It was not a large room, nor was it a very small room. There was nothing particular about it. There were no decorations or paintings, no windows or photographs on the four plain walls. There was no furniture except for the bench that Alex sat upon and no door except the one to his right. The door was white like the walls and it blended into them so acutely that one could miss it altogether if they weren’t looking for it. He could see no lights or lamps, yet the room was bright and clear as if the whiteness of the walls was bleeding into the atmosphere and illuminating it.
Alex Dayton did not know exactly why he was here. He imagined it was some kind of waiting room, but couldn’t remember if it was for a doctor or dentist. The room was so nondescript it could’ve easily been either. There were none of the usual amenities of a waiting room. There were no fake plastic potted plants or diagrams of eyeballs or bicuspids on the wall. There were no magazines or books and Alex wondered if there was even a bathroom nearby. Not that he had to go, he felt fine actually. There was no pain in his body or mouth, no illness coming over him. He felt just as blank as the room he was sitting in.
Maybe it wasn’t that type of place he was waiting in. Alex realized his memory was shot and he thought perhaps he was in a mental hospital of some sort. A slight spasm of panic shot up his spine as his mind began to relay the possibility that there was something mentally wrong with him. He couldn’t remember how he got here. He didn’t know where here was. He couldn’t remember if he drove here or not. And if he had driven here, where the hell did he park his battered ‘92 Honda? All these questions hammered through him and he wondered what exactly he did know.
That’s easy, he thought, I know lots of things.
It was true. Although his mind seemed devoid of the pertinent knowledge of how he arrived in the white room, it was instead filled to the brim with an extraordinary amount of other things. In his mind’s eye he could see complex equations, mathematical symbols and formulas as clear as daylight. He understood all of them with perfect clarity, despite the fact that he had barely passed geometry in high school. He knew chemical concoctions, the detailed laws of physics and matter...even though, at some point in the distant past he had had trouble remembering the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies. He knew historical facts and figures. He knew important dates and events in a complete catalogued form. He could see the inauguration of Lyndon Johnson, JFK and even Teddy Roosevelt, despite that all happening well before he was even born. He knew almost everything...Except, of course, how he came about this knowledge.
He knew at the very least that somehow all this knowledge had led him to this room…
A couple of weeks before all the knowledge and the white room, Alex Dayton was slowly wasting away to the incurable disease called gambling. Over the course of three years, two months, and six days he had gone from a lowly member of the United States Post Office, to an even lowlier, down and out drunk who had pissed his life savings away in the one and only city of sin, Las Vegas. The monotony of sorting endless amounts of mail that was never for him had finally made him crack, and instead of following in the footsteps of other disgruntled postal workers and opening fire on a crowd with a smoking, semi-automatic rifle, he had elected to fly to Vegas to drain his bank account dry. He was thirty-seven, skinny, and balding. He had no wife, no kids, no obligations to anyone, and a little over ten grand in the bank. The time had come to finally take a risk in his miserable, forsaken life.
The first couple of weeks is what did it to him. He was winning and winning big. He was terminally infected and proceeded to rampage up and down the Vegas Strip until he was rich or dead. For a short period (almost a year to be exact) he was very rich. He was taking stretched limos from Caesar's Palace to the Bellagio. He played big on the Blackjack and Craps tables at Bally's, in an expensive Armani white tuxedo with an expensive whore on each arm. He was not Alex Dayton, the lowly, disgruntled postal worker, but a certified “high roller”. There were no more lonely mornings in his cramped, filthy, suburban apartment. No more late nights with a bottle of spoiled whiskey and desperate trots to the local, sleazy strip joint. Alex Dayton was on top of the world.
However, when one makes it to the top, there is always the chance of falling. After nearly a year of wining, dining, gambling, and screwing, Alex Dayton fell...hard. The “horrible streak”, as he named it in his mind, began about two years ago. He had gotten overconfident, he told himself, he had gotten selfish. He was betting too much and losing a whole lot more. The escort agency ignored his calls, knowing damn well he couldn’t afford their services anymore and he was taking cabs to and from casinos. He had built such a reputation as a winner, that when he began to lose, word spread even quicker.
The last straw came about a mere week ago. He was frantically scurrying from slot machine to slot machine at the Cosmopolitan, trying desperately for something, anything. He owed the Bellagio big time and hadn’t been back there in days. He had not showered or changed clothes and his white tux had turned a pale, yellowish tint. He had taken to drinking again and he reeked of Jack Daniel's, sweat, and urine. His dirty, unkempt hair hung before his hungry, unflinching eyes as he rubbed the gray stubble on his chin. He prayed desperately that the slot machine would reward him. He had become an addict, a junkie on withdrawal hoping for just one more fix. An older couple from Florida had complained to the management and one of the burly casino security guards approached Alex cautiously.
"Sir,” the security guard said, “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Alex was oblivious and only stared at the machine as it whirred and clicked, his jaw slightly ajar. The security guard placed his hand on Alex’s shoulder just as the machine clicked its slots into place. A lemon, a BAR and another lemon. Alex’s eyes widened as his jaw dropped into even more despair. Far away he could hear the security guard’s calm pleading as if he was talking through a screen. Alex clenched his teeth, feeling the guard’s hand firmly on his shoulder. A fire rose up in his gut and he could swear smoke was flaring in his nostrils. In a sudden fluid motion, he turned on his heels and punched the security guard with all his broken, desperate fury.
"You JINXED me!” he screamed, “BASTARD, you screwed me!”
