1Wyntep, Pardon and the Fourth Wall
Wyntep tasted of oranges, laced with something bitter that he couldn't identify. Staring into Wyntep's empty eyes, he reflected that he hadn't eaten an orange in years. Overhead, the scabrous moon smirked its disdain of them before it hid its face coquettishly with a wisp of cloud.
The moon hid its face because it saw the writer approach. "Wyntep is my new project. He will be finished and added to my collection of characters. I will finish this story, I will finish them all," the writer said. The writer walked up to Wyntep in the guise of a woman.
"Who are you?" Wyntep asked, as his empty eyes noticed how strange this 'woman' was.
Or he would have asked if he hadn't been prevented from doing so by his recent demise. The one remaining character in the opening scene eyed the newly-arrived 'lady' speculatively.
"I wonder what you taste of?" he said.
Wyntep licked the 'lady' writer and tasted paper. A shark appeared behind the writer.
"I am here to kill you, WRITER! I, KILLER JAWS WANT REVENGE FOR THE DEATH OF MY FAMILY!" declared the shark.
Wyntep looked quite confused. There were two good reasons for this - the first reason was that he had just died, and so he wasn't expecting to be able to taste anything, and the second reason was that his thus far unnamed companion did not look the least bit surprised at what had just happened.
The said companion gave Wyntep an irritated look. "You're dead. Stop getting involved in the story."
Wyntep lay down sheepishly and closed his eyes, wondering if anyone else was going to make him do something implausible.
In the meantime, the mysterious speaker gave the shark a stiff bow before saying, "Since you've so kindly announced your identity and purpose, allow me to offer you the same courtesy. My name is Pardon, and I am the master of second chances."
The shark looked rather embarrassed, but stood its ground and repeated itself - "I'm here to kill the writer!" - albeit with much less bluster than earlier.
"By which you mean her?" asked Pardon, inclining his head towards the writer.
The shark nodded, whereupon Pardon flicked a finger at it, and it crumbled into dust.
"You," said Pardon to the writer, "are obviously suffering from a very bad case of Seeking-For-Closure Syndrome."
"Pardon, Pardon, what do you mean by this? That was both the DORD and a horrible pun," the writer said.
"You cling to dead characters, characters whose stories were never meant to be finished," Pardon said.
Wyntep thought for a second, but didn't say anything because he didn't know the meaning of DORD.
"And yes, I can make you alive, Wyntep, at a price," Pardon said.
Wyntep considered that, while Pardon watched warily for any sudden appearances of unrelated characters and the writer continued to mumble peevish comments on Pardon's name, parentage and insufferable arrogance.
When Pardon's gaze happened to flick past, Wyntep caught it. The man grinned, exposing elegant canines just a tad on the wrong side of normal human-sized.
"I'll name you the price without your asking, as a sign of my sincerity," he said.
Wyntep was impressed. Somehow, Pardon had read the question in his eyes - no mean feat on both their parts, considering the difficulty of conveying any message at all with empty eyes.
"The price," said Pardon, "is that you first take a life to replace your own. And then I will use the blood of your replacement to rebuild the fourth wall which had been broken down."
"And if he refuses?" asked the writer, who was suddenly very interested in their conversation.
Pardon shrugged. "Then more random characters, and possibly some unresolved plots as well, will come into our narrative." He paused momentarily to give the writer a meaningful look. "And your Seeking-For-Closure Syndrome will NEVER be cured."
Wyntep nodded his head. At the perfect moment, Jimmy, Greg and Frederick fell through the wall.
"I believe you have three options now. You have the liar, the mentally insane one or the lion to kill. Any will do," Pardon said.
The writer stood in shock. Her worst fears were literally in front of her eyes. However, she was not too shocked to make a quick decision.
She grabbed Wyntep with one hand and Pardon with the other. To the former, she said urgently, "You, take MY life!" and to the latter, "Kill me, repair the wall. NOW! Before anything else comes through!"
Jimmy, Greg and Frederick supported her in chorus. "Yeah, we're tired of falling through walls."
Right on cue, Aurora, Random Emo Guy, that crab, Jim the WHALE-MOOSE and Cindy appeared.
"Quickly, kill me. Almost everyone is here," the writer said.
Wyntep was about to go for the kill, but he hesitated. "Um... I have a question," he said nervously.
"Would this really work?" Wyntep asked desperately. The writer had taken his hands and wrapped them around her throat while squeezing vigorously, so he was forced to divide his attention accordingly."I mean, all these folks are already here," he continued. "So if Mr. Pardon rebuilds the fourth wall, wouldn't they all be trapped here?" He reflected inanely that he was much more sensible dead than he had ever been while alive.
