The Book of Chance

The paintings around Thomas seemed like far-off friends that he had once known in another part of his life, so distant he could barely remember their names. He remembered painting each one, and in all those moments, she was there. Katherine, mother to their son, his wife. Hit by another car, sliding on a patch of ice. Since she’d died, life had splintered into two halves, and his insides ached with every reminder of the part he could never return to. Now he stood in his section of the art gallery, waiting for someone to take them away so he didn’t have to look at them anymore.

His hands balled into fists, the nails digging into his palms. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push out the pain. He couldn’t cry here in the art gallery; that’d hardly sell paintings.

Without any noise to warn of his approach, a figure appeared next to Thomas. He was a very tall, thin man with dark hair neatly combed to the left and a pencil moustache. He appeared almost colourless in a sleek black suit that further accentuated his poker-like physique, a black bowler hat, and hard black eyes.

‘Good afternoon,’ he said, his voice low. ‘This piece is simply magnificent.’

He gestured to the picture before him. It was a man composed of soap bubbles sitting on a park bench, surrounded by happy people playing and oblivious to him. Thomas’s mouth twisted; he had never thought Katherine so fragile as that, and yet her life was gone as easily as if the man in the painting were pricked by a pin.

‘Thank you very much,’ Thomas said, regaining his composure and attempting a smile.

The man didn’t smile back at him, but he surveyed Thomas’s face, making him shift uncomfortably.

‘I’d like to purchase it.’

Thomas’s eyebrows raised. It was the first person who’d been interested in buying any of his work recently.

‘Oh really?’

The man stepped closer to it, examining the brushstrokes etched into the people’s faces.

‘Let’s say … twenty thousand dollars?’ The man didn’t glance away from the painting.

Thomas thought he must have heard wrong. He cleared his throat. ‘Twenty – thousand dollars, you said?’

Now the black eyes returned to his face. ‘Yes, I did. Is it sufficient?’

‘Yes – yes, of course,’ Thomas said, trying to appear nonchalant.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out two neat stacks of hundred dollar bills along with a small black notebook. He held it out to Thomas, and Thomas tried to only take the money, but the man pressed the notebook into his palm.

‘That’s something extra,’ he said, his gaze never leaving Thomas’s face.

Thomas felt a prickle of fear tiptoe up his spine, but he swallowed and took both the money and the notebook.

#

Thomas checked his watch as he pulled into his driveway. Just past three – the school bus would have come not long ago.

As he entered the house, his eyes hunted for the red backpack and small, dirty shoes. He breathed a sigh of relief. One day Katherine had been there, and the next she wasn’t; now, every day he half-expected his son wouldn’t make it home either.

He went up to Daniel’s room. He was a boy of seven, a bit big for his age, with brown hair and clear blue eyes.

‘Dad!’ he crowed when he heard Thomas on the stairs.

Thomas laughed and lifted him into a hug. His back twinged with pain, but he held his son close, squeezing him to make him laugh. He put him down and ruffled his hair, a bit lighter than Katherine’s had been. Flicking through her childhood photos, it deepened as the years went by, and Daniel’s would be no different.

He went to his studio, clutching the money and notebook inside his pocket.

Sitting down at his desk, he felt strangely jittery. He pushed aside some pieces of paper with sketches on them and laid the items down.

He looked warily at the money, as though it might disappear, then turned his attention to the notebook.

Although it was just an inconspicuous item, he felt hesitant to open it, an inexplicable fear filling him as he wondered what may be within.

He opened it to a page covered in inky black writing.

His lips formed the words as he read, ‘The Book of Chance.’

Underneath that, it said, ‘The purpose of this book is life: giving it and taking it away. A name written in this book shall cause that person’s death, but in exchange, someone will return from the dead. A name of a deceased person written backwards will cause that person to return to life, but someone must die in exchange. Users of this book are not in control of the realm of the dead, and it is Death who shall maintain balance as it sees fit; this is the element of chance. The lives of the living are not a factor in this and as such, you take your chance. There will be no negotiation; choose wisely.’

Thomas stared down at the page, his mouth hanging open slightly, heart hammering in his chest. Was this some weird kind of prank? But how could the man have known how desperately Thomas wanted this?

His hands shook as he reached across the table to snatch up his fountain pen. He had already begun writing the first letter when he stopped. Katherine would return to him and their son; they could be a family again – but someone else would die. Would it be another person’s wife? A son? A daughter? A father?