The security guard reeled for only a moment as a moan and then a hush came over the crowd that had formed near by. When the guard had recovered he spun around and walloped Alex so hard we went crashing into the machines behind him. The world went in and out of focus as Alex tried to grasp what was happening. Before he could, he felt large, rough hands grabbing him by the lapels of his dirty, white tux. He was wrenched forward with great force and dragged toward the doorway. He could see the world twirling around him, colors blending together in a blurry soup of flashing gold, red, silver and violet. He was not moving toward the front of the casino, but rather some sort of side door. His skull slammed into the door as it flew open and he felt another pair of hands grab him around his kneecaps. The colored swirl was now a blur of gray and white, a long hallway lit by florescent bulbs. Then, he felt the draft of night air envelope him and the gray swirl turned to black. He then saw the ground rush up to meet him.
He rolled around on the concrete, feeling his right arm soaking in a puddle and one of his shoes dangling on the end of his foot. He heard the shuffling of feet gathering around him while the glow of the Vegas Strip subsided behind a wall of shadow and darkness. His heart was pounding weakly, and his breath was heavy and pained.
"You should not have done that, Mr. Dayton,” a voice said from the shadows, “we treated you nice a long time ago, this is not very respectable.”
Alex tried to look into the direction of the voice, but his vision was much too blurred and his head too heavy to move. He was barely aware of the blood that was trickling down his chin.
"My friend at the Bellagio says you’re in deep shit,” the voice said, “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Dayton, but you can’t bring your problems here. This is a nice place…a family place.”
Alex was wallowing in pain and misery. His whole body felt like an open wound.
"I tell you what,” the voice said, “you can make this up to me and Mikey here, who you socked in the jaw, by never showin’ your face around here, you hear me?”
Alex could not answer, his voice seemed long lost to him as his head went on pounding.
"I don’t think he understands, fellas,” the voice said again. With that, Alex felt several boots ram into his ribs, knocking the wind out of him. He cried out like a child, yelping and bawling.
"Oooo….kkkk…..Okay!!” he managed, “I…I’m soorrr…sorry…”
The thundering blows from the unseen boots ceased. Alex rolled over clutching his gut, crying into the concrete. Sorting mail did not seem like such a bad profession anymore.
"You have a nice evening, Mr. Dayton,” the voice said, mockingly. Alex heard the backdoor to the casino slam shut leaving him alone in the alleyway, bruised and bloody. He was utterly defeated. With what little strength he had left he pushed himself to the closest wall with his legs. He propped himself up against the wall, seating himself between the garbage bin and a row of rusted garbage cans. The odor did not bother him, his senses instead overwhelmed with the pain in his bones and the stink of failure on his clothes.
Alex looked up into the cloudless, night sky and inhaled a stale breath of despair. There was nothing left; no more money, no more hope. Reaching into his breast pocket, he retrieved a small, white matchbook. On it was the logo for the Bellagio. He fingered the matchbook reflectively, thinking back on his first few wonderful weeks. He remembered when he lifted the matchbook from the hotel lobby desk the day after his first big win at the blackjack table at The Golden Nugget. He had said, jokingly, “This matchbook will forever be remembered as a symbol of the happiest night of my life!” He was drunk and giddy and the clean-cut man at the lobby desk only laughed at him before having someone show him to his room. He gave the bellhop a huge tip and slept a drunken blissful sleep. Disgruntled postal workers never dream so vividly.
Now, here he was three years later, lovingly stroking the last burning ember of a life he seemingly would never have again. He closed his fist over the matchbook and let hot tears stream down his cheeks. What now, I wonder, he thought, what now?
"What you got there, son?” a voice said from the shadows. It startled Alex from his stupor and he frantically scanned the alleyway for signs of life. The voice was not the same one he had heard earlier. That voice was coarse and venomous, while this new voice was gentler, yet bolder at the same time. There was a hint at some sort of accent, but Alex could not place it.
"Who…who’s there?” Alex asked the shadows.
Emerging from some hidden corner was a strange, tall figure. In the moonlight and muted glow of the Strip, Alex could see he was wearing a long overcoat and a wide brimmed hat. He had a bushy, brown beard and in his dirty hands he held what looked like a large folder or book. As he stepped closer, Alex could see that the coat was a rusty brown color, splashed with dirt and grease. The hat was similarly colored and its brim cast a shadow over a pair of inquisitive, dark eyes.
"Sorry if I startled you, friend,” the stranger said, “I have that effect, I s’pose”
Alex exhaled a bit, writing off the old man as some sort of vagrant. He gave the matchbook one last look and shoved it back into his breast pocket. With his returning strength and a growing hangover behind his eyes he pressed himself up onto his feet.
"T’was a sad thing, that beating you took,” the old man said.
"None of your business, you old bum,” Alex replied with as much vehemence as he could muster in his state.
"I s’pose not,” the old man said, “but, I reckon I could change your luck.”
Alex stopped and felt that same fire in his gut swelling again. What could some old bum possibly do to change his luck? He didn’t know whether to feel insulted or annoyed.
"Look, old man,” Alex said, his eyes squinting through his growing headache, “I don’t know who the hell you are, but I ain’t got a penny to my name, so go panhandle to someone else!”
"I understand,” the old man said solemnly, “You take care now, Alex”
Alex blinked and then shook his head, as if trying to brush off the dizziness. Had the bum just said his name? The old man was turning away, moving back to whatever corner he had been hiding in when Alex walked up to him and grabbed one of his arms.
"Did you…did you just say…my name?” He realized his hand was shaking in its grip on the old man’s forearm.
"Yeah,” the old man said, “your name is Alex, isn’t it?”
"But, how…” Alex trailed off, not finding his breath.
"You want my help or not?,” the old man said, sounding suddenly impatient, “I don’t have all night to be spending on small talk and the like.”
"I…” Alex couldn’t find the words quick enough, “Who are you?”
"Name’s Ignatius,” the old man said, brushing Alex’s hand from his arm casually, “I’d tell you my full name, but I don't see any point in wasting the time.”
"You…uh…a loan shark or something?” Alex's voice trembled. The night air felt warm and arid and the Strip seemed to have had its volume turned down. There was something oddly familiar about the old man.