"Yes, it should work. When you kill him, the fourth wall rebuilding will expel all other characters back into their stories," Pardon said, carefully examining his jet-black finger nails.
The writer's squeezing was having a most satisfying effect. Wyntep waited as the life drained from the writer's face. Somewhere deep inside his chest, there was a new feeling. It felt oddly familiar. The writer's face was now a most fetching shade of magenta, complemented by bursting blood vessels staining the white of her eyes scarlet. Her lips moved to form the shape of two words, though no intelligible sound could get past Wyntep's clawlike grasp.
Thank you.
Wyntep recognised the feeling in his chest. His heart was starting to beat again. Pardon smiled, as he smeared blood on the wall.
"I believe it is time for everyone to go back to their stories," Pardon said.
"I don't have a story, though. I don't know what to do," whined Killer Jaws, who had mysteriously reappeared.
"And I'm not sure what I was doing here in the first place," said Wyntep, scratching furiously all over from the pins and needles caused by the restart of his blood circulation.
There was a short moment of silence, while the three of them watched as the bodies of Jimmy, Greg and Frederick began elongating and then stretching out into long needle shapes that continued narrowing until they disappeared. Right after that, the same thing happened to Aurora, Random Emo Guy, that crab, Jim the WHALE-MOOSE and Cindy.
And then Pardon smoothed his black hair back over his pointy ears. "In that case, I have a most interesting proposition for both of you," he purred.
"What is the proposition?" Wyntep and Killer Jaws asked. The two looked quite anxious. They had to know this strange proposition.
Pardon's eyes glinted with a dangerous light. "Don't you think you should perhaps find out a little more about me before you ask that question?"
His audience of two was lost for words.
"What DO you know about me?" he prompted after a while.
"Your name is Pardon!" Killer Jaws declared triumphantly, pleased that he knew the answer.
"And you're the master of second chances," Wyntep added with rather less enthusiasm.
"Ah... but what exactly does that mean, the master of second chances?" Pardon's tone was teasing, but it sounded like a taunt all the same.
"It means that. . . you give people a way to fix their lives," Wyntep guessed.
"Perhaps, perhaps not," Pardon replied.
"But my life doesn't need fixing," protested KJ, who was by now sufficiently familiar with them to go by his initials. "The writer's dead, my family's avenged."
"Exactly." Pardon said the word with the tone of a busy paper-pusher checking yet another item off a to-do list. "So my proposition for you is terribly simple. Either return to your natural environment with no memory of ever having spoken or lived on land or being mutilated in any way, or continue to defy the laws of nature as my henchman - or hench creature, whichever sounds better. Your choice."
"I prefer being a henchman," Wyntep said.
"We can help people, I take being a hench creature," KJ said.
Pardon sighed, the first sign of his composure being ruffled. "That proposition was meant only for you," he said pointedly, jabbing a black-tipped finger in KJ's direction. "Obviously neither of you are good listeners," he grumbled, "but as for the matter at hand, I accept the choice of the aquatic predator."
A flick of his ebony-tipped fingers, and KJ turned translucent. Every detail of his internal workings was now visible, down to the passage of his last meal-a still recognisable boot-towards its eventual expulsion. The sight was unnerving, yet strangely beautiful.
When Wyntep's jaw had gotten off the floor to rejoin his face, Pardon intoned solemnly, "Behold my hench creature, the Ghost Shark."
Wyntep paused for a brief second. Then, realizing that he was a ghost at one point, he blurted out, "Wait, was I already your henchman?" He had no recollection of what had happened before his death. Was Pardon involved in his problem?
Pardon took his time replying, first removing his long black coat and handing it to KJ with a terse instruction, "Get this cleaned."
Turning to Wyntep, he said, "I have no actual need for henchmen. That..." - he inclined his head in the direction of KJ's bewildered exit - "... was just a momentary whim. I could get rid of the creature at any time."
"Then... what was I... to you?" asked Wyntep in trepidation.
"That is irrelevant to my proposition, so there is no need for us to discuss it. However, I will say one thing." The tip-or tips-of a forked tongue flicked rapidly over plump, sensuous lips. "You made a delicious snack."
"So, what is my proposition?" Wyntep asked, realizing this creature was also his murderer.
"Before that, how old do you think I am?" Pardon flicked a minute speck of dust from his glittery black tie. "Or rather, how long do you think I have been in this business of giving second chances?"
"A couple of eons old," Wyntep guessed.
