The Guilty One

The man sprinted through the empty subway station. It being mid-winter did nothing to prevent sweat from pouring down his back and soaking into his cotton dress shirt. The leather messenger bag jumped around at his waist, tugging at his shoulder as he ran. He scanned his MetroCard and resumed his race against the train. His loafers smacking the tile floor echoed through the empty halls. He turned a corner and saw his train stopped at the platform with its doors open. The automated voice saying “Beware of closing doors” called throughout the sleepy station. Before he could jump aboard, the doors closed and the train pulled away. 

“Shit,” the man said to himself. He checked his watch. 2:45. This late, it’d be at least another twenty minutes before another train came through. He made his way to a nearby bench and sat. The panic of wanting to make his train was wearing off and the late hour was getting to him. His eyes were heavy but the occasional breeze against his sweat stains shocked his body awake. Time passed and the urge to rest overcame the cold air. He was sure the sound of the train arriving would wake him, and he dozed off.

In his sleep, he saw visions of him atop a clock tower, staring off into a city he didn’t recognize. He stood close to the edge, being pushed around by the erratic wind. The night shrouded the buildings below but he saw smatterings of illuminated windows. He couldn’t help but think that behind each window was a person. A person with their own story and own pain. He wanted to talk to them. Every single one. For in the eyes of one, you can see them entirely, but in the eyes of many, you see nothing. He saw the clock hit 3:00. He closed his eyes and took a step off the edge of the towering building. Before hitting the ground the man jerked himself awake, still sitting on the platform bench, though he was no longer alone. A man whom he didn’t recognize was seated next to him, fiddling with the sleeping man’s watch. 

Still sleepy, the man rose from his seat, securing the steel watch to his wrest which had been unclasped.

“The hell are you doing?” he said.

The thief stood up. “Give it here, man. I don’t want any issues.”

“No chance, asshole. Get lost.”

The thief stepped toward the man and pointed a gun at him. “I said… give it here.” His voice was nearly a whisper but it shook with rage.

Finally starting to wake up, the man removed his watch and move closer to the thief. “Okay, fine,” he said. “No need for anyone to get hurt tonight.” Just as he was close enough to hand the timepiece over, he lunged quickly toward the pistol. After a brief scuffle, the sound of the gun echoed throughout the station. The once sleepy man fell to the ground, once again at rest. 

Ten Days Later

Gill walked up the funeral home steps and pushed his way through the heavy wooden doors. Inside, people he didn’t recognize gathered around tables full of trophies, awards, and photos. The whole thing somewhat resembles some sort of morbid graduation party. He made his way up to an usher who gave him a program. At the top, it read “James Artile 1994-2022”. 

“Sorry for your loss,” said the usher. His voice made it quite clear he had been saying that repeatedly all morning.

“Thanks,” said Gill.

He flipped through the program. There would be time for small talk before the ceremony and lunch afterward at a banquet hall. Gill mainly kept to himself as he made his way around to the different tables. He didn’t know anyone there; he was only there for James. He skimmed over the photos and the various achievement certificates before pausing in front of a framed picture. In it, James stood at a display case in a jewelry store. He was smiling ear-to-ear as he stared at his wrist which wore a shiny watch with the tag still hanging from the stainless steel bracelet.

“If you even slightly knew James, you heard about that watch,” said a voice.

Gill turned to his left and saw a man of around sixty staring at the same photo.

“You mean the white dial Omega Seamaster Professional with the black ceramic bezel? Don’t remember him wanting one.” Gill smiled and extended his hand. “Gill.”

The man chuckled and shook Gill’s hand. “He never did shut up about that thing, but he sure as shit loved it. Name’s Ron, James’ father,” he said.

“I’m so sorry for your loss. How’s the rest of the family doing?”

“Some days are better than others,” said Ron. “But we’re getting through it best we can. Forgive me Gill, but I don’t seem to remember you.”

“My apologies. James and I were good friends at UCLA.”

“Did you move out to New York after school?” asked Ron.

“No, I’m still out in Cali, but I happened to be in the city for business so I had to stop by.”