"Oh, heavens no!” Ignatius exclaimed, “I’m much more important than that!”
"Oh yeah?” Alex said, skeptical, “Who are you? The Pope?”
"Don’t be ridiculous, son” Ignatius said, drawing himself up, “I’m a wizard.”
Alex rolled his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He turned around and started to walk away from the alley. His night had progressively gotten worse and the last thing he felt he needed was to talk to some fool who thought he was Merlin. He figured the crazy, old bum must have heard the thugs saying his name while they were working him over.
"They didn’t say 'Alex',” the old man said from behind him, “they said 'Mr. Dayton'.”
Again, Alex froze and his memory ran through the last fifteen minutes or so. The old man was right. But…how did he know he was thinking that? Inexplicable terror began to grip him as he turned back to the old man. Ignatius stood stony and silent at the corner of the alley, his face silhouetted under his large hat.
"How…how did you…” Alex stammered. His legs were shaking and the fire in his gut had turned to lead.
"Do you want to stand there looking like a corpse or do you want my help?” the strange old man said.
Alex didn’t like the way he worded it, but he definitely knew had nothing else to lose.
Ignatius sat on a pile of old crates and laid the large book on his lap. In the dim light, Alex could see he had an earnest face seemingly devoid of any maliciousness. He sat beside the old man and folded his hands in front of him. He felt a rhythmic pounding in his body and realized it was the heavy beating of his heart.
"I’m looking for someone and I need your help to find him,” Ignatius said, "This book…is very important and cannot fall in the wrong hands.”
Alex eyed the large book with a great deal of scrutiny. There was still a distant ringing in his head going off like a muted alarm. What little logic he clung to was being challenged and he didn’t know if he would pass this particular test.
"Are…do you want me to sell my soul or something?”
"Good lord, man!” Ignatius said, seeming offended, “Is that what you take me for? Some sort of demon? Perhaps a sort of genie that will grant you three wishes?”
Alex felt his face flush, feeling a little embarrassed. He didn’t know what to think, to be honest. It's not everyday that something like this happens.
"I’m…I’m sorry…”
"You should be!” Ignatius scolded, “I’m not some charlatan! Some cheap illusionist! I don’t pull rabbits out of a hat, son!”
"Ok, ok,” Alex pleaded, rubbing at his temples, “I’m sorry, but I’m having a hard time…digesting this.”
Ignatius sighed and removed his large hat. His head was covered with long unkempt graying brown hair. He rubbed at his eyes as if trying to repress some great strain. He replaced his hat and stood up.
"Well, time’s a wastin’” he said, “Are you in, or what?”
Alex blinked up at the old man, “Help you…find someone? Who?”
The old man looked off toward the end of the alleyway. He seemed to be trying to glimpse something very far away.
"I’m not sure yet,” he said, “But, I’m hoping with your help, we’ll find out.”
Alex shook himself from his daze and stood up, “What are you talking about? Some kind of wild goose chase? I can’t afford that! My life is in the shitter now! I can’t be following around crazy old bums looking for random people, even if you are psychic!”
Alex dusted himself off and began to walk off. The old man only stood motionless watching him with his usual stony glare.
"If you help me,” the old man said, “I’ll pay your debt at the Bellagio.”
Alex stopped and looked at the old man, studying him, “Don’t bullshit me, you old fool...I don’t have any patience left for bullshit.”
"It's true,” the old man said, “I’ll show you how. That is, if you have the patience.”
There was a slight mocking in the old man’s tone, but Alex let it go and decided to humor him, “Ok…Ignatius…show me.”
"Fine,” the old man said and walked down the length of the alley, Alex Dayton in tow. They emerged at last onto the Vegas Strip and began to walk past The Cosmo. Alex felt a twinge of curiosity strike him and decided to play along.
"So, do you know anything about this guy you’re looking for?” he asked.
"Only that he’s supposed to take this book off my hands,” the old man replied without looking at him, “it’s a big responsibility.”
"Oh yeah,” Alex goaded, “what is it? Some kind of spell book or something?”
"No,” Ignatius said quietly, “it is the spell book.”
"Really?” Alex said, not taking the old man completely serious, “Like the first ever spell book? With all the most powerful spells in it?”
"Something like that,” the old man said, sensing Alex’s mocking tone, “It houses more knowledge than any man could ever share.”
"Yeah? Let me see it,” Alex said reaching for the book.
The old man flinched away, stopping where he stood, “No, you mustn’t. You must never open the book. You would not be able to handle what’s inside.”
Alex raised his hands, “Whoa, sorry, have your little book.”
The old man continued on, giving Alex a hardened look. They stopped in front of the Paris Hotel and Casino and the old man looked at the logo with a distant grin on his round face.
"Ah, so long since I’ve seen it…” he lamented.
"What? The Paris?” Alex said puzzled, “You must’ve walked passed it on your way to the Cosmo.”
Ignatius let out an annoyed sigh, “No, not this…this ‘mock up’. I’m talking about the real Paris. The city.”
"Oh,” Alex said, trying to imagine the crazy old wizard climbing the Eiffel Tower.
"Let’s go inside,” the old man said, “this will be fine.”
Entering the casino, the duo made their way through rows and rows of slot machines. Ignatius held the book close to his side with his left arm, his right hand extended somewhat toward the machines. After rounding another row, the old man stopped in front of one unoccupied machine. He looked at it for a few seconds and then, reaching into his pocket, he produced a single token.
"This one,” he said, handing the token to Alex.
Alex was perplexed and stared at the shiny token with childlike wonder. He didn’t understand what was happening, but with careful, cautious breath he reached out and held the token in his fingers.
"Go ahead,” the wizard said, impatient.