"An eon is not so long as you might think," scoffed Pardon with a patronising little smile. "But that is close enough an answer, I suppose."
Wyntep waited for the continuation of the conversation, but when no further cue was given, was forced to venture a guess. "So... you're tired of your job?"
"One could say that," Pardon said.
"Do you want a .. . replacement?" Wyntep asked.
"Oh, no." Pardon's eyes flashed. "No, indeed. I could never be... replaced." The last word was indescribably sorrowful.
Wyntep had the feeling that his newly re-started heart was breaking, even though he had no idea why.
Pardon continued speaking. "I was thinking more along the lines of..." He smiled another twisted little smile. "...an amusement."
"You want me to amuse you?" Wyntep asked. A disconcerting vision of himself in tails and top hat doing a song-and-dance routine popped into his head.
His question did not receive a definite answer. "Everything becomes drearily repetitive after half an eon or so," said Pardon.
"Fine, I guess I'm more like a jesting apprentice," Wyntep said. He cleared his throat. "Have you heard the one about the plumber and the banana?"
"Please." The single word was underlined with a delicate shudder. "Spare me the amateur comedy."
Wyntep began to sweat. His reconditioned heart was beating uncomfortably fast. Did he really have to sing and dance for this strange person? He waited again for Pardon to move the conversation forward. He didn't.
Wyntep sighed. "What is your idea of comedy?"
"A little pain never hurt anyone," Pardon said.
Wyntep sighed again, louder than before. He was beginning to see where this exchange might lead, and he didn't like the final destination.
"Let me guess," he said resignedly. "My pain will amuse you."
"It did," agreed Pardon. "I was greatly amused while I was consuming your pain."
Wyntep didn't know what to say to that, so he dropped a curtsy. "Glad to be of service."
Pardon took two long-legged steps to invade Wyntep's personal space. "Don't get flippant with me," he hissed into the resurrected man's startled face. "There's nothing I hate more than flippancy!"
Wyntep stammered an apology as well as he could with five very sharp nails digging into the soft flesh under his jaw. It was, however, apparently sufficient, because he was released after a while.
"You asked me to end your pain," Pardon said softly. "And I did. But what you didn't realise was..."
"...my pain was what was keeping me alive," continued Wyntep, recalling with sudden clarity the circumstances of his death.
"Correct."
Wyntep sat down on the ground, his legs having decided that they didn't want to bear the weight of the memories that flooded his head.
"And so I make this proposition to you," Pardon said, all of a sudden brisk and businesslike.
"Yes, you do. I do have a question or two or three though. How old am I, how long since I died and when exactly do we start?" Wyntep asked.
"The answers to your questions depend on your response to my proposition, which, as you do not seem to realise, I haven't made yet." Pardon sounded like a school teacher reprimanding a daydreaming student.
And like an errant schoolboy, Wyntep found himself meekly apologising.
"If you decline my offer," said Pardon, "your origins cease to matter, as I will simply place you in that endless indefiniteness that they call Limbo."
Wyntep nodded, understanding that this was the first half of the proposition. "And if I accept?"
"Then the answers to your question are: You are as old as you want to be, since you will no longer age from now on. That renders immaterial your second question, and as for the third, it all begins the moment you state your agreement."
"Fine, just state the proposition already," Wyntep said.
"One second, the shark is coming back," Pardon replied.
The ghost Shark attempted to enter but Pardon said, "I need for you to go and check the ocean, make sure no one else is in need of fixing the fourth walls."
The creature dutifully disappeared on its new task. Pardon turned to Wyntep, and with a flourish produced a small covered box.
"What's that?" Wyntep asked nervously.
"It is the receptacle for your response," replied Pardon. "Transparency and documentation all that, you understand?"
He gave Wyntep another humourless smile, and asked, "Ready?"
Wyntep just nodded because there was suddenly a very big lump in his throat.
"I give second chances, as we have well-established thus far" Pardon began, "but it is impossible to give a second chance to every case of regret in existence. And so I need to choose to whom go the chances that I give out."
I wonder what I did to get chosen? Wyntep wondered, but didn't say it out loud.
"That has turned out to be the most tedious part of the task for me," Pardon sighed. "No matter what principle I use, morality or sincerity or pure damned chance, I always seem to choose the least interesting ones."
So was I a moral, sincere or random pick? But again, Wyntep kept the thought to himself.
"And so I propose," Pardon announced at last, "that you become my Bestower of Second Chances."
" I accept. That is the proposition, right?" Wyntep asked, shyly twisting his fingers into pretzel shapes.
"It is indeed," Pardon confirmed. "Now say it into this box." He held out the box, cover off.
