Christopher Corn's Arc

Chapter 5 of 12

Christopher wakes up on May 18th and stays in bed longer than he should. Fifty-three years old today, or he would be if time still counted the way it used to. He doesn't feel fifty-three. He doesn't feel anything that matches a number. The flash of light that brought him here erased whatever being fifty-three was supposed to mean. He walks outside barefoot, needing air that doesn't feel like memory. Near the fence line, something catches his eye — a shimmer like heat rising off pavement, except the air is cold. He moves closer and stops. Floating just above the ground is a bubble, translucent and glowing, with an image suspended inside. A grave marker. Chris Cornell's name carved into stone, surrounded by flowers. Christopher stares at it, his chest tightening. The bubble doesn't move or fade. It just hovers there, a reminder that won't let him look away. A flash of light splits the air behind him. Christopher spins around and sees a small house appear where nothing stood before — wood siding, flower boxes, a chimney releasing a curl of smoke. The door opens and a man steps out carrying a stack of albums under one arm. He's thin, dressed in black, and he looks at Christopher like he's been expecting him. The man sets the albums down on the porch — Soundgarden covers mixed with Linkin Park — and raises one hand in greeting. Christopher doesn't move. He knows this arrival means something, but he can't tell yet if it's help or interference. The man walks toward him and stops a few feet away. "I'm Chard," he says. "Chard Benning." Christopher nods but doesn't offer his hand. Chard glances at the bubble, then back at Christopher. "You can't run from May 18th," Chard says. "But you can decide what it means." Christopher feels something unlock in his chest, the dread he woke up with shifting into something sharper. He's spent the morning mourning a birthday that doesn't exist anymore. But Chard's right. The date doesn't own him unless he lets it. He looks at the house, the albums, the stranger who arrived on the worst day of the year. Maybe this isn't interference. Maybe it's the push he needs to stop looking back and start building forward.