She sat on the street corner, her creased and faded cardboard sign on the ground in front of her. She'd been standing all day, walking back and forth among the cars as they stopped at the light. Most drivers pretended she wasn't there at all, looking straight ahead or occupying themselves with their smartphones until the light turned green. From time to time one would roll down a window as they passed. Some gave her a dollar or two, some just spare change. She was tired now. And hungry. Always hungry. And cold. The jeans she wore were thin, too thin, and the rips in them weren't fashion statements. Her shirt had short sleeves. The bundle of cast-off jackets she wore kept her from freezing in the hour before sunset, but they were covered in fleas, mites, and other small vermin that crawled over her while she slept. For not the first time she considered running in front of a car.
She never saw the man until he was standing in front of her. He was wearing dark blue slacks, a matching suit jacket, and a pale blue shirt. In his right hand was a black briefcase with shiny combination locks. Nothing about him really stood out. He was a good height but not too tall, a bit on the skinny side, and while his face wasn't unattractive, he wasn't noticeably handsome under his neatly combed hair. Only his eyes stood out. They were a shade of blue she'd never seen before. They were so intense that her first instinct to ask him for spare change was snuffed out before she could voice it.
"Constance Wilson," the man said softly.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes," she answered anyway.
He looked at her for a long moment in complete silence. She felt like he was sizing her up, trying to see something in her. She had never considered herself a beauty, but there had been a time she'd been called pretty. It was hard to see that now. The few times she'd seen herself in a mirror or puddle she hadn't recognized the face looking back at her. The hair was short, scraggly, and full of tangles. The face was hardened and weather-beaten. Her skin was dry on the best of days. Her stomach had grown too much. The food she was forced to eat was not healthy, and it showed. Sometimes she thought of herself as a hot air balloon on stilts with a head. And yet, for that moment, she could almost believe that this strange man was seeing her as she once was.
"I will offer you two choices this day," he said at last, and there was a tone in his voice that was almost sad. "The first is to come with me. Or not."
Connie hesitated only a second. She'd heard stories from other homeless women about men who propositioned them. Most of the women who told those stories didn't have good things to say about them. A few got some money. Most got abused. Connie was beyond caring. It was getting cold and her shame had run out months ago. She'd put up with some abuse for a little food and a warm bed. She struggled to her feet, a little unsure, and looked at him.
"This way," he said, turning.
She followed him, working her tired legs to keep up with a pace that was faster than she would have guessed this dapper man would have taken. They walked a few blocks until arriving at a motel in the downtown area. If you weren't looking it appeared like any other downtown, multi-story building, but the name was there for anyone to see if they looked. The sight made her certain what was ahead for her. He opened the door for her as she walked through a little uncomfortably. They walked to the counter. The receptionist looked at them with distaste as if she already knew what was going to happen.
"One room," Leonard said crisply. "Ground floor. Two keys."
The receptionist gave him a look that asked without words what he was thinking of with a woman like this, but she said nothing and entered the information. Leonard gave his last name as "Smith" when asked and paid in cash for a single night. When the receptionist was done, she handed Leonard two plastic card keys. Leonard handed one to Connie.
"Go to the room, shower, and wash your hair. When you're done, there will be clothes for you. Put them on and come back here."
Her eyes opened wide.
"Aren't you coming?" she asked, half afraid he'd change his mind and come.
"No," he answered curtly. "I'll be here. Do not take too long, but be sure you're clean."
After Connie left, Leonard turned to the receptionist. She was looking oddly at him.
"Is there a public phone?" he asked politely.
The woman indicated a phone on a small desk in the lobby. Leonard went to it, dialed a number, spoke for a few minutes, then hung up and sat down to wait. About forty-five minutes later a middle-aged woman came into the lobby holding two bags from a clothing store. Leonard stood, looked into the bags quickly, handed the woman the card key, and told her which room to go. Then he sat down to wait again.
When the woman came back out, Leonard gave her some money. A few minutes later Connie came out. She was almost unrecognizable to the receptionist. Clean with her hair brushed and wearing new clothes, though they were only jeans, a decent top, and a jeans jacket, she could have been any normal person.
"Thank you," Leonard said as he handed the card keys back to the receptionist. "Take whatever is in the room and throw it away. No one will be coming back for it."
Leonard walked from the hotel with Connie behind him. They only went about a block before coming to a downtown restaurant. The lack of customers showed it to be one of the less popular restaurants. Leonard opened the door for Connie and the two went in. They were shown to a table and sat down. A few minutes later their orders had been placed. Leonard had encouraged her to indulge herself and she had. He had ordered only a bowl of soup.
"What do you want from me?" Connie asked after the waiter was gone. "No, don't answer that. I know what you want. But why this?" she continued, indicating her new clothes. "Do you need me pretty or something?"
"I am not interested in anything from you other than what I indicated before," he answered stiffly. "The change of clothes and meal are simply because I do not want you to make a decision based on a desperate situation. I would not have it said of me that I took advantage of anyone."
"Who would say that?"
Leonard didn't answer. Instead, he looked across the table at her with those strange blue eyes. She squirmed. And then her salad came.
"Eat, please," Leonard said, turning away.
The meal came a few minutes later. Leonard was mostly silent while Connie ate. When she was almost done he fixed her with his gaze. The food, which a moment ago had tasted like a sumptuous feast, was suddenly dry and unsavory.