Wyntep cleared his throat and rather self-consciously said, "I, Wyntep, accept Pardon's proposition to become his Bestower of Second Chances."
"Good," Pardon said, with a cheshire like grin.
"I hate to ask, but what creature are you?" Wyntep reluctantly asked.
Pardon shrugged. "I don't know."
It wasn't the answer Wyntep wanted, but he was too scared to pursue the matter.
"I don't know what I am now, what I've become," Pardon continued reflectively. "But I can tell you what I once was."
"What were you once?" Wyntep had suddenly become very curious.
"I was that small, innocent voice in men's heads that said, 'Just this once'; that grew louder and more cheerful as it asked, 'Why not? It's such a small thing...'; that became harder and harder to ignore until finally it became the voice of a master who cannot be disobeyed."
He didn't specify what exactly the voice made men do, but Wyntep had a feeling that whatever it was, it wasn't something that one could include in polite conversation. He took a few nervous steps away from Pardon, whose expression was rather too maniacal for his comfort.
He was still going strong. "I was a shatterer of dreams, a ruiner of virtue, a destroyer of worlds." There was remorse in those words, and yet there was also pride. "I nurtured the darkness within men's souls, and when it blossomed and bore fruit, I consumed that luscious ripe produce with the greatest of pleasure."
"I see," Wyntep said, as full understanding dawned. "You were ..." Wyntep stopped speaking. He didn't want to say that Pardon was the demonic conscience, it scared him too much.
"Is something wrong, young Wyntep?" Pardon asked.
"You were a very very bad person," Wyntep finished lamely.
"I wasn't a person, or even human," Pardon corrected. "I was the embodiment of the darkness that lay in the hearts of men."
There was something indefinably different about Pardon, that raised the fine hairs all over Wyntep and made him feel like screaming and fleeing blindly. All that he could manage in reply was a small "Oh."
"This always happens when I tell someone the truth," Pardon muttered.
Wyntep decided that a change of topic might help clear the air. "So... about my new job?" he ventured.
Pardon smiled. " Yes, that it is exactly what the title says."
It looked like he was getting no further help figuring it out. Wyntep took a deep breath. "So I have to... bestow... second chances?"
Pardon merely nodded.
"And... who... exactly do I bestow these chances on?" Wyntep asked.
"You already know the answer to that," Pardon cryptically replied.
Wyntep was too intimidated to take up the matter. "Rrrright... And in return?"
"What do you mean? If you are referring to in return for bestowing second chances, you know the answer. Otherwise, please do tell me what you mean."
Wyntep could feel a headache beginning. Talking to Pardon was mentally exhausting. He decided that he was not going to play guessing games any more, and speak plainly to him. And if Pardon was offended enough to do something horrid to him, then he was ready for that.
"Sweet Mother of all!" he burst out, "I mean that you're offering me a job, and you should at least provide a job description, pay package, duration of service, conditions of severance..." He paused for breath, glaring at Pardon, before finishing, "...and while you're at it, a damned contract for me to effing sign!"
"None of these are necessary things. However, I will give you a contract," Pardon said, as he formed one out of thin air. The writing on the old-fashioned scroll glowed with some unnatural light.
Wyntep held the smoking document gingerly at the edges with his fingertips and started reading.
...I, Wyntep, of my own free will, do accept this post of Bestower of Second Chances which has been offered by Pardon. The conditions of my acceptance are as follows:
1) This is a permanent appointment which will only cease when I, Wyntep, cease to exist...
It wasn't the most encouraging of beginnings, but at least it was clearcut. He continued reading.
"Must he take so long?" Pardon asked no one in particular.
Wyntep rather resented that; he wanted to snap, "Why don't YOU try reading weird glowy letters and see how fast you can go?" But he kept the thought to himself.
2) My work as Bestower of Second Chances (from this point onwards, 'Bestower') is to supply every thirty-seven days, a situation of Nothing-more-can-be-done (from this point onwards, 'NMCBD') to be dealt with by Pardon.
Compared to the clarity of the first sentence, this was positively opaque. But he didn't want another remark on his reading speed, so he went on.
3) As Bestower, I understand that I have absolute freedom in determining which NMCBD cases I present to Pardon.
That made things slightly clearer. But it was the final condition that interested him the most. " So, I have the ability to..."
"Yes," Pardon replied impatiently. "Time travel, teleportation, invisibility, limited telepathy and mind-reading - the standard package. Read the last line."
Wyntep peered at the edge of the scroll, brows furrowed with effort. "Is that the exit condition?"
