Chances to Another Life

2. Solace

The empty streets and the brightness of the lights along the road made me quicken my pace as I looked around. The dark alleys I passed, along with walls covered in graffiti created by mischievous hands, gave the illusion of ghosts I had seen on television.

I'm not usually afraid of supernatural beings or the dark. I often come home late at night when I work overtime and stay alone in my tiny apartment, and nothing scary has ever happened. But this time was different. There was a strange feeling as I walked through the city park area that I had walked through a thousand times in my life.

The terrorizing text messages stopped at the last message. Whoever was behind this terror certainly succeeded in making me follow their wishes. Only this time, they managed to scare me into ignoring my common sense telling me to turn right and quickly leave the city park where the Liveless building is located.

No, I am determined. I will find this person and interrogate him—how could he know my name? I never even use my real name for social media accounts, and I never post provocative content that would invite someone to spy on my life.

Honestly, even if someone is really stalking me, it's actually pitiful for them to have to witness my monotonous daily life.

The area around the city park is actually filled with shopping malls and hotels; usually, it is crowded with people looking for entertainment regardless of the time of day or night. 

Many people come out of hotels or malls carrying bags full of purchases, while some teenagers sit on benches pretending to be busy scrolling through their cell phones because they don't have much money to spend.

I almost missed the hustle and bustle, even though I prefer to stay under the lamppost when I have to leave the house and keep my distance from people. Today feels different, there are only five people I met on my way to where I will find the stalker.

A light breeze touches my neck, making my skin crawl. I grip my phone tightly, routinely checking to see if the stalker has sent me another message. I'm so engrossed in staring at my phone screen that I don't realize I've entered the inner sanctum of the city park.

Let me explain. The term "city park" is just a name for the suburban area in my city, and while there is a park, it's not a kid-friendly park with various playground equipment like slides and swings. Not at all. What they call a park is actually five blocks of pavement, each two meters long, planted with colorful flowers whose names I don't know, as well as three white-painted benches that have peeled off placed by the roadside.

I suspect that this city layout was just an attempt to fill in leftover space that the inspectors required to be covered with plants amidst the towering buildings.

Well, because of the way this city is structured, there are probably many abandoned buildings within its urban area.

Hotel Liveless is one of them. I don't understand what the hotel owner was thinking when he named it that way. There's no life here. It makes me wonder if the guests staying here are a group of depressed individuals who happen to be facilitated; maybe they have some sort of event together where they share their bitter life stories—maybe that's why this hotel has stopped operating.

From behind a lamppost, an old rusty crowbar from a seemingly unfinished project becomes my weapon as I take a picture of the Hotel Liveless' name, which used to be adorned with neon lights and stood proudly in its time.

One thing is for sure, this hotel was deliberately chosen because its name relates to the content of the stalker's message.

Do you feel your life is a failure?

Every time I remember it, my heart becomes anxious and empty. Deep in my heart I answer, yes, indeed. I don't deny it. In fact, I have known it since I was a teenager. I spent too many days complaining and mocking myself. That's why I don't want anyone else to know what a failure my life is.

This stalker will get what he deserves. I walk towards the hotel entrance, looking around and tightening my grip on the baton, admittedly shaking a little. But hey, someone like me who has nothing shouldn't be afraid of anything, right?

After making sure it's safe, I push the door open, and immediately an unpleasant smell assaults my nose, not to mention the inch-thick layer of dust on the spot where I'm standing.

Coughing uncontrollably, I turn on the flashlight and shine it around. This hotel has three floors; I'm not interested in going up to the next floor because, aside from worrying about the foundation of the stairs, only a fool would willingly fall deeper into a stalker's trap.

I was already stupid enough to come here; there's no way in hell I'm going to be one level more stupid.

This floor is the lobby; its design still exudes a vintage style, with paintings hanging on the walls that give an eerie impression. 