He gripped the pen so tightly it was in danger of breaking, the nib gouging into the page. Ink leaked in a dark blot, like blood on cloth. Hastily, he scribbled out the mistake, hoping the book wouldn’t take any action.

He stared at it for so long his eyes became dry, and the corner of his mouth began to twitch. Despite his mind going back and forth with arguments and counterarguments, deep down, he knew he could only make one decision. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling repulsed by his selfishness.

After a long moment, he opened them and slowly, deliberately, he traced the letters of his wife’s name in reverse. Resarf Enaj Enirehtak.

He closed his eyes again, still holding the pen – and then, he caught a whiff of something. He breathed deeply in through his nose, savouring the scent of warm vanilla, cinnamon, and orange blossom. A bottle of perfume sat on Katherine’s bedside table and every day he picked it up and inhaled the scent, remembering how her hair enveloped him when he hugged her, a warm cloud of fragrance that never failed to make him feel safe and at ease.

He opened his eyes, aware that the atmosphere in the room had shifted. He turned, hardly daring to breathe in case she would blow away.

‘Katherine,’ he whispered, a lump blocking his throat.

She smiled, tears in her eyes. Laughing, she held out her arms. She was perfect – absolutely perfect. He’d seen her body in the morgue, twisted and disfigured, but now that seemed only like a horrible nightmare.

Suddenly it registered in his mind that she was really there, and he threw himself across the room to embrace her, feeling that she was warm and solid and real. He sobbed against the brown curls that rested on her neck and couldn’t move for a few minutes. He just held on, feeling like he was clutching a lifeline. Every now and again he pulled back, attempting to clear his eyes so he could look at her face and reassure himself she was still there, still whole.

She knew he needed time to process what had happened, so she didn’t say anything, just clung onto him.

Finally, he stepped back, drawing a shaky breath. He kept hold of her hands, slender and white inside his paint-stained ones.

‘Where is Daniel?’ she asked, light dancing in her eyes. The dimple in her left cheek deepened with her smile.

‘Just in here,’ he said, unable to resist grinning at her. They were going to be with their son, a family again. He would be so happy – how he would explain it to him he had no idea, but that was a problem for another time.

He led her down the hallway to Daniel’s bedroom, and she looked around her in wonder. She was back, back where she thought she could never come again.

When they reached his door, it was ajar. Thomas knocked on the wall before pushing it open.

His heart jumped as he tried to comprehend the scene before him. Daniel stood there, but as Thomas’s gaze travelled from his small, chubby hand up to the man that held it, a thick rubber band of terror constricted his chest.

‘Daniel!’ Katherine shrieked, realising what was happening before Thomas.

It was the man from the gallery. His face was just as cold and expressionless as it had been, his black eyes leaving the boy to survey his parents.

‘No!’ Katherine yelled, trying to push past Thomas who was rooted to the spot with shock. ‘Take me back! Please – please, whatever you do, don’t take him!’ Tears streamed down her face.

Thomas’s brain was frozen. What could he do? His son or his wife? There was no winning – but the words from the Book of Chance rang in his mind like a chiming bell: ‘Users of this book are not in control of the realm of the dead, and it is Death who shall maintain balance as it sees fit.’

Daniel was trapped between fear of the strange, stony man, and the shock and joy of seeing his mother alive, holding hands with his father.

‘Death must remain balanced,’ the man said, echoing Thomas’s thoughts.

Thomas hated him, hated everything about him. His thin, shapeless lips; the pallor of his skin; the neat suit he wore; his pencil moustache. He wanted to wring his neck, to latch on and squeeze until he felt bones popping beneath the skin – but then, in an instant, all the hated features were gone. They were both gone, before Daniel had a chance to cry out.

The rubber band tightened until it felt like his heart couldn’t beat for the force of it. His hearing tuned out and Katherine’s screams were just a faint, reverberating sound that played somewhere in the tiny part of his brain that hadn’t collapsed.

He fell forward onto the carpet and with limp hands, he reached for a toy truck lying before him. He clutched it like it could transform into Daniel’s hand, and in a moment, Katherine fell beside him, sobbing so hard she wretched.

Time ceased to mean anything as they lay there, both alive but wishing they were dead, where they could be with their son.