1

It was exactly three hours, thirty three minutes after midnight in a windy night, when the resident of the 2B apartment of the red bricks building of the fifteenth’s and the second’s corner woke up from his lumber and blindly jotted down a number on the notepad he kept in the drawer of his night table. Exactly one minute later, at three and thirty four his head hit back the pillow, and as usual, it took him only nine seconds to fall completely asleep.

Only the next morning would he finally think it odd to have dreamt with a telephone number and even more so that he had remembered it enough to write it down.

His strange turquoise eyes blinked down at the innocent eight digits number as he readied himself for work.

His name was Angus Adler. A strange mixture of Scottish and German blood, a one of a kind specimen. At the moment he made his decision he was exactly twenty four years, three days, seven hours and forty six minutes old.

The morning sunrays penetrated the window pane and casted an unearthly glow on his reddish hair. He could just look at the number, then at his telephone device.

The ride to his work place took exactly thirty eight minutes and fifteen seconds on a busy day. He liked getting to his office a little early, for which he had to leave at exactly ten past seven, to spare two minutes for Mrs. Buckwaters, the in front neighbour, and then have ten minutes at the office before the official working time. Enough to pour himself a healthy cup of black coffee, two sugars, and settle comfortably behind his well proportioned desk.

The clock read seven and thirteen. He was late.

A hand ran through his spiky reddish hair while the other twirled the already crinkled paper with the number, again and again.

“Should I call?”

And just precisely what could a person say to another in such circumstances?

“There is a fifty percent chance the number isn’t real.”

Some would beg to differ.

In the end he decided. Why not? After all, he had not even noticed he was already late for work –which was the only important thing he had to do, anyway- in his haste for deciding.

“What the hell… I’m calling.”

With a bravery not many posses, the young man grabbed the receiver and placed against his ear, while the other hand diligently dialled the numbers he had already memorized.

While the beeping tone appeared was when he started using his head. What if it wasn’t a real number? What if it was a red district number? What would that mean? What if it was the police’s number? What would he say, then? What if an old, angry man picked up? How could he get away from it? And the one he probably should have thought about in the first place… What would he tell his boss for being late for the first time in his entire career?

There was a click –he idly noted it had only taken him sixteen seconds to make himself such an array of questions- and after a complete second of silence someone spoke.

“Hello?”

It was a woman. Angus sighed in relief. Somehow he had expected an ogre.

“Erm,” Whom had his resolution gone off to play with? He wanted it back. “Do you believe in fate?”

He flinched at the following silence.

“Is this a joke?” Then the voice turned from incredulous to annoyed. “Listen, I’m not interested in insurance. Don’t call again.”

“Wait!”

Fortunately the person didn’t manage to hang up. Must have been the urgency in his tone of voice what did the trick.

“That’s not it. Sorry. It’s just… How to explain this…”

The other person sighed.

“Would you mind? I’m late for work as it is.”

Angus Adler turned a hundred and eighty degrees and looked at his wall clock, where he read the time to be seven and twenty one. Finally noticing the sole most shocking thing.

“Shit! So am I!”

“See? Though since I’m so generous and kind I’ll forgive you for making me waste my time for nothing. Good bye.”

“Wait, wait!” Later he would find no plausible reason for his irrational behaviour, but at the moment of the conversation he wanted nothing but the other person to listen. “I just had a dream about this number, your number that is, and…”

There was a small pause.

“And you are making me late for work because of a dream,” There was a guffaw, “Good bye crazy person.”

And she hung up. Like that. Without further ado.

Angus Adler was one hell of an enraged and confused man when he made it to work. So much that his boss didn’t even question his sudden tardiness.

--

Lunch break started exactly at one post meridian. Angus Adler preferred to be in the elevator two minutes prior, that way it couldn’t be said he was leaving early, since it took an average of two minutes for the elevator to get to the floor he worked in, taking in consideration the amount of people actually leaving early for lunch and using the lift. Also it couldn’t be said he was a workaholic for leaving after one post meridian.

On contrary, it was said that Angus Adler was a numbers freak. Which made sense if his high position in an accounting company, at such young age, was to be considered.

His friend, Michael Chadbury waited for him patiently at the building’s lobby. He knew perfectly well of Angus need to be precise, reason why it didn’t bother him to be watching the clock constantly after the hands ticked midday so not to miss the right time. It tended to make him hungrier, but the compensation was the knowledge of the upcoming lunch food.

He didn’t know how Angus did it. No one did. He didn’t mind it. Everybody else did.

That was why Michael was Angus’ only friend, he always was, and probably always would be. Thus Angus had to tell him about his dream.

Maybe Michael would say something good for once.

Michael Chadbury was twenty four years, six months, two weeks, one day and one hour old on the dot. A good natured person, kind and forgiving; fact that irritated Angus on more than one occasion. But it was precisely those personality traits of his what allowed the blonde Michael to stand the perfectionist Angus.

