Wraith handed back the business card. Del took it and put it back in his pocket. "I'd rather think of myself as a financial historian. The hours are great or bad. Depends on how you look at it. I shouldn't complain though, there are some perks to it." He gave Wraith a cheeky wink. "The lunch breaks are great."
"I also get to see some amazing things like watch the pyramids being built, or see Charlie Chaplin's first stage performance." Del then stood up. "But of course, you have to be careful who you call in on. He waved his finger in the air. Some people are an absolute no, no."
"Like Jack Ma." Wraith said.
"Exactly." Del shouted. "Some things must take its natural course." He then sat back down and put a friendly hand on Wraith's shoulder. "And then there's you my boy." From his pocket Del took out a clay pipe; on it was carved a complex pattern of Arabic writing. It made him look like a wise old wizard on a quest for a ring. He struck a match and began sucking the pipe after a couple of sucks, he blew out a thin line of smoke and said:
"Let's talk about..."
But Wraith knew what was coming. He knew what name he would say; he could see it glowing in the old man's eyes.
"The devil." The old man finished gently.
It had been just been over a week since he stopped him. But it felt like the devil was telling him the truth when he said: "...you don't know half of what goes on in the darkness..." the words had haunted him for it was true.
For a long time, they both sat there, Wraith in silent, the old man smoking his pipe. Then the old man knocked out the ash from his pipe and put it back in his pocket and said in a clear voice:
"I know what happens Wraith."
Wraith jumped up and shouted: "Don't you dare say what happens! Don't you dare! You'll ruin everything if the present knows the future!"
The old man raised his hands. "Just hear me out Wraith, just for a moment." The old man stood up. "Don't you think God demands a little hope to be spoken?"
Wraith felt angry and confused. He felt like it was all so pointless. "What would you know of God, old man?" He spat.
"I know he isn't coming any time soon to save you or your mother nor dare I say the seven other billion souls on this planet. That's not his job.
"Now please Mr. Macabre would you kindly sit back down and listen to what I have to say." His eyes gave a glow like before. "Like I said, God demands a little hope to be spoken."