Where am I?

Here.

Where is here?

Everywhere.

Where is everything?

Not here.

But if this is everywhere.

But this is nowhere.

But you just said this was everywhere.

But if it's everywhere, how can it be anywhere. Therefore it is nowhere.

I don't understand.

You are not meant to.

So why explain it to me?

You asked.

Who are you?

I cannot tell.

But I asked.

Yet.

What?

I will tell you. But not yet.

Oh. Well, where am I?

You have to figure that out on your own.

I'm sure it's only a dream.

Only? Dreams can be portals to other worlds.

Well, what world could this be?

I couldn't say.

You are no help.

Thank you.

That was not a compliment.

I know.

--

The phone rang on the small table near the door of the motel room. Shay opened his eyes slowly, lifting his head a fraction and looking at the clock on the bedside table. It was three-thirty pm. He'd slept all day again. Closing his eyes again, he let his head fall back to his pillow, damp from sweat. He had not gotten a real good night's sleep for a long time. Nightmares haunted his dreams. None of them were as odd as the previous dialogue, though. That had been different. Sighing, he listened as the answering machine clicked.

"Hey, it's Shay Gray. Leave your message, don't expect me to call you back, though." He wondered how long ago he had recorded that. He'd been living in this little motel room for months. He figured since his last job. Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he turned his face into the pillow and listened for the message. There were a few to go past before the machine beeped. A few moments, though, and a familiar gruff voice spoke up.

"Gray!" His old mentor was never one for niceties. "Get your ass out of bed! I know you're there." A pause, as if Messe was looking for an answer. A sigh, as if he was disappointed. "Look, we need to coming back. The guild isn't anything without you. You're our best man, no one can get in and out of a job like you do. Hell, our second top assassin is only half as good as you are. Get out of bed. That lecture you got wasn't meant to scare you off." Silence for a moment, then a loud curse. "You know my number. Call me, Shay. Don't make me come down there."

Shay sighed, relaxing as the tape rewound itself. Who was he? Shay was an assassin, and the best in the guild. Why had he stopped contact? What had been the lecture? He'd rather not think about it. Turning over, he closed his eyes, falling asleep again.

--

Am I back here again?

Yes.

Why?

Maybe to talk.

Talk? About what?

Are you having problems?

Well. Yes.

Fear.

No! I mean-

Of the guild.

How do you know about that?

Of failure.

You're not listening-

You're afraid of what will happen if you fail-

I never-

--Again.

..

Am I right?

Yes. Sort of.

Correct me.

I do not fail.

Oh?

The guild does.

So you are perfect.

Yes!

And what is perfect?

..

Is it the ability to do exactly what you're told?

I do my job.

But what is your job?

I kill.

But is that all?

I arrest.

There is more beneath that.

..

Your job is to take orders and carry them out.

But I don't have to.

You know you do.

If I don, I don't get paid.

And?

..

What if you fail again?

They don't tolerate failure.

You didn't carry out a mission.

I couldn't.

Why?

I.

What?

I froze.

After all your years of training?

I paid for it, all right?

It won't happen again?

Of course.

Make sure of it, hm?

--

Shay awoke again with a bit of a start. Glancing over at the clock, it read 7 o'clock in the morning. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. What in the world was he arguing with? He laughed to himself. Nothing out of this world, he was sure. He kicked himself for even thinking something like that. It was absurd. Just a silly dream.

Scratching his chin, Shay noticed that he hadn't shaved in a week or more, and he was due to pick up a razor again and go out for some groceries. Soon. Right now, he'd concentrate on getting clean.

He stood from the bed, stretching muscles that were weary of the bed, and he walked to the bathroom across the room. Flicking on the light switch, he looked into the mirror, turning on the tap.

Icy blue eyes stared back at him. A mess of unkempt blond hair stuck to every side atop his head. Smoothing it out with a hand, he pushed it out of his right eye. Without a bit of hair to hide it, a new scar was visible curving around the one side of his right eye, not many months old. A mark of failure. That was all he thought about it. Sighing, he picked up his razor and watched the mirror as he shaved the stubble off his face. Suddenly, he did not see himself.

Well, actually, he did. But, his face was pale, and he was definitely not shaving. There was a bullet hole in the side of his head, and blood out the corner of his mouth. Needless to say, this frightened him some bit, and he jumped. Slipping on some spilt water, he fell on his back, nicking the side of his neck and knocking the wind out of him. Coughing, he put his hand to the cut, growling a curse and staring up at the mirror. What in the hell was that?

He stood slowly, peering into his own eyes, glancing to the walls behind him around his head. "Nothing," he muttered, voice naturally rough. "My mind is degrading, I swear." He finished shaving quickly, and held a bit of tissue to his neck to clean the light bleeding before walking out of the bathroom. Well, that was enough activity for the day. Tomorrow, he'd shop. Maybe he'd have a shower..

--

Again.

Welcome back.

WHY?

Do you need to know something?

I need to know a lot of things.

So ask. I'll answer.

