Samuel
Everything about Malcolm Smyth was ordinary and disinteresting. He’d never once stood out in a crowd or been man of the hour, and he supposed he never would. At twenty-six Malcolm Smyth had accepted the fact that he was boring and that he always would be.
He’d accomplished nothing in his life worth recounting. He’d never gone anywhere important or dared to go on a grand adventure, and the closest he’d ever come to a vacation was dorming at college. In school he’d never been athletic, but wasn’t without skill, and though he always did his work on time, he wasn’t particularly smart, so his grades didn’t stand out. He had an average build, and was ordinary looking, with features that weren’t handsome but were by no means ugly. He had fair skin and dark brown hair that he always kept tidy and at a respectable length. His matching brown eyes were deep, but lacking the twinkle of youth and ambition.
He worked as a high-level data analyst for a bank, his reward for completing four years of college being the cubicle closest to the window. He’d just celebrated his fifth year with the company, but nobody remembered. He didn’t know any of his coworkers well enough to call them friends, and he didn’t particularly want to. With his family on the other side of the country and no friends to speak of, Malcolm had fallen into a very rigid routine that he’d grown to love.
Mondays and Wednesdays he would go running before work, and on Sundays he run at eight o’clock, letting himself sleep in a bit. Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays he’d relax and watch his favorite TV shows; he enjoyed the investigative “who-done-its” that had flooded the networks over the last few years. But even more than his television shows, he loved his Sunday trips to the grocery store.
The co-op at the corner was where he did all of his shopping, which consisted of the same things from week to week. What made Sundays stand out for Malcolm wasn’t shopping, it was a particularly beautiful cashier that made the sun shine a little bit brighter whenever he saw her. Her name was Leah, he only knew because it was on her nametag, and to him she was breathtaking. She had thick dark hair and eyes with endless beautiful depths that made him weak at the knees. When she spoke, it was always with a confidence he could never muster, and she almost always brought a smile to the faces of any who heard her. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her, but every time he had the chance he’d panic and scurry off quietly.
The walk back from the co-op was always bittersweet. On the one hand, he got to see Leah, but on the other his cowardice and insecurity nagged at him. His cowardice prevented him from even attempting to get to know the girl who sent his strict and structured mind into an uncontrollable frenzy. He pitied and hated himself all at once, but by the time he reached his apartment his mind had reasoned away his feelings and his complacent, lonely calm had returned.
This was Malcolm Smyth’s life, day in, day out, and without variation. And while he was lonely, and while he’d once dreamed of being more and having more, he’d traded his dreams for a sense of security he’d grown to value more than he could any romance or adventure. His greatest adventure was waiting in Leah’s line at the grocery, practicing in his head what he was going to say to her and knowing full well that he was never going to say it.
His favorite time of year was when autumn and summer clashed. He loved the way the vibrant greens of the trees that lined his street always faded in just the right way so that they blended with the rich blue sky to form a sea foam canopy over his world. As he took his Sunday walk to the grocery store he smiled and nodded politely to anyone who passed him, careful to give ample room whenever a dog went by. The day was unusually warm for late September, and the breeze was without its usual bite, which meant he would pass many dogs and their masters on his trek. He grimaced a little, but wasn’t particularly bothered: even animals ignored him.
When it happened, he thought that he’d noticed her fist, but in retrospect he was certain it was the other way around. He noticed her bright red dress, then the captivating body squeezed inside of it. By the time he took his eyes off the sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts he saw that her brilliant green eyes had narrowed on him with an unsettling focus. Her uncommonly fair skin and deep red lips added to her beauty and her flowing black hair made her look like a Goddess to Malcolm.
His heart began to slam against his ribcage when he realized that she was headed right for him. Maybe she doesn’t see me, he thought hopefully, but he knew he wasn’t that invisible, even to a woman as beautiful as her. He heard the click of her heels on the pavement like the ticking of a bomb, counting down until they finally met at the center of the sidewalk. He stood awkwardly, watching her with wide, terrified eyes as she placed a confident hand on her hip and looked him over with a sultry smirk on her face.
“Malcolm Smith?” Her voice was rich and powerful.
“Um, it’s pronounced ‘Smieth’, actually,” he stammered, struggling with all his might to force the words out. Her smirk flickered then widened into a smile.
“Well, Malcolm, it’s lovely to meet you. Do you have a moment? I have a bit of a business proposition for you,” she was menacingly calm, and Malcolm grew even paler, if that was at all possible.
“Oh, um, I don’t generally…I mean that type of business isn’t something I’m interested-“ her laughter was haughty yet feminine and when she was finished she beamed down at him with patronizing sympathy.
