Ghost From The Past

No matter how much Jake tried to deny the reality, it didn't change the fact that "Tristan" stood before him. The little brother he feared as much as the devil was back. It shocked him into dismay, so much that Jake forgot to breathe. But that wasn't the issue. What should he do? He was cornered and couldn't flee, stuck between the wall and the man. His eye darted everywhere, but he could not see any escape route. He had to retreat to somewhere safe first; only after that could he take the time to reorganize his thoughts and ponder over what the fuck was going on. Right now, he couldn't even think straight.

But, of course, Tristan didn't let him.

"How's your eye?" he asked as he slid his fingertips on his cheek to lift the eye patch. He brought it atop his head and peered at the empty eye socket. "Did it heal well?"

Jake did not answer. The doctor had told him the incision had been clean, so methodical that it left no superfluous injuries. He was about to sing the assailant's praises when they met eyes. The elderly man shut up at once and awkwardly took his leave. 

As expected, the injury healed well—frighteningly well, even. The masked man had been careful not to hurt him more than necessary. He had said he'd gouge his eye out, and that's what he did, not injuring anything other than the optic nerve and the muscles directly attached to the eye.

To think Pierrot was a ghost of his past…. No wonder Jake couldn't find any information on him. He'd turned over every stone he could think of, yet nothing came out of his investigation. He did have an inkling about which organization was behind the kidnapping incident but had no idea who the masked man was until today. This version of Tristan shouldn't exist in this timeline, so it made sense if his existence wasn't recorded anywhere. If anything, everything related to him must have been forged. That made Jake wonder: had Tristan appeared out of thin air? And how could he be in this world when his younger self still existed? It contradicted everything he knew about timelines—and everything Santa had told Misha and Gabriel. But, honestly, were Santa's words even reliable?

"What's with the unhappy look?" Tristan cocked an eyebrow as he watched the eye patch fall back into place. "Dear, I was only doing my job. Believe me when I say I hadn't expected you and my younger self to be my "clients" that day. I was quite surprised when your names popped up."

Hearing this, Jake finally forced himself to speak, "Who brought our names forth?"

A low chuckle resounded. "Sorry, I can't tell you that. Work ethic, you know? But you should be aware of just how rotten your father is and how many enemies he has. You have plenty of choices to pick from." 

Silence fell for an instant. Tristan was right, but Jake didn't want to agree with him. Matthew was rotten to the core and had drawn animosity left and right with his businesses. Knowing this wasn't helpful, however. The people he had offended were numerous and weren't the kind to shout their names on rooftops. Finding their identities was another thing altogether. And Jake had to be careful not to attract unwanted attention while poking at the hornet nest; a real headache.

"I've been curious about one thing," Tristan continued, "why save my younger self? I thought you would watch from the sidelines. Maybe even relish in his pain."

Why? Jake still didn't have a definite answer. Nevertheless, he said through gritted teeth, "Because he isn't you."

Laughter soon echoed throughout the empty alley. Tristan brought a fist to his mouth and cast him an amused glance. A smile stretched his lips, and Jake felt his legs turn to jelly. He knew this smile all too well. It was gentleman-like, so gentle and innocent that it made people's heart melt. But it hid deep-rooted maliciousness underneath—it wasn't kind in the slightest.

"Let me give you a piece of advice: bring your brother to the hospital and get his head checked in his late teens, or I fear he'll turn out just like me."

As Tristan spoke, he took a step back. He waited a few seconds before adding with a soft sigh, "I do pity this child, though. If only he didn't love his brothers so much, his life wouldn't be as hellish right now. I wonder how often he wakes at night, crying and wailing."

"What?"

"You and Gabriel," Tristan said as he turned around to leave, "sleep like logs, don't you? But well, this isn't my problem. I already said too much. See you."

Tristan didn't glance back and left, disappearing into the main street. After his departure, Jake's legs finally gave in, and he fell on his butt. He had repressed the fear he felt at meeting this old ghost of his past, but now that Tristan was gone, it overwhelmed him. He didn't even know how he mustered the courage to talk back. Memories he had tried not to think about these past few years had come knocking at his door, and it had been hard to concentrate on whatever Tristan said.

