"Rivielle, you have everything to celebrate. Do not be afraid. From this moment on, you will forget your past. Leave it all behind. You've started anew. Today, I watched you be reborn."
John rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. I stood there next to him, taking it all in gradually. He seemed welcoming at least, and I wanted to feel reborn as he said. Somehow I couldn't conceive how in less than one hour, that all of my misdeeds were eradicated and that I was allowed to become a brand new person. This was too good to be true, in fact...I wondered briefly if this was real or if I was simply hallucinating.
"Thank you..." I watched as his hand fell away from my shoulder. Quickly, I took it in my own, before he was able to pull away. "...You saved me." Looking down at our hands, I was reassured; knowing that he was real and I could touch him.
You can't touch a figment of your imagination.
As I knew he would, he gently pulled out of my grip. I felt the warm blood rush into my cheeks and I averted my eyes from his.
"Emotion is something that is difficult to control..." He stepped back, watching me cautiously. Observing my next move. "But you did well. I have faith in you Rivielle."
He seemed so intellectual to me, unlike most I had encountered in my previous life. John was full of depth and understanding. None of my old colleagues had higher than a high school education, if that at all. I was so ready to take in all his philosophies. Until that moment, I was sure that there was no one in this world that could understand me. I sniffled, holding back violent tears that threatened to hinder my new existence.
I glanced back at him smiling weakly. I rubbed my forearms, I was freezing.
"So what now?" I hugged myself trying to keep my body heat from escaping.
He took me by the shoulder, leading me to the hall and towards my room.
"Get your things. Bring nothing of sentimental value. Remember, you've been reborn."
I dug through my dresser, a couple t-shirts and blouses, jeans and sweat pants, some socks, a pair of sneakers, underwear. I threw those things into a black plastic bag. I hurried; someone must have heard the gunshot and called the police by now. Then again, this was a bad neighborhood and the police didn't usually make this their first priority.
I had no use for photo albums and home videos anymore, so I took those and placed them under a loose floorboard in my room. Out of sight, out of mind. John watched me do this, and he nodded in approval.
I took a last look at my room: made bed, window, dresser, closet.
Not much, but it was my life at one point.
Before I was recreated. I turned to face him, but he was not in the doorway and I began to panic. Please, don't leave again. I begged internally. Rushing from my room, I called him. "John!" expecting to hear nothing, as usual when I call his name.
Instead, to my intense thankfulness, he answered from my living room.
"I'm in here."
Turning into the room, I saw him. He was staring out the window, observing the little people down below. It was sunrise now, and most of them were leaving or traveling for work and school. They had such trivial and insignificant things to worry about; for John, it was always a life or death situation. My heart ached for it, stepping into his shoes was painful. Imagine living it day in and day out. I wished we had known each other longer. Then I could hold him and tell him that everything would make sense for him in the end, and he'd believe it.
"I feel sorry for them." I gestured out to the bodies rushing past each other in an effort to get where they're going. Most already running late.
"They don't know the importance of time, and yet...the illusion of it." He told me. I nodded in agreement.
"When your time is limited, really restricted, it changes everything. That man wouldn't have stopped to get his cup of coffee if his life was on the line."
I scoffed at the man. The very idea of wasting any precious time was atrocious now that I was seeing with new eyes. With that said, I ran back to my room, grabbing the black plastic bag and closing my door behind me. I caught my reflection in the mirror on the wall beside me. I grimaced, and turned into the bathroom. I began to run the water for the last time. Splashing some on my face; I used the soap in the dish to clean off the blood, make-up and dirt from last night. When my face was clean and dried, I looked up into the mirror. I stared at the 'new' me for quite some time, feeling quixotic and subsequently, very stupid. How could someone like John see me as anyone better than a low-life, a princess of scum?
But the fact was, he was leaving, and taking me with him. Where would we go?
A thought hit me. I need cash…I have some in my purse...oh...
Panting, I came back to John. "My purse..."
He nodded. "Don't worry about it." He shut the blinds in the living room; only soft blue light crept in between the blinds, as he left the room and went into the hall. I then proceeded to follow him down the hall and out the door. I didn't bother locking it.