"I deal in choices," he said in a soft, clear, serious voice. "We all do. Which job do we take? Who do we marry? Do I try a little of that drug?"
Connie swallowed hard, the food sticking for a moment in her throat.
"Some choices have consequences that are meaningless in our lives. Others change it," he continued in a voice barely above a whisper. "Most of the time," he resumed after a pause, "we have no clue which choices are which. It could be the simplest of decisions that sets off a chain reaction that one day comes back to us. Today, Constance Wilson, you are getting an opportunity to change your life. Today you can alter the course of your history and your present."
"My present?" she asked, not really hearing everything he'd said.
"Your past," Leonard supplied, stressing the word. "And thus your present and future."
"I can't change my past."
"Under most circumstances, no. Today, though, is not most circumstances."
He reached down and picked up his briefcase. It took him only a moment to fix the combinations, and then he opened the latches. The briefcase opened and closed quickly, his hand darting in like a striking snake. As he placed the locked briefcase back down on the floor, his other hand held out a manila folder to her.
"Constance Wilson," he began in a voice that was soft and cold, "this is your second choice."
Connie took the folder from his hand. She noticed that her hands were trembling.
"Inside there are three sheets of paper," he continued, his voice no more than a whisper and yet clear. "One of them is blank. That is the choice for you to simply stand up and walk away. The other two sheets each describe a significant moment in your life that has brought you to this instant. If you choose, pick one of them."
"And then what?"
"Then you live that life from that moment."
"How can you do that?" she asked, still not opening the folder.
"That is unimportant," he said stiffly. "All you need to do is choose."
"This is a joke, right? No one can change the past."
His answer was stony silence.
She looked down at the folder in her hands. She opened it. The first page was blank.
"This is if I do nothing, right?" she asked, her voice squeaking.
"That is the choice to leave all as it is."
Connie pulled that paper out and laid it aside. If there was any truth in what this man was saying, her choice would certainly not be to do nothing.
Connie sucked in her breath as she read the second sheet. It was a day back in high school. Two of the more popular boys, players on the football team, had asked her and her friend to ditch school and hang out with them. Her friend had said yes, but Connie had refused. The two boys had gotten her friend stoned and then had their way with her. It had broken their friendship and Connie had felt guilty about it ever since, wondering what would have happened if she had gone, and living with the belief that somehow she would have been able to have stopped it.
The third sheet was as ordinary as the second was extraordinary. She had gone right to work after high school, college never being an option. Her first job had been as a receptionist. On the day written on the paper, she had left work 10 minutes early. As she had headed for the bus stop, a man wearing a suit had walked into the office. As she had waited for the bus, she saw the man come out, look around, then leave in a car driven by another man. The next day the office had been raided by police. Like all the other employees, she had been questioned. But unlike some of them, she had known nothing. After her statement the police had let her go without so much as a second thought.
"This changed my life?" she asked, still looking at the third sheet.
"Yes," Leonard answered simply in that soft voice that seemed more frightening than if he had been yelling.
It made her wonder. As far as she could remember, her leaving early hadn't changed anything. The police had still come. She had still been questioned. And the company had still shut down and she'd been forced to find a new job. There was nothing about leaving 10 minutes early that would have changed any of that.
"You need only put the two sheets back into the folder that you do not choose," Leonard said, answering the question she was about to ask.
"That's it?"
"That is everything."
She placed the blank sheet back in the folder. There was no way she was keeping her life as it was now. The other two bothered her. One bothered her because she knew what it meant. How many years had she been feeling guilty? How many times had she cried about a friend wounded and lost?
The other bothered her because she knew nothing about it. Her life had been hard enough for her to realize that some of the things a person didn't do were just as damning as those they did. And there was something about those 10 minutes that raised the hair on the back of her neck. And that made her decision for her. She placed that sheet back in the folder.
"This one," she said, pointing at the day she had abandoned her friend.
"You will not see me again," Leonard said.
Connie had no time to say anything else before she suddenly vanished from the table. Leonard collected the papers and folder and placed them back inside the briefcase.
"That was harsh," came a voice from behind him.
"Was it?" he asked without turning around. "Some would call it a kindness."
"Would you?"
"Yes, Makesha, I would," he answered firmly.
He stood and turned to face her. This close to her she was intimidating. And then the faintest shadow of a smile seemed to flicker across her face for the briefest of moments.
"Perhaps I would as well," she said almost gently. "Are you done?"
"Almost," he answered. "Almost."
She looked at him for a long moment. And then something seemed to click and a knowing came into her eyes.
"You cannot force a choice," she said sternly, and her voice held a weight to it that was unearthly.
"I do not believe I will have to."
She laughed at him, almost scornfully.
"That I would like to see."
Leonard lifted his briefcase and placed it on the table. He didn't bother to turn a combination as he flicked open the latches. He took out the piece of thick paper that resembled the yarn sample card. He blew on it softly and a single red thread, somewhat tangled with the others, glowed for a moment. It was longer than most of the others, and thicker as well. Leonard looked through the threads at Makesha.
"Just watch," he said.
She stretched out a hand and plucked something from his suit coat lapel. She let it fall. It was a thread, maybe an inch long, pale blue.