Alex stood in front of the slot machine and inserted the token. He felt like he was dreaming. It didn’t feel like it was his hand pulling the lever on the slot machine. He thought for a moment about his encounter at The Cosmo, about the fire in his gut that got him beaten nearly to a pulp. Fear, anxiety, and anticipation swelled in him as he watched the slots whir. Then, with finality, the slots clicked into place and Alex froze.
All sevens.
Alex choked and stifled and then finally screamed. He found himself jumping up and down like a child as the tokens came trickling down and out of the machine. He felt euphoric, giddy, and overjoyed all at the same time. He grabbed at the old man, but Ignatius brushed him off with a disgusted look on his earnest face.
"I won!! I WON!!” Alex screamed.
"Please, compose yourself, son,” Ignatius whispered.
Alex scooped up his winnings and trotted along side the old man with a new found spring in his step.
"That was amazing, how did you…” Alex began.
"This one” the old man said, pointing at another machine.
Alex blinked and looked at the machine as if it were a huge pot of gold. Finally, without anymore hesitation, he inserted another token. Another moment later, Alex was bouncing up and down again, collecting another batch of winnings. He was no longer cursing himself for going along with the old bum.
They duo left the Paris, headed down and hit Caesar's Palace, making another killing. Then they hit Excalibur, Bally’s, and Harrah's always leaving before raising too much suspicion. By the end of the night, Alex Dayton was a rich man again...rich enough to pay all of his debts off.
The two walked down the street back toward the Bellagio. On the way, Alex had stopped and bought a new Armani white tux, being sure to hold onto his lucky matchbook. He tucked it back into his breast pocket and emerged from the changing room to find Ignatius there waiting for him. Up until now, Alex hadn’t bothered to notice if anyone took any offense to old dirty looking bum following him around. They didn’t seem to.
"How do I look?” Alex asked.
"Deceptively like a saint,” the old man scoffed.
"Yeah, yeah, very funny,” Alex said, not letting anything ruin his mood.
"Its getting late now, go on back to your hotel and pay your bill,” Ignatius said.
"That I will, Mr. Wizard,” Alex said quite satisfied, “that I will.”
When they were both facing the hotel, Ignatius stopped and turned to the younger man.
"Well, I kept my part of the bargain,” he said, “Tomorrow night you come meet me in the alley and we’ll go looking…”
"Yeah, yeah, sure thing pops,” Alex said shaking the old man’s hand. He patted Ignatius on his back and turned towards the hotel.
"Don’t forget now, son,” Ignatius said behind him.
"I won’t forget you old wizard,” Alex said not looking back.
"You know what happens to folks you don’t keep their promises to wizards...”
Alex turned to reply, but the old man had vanished. He shivered, noticing the sun peeking over the horizon and hurried into the hotel lobby.
After promptly paying his debt at the counter, as well as generously tipping the staff, Alex was allowed back into his room and slept a deep and peaceful sleep. He dreamt of giant-sized slot machines spewing letters and envelopes all addressed to Alex Dayton. He saw himself swimming in the sea of envelopes, laughing and screaming. As he brushed the envelopes away he saw a dark figure standing at the edge of the pile. He recognized the old wizard Ignatius immediately and froze. The old man was not smiling, but staring at him with his dark eyes.
"You know what happens to folk that break their promises, right?” he said.
Suddenly, a hail of tokens fell from the sky. They were large and heavy and pelted Alex, his skull erupting with pain as each shiny, hard token fell upon him. He started to scream but the tokens began to fall down his throat choking him. He struggled for air as he tasted the coppery metal slide down his trachea. The tokens were everywhere, covering him up, burying him as he struggled for one single breath of precious oxygen…
Alex sat up in his large double bed, soaked in sweat. He trembled all over and it took him a handful of seconds to remember where he was. He looked out of the large balcony window and saw the Vegas Strip reaching out to him with glittering neon claws. He sighed with relief and laid back down, remembering that he was no longer in debt. He smiled to himself, but only for short time before he remembered the stony face of the old man.
For most of the day, Alex Dayton took it easy. He was not going to make the same mistake he did before and piss away all his earnings. He opted to stay in and not visit any of the casinos. He had lunch at one of the restaurants and even caught a jazz show at one of the in-hotel clubs. He was just happy to be bathed, shaved and properly dressed. Not to mention sober. As night began to fall, he ordered room service and watched a movie in his room. It was the musical Camelot. Halfway through the film he turned the television off and laid back onto his bed, a tray of empty plates at his side.
All day, he had been thinking about his “promise” to the old wizard. He thought about that strange sense of déjà vu he had felt talking to him, as if he had known him once before in another lifetime. He also kept thinking about the old man’s cryptic words and his brief nightmare with the deadly tokens. He didn’t want to incite the old man’s wrath, but at the same time, a voice in his head asked, so, he’s psychic...that doesn’t make him dangerous, does it?
He couldn’t comprehend the strange fear lurking within him. The old man’s favor was simple enough...except for the part about not knowing who they were looking for. Maybe the old man just wanted someone’s company. Perhaps he was willing to share his gift with someone if they just spent a few hours with him. Then Alex thought about the old man’s impatience and his look of disgust as Alex hopped around like a school girl after winning big at the slots. There was a piece to this puzzle that was not fitting and it bothered him.
He thought about the old man’s words in front of the Paris Hotel and he seemed to be worldly, if only as a ruse. There was something beyond his dirty clothes and over-sized hat...something, mysterious and worn. It made Alex uneasy and he found himself thinking about how he had even ended up in Vegas to begin with. He thought about how his own boring life had been before the whirlwind of events of the past three years. How it was before hitting rock bottom, getting beaten in an alley and meeting the strange old wizard.