Pardon snatched the document from him and read aloud from it at breakneck speed.
This agreement will last while I exist (cf item 1 above) unless I present Pardon with a NMCBD case that he is unable to resolve. I undertake this agreement of my own free will et cetera et cetera
"Sign here," he ended abruptly. Wyntep signed his name.
"Good, now we can get started," Pardon said.
The scroll collapsed into a ball of light, which then split into two. One ball was immediately absorbed into Pardon's palm, while the other floated over to Wyntep and snuggled briefly against his chest before disappearing into his body.
To Wyntep's startled curse, Pardon said blandly, "Your copy. Please retain the record for future reference."
"So, I just have to find you a NMCBD," Wyntep said.
"Nonces," Pardon said affably.
"Pardon?... I mean, could you repeat that?"
"Nonces. That's what I call them. NMCBD is such an ungainly word." Pardon appeared quite affable now that the paperwork was done and they were officially working together.
" Okay, a Nonces and present it to you," Wyntep said. Wyntep thought for a brief second. " And I think I know when I can start."
Pardon looked amused. "Do you now?" He lifted his legs and began floating in mid-air, as if supported by an invisible (and apparently VERY comfortable) chair. "Do enlighten me on your grand plan."
"I remember a particular hopeless woman that I read a newspaper article about in 1964. She was a schizophrenic and in love with a powerful CEO. I was thinking about helping her." Wyntep bit his lip, as he remembered that the powerful CEO was his older brother.
"Names, places, years... they mean nothing to me," yawned Pardon. "All I need to know is the one thing they wished they could do over."
"She wishes to do over the first time she met him, so that he can fall in love with her." Wyntep blinked, as he told Pardon.
"I see. Perhaps the lady would care to tell her story in person?" asked Pardon. "You do realise, don't you, my dear Bestower, that you have just presented your first Nonce to me?"
"Yes, I do. I guess I'll go and get her." Wyntep smiled.
After a few seconds of nothing, he sheepishly asked, "Uh... how does the time travelling teleportation work?"
Pardon snickered. "That's what happens when you jump the gun. I HAD been thinking of a short induction course before you embarked on anything."
"So, how is this going to work?" Wyntep asked resignedly. On cue, a portal opened behind him. The woman Wyntep had mentioned walked out of it, followed by a man.
"Sorry to interrupt this lovely bout of torture. I just thought it would be faster for the Bestower if I brought the woman." To Wyntep's gape of astonishment, he said, "You may call me Resent, representing all the bottled goodness in men."
"Great, it's you," Pardon muttered.
A giggle slipped out of Wyntep's mouth, which he hurriedly disguised as a cough. Really, these inhuman beings' names were the ultimate in bad punning.
"So, it seems that you have found a companion," Resent said, addressing Pardon. "I also have found a helper. However, mine is better." Resent whistled and a beautiful blue haired-woman appeared out of thin air.
"Hi, the name's Pandora."
Wyntep's jaw dropped. "Y... yo... y... YOU?!"
The female fixed the angle of her razor-cut bob with a little shimmy of bare shoulders. "Looking good there, Winnie-pooh." She gave him a head to toe once-over with her ice-blue eyes. "Getting dumped suits you."
"I presume she is an ex of yours," Pardon said.
The dirty look that Wyntep shot him said "None of your ***ing business" more clearly than any words could. "Anyway I thought you were the only person who played god," he muttered.
"I do not play 'god' or whatever you might call this sorry business that I am forced to be a part of," said Pardon with quiet dignity. "I do what I do because of certain... obligations... that I am under."
Resent burst out laughing. "Obligations!" he repeated in between guffaws. "That's a good one, Pard!"
Even though he knew nothing about the man, Wyntep had an instinctive dislike of him. Or perhaps, as he realised with a start, he was starting to develop the tiniest bit of loyalty for his 'employer'.
"Excuse me." The voice was deep for a woman's, and remarkably calm given the circumstances. "I am Eva, the girl who needs the help."
Wyntep stared uncertainly at the woman and then at Resent and Pandora. He wanted to help Eva right away, but he also didn't want any more uninvited 'help' from those two.
"Well, Pard. I suppose I should go, unless you want to make another wager on who can get this NBCD done faster," Resent said.
"My name is ParDON, and it's a NMCBD. The least you can do is use the right terms!" Pardon snapped. In a quieter tone, he finished, "I can outshine you any day of the week."
Resent smirked. "I was hoping you would say that. The usual terms?"
