The Beggar’s Bargain: Part Two

The Beggar’s Bargain: Part Two

The paper was cold. Not cold like something left out in the rain. Cold like it had never known warmth. I held it between my fingers, staring at the strange symbols carved across its surface.

“What do I have to do?”

The beggar didn’t answer. He simply watched me. Waiting.

“For her,” I whispered. “I’ll do anything.”

“I know.”

His voice sounded different now. Deeper. Older. Like several voices were speaking through the same mouth.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small glass vial. Inside was a thick, black liquid. It moved slowly, even though he wasn’t shaking it.

“What is that?”

“A gamble.”

I frowned. “A gamble?”

The beggar nodded. “You want her back.”

“Yes.”

“I can give her back.”

My heart skipped.

“But there is no guarantee.”

“Guarantee of what?”

His eyes narrowed.

“That she will remember you.”

I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“When she returns, she may remember everything.”

Hope rose inside me.

“Everything?”

“Her childhood.”

He lifted one finger.

“Her family.”

Another.

“Her friends.”

Another.

“Her life.”

Then he looked directly into my eyes.

“Maybe even you.”

My heart began pounding.

“Maybe?”

The beggar smiled.

“Death takes many things.”

He held up the vial.

“Sometimes it takes the body.”

“Sometimes the memories.”

“And sometimes…”

He paused.

“…the people who belong to those memories.”

I didn’t understand.

“What happens if she doesn’t remember me?”

“You’ll know.”

“And if she does?”

The beggar shrugged.

“Then perhaps you win.”

“Perhaps?”

He laughed.

“You asked for a miracle.”

He stepped closer.

“Miracles are nothing more than foolish gambles with impossible odds.”

I stared at the vial.

“So what happens to me?”

The beggar smiled.

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether she remembers you.”

I swallowed.

“And if she doesn’t?”

His expression changed. The smile disappeared.

“Then you will become something else.”

“What?”

“A ghost.”

I stared at him.

“You’re joking.”

“Do I look like a man who jokes?”

No.

He didn’t.

“You’ll be bound to her.”

“For how long?”

The beggar’s eyes seemed to darken.

“Until she dies.”

I felt my stomach twist.

“And then?”

He smiled again.

“Who knows?”

I looked away.

This was insane. A stranger in the rain was offering to bring my dead lover back to life. And all I had to do was gamble everything.

“What are the odds?”

The beggar laughed.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to know what I’m risking.”

He stepped closer until his face was inches from mine.

“You already know.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You’re risking yourself.”

I looked down at the photograph in my hand. Her smile. Her eyes. The woman I would give anything to hold again.

“What if she remembers me?”

“Then you have her back.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“You’ll still have her.”

I frowned.

“What does that mean?”

“She’ll live.”

He paused.

“She’ll laugh.”

Another pause.

“She’ll love.”

His eyes locked onto mine.

“She just won’t know that you were ever part of her life.”

My chest tightened.

“And I’ll be there?”

“Always.”

“Watching her?”

“Yes.”

“Unable to speak to her?”

“Yes.”

“Unable to touch her?”

“Yes.”

“Unable to leave?”

The beggar smiled.

“Never.”

Silence.

I looked at the vial. The gamble suddenly felt much bigger. But then I looked at her photograph.

And I realized something.

I wasn’t afraid of losing myself.

I had already lost everything that mattered.

I just wanted her back.

So I reached for the vial.

The beggar didn’t stop me. He only whispered:

“Foolish man.”

I looked at him.

“What?”

He smiled.

“Nothing.”

I uncorked the vial. The smell that escaped wasn’t chemical. It smelled like earth. Like a grave.

I raised it toward my lips.

Then stopped.

“One last question.”

The beggar waited.

“If she doesn’t remember me…”

My voice cracked.

“…will she at least know that I loved her?”

The beggar stared at me.

For the first time, he looked almost sorry.

“No.”

My heart sank.

“But she may feel you.”

I frowned.

“What?”

“A cold breeze when you’re near.”

“A shadow that follows her.”

“A presence beside her when she sleeps.”

He leaned closer.

“She may spend the rest of her life feeling like someone is watching over her.”

I looked at the vial.