The last day of his “old life” was a grand one. In the morning, he woke up in his tiny apartment, located on the edge of Aberdeen, Washington. He drove his beat up ‘92 Honda to the Post Office and parked right in front of the front door. Afterall, he wasn't going to be taking very long. He entered in a complete state of calm, uniform in hand. He then threw said uniform across the counter into the face of his perplexed supervisor, an older black gentleman named Roland Briggs. He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t even wave. He just stood by idling for a few seconds pondering all the letters, packages and envelopes he had sorted. He thought about all the season’s greetings, best wishes, urgent deliveries and boundless bits of information. He had never seen or known what any of it was. None of it was for him.
The next day he was on a plane to Las Vegas, his Honda sold, his apartment abandoned and his soul finally free.
He didn’t know why old Ignatius made him think of these things. Maybe it was because like all those pieces of mail, the old man was just as enigmatic. He was like a envelope that had not yet been opened…
Alex had finally given in and found himself walking down the Strip towards The Cosmo. His better senses had gotten the best of him and he rationalized that the old man was just a harmless odd ball and nothing more. He would spend a couple of hours placating him and then he would go back to his hotel room.
Where it's safe, a strange voice in his head droned.
He shook off the spikes of fear running through his spine and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, fingering his lucky matchbook. He had decided to go “casual” for this outing, trading in his white tux for a regular shirt, jeans and jacket. He didn’t expect on having to be “formal” for the old wizard. At most, he expected them just to sit and talk for a while about the “mystery man” Ignatius was trying to track down.
Alex rounded the alleyway and started down towards the dark corner where the side door to the casino was. Phantom pangs of pain ran through him as he briefly reflected on the beating he had taken in this very same alley only twenty-four hours earlier. It was nearly midnight on a warm August evening, yet Alex felt the need to pull his jacket around himself tighter. There was a strange and uneasy chill in his bones.
When he finally entered the old man’s hiding place, he felt a weight lift. Instead of finding the old wizard standing like a statue with his piercing eyes studying him, he found Ignatius asleep on a row of crates. He was tucked into a near fetal position, his large hat at his feet and the huge book just above his head. He mumbled in his sleep and fidgeted about here and there like a small boy in the midst of a blissful slumber.
Alex couldn’t help but smile to himself, despite his initial hesitation. He considered leaving the old man sleeping, not wanting to disturb him. He figured Ignatius would understand if Alex told him later that he didn’t want to wake him. Then, in his mind he saw the dark vision of his nightmare staring him down. The old wizard’s words floated before him like angry bees.
Christ, let’s just get it over with, he thought.
He gently nudged the old man at first and then more vigorously. He didn’t know what kind of frame of mind Ignatius would be in upon waking, but he grew impatient and a little scared.
"Hey,” he called softly, “Mr. Wizard, hey there, wake up.”
The old man just sighed in his sleep and turned away toward wall. He drew his coat around himself tighter. Alex sighed, getting a little annoyed and pushed at the old man a little harder. In the back of his mind he wondered what the employees of The Cosmo thought of their vagabond resident.
"C’mon now, you old fool!” Alex said a bit louder, “I came to fulfill my part of the bargain. Wake up, damn it!”
Ignatius only moaned in his sleep, fidgeting a bit more but not waking. Alex stood up and sighed in exasperation . He cursed himself for wasting his time walking out there. He was beginning to accept the very real possibility that Ignatius was just a crazy, old bum. After all, if he was some “all powerful” wizard, one would think he’d be able to find whoever he was looking for on his own. Alex threw his hands up in disgust and started to turn away.
Then his eyes fell upon the book.
In his mind’s eye he could see the old man walking the aisles of the Paris casino. He could see the old man clutching the book and waving his hand around. He could see old Ignatius actually predicting which machine would be a winner. In one night, he had made Alex a mildly wealthy individual just by holding onto his strange old book and waving his hand around.
What was it he had said about it? he thought, he said it ‘housed more knowledge than any man could ever share'.
Alex rubbed at his chin, while he contemplated the situation, He had also said I would not be able to handle what’s inside, right?
His curiosity was gripping him tight now. Was the book really some sort of spell book? All the old man did was hold it, he never opened it. And the old man had said he should never open it. Maybe, all he had to do was hold it.
That was all there was too it.
Alex shook himself back to his senses, grasping what he had been pondering. He couldn’t possibly believe that that large old book was really magical. He couldn’t possibly believe that that book had given the old wizard the power to see which machines would be winners. That was just ridiculous.
Yet, here he was, pondering it all the same.
Alex turned away and cursed himself again for coming out to the alley. The entire experience was driving him crazy. He thought about his penthouse suite at the Bellagio. Maybe, he would just stay in some more, watch another movie. Maybe, he would just forget about this whole ludicrous mess he had gotten himself into.
The old man DID know, he thought, he really did know which machines would win. The book HAD to have had something to do with it.
Alex Dayton stood frozen in the alley, his fists clenched. He had to know, there was no other way around it. He let out a painful breath and turned back toward the sleeping wizard. He imagined himself as a Medieval thief breaking into the heavily guarded keep of the arch wizard, trying to get to his treasure. He crept over to where Ignatius slept and stood over him, watching him like a sentinel. His breaths were coming out faster and with much more urgency. He could feel fear, anxiety, and excitement rush over him in concentrated waves. With shaking hands he snatched the book up, held it close and then turned away, walking towards the end of the alley with quick, nervous steps.
He expected the wizard to wake at any minute and fry him with some sort of magical incantation. He did not. Alex could see the end of the alleyway and could feel the beating of his heart rise to point of pounding in his skull. His breath was ragged now and his walking became a quick jog. Finally, the flood of lights and noise of the Vegas Strip surrounded him. He made it. He gave a careful glance back but found he was not being followed. The wizard had not woken up. He had stolen the treasure and was home free.
Alex stopped and let his heavy breathing subside as he looked over his prize. The large book, he could now see, was leather bound. There was nothing on the cover, no writing or runes whatsoever. It was smooth and cold and Alex thought he could feel a slight prickly sensation on his fingertips as he held it. Out of force of habit, he began to open it, but he caught himself and let the cover fall back into place. Despite having stolen it, he still remembered the wizard’s grim words about opening it.