Pardon's eyes blazed with something that made Wyntep feel suddenly sweaty under the collar. "May I remind you that a wager is a two-way arrangement?" He indicated Eva with a small nod. "I already have MY case." He pointed a bony finger at Resent. "Where's yours?"
"Perhaps I can be of assistance here," Pandora purred. "Master, I present to you a most deserving case of GTPSACAR." She gave Wyntep and Eva a wink. "That's Give The Poor Sod-oops, I mean Soul-A Chance At Redemption, for those not in the know."
She stalked over to Wyntep and looked into his face. She had to bow a little to do that, on account of her ten-inch stilettos. "The most unfairly treated and obviously led astray case there ever could be."
Wyntep was getting a very bad feeling, and it was confirmed the very next moment. Pandora leaned in and plastered her scarlet lipstick on his forehead with a wet sucking sound.
"Here he is, the poor widdle lost soul," she cooed.
"Oh no you don't, there is no evidence of this," Pardon said.
"So he wasn't a wandering soul whom no one could hear, huh?" Pandora sighed. "I guess I'll have to go with my second choice." She pulled a soul from the ground. "Master, this soul belongs to a tortured writer who lost everything, including their sanity."
"You can't use that one, either," Pardon said firmly.
"Why is that, Pard?" Resent asked.
"She was the one we used to fix the fourth wall."
Resent glared at his assistant, who hastily stuffed the soul back into the ground and jumped on the spot a few times for good measure. Pulling her too-short skirt down a milimetre or two, she cleared her throat self-consciously.
"How about this?" she asked, just a shade too brightly, holding the tip of the Ghost Shark's fin between two nervous fingers. "This poor misguided fishy that should be swimming happily in crystal-clear waters instead of doing laundry for a mean ol' bully."
"Hey, I choose this job, ok?" KJ said. "I'm a freak wherever I am." KJ duly disappeared again.
"How about me?" A small voice asked. A small child's ghost appeared in front of them. "I was abandoned by my mother, abused by my father, shot by my brother and I am the most ignored soul," The ghost gestured at Wyntep. "He even missed me when I was right under his nose. My name is Brandon."
Wyntep squatted so that he could talk to the child face to face. "I think you'd make a wonderful NMCBD, sweetie," he said gently, "but what we need now is a GTPSACAR, and you haven't done anything that needs redemption."
Brandon's lower lip quivered, but he nodded.
"I'll put you right at the top of my list and you'll be the very next one I present to Pardon, ok?"
The little spirit gave him a teary smile, and faded out.
"Um... when do I start telling my story?" asked Eva.
"Soonish," Wyntep answered. His first job as Bestower was NOT going well.
"There must be a soul that I missed," Pandora muttered. A soul came helpfully out of the ground. "I wish I could have a second chance at life. I was a ruthless mercenary, who only wanted to protect the girl he loved. My name was Antonious."
Pandora's eyes gleamed. "And you're sorry you, um, killed people and all that?" she asked the soul.
The soul nodded morosely. "VERY sorry. The rape and pillage... well, not as sorry over that, but still, kind of sorry."
"Good enough!" Pandora declared. "Master, I present to you..."
"Yes, I know," Resent snapped testily. "Now let's get out of the picture before you embarrass me any further."
"The wager is on," Pardon reminded them. "And don't resent it later when I win."
Resent and Pandora smiled without humour, as they disappeared.
"Go ahead, Eva," Wyntep said.
"Well, the first time I met the love of my life, I was naked and talking to myself," Eva said.
"You mean THIS scene?" Pardon asked.
Wyntep blinked, because they were suddenly in a very cramped shower made even more cramped by their presence.
"Yes, right here. It's going to happen soon. My maid, Gloria lets him in along with his little brother."
Wyntep froze when he heard her words.
"Ummm, Pardon..." he said, pulling at the man's sleeve like a child. "Hypothetically, what happens if I run across my past self?"
Pardon brushed him off disdainfully. "We're in her memory, not the actual instance in time. So there is no Time Traveller's Paradox involved."
Wyntep sighed in relief, and then the next moment he tensed again. Eva was, as she said, naked. He didn't know where to put his eyes.
"So, how will we fix this from the shower?" he asked, to distract himself from the scene.
"Please curb your impulses," was the crisp reprimand he received.
He settled for staring at his toes, knowing what would happen next. There was a knock on the door of the shower room.
"Visitors for you, Miss Nascent," came the voice of the maid.
"Now what should I do?" Eva asked.
"I guess you could get out of the shower," Wyntep said, even though he knew she wasn't really asking him, this was actually the part in her earlier explanation about talking to herself.
