He woke up covered in a sheen of sweat; he had not as much woken up as been scared out of his wits into consciousness, but the truth was he could neither remember it nor even ascertain whether it had indeed been a bad dream that had done it. The clock on the nightstand read 4:12 a.m., which made this the fourth night in a row the very same thing had happened to him. At first, the second time it'd happened, he was mildly bothered but chalked it up to one of those startling coincidences one is bound to experience from time to time. The third time, the night before now, he'd been positively alarmed. Today, however, he was out-and-out distraught, and decided he would stop it somehow -- anyhow -- even if it meant never going to bed again.
He had always been skeptical, but it was getting more and more difficult to believe it had all been some appalling coincidence. He had even begun trying to make sense of it all, and already had the makings of a theory in full swing: Today, the fourth consecutive night, was April 7th. The time he'd been waking up, 4:12, could very well mean April, 12th, if it meant anything at all. April 12th was his birthday. Could it be that "someone", "somewhere", was trying to send him a message that April 12, his 50th birthday, was going to be an... eventful day? 5 days to find out.
He spent all day then trying to go on with his life but it wasn't easy for him to forget that something was about to happen soon. He had always been a normal guy, following the rules, not questioning too much and just accepting who he was and what he had gotten so far, but now that his nights were as enigmatic as things per se, he was sure he wasn't going to be the same guy any longer.
At work, he noticed some people were staring at him mysteriously as if they knew things were confusing but he drew the line at worrying about it. He had lunch alone and didn't talk to anyone. He sadly thought that maybe that would be it, he was going to turn fifty and getting older would mean he was going to be alone. Thus, instead of coming back home straight from work, he headed downtown and started walking down the streets hopelessly, just wondering if what he was being through was really worth it. That was when he saw something that suddenly caught his breath.
He looked thunderstruck, he rubbed his eyes hoping for a sight problem, but it wasn´t, he had to face it! He was here and... there? Actually, he was really there across the street, but not how he looks like today, it was him, it was certainly him when he was 10 years old, a chubby and greasy kid. In a matter of seconds his whole childhood passed through his eyes. He remembered that those were his favorite clothes, and that he used to wear those shoes to play baseball every Saturday. That definitely used to be his favorite day in the entire week because his father was there and that was the only day that he could stay with him – their parents had divorced when he was 7 years old - he has never known why, as matter of fact, he has never asked them why.
In an involuntary movement, he closed his eyes, and felt that happiness again. It was such a great feeling, he felt all over again the thrills and chills of those moments. He couldn´t even remember when was the last time that he had trembled with excitement. All at once he realised that he was dry and all alone in the world. He had never faced the awful truth, for so long time he had ignored it, but it is never late to change, he wanted it changed, he wanted a new life for that little boy. He opened his eyes. He had gone. He was relieved. He crossed the street.
The following day, after sleeping for about 3 hours, John O’Connor – that was his name – woke up tired from a fast-paced dream in which a disturbing woman would insist on staring at him with her cold eyes; it was as if there was something very important to be told. Mixed with such a cryptic image, the dreadful dream also brought John himself as a child again. This time around, though, the happy boy he used to be was deeply lost in fear. Apparently, the mysterious woman was constantly heading towards the boy to warn him about a big event that was bound to happen. Something related to the numbers 4, 1 and 2. Something related to his life. His choices. While awake, however, what exactly she was trying to say and how all those numbers and everything else fitted together appeared to be nothing but an unsolvable puzzle.
Feeling completely devasted and confused, John skipped work that day. He felt it would be stupid to ignore another “sign”- that awful dream among so many sleepless nights was bound to be a sign even for skeptical guy like him. He spent his morning learning everything he could about numerology and dreams. He found himself reading the Egyptian book of dreams and a couple of Chinese documents on the influence of numbers in our lives. He even considered the possibility of calling a “specialist”. Maybe by adding 4 and 1 and 2 he would find the answer to his problems. Maybe not.
Around noon, after massive reading, his mobile rang – it was a blocked number. Nobody said a word. The blocked number tried another call 2 days later. It was now the day before his birthday. Such a call wasn’t the kind of present he was waiting for.
In the living room lied a Bible, carefully opened to Psalm 91, as a sort of lucky charm, or so he was told. He flicked through the Book thanking his frequent visit to Bible School in his teenage years, being able to find Revelation 4 quite easily. No sooner had he reached the chapter than he noticed 'There's no verse 12 in chapter 4. It ended in verse 11. So cliché!’
It was 3.04 am, and he stood by the balcony window as raindrops started hitting the sides of the buildings and coming down bringing a grey smudge of pollution stuck to concrete. The only light on came from the stereo on the rack. He took a glimpse at the caller ID beside his phone. A blinking red light. ‘A missed call?’ he thought. Maybe it had come while he showered. He slowly walked towards the device and brought its display to his eyesight. ‘Out of Area - time 2.14 am’ it read. He decided to dial *60, service he had hired to check on the last inbound call to his home number.
The recorded message from the phone company asked if he wanted to make a direct call to the last number received. He pressed * as confirmation. The recording thanked him for using their service, maybe for him being lazy to the extent of not wanting to take the number down as well.
The telephone rang at the directly connected number. His heart sunk. Would he obtain answers to his queries? Second ring, no answer. Third ring, he was going to hang up. Fourth ring, he heard a noise, someone had picked up at the other side.
‘What took you so long John?’ came a deep-pitched masculine sound, ‘I believe you’ve been quite unsettled lately. I believe we shall meet shortly.’ He looked at the stereo display. It was 3.40 am. ‘Meet me in front of Sunlight Christian Bookstore. I assume you already know the time. Don’t be late – I wouldn’t if I were you.’ The line went mute and even though he tried to call again, he had no luck. Sunlight Christian Bookstore was in the other side of town, he had no time to waste thinking. If he wanted to know what it was all about, he had to act fast. Putting on his jeans and a GAP t-shirt, he left his flat and he didn’t know if he’d ever see it again. Ever.
Stepping into the pitch-dark night John felt the uninvited icy wind slap against his face sending a chill down his spine. Not a single soul shared his uneasiness, for the streets were empty and his only companion was the deadly silence of the early hours. Each step echoed in his head blasting fogged memories of his miserable life.
Time seemed to no longer be following the rules of the universe and suddenly he found himself standing in front of a decrepit building raised above a long-forgotten bookstore where a half-open door carried the number 412 on its left frame. Taking a deep breath he blew the door open and dragged himself to the first step of the stairs leading to the next floor.
He had climbed 4 flights of stairs with no windows or doors to be seen, when, at last, he found himself starring at a shining marble door with the number 12 craved on it. He glanced at his trembling hands and hastily wiped the drops of sweat from his forehead. Involuntarily he glimpsed at his wristwatch: 4.11 AM.
Filling his lungs with both air and courage he grabbed the golden knob and gently opened the door at the very moment the display showed 4:12AM.
‘Right on time, John’, a hoarse voice called from the edges of the room. ‘It’s time for you to learn the truth.’
And he moved forward, unafraid, knowing that soon enough he would finally face his destiny and as darkness embraced him peace and calmness took over his body and mind.
He was finally home.