“Hey there-” Michael interrupted his words to widen his amber eyes impossibly. “Bloody hell, mate! What happened to you? You look like you got ran over by a pack of wolves!”

Was it really a smart thing to do, asking for advice from that moron? Angus thought to himself with a slight frown.

“Come and I’ll tell you while we eat,” He looked at his Swatch watch, bought in a business trip to Paris. “We have exactly five minutes to get there.”

“You always work me out.”

Angus chose to ignore the way they were stared at by a passer by when his friend pronounced those words.

The café they always had lunch at was accurately four minutes and thirty eight seconds away by foot. It was chosen for their meals, precisely, because of its close location to the building they both worked at. Also the food wasn’t too shabby.

“Okay,” Michael started as he trapped the napkin with the collar of his button shirt, and Angus’ visage darkened at the visible lack of manners. “What’s got you looking like shite?”

A waitress Angus ignored entirely handed them their menus before leaving the table. His light turquoise eyes scanned the list of plates for the day and he made his choice mentally.

“Today I had a dream.”

Amber eyes shone.

“Oh, this is looking good already.”

Angus’ eyebrows twitched, wanting to frown.

“I dreamt with a phone number.”

“Really?”

His hands fisted under the table, and he couldn’t stop himself any longer from sending his friend a nasty glare.

“Would you let me finish already?”

The blonde leaned back in his seat with a groan.

“It’s just that you were taking far too long to speak. I had to hurry you up.”

“As I was saying before the interruption,” He pointedly ignored the blonde. “I dreamt about this number-”

“What number?”

A growl, “Michael!”

“Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

At least he had the grace to look sheepish.

“This number.” He repeated with an air of vagueness. “I jotted it down, so I called this morning.”

Angus counted twenty five seconds before his friend reacted. At the same time a clinking sound announced the return of the waitress to place water cups on their table and ask their orders.

While Angus made his order –the steak, with salt but no paper-, Michael contemplated on the immortality of the crab.

“You got more balls than I ever gave you credit for,” He had to pity the poor waitress who had to write down Angus’ intricate order. She was even this pretty little thing. “Erm, so what did you say? That you had a dream of that number? That it was fated?” He made a pause in his excitement, “Better yet, what kind of person answered the phone? ‘Cause if it was a man and you turn out to be gay then I’d be cool with it. You know?”

The Scottish-German, or German-Scottish, banged a hand against the table, not noticing the waitress had stopped writing even before that.

With a murderous voice he asked, “Why would you suggest such a thing?”

“I was just joking.” Michael nonchalantly took a sip of his water, past used to Angus ire attacks and well aware of the broomstick his friend had up his arse. “So what happened, really?”

At that second Michael noticed the waitress staring at them and with an embarrassed expression gave her his order. A far simpler one than Angus’.

The young woman seemed reluctant before going back to the kitchen.

Nor Angus or Michael noticed the surprise clearly registered on her face.

“So?”

Unwillingly and about to squirm Angus answered.

“I asked her if she believed in fate.”

Then it was the blonde the one smacking the table loudly and calling for the café’s attention.

“Her?” An irritatingly long and fake pause. “Holy smokes! I can’t believe you really did that!”

Annoyed and truly mortified Angus tried to get his friend to quiet down. For goodness’ sake, he even stood up! Was it really that amazing?

Some would say yes. After all, Angus Adler was uptight like no one else. What could have possibly possessed such a man to act so out of ordinarily?

For the first time since Michael Chadbury had memory –and that was not too less than twenty four years, six months, two weeks, one day and one hour-, he saw his friend look disgruntled. Dared he say… Ashamed.

“I did it already, no point making a big fuss about it.”

And he was blushing too. This must have really been fate. Could this be the one to sweep away the one and only Angus Adler off his straight laced feet? God knew the guy needed some real action.

“But she hung up on me when I told her I dreamt about her phone number.”

Angus thought Michael would stand up flamboyantly again. But instead there was a more passive response, but a more fearsome one. A small smile and a glint of the eye. His time experience knowing Michael, which was around twenty years, told him that it meant trouble. Most of the times.

In that case he really couldn’t see the danger of it.

“At least she didn’t tell you to never call again, did she?”

Angus shrugged. Gesture related to him being completely out of his element.

“She did at the beginning, when she thought I was from an insurance company.”

It took exactly five minutes and forty nine seconds for Michael to stop laughing.

AG says: The other day I was having lunch and the TV was on. Usually I don’t pay it any heed but an interesting phrase caught my ear, “Man finds wife through a dream.” It turned out that a man somewhere in Spain dreamed with a phone number, he called, and the woman who picked up later became his wife. That was how they met. Needless to say I was very shocked. I spent a whole two days thinking how great a romantic plot that made. Problem was I didn’t know further details of the real story, so I’d have to make up my own… And it was surprisingly hard; I couldn’t use my normal method of thinking until I came up with a complete story line. Instead it ended up being a sort of Plot-What-Plot thing. I hope though, that this little story moves you all! Enjoy.

Best Wishes from AG