“Glad you did,” he said as he noticed something over Gill’s shoulder. “Let me introduce you to my wife. Tracey!” Gill turned and saw a woman hugging another couple and thanking them for coming before making her way over to Ron and Gill. “Tracey, this is Mr…”

“Tewon,” Gill said. “But please just call me Gill.”

“Gill was a friend of James at UCLA. We were just chatting about his obsession with that watch of his,” said Ron. Tracey picked up the photo of James at the jeweler and smiled.

“Oh yes, he loved that thing. The second he saved enough for it, he bought it, despite our pleas for him to wait.”

“Based on how much he talked of it in college, I don’t think a person alive could convince him differently.” This made the three of them laugh.

“Gill, do you have any memories of James you’d like to share today at the ceremony?” asked Tracey. “You’re his only college friend who could make it and I’m sure he’d love it if you said something.”

“Oh, I don’t kno…”

“Please,” said Ron.

Gill could see the depreciation and pain on the couple’s faces. “I’d be my pleasure,” he said. The two of them smile with what he could tell was genuine gratitude.

The ceremony started and people were invited to put items in the empty casket at the head of the room. Gill felt stupid that he hadn’t brought anything, but opted to write a note on a napkin and drop it inside. It read, “I will forever cherish our last minutes together.” Some family members spoke about James, and someone read a poem about Jesus. According to the program, the ceremony was now over, but Tracey stood. “Hello everyone, we had a surprise guest today. One of James’ classmates from college is here and he’s agreed to say something.”

Gill stood and pursed his slips in a sort of modest smile. “Hello everyone. It is so moving to see such wonderful people here to celebrate such a wonderful life. I am less than prepared for any type of speech so I’ve settled with telling a story.” People stared at him as if they hadn’t had water in days and he was holding a bottle of Fiji. 

“It was our junior year and Gill had just gotten back from his weekly hour of community service at the soup kitchen. We always gave him crap for doing it, but he insisted and even tried to get us to join each week.” The room laughed as if to say yep, that’s James for ya! “He came home more enthusiastic than usual and called a house meeting. Apparently, he had met someone in a really tough situation and he wanted to raise some money for them. His idea was to promote a clothing drive 5K, though it wasn’t a normal 5k.” The response of the crowd signaled they were aware of this particular event. “It was a nearly naked 5K. Meaning, you ran the race nearly naked. To enter, you either donated clothes or paid ten dollars. By the end, he was able to donate fifteen thousand dollars to the family he had met, and around five thousand dollars worth of clothing to the local shelter. James was a once-in-a-lifetime type of person. Not because of what he did but because of what he got others to do. His death is tragic and heart-wrenching, but so long as we do as he would want us to do, he lives on.”

Gill could see tears falling down the eyes of nearly everyone in the room. He himself even struggled to get the last few words out without a shaky voice. When he sat, an older woman grabbed his hand and thanked him for his words. The ceremony was concluded and everyone was invited to lunch, though Gill had no intention of attending. His push to the exit was slow due to strangers stopping him to talk about James. Eventually, he made it back to the usher who wished him a good day, and Gill, him.

He made his way out the front doors and down the stone steps. He crossed the parking lot and unlocked his car in the far corner. Once inside, he pulled out his phone and began looking up directions back to his motel. He was proud that he had gone to the funeral and he enjoyed it thoroughly. He couldn’t help but smile. Once he arrived back at the motel, he changed out of his nice clothes, took his watch off, and sat down at the desk which was covered in papers. It was only 2:55 pm so he had decided to see if any movies were playing nearby that he could catch. After deciding on one, he left, locking the door behind him. 

There in the empty room floor lay dirty dress clothes and a crinkled funeral program. On the bedside table sat a half-read book and an unplugged phone charger. The desk light was on and illuminated an open manila folder labeled “J. Artile”. There were several pages in the folder but on top was a printout of a California Newspaper. The headlines read “Local Student Raises Money for Those in Need” and included a picture of an enthusiastic young man holding one of those giant checks for fifteen thousand dollars. The room was completely silent aside from the consistent chime from the second hand of a watch. There, on the dresser sat that same watch holding perfect time. The white dial Omega Seamaster Professional doing its job, telling any onlooker it was 3:00.