He looked around and realized he was standing in front of The Cosmo now. There was only one way to be sure if this book was in fact the source of Ignatius’ strange power. With a renewed confidence he walked toward the casino entrance. He was not the drunk, desperate fool he was yesterday and decided to disregard the warning he had gotten before. If this works, he thought, I’ll be rich enough to BUY this place.
The thought was comforting and Alex walked on, realizing the whole point of his pilfering of the book.
He was going to be a “high roller” once again.
Old fears were tugging at Alex, but he walked on, “spell book” in hand. He held the book under his left arm, just as Ignatius did and began to raise his right hand out toward the slot machines. He could see his hand shaking and realized he was feeling very vulnerable and very nervous. As he walked down aisle after aisle he started to feel more and more ridiculous. He didn’t know what he was supposed to feel “coursing” through his hand as he walked by...if anything at all. There was nothing and a familiar voice in his mind began to whine about wasting his time coming out in the first place.
Then he felt it.
It was a strange sensation in his right hand shooting up through his arm. It felt as if the blood in his arm was draining, a pins-and-needles feeling as if the limb had fallen asleep. He stopped where he was and his body shook with fear. He looked and saw his hand outstretched towards a solitary, unoccupied slot machine. Slowly, he lowered his hand. He stepped closer to the machine, holding the book close to his chest, the pounding of his heart thudding against it. As he stared at the machine, he suddenly saw in his mind a whirring of numbers and symbols...a row of sevens clicking into place as clear as if he was remembering it. He blinked up a few times and with a slow, lethargic motion, reached into his pocket and produced a single token.
Carefully, he inserted the coin and pulled the slot machine’s lever. He watched, with dazed, anxious eyes as the slots whirred and clicked into place.
All sevens.
Alex could not speak, he couldn’t even scream as he had done yesterday. It worked, his mind blared, it REALLY worked!
In a slow cautious motion, he reached down and collected his winnings, stuffing the coins into his pockets. His senses had been knocked beyond belief. His head felt light and he could feel beads of perspiration forming on his furrowed brow. In his grasp, he could sense the life he always wanted. There would be no more worries, no more hitting rock bottom. He would be a certified “high roller” forever. Never again would he be a lowly anything.
Alex Dayton was on top of the world, once again.
Michael “Mikey” Capistrani had been a casino security guard most of his life. It did not pay as well as perhaps some other jobs he could have had but, he was in good with the management and given a lot of leeway. Not to mention, occasionally getting to beat the living hell out of some disorderly patron. When he was younger, Mikey was a prize fighter. In the end, it turned out that he had all the power but none of the speed or finesse like most of the other guys. So, when his cousin Bobby had offered him the job as security guard at The Cosmo, he took it. Bobby had said there was always a chance he would get to hit something.
And so, he did his job and Bobby and the other higher-ups had given him a lot of freedom as far as days off and such. However, recently Mikey had asked for the weekend off to stay with his sick mother at the Nevada State Hospital. Bobby had told him, quite sincerely, that the weekend was going to be too busy for him to lose his best security guard. He said it was late summer and a lot of families came through. He needed Mikey there to make sure things ran smoothly and nobody made any trouble.
Bobby had said he was sorry about his Auntie Marie, Mikey’s mother, but they would both go to see her when the summer rush was over. Mikey had argued, but in the end accepted. After all, his cousin Bobby was an honest person and sincere enough. Mikey would take care of any trouble that rose up during the weekend rush and Bobby would make it up to him. That was just fine with him.
As Mikey stood there on the casino floor, he got a call through the earpiece he wore while on the casino floor. It was his cousin, “Mikey, that idiot from yesterday is back. What’s his name…Dayton. He’s at machine C-32.”
Mikey looked over the crowd towards the rows of slot machines, “You gotta be kidding me…didn’t we beat the shit out of him already?”
"I know,” Bobby’s filtered voice replied, “but, he’s back and running the slots again. Can’t tell what he’s doin’ from the surveillance cams, but he looks like he’s holdin’ a book or something. Don’t know what he’s up to but meet me over there.”
"Gotcha, Bobby,” Mikey replied back into the mic on his collar. He shook his head as he walked toward the slot machines. It was going to be one of those nights, he thought.
Three slot machines and all of them winners. Alex was reeling with euphoric waves of excitement. This time, the addict was getting an endless supply of his drug of choice. He was about to move on to winner number four when he felt a familiar grip on his shoulder. He turned around and came face to face with the same exact security guard from yesterday. There was no mock pleasantness in the guard’s round, bumpy face. His large frame hovered over Alex dwarfing him. Alex figured he weighed at least 250 pounds. His arms were massive and his hands seemed like giants’ hands. He imagined the guy must’ve been a wrestler or boxer in his previous profession.
Yes, he was, a voice said in his mind. Alex wasn’t sure how he knew, but he was sure this man was a fighter before.
"Mr. Dayton,” the large man said, “We already told you, you are NOT welcome here. Now get your little book and…”
"Your mother…” Alex said suddenly. He wasn’t sure what he was saying, but the words came out anyways, “…she’s sick, right?”
The large man froze. His small eyes squinted with powerful scrutiny, "How…how did you know that?”
"I don’t…I don’t know…” Alex stammered. His mind was racing. He wasn’t sure how, but he was positive this man’s mother was sick. He could see her lying in a hospital bed at the Nevada State Hospital. Her name was Marie Capistrani. Her son’s name is Michael Capistrani and he was a prize fighter about fifteen years ago. They live on the outskirts of Vegas, in an apartment complex. Alex clenched his teeth. How the hell do I know all these things?
Then a splinter of realization stabbed at him. He looked down at the book and it all clicked into place. It was the book. What was it the old man had said about knowledge? The book was telling him things. When he held the book, Alex suddenly knew all these things. Just as he knew which slot machine would win, he knew everything about this man. He just knew.
