Be Careful What You Wish For

I entered the bar. The man in the booth motioned me over. I sat opposite him. He pushed a piece of paper across the table.

“Name, date of birth, address.”

I wrote down the details, then returned it.

“This her maiden name? And the address where she grew up? Before she knew you?”

“Yes.”

“Let me ask you one thing. Why can’t you just divorce her?”

“She’d take me to the cleaners. I have a girlfriend. She needs to go.”

“Do you want to know what’ll happen to her? I make the same offer to all my clients. Some do, some don’t.”

“Yes.”

“Look at my glass.”

He covered it with his hands. When he removed them, it’d disappeared.

“Voodoo. It isn’t just dolls.”

“Where did it go?”

“That’s the key. I sent it into the future.”

I didn’t believe him; the disappearing glass had been a trick. He was covering up the truth. I played along.

“Is that what you’ll do to her?”

“That’s the plan. But why do you think I needed the details from a time before she met you?”

“To find her in the past?”

I started to understand what he was suggesting, but I still didn’t believe him.

“I won’t deal with her in the present. I’ll return to the past, find her and send her to the future, just like I did with the glass. She’ll no longer exist in this timeline. You won’t be able to meet her. You won’t be able to marry her. The cops won’t come to your door, your family and friends won’t miss her. How can they miss someone they’ve never met?”

My face betrayed me.

“If you don’t believe me, leave. If you want rid of her, pay me.”

I decided. I paid, then rose to leave.

“One thing, I give no guarantees.”

“You said you’d get rid of her.”

“I will, but think about your relationship. All those moments you shared will be gone. She’ll be removed within the next hour. Decide. What I’m about to do cannot be undone.”

“I need to be free.”

“So be it.”

I left. I didn’t believe the story he’d told me, but then I thought, why ask for all those details about her? I decided it was a reassurance, to make me feel better when she disappeared. When he killed her.

I drove home, turning into the driveway of our five-bedroomed house. My law practice afforded us such luxury. The door opened and a strange man stood staring out at me.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“What are you doing in my house?”

“You must be lost; this is my home.”

I dug out my driving license. The address told me I lived in a poorer, working-class area of the city. I belatedly remembered my wife encouraging me to pursue law school, working two jobs to support us. I remembered her helping me study to pass the Bar exams. I remember telling her I couldn’t have done it without her. It seemed I’d been right.

∼ RJ Meldrum