I Am the Messenger

I shiver.

I see my reflection in the TV screen and in the photo of my family.

The Doorman snores.

The breeze outside steps closer.

The fridge buzzes.

For a moment, it feels like everything stops to watch as I reach in and pull out an old playing card.

It's the Ace of Diamonds.

In the echoes of light in my lounge room, I let my fingers hold the card gently, as if it might break or crease in my hands. Three addresses are written on it in the same writing as on the envelope. I read them slowly, watchfully. There's an eeriness slipping over my hands. It makes its way inside me and travels, quietly gnawing at my thoughts. I read:

45 Edgar Street, midnight

13 Harrison Avenue, 6 p.m.

6 Macedoni Street, 5:30 a.m.

I open the curtain to look outside.

Nothing.

I get past the Doorman and stand on the front porch.

"Hello?" I call out.

But again, there's nothing.

The breeze looks away--almost embarrassed at having watched--and I'm left there, standing. Alone. The card's still in my hand. I don't know the addresses I hold, or at least not exactly. I know the roads but not the actual houses.

It's without doubt the strangest thing that's ever happened to me.

Who would send me something like this? I ask myself. What have I done to get an old playing card in my letter box with strange addresses scrawled on it? I go back in and sit at the kitchen table. I try to work out what's happening and who has sent me what could be a piece of destiny in the mail. The visions of many faces reach me.

Could it be Audrey? I ask. Marv? Ritchie? Ma? I have no idea.

There's something in me that advises me to throw it out--to throw it in the bin and forget about it. Yet, I also feel pangs of guilt even for thinking of discarding it like that.

Maybe it's meant to be, I think.

The Doorman wanders over and sniffs the card.

Damn it, I can see him thinking. I thought it might be something to eat. After sniffing one last time, he pauses a moment and reflects on what he'd like to do next. As always, he shuffles back to the door, turns half a circle, and lies down. He gets comfortable in his suit of black and gold fur. His big eyes glow, but they also fall deep with darkness. His paws stretch out on the crusty old carpet.

He stares at me.

I stare back.

Well? I see him think. What the hell do you want?

Nothing.

Good.

Fine.