"I don't have clothes waiting for me," Eva said, oblivious to Wyntep and yet somehow answering his question. "Gloria took them away for laundering. Dagnabit that Gloria! I swear the girl doesn't have two cents' worth of brains to rub together in that airy head of hers."
A male voice was heard. "Miss Eva Nascent? I'm here about your ad in the paper."
"Pardon, how exactly are we going to give her a second chance?" Wyntep asked.
"No talking when I work."
Something shifted indefinably in the surroundings. Wyntep blinked again. They were still in Eva's shower, but Eva was no longer there with them.
"Okay, so what did you do?" Wyntep asked.
Pardon pointed, and the wall of the shower turned transparent. They saw Eva in the room, fully dressed and looking rather flustered. In front of her was a young man in an outfit that was neat, but far from new.
"Hello, sir. You must be here for my ad in the paper," Eva said.
"Yes, I am. My name is Brayden." The young man made a little bow, while discretely jabbing in the side with his elbow the young boy who was also present.
"And this is my younger brother, Wyntep," he said as the boy imitated his bow with a scowl.
"Well, weren't you cute!" Pardon said.
Wyntep glared. "Just get on with it," he said irritably, "unless you're already done here."
"Oh, we will be done... very soon."
Wyntep noticed that Eva was smiling. Brayden was smiling too - from ear to ear, like a lobotomised patient.
The young Wyntep got over his scowl and piped up, "You're real pretty, lady!"
"Thank you, but I am too old for you," Eva said.
"But you're just right for him!" the precocious Wyntep retorted.
Brayden and Eva looked at each other, and turned the same shade of red.
Pardon put a heavy hand on Wyntep's shoulder. "I'm done."
Wyntep sighed, as they returned to the future. And then he went rigid with shock. Resent and Pandora were standing in front of them.
"You couldn't have finished your job so fast!" Wyntep gasped.
"Oh, we could if we are better, Winnie-pooh," Pandora said.
"Prove it," Wyntep growled. "I won't trust you any further than I can throw you, you lying little piece of ****!"
"Well, then you may want to turn around, young Wyntep," Resent said.
Wyntep did so - reluctantly, but bravely. The mercenary smiled at him, a bloody cleaver in the middle of his head.
"He was lost the moment he killed his first man," Resent explained. "And so to redeem him, we never let that happen."
"Now the other guy's the mercenary," Pandora joined in enthusiastically, "and he's... well, he's dead." She frowned, her perfect brows curtsying to each other. "Well he died in the end anyway, without redemption, only this time he died a lot sooner."
"So, you just circled the whole conflict and fixed nothing?" Pardon asked.
"Yes," Resent said.
"Well, then it is a loop with no effect, the whole thing was pointless. We succeeded at our job," Pardon said, as he grinned.
Resent clicked his tongue scornfully. "Have you ever heard the story of the man on the beach and the single starfish?"
"No, I don't know it," Wyntep said.
"Well basically it's about this man who sees another man at the beach throwing stranded starfish back into the sea. So the first guy asks the second guy, what's the point, it makes no difference, the next tide will just wash more of them up again. And the second guy says, true, but to this particular starfish, it makes a hell of a lot of difference."
"And your point is...?"
"Our wager is not on the grand scheme of things, but on two particular souls. And for this particular soul, we've made a difference. The soul is redeemed."
Brandon appeared again and pulled the cleaver out of the mercenary's head. "No, you didn't. You just killed an animal and stuck a weapon in his head."
"You stupid boy, you are dead," Resent said.
Pardon stepped in front of Resent. "Sorry, but I do believe that boy just told us some important information," he said.
Resent sniffed. "I am the bottled goodness in men. I am incapable of such an dishonest act."
"Yes," Pardon agreed. "YOU are."
Wyntep paused for a brief second. He could sense the tension between the two consciences. He wondered if he should say something to defuse the antagonism. But just as he opened his mouth, Pardon spoke again.
"You may be incapable of dishonesty," he said softly, but "she certainly isn't."
Wyntep looked at Pandora. She was smirking at Brandon. Wait, his mother abandoned him, his father abused him and he was shot by his brother... Pandora had a son, she was with Resent.
"Do you have a relationship with Resent?" Wyntep blurted out.
Pandora glared at Wyntep. "That is none of your concern," she said.
Brandon spoke up. "No, he isn't my pa. But she left my pa for him. And then my brother shot me so that pa won't do to me what he did to him."
Pardon paused for a brief second, as he listened to the conversation. Weren't these people-or beings-supposed to know everything? And yet here they were, pointing fingers and dropping bombshells on each other.
"Interesting," Pardon muttered.