I wasn't ever going back; there was no turning back anyhowI didn't look behind me either.
That apartment was my past, my father was my past. And there they would stay.
-
Never in a million years would I have conceived that my life would have changed forever so intensely, and so blindingly fast. My heart nearly exploded from my chest with each step we took. Down the stairs, out the front gates, onto the streets, down an alleyway, through a maze of buildings, and back onto the urban city avenues, where he approached a dark blue van. A rental I saw. He asked me if I felt up to driving it.
"It's been a while." I admitted, shrugging my shoulder. The last time I was behind the wheel was about three years prior. Usually I found myself in the backseat of cars. I laughed bitterly as I went around to the driver's side, after putting my bag in the trunk.
"I trust you." He assured me.
John climbed in next to me. I looked nervously at him; he gave me an expectant nod. I buckled my self in and so did he. I must have been a natural born driver, because I took to it again very quickly.
It was like riding a bike I guess, once you learn, you never forget.
And so, with my newfound confidence, John then began to give me directions. I can't write them here, in fear that this could get out of my hands, and whoever is reading this might try and find the hideout themselves. My highest recommendation is that no one attempt that.
So I'll skip that and go on to when we finally arrived at the warehouse.
It was nine in the morning. John opened the doors for me; with me carrying my small bag of possessions, we'd walked through a seemingly endless maze of halls and down staircases. I soon grew tired of the walking and of the restricted light sources in the dreary passageways. I stayed close behind John as he led me further and further. I estimate that about ten minutes had gone away when we came upon his lair. I braced myself, and at the same time, I relaxed. At this moment, there was nothing to fear, it was just John.
My mentor, my guide, my hero.
He pushed open the doors, and a draft hit my already icy body; I smelled something faintly medicinal and another something that was like sawdust. It was a wide, airy room with divided sections; the entire room itself was obviously once used for storage. A part he pointed out to me was my own; it was separated by a partition and a long burgundy curtain. I assumed there was a bed behind it. I gave John a long stare as he went over to the worktable where he did his designs.
"John?" I put my bag down and I came over to him where he sat at the table.
He looked up from his papers and we made eye contact with me, like we were equals.
"I'm not sure how this works..." I gestured around the room, shrugging in uncertainty.
"When you understand that this is my life's work, and that it is too imperative to be ended with the life that is eluding me as we speak, then you'll understand why you are here." He went back to his designs.
I sighed, waving my hand at him. "You speak in riddles John. I just don't know what to do with myself around you, I feel so small." I turned to walk off; feeling the red hot burn in my cheeks as he suddenly grabbed my arm, turning me around.
"Don't think for a second that there's anyone on the planet who can tell you they're better. Or more intelligent, or well known, or successful; because all those attributes mean nothing when all you really need in the world is a healthy survival instinct. Think, Rivielle. How many people do you know have your will to endure?"
We were much too close; I suppressed the urge to close that space.
"When you begin to think about that...you'll have all the self esteem you need. Self-hatred has brought on the downfall of millions."
He let go, and calmly went back to his work. I stood there, frozen in the exact same spot, replaying the last scene over and over again in my head like it was a movie.
Eventually, I joined him; sitting next to him at the table, and I watched him work. He tinkered with a few pieces of metal and wood. Sometimes, he wrote notes next to his sketches. When he wasn't looking, I scanned the cluttered table and spied a list with names and addresses. Mine was at the very top, an asterisk next to it. I smiled knowingly and then continued to gaze at him, pensively. Wondering what thoughts meandered through his extraordinary mind…and if small thoughts of me could have had any chance of making their way in. Every now and then, John would glance up at me and he would either ask me to get him something (to which I would excitedly oblige) or he would simply stare at me momentarily, leaving me utterly blank with delirium.
Looking back on that day now, I think it was the most peaceful between us. If someone had told me that within the next year, John would be dead, I would have called them a filthy liar, and beat them within an inch of their life for speaking such a thing.