Jake leaned against the brick wall, not minding how filthy it was. No doubt his pants and shirt were stained with dirt and unknown substances, but he couldn't care less. His little brother's words were echoing in his head like a broken record; that was all he could think about.

What the hell was that…?

***

The footsteps resounded far and wide as Tristan walked into a peculiar apartment. If looked at from outside, it appeared relatively small, but once inside, it was infinitely bigger; the space was distorted and endless. It didn't shock Tristan, however, and he took off his shoes at the entrance hall. That guy was particular about this, and he didn't want to get nagged for dirtying the floor.

After closing the closet, Tristan quietly ventured further inside. He walked by bookshelves two stories high, each filled to the brim with old-looking books that had been flipped over countless times. Antique astronomical devices lay at the feet of the bookshelves, some ticking and rotating by themselves. Not much light entered the room, yet they glinted with a brownish-golden metallic shine. It drew the eye, but Tristan didn't spare them a glance. Instead, he continued walking, his pace steady, until he reached a den. He gracefully sat on a sofa-like chair, putting his left leg over his right, and crossed his fingers on his knee. Then, he smiled at the man half-sitting on a table, reading.

"You did something useless," the man said, not taking his eyes off his book.

"Well, I didn't expect Jake to run after me. I don't remember him being this reckless."

"He isn't exactly the brother you know."

"I'm aware," Tristan nodded. "This dear brother of mine didn't survive the cricket incident in my timeline. Years change people, and he didn't get the chance to grow old where I'm from. I guess I know very little about this Jake."

The man shut his book and peered at him. Despite his youthful appearance, his piercing gray eyes seemed to behold the knowledge of all times and places. Coupled with his delicate but sharp facial features, he had an overwhelming presence. Still, Tristan didn't flinch, and his smile didn't falter. He had long grown used to this man's charisma over the years. It might have impressed him once upon a time, but not anymore.

"You have been doing a lot of useless things lately. It's not like you."

"Are you referring to Jake's eye? It was the quickest way to get a response from Matthew. He'd have delayed for days otherwise, and who knows what my higher-ups would have decided to do."

"Still, you could have used other ways."

"I could have, but why should I wrack my brain over something I could easily resolve by sending an eye?" Tristan's smile deepened. "Don't look so unhappy. If anyone other than me had been sent to take care of the kidnapping incident, Misha would be dead and buried six feet under by now. And this isn't what you want, right? You need him alive, or this event will never happen. You finally are on the right track after all this time, so no way in hell are you going to waste this chance. That is the only reason you pushed me into this world and ordered me to infiltrate that group. You knew this incident was coming. Too bad you couldn't directly intervene and had to rely on me."

The man lowered his eyes. Seconds went by before he whispered, "You honestly feel no guilt nor remorse for what you did, don't you? You're an emotionless monster through and through."

"But I'm still obedient enough, am I not? Which makes me the perfect tool to do your bidding. If not, you'd have discarded me long ago," Tristan shrugged, unfazed by the accusation. "However, can you talk? Knowing how all of this will end, I wonder who truly is the monster between you and me."

The man did not answer, for he had no answer to offer. He had played with countless timelines to make this event occur, bringing along deaths and pain. He knew it was necessary, but it didn't change the fact that many lost the people they held dear and were plunged into despair. Some worlds were turned to dust because of his poor choices, and regardless of the final outcome, his crimes could never be erased. He wasn't shameless enough to ask for forgiveness, especially not from Misha and his loved ones. 

"Stop talking nonsense and get back to work," the man ultimately said, opening his book again. "Your little stroll has disturbed your schedule, hasn't it?"

"Don't worry so much. I know what I have to do."

"I hope you do."

Oh but Tristan did. He knew better than anyone what had to be done. The only difference was that he had no scruples about ruining people's lives, unlike the man.