The large man was still standing there, dazed, and noticed Alex staring at the large book. In a fit of puzzled anger, he lunged at the book and ripped it free. Alex lurched forward trying to hold onto it and almost fell flat on his face.
"What the hell is this anyway?” the larger man exclaimed, “how do you know about my mother! You don’t know shit!”
"Give it back!” Alex yelled, “That’s my book! You can’t just take it!”
"Oh yeah?” the large man said, “What’s in it anyways?”
The man started to open it and Alex yelped. He lunged at the security guard trying desperately to pull the book free. The two struggled on until finally, the security guard forced Alex off of him. Alex went flying backward into the closest slot machine. When he regained his footing he looked back at the larger man. He was just starting to open the book…
"Mikey! What the hell is going on here?” Alex recognized the icy, venomous voice that he had heard yesterday during his beating. Mikey, the security guard, slammed the book shut and looked up surprised. The other man was wearing a black suit, his black hair was slicked back and behind him stood two more monstrous security guards. Alex thought that he had gone from the wizards keep into the lair of ogres.
"Bobby, I got his…book,” Mikey said, “he’s going crazy over it. Tried to attack me.”
"Well, we’ll get him out of here,” Bobby replied, straightening his tie, “sorry for all the all commotion folks! Please resume whatever you were doing!”
Suddenly, Mikey stopped where he was and stared at Bobby. Alex stood by frozen with fear. He wasn’t sure if he was more afraid of the ogres or of the wizard’s impending wrath over losing his “spell book”.
"What…what was it you said about ma?” Mikey said in a voice that sounded half asleep.
Bobby stared back at Mikey with a sincerely puzzled look, “What the hell are you talkin’ about, Mikey? I didn’t say anything about your ma.”
Alex looked at Mikey and saw the larger man’s giant hands clutching the book. He suddenly realized what was happening and he cringed.
"You said…,” Mikey continued, “You said…you couldn't care less if she dies?”
Bobby cocked his head to one side and looked at Mikey as if his arms had fallen off, “Wha…What are you talkin’ about? I never…I never said that, Mikey!”
"You did,” Mikey said, a hint of rage began to seep into his words, “You said it to Frank…in the lounge…yesterday afternoon….after I had left the room…”
Bobby looked very nervous and with a shaking hand adjusted his tie, “M..Mikey…c’mon now…I didn’t…I didn’t mean…”
"You son of a bitch!” Mikey suddenly exclaimed, “I’ve given you fifteen years of my life! And this is how you repay me?”
Mikey inched his way closer to Bobby, his small eyes glaring with fury. Bobby held up his hands and backed into his entourage, pleading, “Mikey…Mikey, please, I love your ma! I didn’t mean…I mean, I didn’t say…I…I…”
Before Bobby could say anything else, Mikey was wailing on him. The book fell to ground, inches from their feet as Mikey pounded away. Bobby was pressed into his entourage who then both tried to pry Mikey away. The casino erupted into chaotic screams and yells as Alex crouched down, trying to pluck the spell book out of the fray. When his hands were securely around it, Alex pulled the book free and made a mad dash through the crowd. He pressed his way through the droves of spectators, making his way to the casino entrance. And then suddenly, he was free.
Alex took a minute to catch his breath and when he did he let out a huge, hearty laugh.
"Karma’s a bitch, boys!” he proclaimed to no one in particular. Not only was the book making him rich, but it actually saved him. He decided that stealing the old man’s book was the best thing he ever did. The dreary days of the Aberdeen Post Office were forever behind him. The sky was the absolute limit. He figured the old bum had probably found the book and in his warped mind made up the whole story about being a wizard. Alex figured he would too if he had found this little beauty.
As he stood there on the Las Vegas Strip, Alex realized the book was making him aware of everything around him. He was getting vague impressions from everyone that passed him on the street. He saw pictures of families and addresses, thoughts of ex-boyfriends and mistresses. He saw passing glimpses of responsibilities, occupations and hobbies. He knew everyone’s name that passed by. He got the impression of every Chris, Lester, Matthew, Jessica, Michelle, Alex, Jon, Ana, Louis and Oscar that even came close to him. His knowledge was growing faster than he could comprehend.
And yet, he wanted more. This new found knowledge was becoming his new drug of choice. He wanted more and more details, more impressions, more glimpses. He decided he would hit a couple more casinos and then head back over to the Bellagio for a private party with anyone and everyone. The thought of having that many people around and getting to glimpse their inner thoughts made him a little excited. He had opened the door to a whole new world. He was not only going to be rich, but he was going to be a god.
He thought about all those random tidbits of knowledge flowing around him, without him ever getting the chance to share in it. Now, suddenly he knew it all.
As he stood there contemplating his plan of action, he decided that he needed to arm himself with even more knowledge. He could not wait any longer to open the book. He disregarded the old fool’s ramblings and warnings. Maybe the old man was just afraid of all the power the book had to offer. Maybe he wanted it all to himself. Well, not anymore, Alex thought. The knowledge was his for the taking. He would not be dissuaded by the empty threats of a senile, old bum. Alex laughed to himself, thinking about how afraid he had been before, how foolish.
He slowly opened the book. He felt a wafting breeze of cool air come from inside and it only pressed him on to open it all the way. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought about the old wizard’s warnings, his cryptic words about “more knowledge than any man could share.” Well, Alex thought, the old man was much too selfish. How he could not share this knowledge was ridiculous. Now, he had lost it and it belonged to Alex Dayton. Alex opened the book all the way…
...and was flooded with the white, blinding light of all-knowing…
It was not a large room, nor was it a very small room. Alex wondered how long he was going to have to wait in the white room. He couldn’t wait to use his boundless knowledge. He thought about the stock market and real estate. He thought about gambling and casinos. He stopped at that thought and squinted hard as if trying to place a name with a face. Something about gambling seemed familiar. Was he gambling before he got here?
