The Glimpse Trade (A Silas Sharp Metaphysical Mystery): Chapter 18
Chapter
18 — Silas Tempted
The
card had weight to it. Not literal weight. It wasn’t heavy in the hand. Cheap
cardstock, if anything. The kind of thing you’d expect to advertise half-off
tax prep or a free consultation for a smoothie diet that costs you your sense
of self. But it sat in my pocket like a brick.I’d taken it out twice already.
Once to confirm it was still there. Once to make sure the number hadn’t
changed. I’ve worked cases where numbers do that. Not often, but enough to make
you suspicious of anything that stays the same too long.
The
office was quiet in the way January quiet gets even though it was mid-March. That
stripped down quiet after the world had taken down its decorations and
forgotten to put anything back. Outside, snow moved sideways past the window. One
of those snows brought on by winter’s last gasp. The alley looked like it had
given up on being a place people went. The dumpster leaned like it was suddenly
casual.
I
turned the card over in my fingers. No name or logo. Only a phone number. The
Archivist didn’t advertise. He didn’t need to. People found him the way people
find trouble—gradually, then all at once.
I
set the card on my desk. Next to it sat a cup of whiskey I had poured but
decided it was too early in the day for. I leaned back in my chair. It creaked
in a way that suggested it had opinions about my life choices.
“Just
a look,” I said to no one in particular.
That’s
how it starts. Bargaining with yourself. I’ll just observe, you say. Gather
information. That’s all. A professional courtesy to yourself. I’ve told that
lie to clients. I’ve charged them for it.
I
closed my eyes. And there it was. Not exactly a memory. More like a shape my
mind kept circling. A day with edges worn smooth from avoidance. I didn’t need
details. The details were the problem. A phone call. A silence on the other end
that said too much by saying nothing at all. A version of me that didn’t know
yet. That still had the luxury of the next minute being normal.
I
opened my eyes. The card was still there. Of course it was. That’s the pitch,
isn’t it? You don’t go back and change the day. You just see it coming. Brace
for it. Maybe say the right thing. Maybe notice something you missed. Maybe
soften the blow.
I
picked up the card. Turned it over again. The number stared back like it had
patience I didn’t. All I had to do was call. No commitments or decisions. My
signature wasn’t required on a dotted line. Just start a conversation. Ask a
question. Professionals ask questions. That’s what separates us from the people
who just react. I reached for the phone.
Stopped.
There’s
a moment, right before you do something you can’t quite undo, where the room
changes. The desk is still a desk. The chair still complains. But the future
leans in. It waits to see which version of you it’s dealing with.
I
held the receiver in my hand. Felt the weight of it. Felt the ease of it. One
call, and I could see it. That day. That moment before the break. Before the
world decided to rearrange itself without asking me. One call, and I could
remove the surprise. And that’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it?
Out
the window, the snow kept falling like
it had nowhere better to be. If I dialed, I’d know. And if I knew… What exactly
would I become? A better man?
I
set the receiver back in its cradle. The sound of it clicking in the cradle
made was louder than it had any right to be. Final. Decisive. A period at the
end of a sentence I wasn’t ready to write. I slid the card back into my pocket.
Let it sit there. Let it be heavy. Some things, you don’t lighten. Some things,
you carry. The office settled around me again. The chair eased. The world, for
better or worse, stayed unpredictable. I decided it wasn’t too early for
whiskey and threw back the glass of alcohol. I exhaled.
“Not
today,” I said.
The
card didn’t argue. It didn’t need to. It had tomorrow on its side.
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