The Glimpse Trade (A Silas Sharp Metaphysical Mystery): Chapter 10
Chapter
10 — Thanks, But No Thanks
I
left the office without shaking his hand. Some offers feel like contracts even
when no paper changes hands. The Archivist’s felt like one of those. Something
about the way he watched people talk—as if their words were just receipts he
intended to file later.
Outside,
the afternoon had that washed-out city look. Sunlight bouncing off glass and
asphalt like it didn’t want to be here anymore than I did. Traffic moved.
People walked. Coffee cups changed hands. All of it happening in exactly the
order it was supposed to. That’s the thing about normal days. They’re
convincing.
I
walked two blocks before I realized I was heading nowhere in particular. My
feet were doing the thinking. Happens sometimes. Feet are practical creatures.
They like distance between you and people offering to show you tomorrow.
The
Archivist hadn’t chased me out. He didn’t have to. The offer hung in the air
behind me like the smell of cheap cologne in an elevator.
Would
you like to see tomorrow?
Most
people would say yes before the sentence finished. Lottery numbers. Stock
markets. The weather. The moment your ex finally realizes she was wrong about
the drummer from Milwaukee. People love certainty. They just hate the bill that
comes later.
I
ducked into the Perpetual Egg Diner; the place I trust with my existential
dread. Vinyl booths. Coffee that tastes like it was filtered through a
philosophy department. The kind of place where nobody asks questions because
they already have their own.
“A
cup of joe?” the waitress asked.
“Seems
inevitable.”
She
poured. Steam curled up from the mug like it had opinions. I took a sip and
instantly regretted it. The Archivist’s offer hung in my brain like a cheap suit
on a rack. You don’t really want that suit there, but it’s the only you’ve got.
Offering tomorrow. Or, at a least a glimpse. I pulled my notebook from my
inside coat pocket and opened it up to the page where I had scrawled Dr. Calico
Verde’s name. Two thoughts plagued me. First, my high school English teacher was
right. My penmanship is that of a chicken using a pen with its feet. Second, I’d
like to tell Calico how I feel. Maybe she felt the same. The Archivist’s offer
would let me take a peek at how that conversation would go, leaving me with the
option to go through with it or avoid it altogether. Save myself the pain.
I
sat there for a while, letting the noise of plates and conversation sand down
the edges of the afternoon. The Archivist thought he was helping people. Behavioral
modeling, he called it.
“I
show them what their habits produce.”
There’s
a word for that where I come from. Prophecy. And prophecy’s a tricky business.
People don’t just look at it. They start steering toward it. Or away from it. Either
way, the future stops being the future. It becomes a rehearsal.
I
finished the coffee and left cash on the counter. The sky outside had darkened
a little. Not rain. Just the city settling into evening like an old man easing
into a chair he doesn’t fully trust.
Across
the street, a billboard flickered to life. Avery Bloom. The city’s newest
expert in living your best life while broadcasting it to strangers. The sign
showed her smiling into a phone camera, sunlight catching her hair just right.
CURATE
YOUR BECOMING.
Curiosity got the better of me. I pulled my phone out and browsed Avery's social media. A new video posted only minutes before.
"You guys," she said, voice dripping with anguish. "I know how much you look forward to my livestreams and you know how much I love doing them. Regrettably, I have to cancel this afternoon's stream. Bad weather coming. We'll try again tomorrow. Peace!"
She made that little heart symbol with her hands before ending the video.
I glanced up. Clear sky. Not a cloud in sight. I lit a cigarette I didn’t plan to finish. Somewhere in the city, the influencer known as Avery Bloom had just decided not to live tomorrow. And someone else was already taking notes.
Comments
Post a Comment