This place is perfect for filming supernatural programs; just waiting for a TV station to discover the existence of this dark hotel. Sofas and large columns seem to hide something that could suddenly jump out at me and make me run frantically - providing an entertaining spectacle for the stalker.

It should be noted that even though I haven't moved from where I was before, I'm still mentally struggling with whether this message is from a stalker or maybe just a text message from my co-worker who likes to tease me as "the mindless one". Yes, these are my friends.

"It seems I'm getting stupid because of my age." I monologue in the dark. The baton I wield suddenly loses its function, for I am not even intimidating anyone.

"Foolishness is not because of age, you know. There are many fools who are young and old. Don't worry."

A baritone voice answered me from behind. I was so frightened that I couldn't even move my fingers. The voice was so real that it was impossible for me to hallucinate out of fear.

Shortly after, a middle-aged man appeared in front of me. I blinked quickly to escape the horror, for in contrast to his deep and menacing baritone voice, this man's figure was tiny, with shoulder-length black hair. 

He reached only to my shoulders and was dressed like a construction worker, with dried cement stains on the folds of his pants.

Oh, and there was something familiar about his face. He resembled actors who played dwarves in fantasy movies; an old face, but with a short body. His nose was long and pointed, his eyes were round and squinted upwards, and his lips were thin, as if he didn't have any.

It's hard for me to believe that I'm afraid of someone like him.

"Hmm." He cleared his throat. "After meeting you in person, I can immediately sense how empty your soul is. If we were to compare it metaphorically, humans have fire in them, while you don't even have ashes."

He was speaking philosophically, and although it was difficult to guess his meaning, I somehow knew what he meant.

"Are you the one who has been harassing me since yesterday? Please stop and don't send messages with new numbers when I block you," I said irritated.

He wagged his finger as if to say, "Oh no."

"Don't change the subject, dear. I'm a helper; just by looking at someone, I can understand their innermost thoughts. And of all those I've met, you are the worst. Let me invite you to start a new life - to see different perspectives of this mortal existence so that your life becomes more meaningful.

His speech, delivered in an abandoned, gloomy hotel, sounded more like the ramblings of a drunken person creating his own religion and forcing me to join.

"No, thank you. You may be right, but this is my life. There can't possibly be a second chance," I said firmly. I had completely regained control of myself, but my throat still felt tight, like a trembling child.

His hair swayed as he shook his head arrogantly. "There is. I can make it happen. I can't stand the emptiness of your soul, like an endless abyss. Just say 'yes' and I will help you find the meaning of life."

In my opinion, the meaning of life is very abstract. The way I perceive life with others is definitely different. But I decided to deal with it because it's not as scary as my imagination. 

Who knows, maybe he's a runaway patient from a mental hospital and her nurse is desperately looking for him. I should ease the nurse's burden, I thought wisely.

"What can you do?" I asked.

His eyes sparkled, and I was afraid he might suddenly bite me in a fit of madness. "A lot! Let me ask you, Joe. What do you think is the most meaningful work for humans?"

"They're all meaningful, and please don't mention my name again. Let me ask you again, how do you know me?" I replied quickly.

"That's right. We live to complement each other, and the best person is one who is useful to others." Once again, his baritone voice added to the atmosphere of dread.

My crowbar, my only weapon of defense, fell to the floor without warning, and I was overwhelmed by memories from childhood to now, at the age of 27. I felt dizzy.

Cries upon cries echoed in my ears; they came from years of living in suffering.I realized that I had never been happy all this time. Because growing up in poverty since childhood made adulthood no longer enjoyable for me.

I grew up with various negative thoughts about myself.There was an empty hole in my soul,hollow,and impossible to fix.

When I realized it, I was already on my knees, crying softly, when the man in front of me held out his hand.

"There will always be a second chance, you can fix it, maybe not by reliving your life, but by making your existence useful to others," he said soothingly.

I was touched and reached for his hand.

"But, first, we have to die."

The hotel building collapsed on us in an instant.