Chapitre 2: Bar Stool: Chapter 2
"Follow me."
That is what Pete said before turning around and walking through the door in the back. After what had just happened, anyone else would surely have run for their life. Out the door and straight to the police. If they did not want to go that far, then straight home and never walk within a block of this place ever again. I was about to take option A, but what he said affected me. I had been denying it this entire time, but I really was very regretful of the choice I made years ago. The choice not to go to the art school. If he could offer me the chance to go back and change that, no matter the cost, I think I should take it. And if it turns out to be a big scam, then oh well whatever. There was no real harm in following, I reasoned. So I took a deep breath and followed him through the door.
---
The door was not ordinary, which did not surprise me, because nothing about the night so far had been. It was an old oak door, heavy and decorated with a beautiful swirling pattern etched into the wood. I could tell, even with my current state of mind, that each inlay was handmade and created with care. The handle too, was a large vertical beam, made out of solid steel and cool to the touch. With great effort, still favouring the arm Pete had grabbed, I pulled the door open and went inside.
The first thing I noticed was that the room was pitch black. Not like a dark-room-in-the-middle-of-the-night black, but a blackness more empty and devoid. The room suddenly felt more sinister, and it was as if there was nothing in the room but the "blackness."
"Oh right, here," Pete said from somewhere in the darkness.
I felt something wash over my face, and when I opened my eyes, I could see. It was like a light had been switched on. Once my eyes got readjusted to the sudden burst of sight, I realized that we were back in the bar.
"What is going on? I swear I just walked through the door. How are we back at the bar?" I said, spotting Pete behind the counter.
"Don't freak out. You did go through the door, this place is just modelled exactly the same as the public bar," Pete replied, as he started wiping glasses. "The only difference are the drinks."
I then did a scan of all the drinks on the shelves behind the counter and realized that they were all unmarked.
"You're right," I said. "Why are those unmarked?"
"Oh you just can't see them yet," Pete replied.
"What?"
"Don't worry, you'll see them eventually. The labels I mean. And sorry for grabbing your arm back there, I hope it's okay," Pete asked, looking genuinely concerned.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I answered. "So what is all this? What did you mean when you asked me if I wanted to go back, and why did you say 'good' when I said that I would go if given the chance?"
"Well I said 'good,' because it meant that I judged you right. The first question will take a little longer to explain, so you might want to sit down first," Pete said, gesturing towards the bar stools.
"Oh, right," I said as I took a seat.
As I sat down, I looked up at Pete's face, and he suddenly seemed a lot older and his face seemed to sag with old age. Pete caught me looking and looked up to meet my gaze, and his face seemed to snap back to its original form.
"I'm a judge," Pete said.
"Excuse me?" I replied, slightly caught off guard.
"I'm a judge. But not like the one you are thinking about right now. I judge people," Pete began explaining.
"Don't all judges judge people?" I asked, slightly confused.
"No, judges in courts judge cases. Not necessarily the people involved themselves."
"Oh, so what does being a judge of people entail?"
"I judge people to see if they are worthy of a second chance. A second chance at life I mean. I make sure that whoever I choose is not going to waste the gift I will give them, and I make sure that they truthful in their intentions."
"So you have judged me to be worthy of a second chance?" I asked a little skeptically, as I have never thought of myself as someone who was "worthy" of anything.
"Yes, of course," Pete replied. "There are a lot of factors that determine whether or not one is worthy, but the most important one is passion and true regret. I could see in you that you genuinely regretted the decision you made not to go to art school, and that you are passionate enough to actually make the change if I gave you the chance."
"So because I deeply regretted my decision to not go to the art school, I am considered worthy? But I feel like a lot of people would fulfill that requirement."
"Yes, but most of them are not willing to pay the cost."
I looked down at my hands. I knew that I said earlier that I was willing to pay whatever the cost, but was I really? How bad was the cost that most people never take it, even when they filled the other requirement?
"Well it's more of a risk than a cost," Pete said, breaking my train of thought. "I could see you worrying about the cost, so I figured I'd explain now rather than later."
"Yeah, I would appreciate that," I replied.
"The cost I mentioned isn't anything like money or your 'eternal soul' or anything like that. The thing about going back in your life to change something, is that no matter what the change, no matter how small, it will have an effect on the future, which will be the present. You may go back and because your memory is not perfect, you will not be able to recreate every little thing you did, and change just the thing you wanted to change. You will do many little things differently, which may lead to huge consequences in the present. Even if you did manage to change just the one thing, even the thing you changed may not turn out the way you thought it might."
"I see. Now I can see why most people did not take the chance."
"Yes. As well, once you change it and come back to the present, you will not be able to go back again. You will have to live with whatever changes you have made, even if that means living worse off than you were before."
Pete then set a glass down on the table and took a bottle from off the shelf. I could not see it properly from far away, but up close, it looked like the bottle was filled with a green mist. He then poured the mist into the cup and it stayed there, as if it was a liquid.
"One last thing, is how to get back," Pete said, as he finished pouring the drink and set the bottle down on the counter. He then reached underneath the counter and pulled out a silver ring that had the same inlays as the door.
"What is that?" I asked, admiring the ring.
"This is the Homeward Ring. Once you feel like you have changed everything that you needed to, put the ring on, and you will be transported back to the present. Make sure to take care of this," Pete said, as he handed me the ring.
I delicately took the ring from Pete, with two fingers. As soon as my skin made contact with the surface of the ring, I could feel the hum of its energy vibrating through my finger and the rest of my body.
"I have now told you everything that you need to know. All that's left is for you to drink. Once you do, you will fall into a deep sleep and will wake up in the past," Pete said. "It not too late to refuse. If you cannot do it, you can just walk out with no repercussions."
"No need," I said, and then I took the cup and drank.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone