utterly confused on this.
"You cannot change the past in this stream." Peter continued, sensing his companion's confusion, "But you can change that one. You need to keep that in mind, you can change that one. Without an interference, everything that has happened in this time stream will happen in that one."
Arthur's eyes glazed slightly. This, to him, was very much unfathomable. He wasn't going back into a different time stream, the only thing he could hold onto that maybe he was indeed in a coma and he needed to follow this weird guides plans. Perhaps then he would get out of this insanity.
"What time will I leave…?" Arthur mumbled; his eyes till glassy.
"When your clock strikes midnight; the witching hour." Peter said, clasping his hand over Arthur's palm hard.
Peter twirled once again, this time his cloak floating off the floor, and then the blue-eyed boy was gone. He left Arthur standing there, gazing down blankly at his hand, which was now adorned with a clock on his skin, ticking away as if it was every bit as real as the one he wore in his pocket.