He brushed the thought aside and began to run through all the other possibilities. He looked up at the door and wondered if anybody was ever going to come get him. They just had to. He had so much to tell everyone, so much to do. Even though he wasn’t sure where here was.
He shifted his weight a little and looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing a white tuxedo. He frowned and wondered what kind of place he was in to be dressed so formally. Out of nowhere, he immediately got the impression that something very important was supposed to be in his pocket. He reached into it, but there was nothing inside. What was supposed to be there? A letter? An envelope? No, it wasn’t anything like that…something smaller…something special…
He stood up, and began to pace. He was getting very impatient and was beginning to wonder if anyone was ever coming for him. He leaned up against the wall and let out a heavy sigh.
His eyes widened and he turned around toward the wall. He had heard something, were they voices? He pressed his head up against the wall and listened. This time he was sure it was voices he was hearing. They were muffled, but he could hear them alright. As he listened, he slowly started to make out what they were saying…
"They said he was found like this,” the nurse said, “on the strip just outside The Cosmopolitan, near the Paris."
The doctor looked over the patient with his dark, inquisitive eyes and nodded. Behind him, another doctor entered and began to talk to the nurse. He could hear what they were saying, but pretended like he couldn’t.
"What’s the situation here,” the second doctor asked, it was a woman’s voice.
"They found this guy on the Strip, in a catatonic state,” the nurse said, “EEG and CAT scans show massive amounts of brain activity but his motor functions seemed to be…well, fried.”
"Ok,” the second doctor said, “Thanks.”
The nurse then exited as the female doctor turned to the first doctor who was seated next to the patient, looking him over.
"I’m sorry,” the female doctor said at last, “I’m Dr. Sterling and you are…”
"Patient is showing rapid eye movement,” the man said, “There is a lot going on in there all right.”
"Where…what hospital are you from?,” Dr. Sterling asked.
The man turned to her and let out a small sigh. He wore small round spectacles and had a graying brown beard, “I’m a specialist from Europe.”
"Really?” Dr. Sterling said, picking up the patient's clipboard, “What part of Europe?”
"Paris, France,” the specialist replied, “Look, Dr. Sterling, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have time for small talk or the like.”
"I’m…I’m sorry, doctor,” Dr. Sterling replied, “What exactly…”
"I’d like to run some tests on the patient,” the specialist said quite calmly, “See if I can get any sort of reaction. Could I have a moment alone please?”
Dr. Sterling stood silent for a minute. She was an attractive young doctor with short, dark hair and square framed glasses. She stared at the specialist, considering his request. She didn’t even know his name.
"Do I…Do I know you?” she said, cocking her head to one side trying to place the specialist’s familiar face.
"No,” the specialist said, “I don’t s’pose so. May I, doctor?”
Dr. Sterling was snapped out of her daze. There was something mesmerizing about the older, grizzled specialist, “I’m sorry, doctor, I’ll wait outside.”
"Thank you,” the specialist said and he watched Dr. Sterling exit and close the door. He then turned back to the patient and frowned.
"Alex Dayton,” the specialist said, “I have to say, I’m very disappointed.”
The patient only stared, breathing rhythmically into his breath mask.
"You know, I thought you might actually be the one,” the specialist continued, “You had the power, you had it all along. Nothing is random like you said.”
If the patient was conscious of what was happening he would’ve seen the other man holding a small white matchbook. The doctor turned the book over in his fingers eyeing it carefully.
"I had to test you...I had to make sure, I had to tempt you. You had failed before and I had to set you up to fail again. I had to see if you would make the right choice.”
The patient only stared on into nothingness…
In the white room, Alex pressed his head to the wall and listened. His face twisted in horror and he began to pound the white wall.
"Ignatius!” he exclaimed, “I…I remember! I didn’t mean to…let me out!!!”
Alex scrambled to the door and tried to open it. To his horror he realized something he had never realized before.
The door had no doorknob.
He began to pound on the door, “Ignatius, please!!! I’m sorry!!! Let me out of here!!!”
The muffled voice from behind the wall continued on…
"Do you remember what I said?” Ignatius said, closing his fist over the matchbook, “I said the book housed more knowledge than any man could ever share.”
The patient’s blank stare did not waiver.
"And now Alex, you will never share any of it."
He stood up and looked down upon the catatonic Alex Dayton and shook his head, “You were not the person I was looking for.”
Somewhere, behind the blank stare, in the white room, Alex screamed and pleaded. Ignatius could hear him, but he wasn’t listening.
He opened the door and motioned for Dr. Sterling to enter, “Come on in, doctor.”
"Well, any results?,” Dr. Sterling asked.
"Afraid not,” he replied, “I don’t think he’ll ever be waking up. Shame really.”
With that, the old man placed the matchbook into his pocket and walked out of the room. He seemed to be weighed down by some great burden.
"What was that?” Dr. Sterling asked pointing to the man's pocket with her pen.
"Oh…nothing, a memento,” he said, “a burned out talisman.”
"What?” Dr. Sterling said, squinting her brown eyes under her glasses.
"Nothing,” he replied and began to walk down the hallway. He carried what Dr. Sterling thought to be a clipboard at first but it looked more like a leather bound folder or book.
"Where are you going, doctor?” she asked as she watched him amble down the hall.
"To look for someone."
"Someone in the hospital?” she asked. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she knew him.
"No,” the old wizard replied, “I’m afraid the person I’m looking for is not here.”
With that, she saw him disappear around the corner. As soon as he was gone, she felt the memory of his presence begin to ebb as if he was only a dream. There was something captivating about him, and Dr. Sterling thought he was quite the enigma. Or as someone else might have said, he was like an envelope that had not yet been opened…