“I’m not a prostitute, Malcolm,” she was amused, but there was a disturbing grit underneath that made Malcolm shiver. He looked at her apprehensively, not sure whether to believe her or not. She sighed dramatically. “Malcolm, if I were a prostitute, how would I know your name?” He drew a blank for an instant then studied her carefully.
“Even if you’re not…how do you know my name?” She smiled and he felt his gut tighten with desire and dread all at once.
“You should be less concerned with how I know your name, and more interested in the offer I’m here to make,” she lifted her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. For an instant Malcolm was interested, but this encounter did not fit into his routine, and he was anxious to get back to it, so he scurried around her quickly with his head down.
“Sorry, I’m not interested,” he muttered as he went. She spun gracefully on one heel, her arms still crossed, and watched for a moment as he walked down the street.
“Aren’t you tired of being invisible?” She called after him tauntingly, and wasn’t surprised when he stopped. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and turned to her.
“I’m not invisible,” he said with a forced smile.
“No? Is that why you’re completely alone? Why your co-workers don’t see you, women don’t acknowledge you, and your own family can’t even remember your birthday?” She was so smug, so confident that he wanted to get angry, but the truth of it prevented him from being anything other than disappointed. She was right, and he looked away from her piercing, expectant gaze. “Don’t you want to be someone?” This time her tone was gentle, soothing even, and he looked to her with his pathetically hopeful brown eyes.
“You could…make me someone? Someone worth remembering?”
“Oh yes,” she nodded and the smile crept back onto her face slowly.
“How?” He urged hungrily and her smile grew wider. To Malcolm it seemed almost grotesque in the way it contorted her face.
“By making you one of us.”
“And who are you?” He asked skeptically.
“Not who, Malcolm, but what,” she watched confusion cloud his eyes before walking towards him and placing a delicate hand on the trunk of a large oak tree with long healthy branches and an endless sea of beautiful crisp leaves. “We’re death,” she looked to Malcolm, then to the tree, and slowly began to move her hand along it’s trunk. “We bring death to those who are ready for it…whomever we want, whenever we want,” as her hand moved back down along the oak’s trunk, Malcolm’s jaw went slack and his eyes wide with disbelief. He watched the bark grow brittle and chip off, the leaves shrivel, and the branches grow wiry and dead. The few birds who were resting in the tree crashed to the pavement in little bloody heaps of flesh and feathers with a bone-crunching thud. “We are the Harbingers of Death, we control the fate of every living creature,” she looked to the horrified Malcolm and smiled yet again, “and we’d like you to join us.”
Malcolm looked about madly to see if anyone else had witnessed the impossible scene, but there was no one to be found and he supposed that was no coincidence. He looked to the black haired woman and found that the sight of her now made his body react in a very contradictory way to when he’d first seen her. There were a million questions demanding his lips to move, but one stood out above the rest.
“Why me?”
“Because no one would miss you. And you don’t have the type of personality that would abuse our power. Our purpose is to go where we are directed. I was directed to come recruit you,” she held out her arms, “and here I am.”
“Who ‘directs’ you?” He asked nervously, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer and she waved a finger at him.
“Not until you agree to join us. And before you ask, yes you’d have to leave everything behind, but you don’t really have anything. I mean, you don’t even have a goldfish,” she chuckled lightly, then let it fade and was serious once more. “So whaddaya say, Mal? Are you in?” She watched him expectantly, searching for any sign of excitement or interest, but was met only with uncertainty.
“This is insane,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. When he looked up again, she was a breath away from him, her green eyes making a thousand promises she had no intention of keeping.
“This is real,” she whispered, watching him with the entirety of her focus. “How about this,” she cooed as she played with the collar of his shirt. She could feel the heat coming off of him and took it as encouragement, “Why don’t you take the day to think it over. I’ll meet you at dusk, and I’ll need your answer then.” She leaned against him, her face so close to his that he thought for a moment that she was going to kiss him. “And I want you to say ‘yes’,” she kissed his cheek and stepped away, politely moving around him and leisurely walking up the street as if nothing had happened. He watched until she turned the corner, blowing him a kiss as she did so without bothering to check if he was still there. With the black haired woman out of his sight, he could do nothing but stare at the oak tree’s corpse in awe.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood dumbly looking at the lifeless chunk of wood, but when he finally regained himself he decided that it would be best to carry on with his daily routine as though he’d never met the black haired woman. It was surprisingly difficult for him as his mind was wandering the different potential paths laid out before him, each seemingly more unlikely than the one that preceded it. He wandered through the co-op absently, wondering if this really could be the last time he ever bought condensed soup and pretzel robs. The outrageousness, and the silliness of his thoughts was not lost on him, but as he stepped up to Leah’s line, the potential ramifications of the black haired woman’s offer suddenly weighed heavy on his heart. This could be the last time I ever see her, he thought soberly. As the line in front of him shrank he decided it was time to speak up: what did he have to lose?