"Yes, it's all true!" Pandora cried with a dramatic pose. "I was a bad wife and a worse mother." She flung herself at Resent. "ButheSAVED me!"
"Yes, I did, my dear," Resent said.
"Oh, save it!" Wyntep spat.
Pardon gave him an oddly approving look before saying, "That brings us back to our wager. I believe I've won, fair and square, based on the evidence."
He gave the headless sheep that had been pretending to be the mercenary a withering look.
"What did I miss?" The Ghost Shark asked. KJ had a pair of swim trunks hanging off his dorsal fin.
Wyntep, by talking louder than anyone else present, managed to grab the turn to speak. "We were just about to discuss what Pardon gets for winning the wager with Resent here."
"Yes, we are. Resent, I believe you know the price," Pardon said.
Resent looked like he wanted to say something more, but he shook his head in resignation instead. "Fine. As the representative of good, I suppose I should do the right thing here." He paused to give Pandora a meaningful look. "You, my dear, I'll deal with later."
Pardon cleared his throat, and managed to make it sound like a sound of triumph. "For the benefit of the uninitiated, allow me to repeat the terms of our wager."
"Speak now," Wyntep said. A moment later, he added, "If it so pleases you, Mr. Pardon, sir." - remembering his position in relation to Pardon.
At a subtle gesture from Pardon, a scroll appeared in mid-air, reading: Whomsoever should accomplish the task that has been wagered first, this 'first' being measured by Standardised Inter-dimensional Universal Time, shall have the reward of asking the other party to do anything of the winner's choice.
Pardon paused for effect, and then with a broad smile, said, "I, Pardon, as winner of this wager, do now ask the LOSER, Resent, to stay the **** out of this story for at least another five hundred words."
Resent and Pandora vanished. Both Pardon and Wyntep heaved sighs of relief, although Pardon disguised his sigh as a yawn.
"I guess we can deal with little Brandon now," Wyntep said.
"Indeed," Pardon agreed. "Do you now present him as your second Nonce?"
Wyntep nodded, and the little ghost did a cartwheel in mid-air.
"Speak, little one," Pardon commanded. "Tell us your regret."
"I regret not being able to live longer. I died before I could make any effect on people," Brandon said.
"I would not necessarily agree with the second part of your statement," Pardon mused. Ghostly images of Pandora and Resent, a haunted-looking young man in orange overalls, and a half-naked drunk passed out in a dumpster floated in the air for a brief moment. "But your regret is a valid one."
Brandon smiled excitedly.
"However, before I deal with your stated problem in the simplest way possible, I wish to ask you a question."
"Ummm... okayyyyy." Brandon sounded very uncertain.
"Do you accept any and all of the consequences from you living longer?" Pardon's eyes were depthless pools that swallowed up Brandon's reflected face in them. "Think carefully before you answer, boy."
"What are the consequences?" Brandon asked.
"I am not allowed to tell you," Pardon said. "Just as I did not tell Eva the consequences of her choice. Nevertheless, she was willing to take the chance. And you?"
"I will accept the consequences," Brandon said.
"So be it."
The ghostly boy disappeared, to be replaced by a rapidly moving series of scenes from his life that might have been. It began with the brother's shot missing his heart, and a long hospital stay. Following this was a string of foster homes while his male relatives were investigated (Pandora having vanished). Various people did to him what his father had almost done. He made the acquaintance of a hypodermic. And then he died, having fallen into an open sewer while stoned out of his head.
"I guess it is time to find my third Nonce," Wyntep said. Wyntep froze, as someone fell on top of him.
"Would you happen to be the Bestower of Second Chances? I need some help, I unleashed an ancient mythlogical beast which terrorized and burned my whole village. The name is Leonars."
Wyntep looked dazedly at Pardon, who calmly produced a 'TEA BREAK' sign and proceeded to sit in mid air with a steaming bone-china cup.
"I presume that is the man who will fix my problem," Leonars said.
Wyntep started to nod, but Pardon frowned. "I will take no more than three cases a day. Union rules. The child was the third case, including your own."
Wyntep turned sheepishly to Leonars. "I guess that means you have to take a number."
He was still a little confused and rather overwhelmed by everything that had happened to him since he'd eaten those oranges and found himself face to face with Pardon, goodness knows how long ago. But he was adapting fast... even starting to enjoy himself a little. Pardon was still a mystery to him, but he felt that the being wasn't impossible to understand with a little effort.
"Take a seat. You'll get your chance in due time," he told Leonars.
And thus began the tale of Wyntep the Bestower, but that is another story altogether.
THE END.