“And she’ll never know it’s me?”

“No.”

I closed my eyes.

Then I drank.

The liquid was ice-cold.

Not the kind of cold that made me shiver.

The kind that felt alive.

It slid down my throat like melted snow, then suddenly turned to fire. I doubled over, clutching my chest as something inside me seemed to twist.

I couldn’t breathe.

My lungs seized.

I opened my mouth, but no air came.

Then I felt my heartbeat.

One beat.

Two.

Three.

And then—

Nothing.

My heart stopped.

I looked at the beggar.

He hadn’t moved.

He was smiling.

Then another heartbeat slammed against my ribs.

Hard enough to hurt.

I gasped.

A second later, another.

Then another.

Too fast.

Too loud.

Each beat sounded like a fist pounding against the inside of my chest.

I dropped the vial.

It shattered against the pavement.

The pain spread through my body.

My fingers went numb first.

Then my hands.

A strange tingling crawled beneath my skin, like thousands of tiny insects were moving through my veins.

I scratched at my arms.

Nothing.

The sensation wasn’t on my skin.

It was underneath it.

Deep beneath the flesh.

I looked down.

The tips of my fingers had begun to fade.

Not disappear.

Fade.

As though someone had taken an eraser to my body.

I could see the rain through them.

“No.”

I stumbled backward.

My shoes scraped against the pavement.

I grabbed my arm.

My fingers passed through it.

There was no resistance.

No warmth.

No flesh.

Nothing.

I screamed.

“What did you do to me?”

The beggar only watched.

My stomach dropped.

I could no longer feel the rain hitting my skin.

I could see it.

I could see every drop passing through my hands.

But I couldn’t feel a single one.

Then my skin began to crawl.

Not metaphorically.

I watched as the flesh along my arms rippled beneath my sleeves, moving against the shape of my bones.

My jaw clenched.

A pressure built inside my skull.

My ears began ringing.

Then came the whispering.

Thousands of voices.

All around me.

All inside me.

Some crying.

Some laughing.

Some calling my name.

I covered my ears.

It didn’t help.

The voices were coming from somewhere deeper.

From whatever part of me was still left.

My knees buckled.

I fell to the ground.

But I didn’t feel the impact.

I looked down.

My legs were transparent now.

The pavement showed through them.

My chest followed.

My ribs faded.

My hands.

My arms.

My entire body was becoming nothing.

I could see the street through myself.

The rain through myself.

The world through myself.

I tried to scream again.

But my voice came out wrong.

Thin.

Distorted.

Like it was being dragged through a long, empty hallway.

Then the cold reached my face.

It crawled across my skin.

Over my cheeks.

Across my lips.

Into my eyes.

I blinked.

And for one terrifying second, I couldn’t remember what it felt like to have a body.

I couldn’t remember the warmth of my own skin.

The weight of my hands.

The sound of my heartbeat.

Even my reflection began to disappear from the puddle beneath me.

I reached toward it.

There was nothing there.

Then—

Silence.

The voices stopped.

The pain stopped.

The cold stopped.

Everything stopped.

I looked up.

She was standing beneath the streetlight.

Alive.

Breathing.

Looking directly at me.

My heart should have been pounding.

But I no longer had a heartbeat.

“Her…”

I took a step toward her.

She stepped backward.

Fear filled her eyes.

I reached for her.

“It’s me.”

She stared at me.

Confused.

Afraid.

Then she whispered:

“I’m sorry…”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know you.”

I froze.

The world seemed to disappear around me.

“No…”

I looked toward the beggar.

He was gone.

Only the rain remained.

I turned back to her.

She couldn’t see me anymore.

I screamed her name.

She didn’t move.

I ran toward her.

My hand passed through her shoulder.

She shivered.

She looked around.

“Why does it feel so cold?”

I stood beside her.

Crying.

Screaming.

Begging her to remember me.

But she couldn’t hear me.

She couldn’t see me.

She couldn’t remember me.

And somewhere in the darkness behind us…

I heard the beggar laugh.

That’s when I realized the truth.

It was never a gamble.

The beggar already knew how the story would end.

I hadn’t gambled with my life.

I had gambled with my place in hers.

And I had lost.

To be continued…