Can someone see the future?

Why, did you?

You said you'd answer.

Of course.

So.?

One might be able to see one of the infinite possible futures, I suppose.

What does that mean?

It means that yes; you could see the future. But it might not happen.

So it's not really the future.

It is a possibility.

So, really, anyone could see the future.

Exactly. Anyone can see all of the possibilities of life, with thought and logic.

I suppose that makes sense.

Of course.

--

Shay had laid in bed the entire day, and it was not until just before he woke up that he started having that dream again. This dialogue with this being, whatever or whoever it was, was starting to get on his nerves. Waking, he sat up. He dressed. A rumpled white tee under a wrinkled navy blue jacket, matching pants, large black boots. Something that always went with him, a pair of daggers which he slid carefully into hidden sheaths in his sleeves. He glanced at a handgun lying on the nightstand. Shaking his head, he decided he had no need for it and locked the door behind him as he went out.

--

He walked to the corner store. It had all he needed. Bread, peanut butter, instant noodles. In his arms was all he needed to live on. Setting the items on the counter, the cashier rung them up, and he paid. As the groceries were bagged, he blinked at the cashier. She was pale, and her throat had a gash across it. She should be dead! But he blinked again, and shook his head. The image was gone.

"Are you all right, Shay?" she asked, peering at him.

"I. Yes, I'm fine," he assured her with a smile, taking his bags. He needed more sleep. Or maybe he needed less.

--

Here again.

Can I ask you something?

Me? Well, sure.

Why?

Why?

Why do you do what you do?

What do you mean?

You've been an assassin all your life.

So?

Why?

I'm good at it.

So why did you stop? Why freeze? If you're good at it.

Because.

Why?

I realized I didn't have a right to take the man's life, all right?

But what does it matter?

What do you mean?

If you end life.

What is life?

Nothing.

How can you say that?

It's nothing. What do you think it is?

..

It's only existence.

Yes.

Well, what does it matter?

What?

If you don't exist any more.

I don't follow.

Well it's not like you will remember your life after you die.

Why not?

Well, if you don't exist to remember, how do you?

What about-

Reincarnation? Heaven?

Yes.

What about them?

Something must be true.

Why?

Well, how could there be existence if there is no point?

Why not?

There must be a point to the universe. It must be here for a reason.

Is that your reason for not killing?

Maybe.

It doesn't make sense.

Why not?

Well you either kill them or don't get paid.

I could get a decent job.

As a busboy? A waiter? The guy who picks up mess in the park?

I could do a lot better. I can write a resume.

And what will you put on it? "Killed seventy-two people in my career"?

No-I-

You're twenty-seven years old. You have no experience someone would hire you for.

But-

You never even finished highschool.

I must be able to do something!

And what will the guild think of you leaving?

They'll have to accept it.

I'm sure they'll just do that.

They will.

They'll kill you.

So?

Don't you value life?

You contradict yourself.

No. You do.

--

Shay sat upright, breathing heavily as if he had argued full out with this being without stopping to breathe. His eyes darted about the room, and he kicked off the sheets, placing his feet on the floor beside the bed. Sighing, he closed his eyes a moment, and when he opened them they fell on the handgun on the bedside table. Making a helpless sound, he put his face in his hands, bowing his head. What was he to do?

He'd lost his reputation, but that was not what bothered him. In two days, he'd had visions of death. Himself and the woman in the store. He glanced towards the daggers he had lying on the ground beneath where he hung his jacket. Had he seen the damage of his own blades? No, he would never do that. But then, was it his own gun in his head? Maybe to stop himself from killing her? No, he had more self control.

Maybe just because he was tired. Tired of living the way he was. Seven, maybe eight months he had lived here. Hiding away from reality. He couldn't shoot a man. That had been his job. But he froze. He was questioning his logic. He was keeping himself from doing what he had always done. Opening his eyes again, he raised his head and looked to the handgun. Hell, non-existence would be an easy way out. Just one bullet - he kept it loaded and there so he felt safer. He had a lot of enemies. But he would almost welcome one to come and kill him.

His hand made its way to the gun of its own accord. It hovered above it for a moment, and then picked it up. He held it for some time, staring thoughtlessly. Then, he opened the nightstand drawer and put it in, shutting it forcibly. Neither of those possibilities would become truth. Not yet.

--

What do I do?

Hm? About what?

I don't think I can do what I used to do. Not any more.

Well, what else will you do?

I don't know.

You need money to live.

I'll steal.

Is that better than killing?

What do you know?

I've killed my share of people, you know.

Really?

Yes.

How does that make you feel?

I know I won't be going to heaven.

I thought you didn't believe in heaven.

I didn't say that. If it exists, I'm going to hell. I believe both ways. That way I will not be disappointed.

I suppose that works out.

So do I.

So what should I do?

Whatever you decide to do in life, I ask only one thing.

What?

Don't kill me.

Why?

You'll regret it.

But.

Yes?

Who are you?

.I'm.

Yes?

I'm. You.

--

--