When she offered a rushed smile, he melted and almost lost his resolve, but determined, he willed it back to him. He wasn’t going to back down this time; her answer could decide what he was going to tell the black haired woman.
“My name’s Malcolm,” he said as she bagged his yogurt. She looked at him, surprised, and smiled distractedly.
“I know,” she said simply over the beeps of the scanner. She saw his head cock to the side out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve run your credit card almost every Sunday for the last five years.” He jumped a bit and laughed nervously.
“Right! Just like I know your name is Leah, because I’ve seen it on your nametag every Sunday,” he offered, but she stopped what she was doing and looked at him sternly.
“So you’ve been coming in here every week and staring at my chest?” She demanded fiercely and Malcolm turned as white as a ghost as the people around them began to chuckle. When she saw his face she smiled, “Relax, I was kidding,” she said gently, and he let out a breath so big he thought it might knock her over. Unsure what to do, he laughed, hoping to convey calm and casualness.
“Um, Leah, would you maybe want to-“ she turned her head quickly.
“No,” she cut him off before he could finish the line he’d practiced a million times before. “Sorry. Now’s a bad time,” she said callously and then she looked away from him. Malcolm saw a flicker of sadness he’d never noticed before and didn’t say anything else on the matter. The rest of their encounter went the same as the hundreds that had come before, except that Malcolm now felt the cool hard tear of rejection.
He walked back to his apartment in a daze, wallowing in the ache in his chest. On his way he passed a small crowd of about a dozen people, all surrounding what was left of the oak tree that he’d watched whither and die. He didn’t bother to try and catch any of what they were saying, he didn’t care. His mind was churning with a thousand thoughts, most about his failed encounter with Leah. He stopped walking, his grocery bags swaying unnoticed at his knees, and took a deep breath. He thought he’d had nothing to lose by speaking up, but taking the risk, and he knew he’d never been so wrong. As he breathed out he felt the ache in his heart pulse through his body then fade for an instant before lodging itself in his chest again. He took another breath; Leah still stuck in his mind, and felt the ache even stronger this time. The pain was new to him, and it hurt more completely than any physical injury he’d endured in his whole inconsequential life.
He started walking again, but his eyes were narrow and his jaw tight with rage. He felt a fury he’d never known directed inwards. Fury over his rejection, over his empty existence, and his meaningless job. It all felt useless, his routine, what little he had accomplished: what good was it if there was no one to acknowledge it?
When he reached his apartment he dropped the groceries in the hall, ignoring his yogurt cups as they skidded across the floor. He walked through the apartment as though he were on a museum tour. Everything was tidy and sat in its designated spot. Even the sofa cushions had to be placed a certain way. There was no color to his world, just a pallet of white, black, and beige. His walls were the sterile white of a doctors office, and there was not a single decoration or work of art to be seen. The books on his bookshelf were all non-fiction and mostly textbooks from college. All that space and nothing to fill it.
He sat delicately on the sofa, which felt stiff and uncomfortable now. The mid-day sun splashed through the window but it made the room seem all the more lackluster and barren. He sat there with his arms folded, thinking about the black haired woman, her impossible offer, the dead oak, and about Leah. It all ran through his mind over and over. He thought about what had brought him to this sad point, thought of all the women he’d passed up and the adventures he’d turned down for the safety of his terribly disappointing apartment. His sudden burst of courage had thrown open the floodgates to his enlightenment, and he felt the pain in his chest grow and grow until he thought his heart would burst from sadness.
When his mind released him from its painful visual oratory, he saw that it was almost nightfall, and remembered that the black haired woman wanted her answer before dark. He jumped up quickly, leaping over his spilled groceries on his way to…well, he wasn’t sure where. He was sprinting so hard that the burn in his lungs began to override the ache in his heart, and though he had no idea where he was supposed to be heading, he knew he was being guided.
Riverside Park was a modest little patch of grass, but at sunset you could watch the orange sun and purple clouds stain the water in a beautiful ripple of color. He ran to the barrier that overlooked the river and grabbed it hard as he tried to catch his breath. He whined slightly, resting his head on the cool railing and forcing his chest up and down slowly. Finally his body obeyed and he coughed, looking back out at the water as the sun set the horizon on fire before getting pulled down beneath the water, ushering in the moon and stars.
“Hello, Malcolm,” he didn’t turn to look at her; instead he kept his eyes on a point just passed the horizon. She walked up next to him, and he saw out of the corner of his eye that she’d abandoned her skintight red dress for something a bit more conservative and appropriate for the chilly autumn night.
“If I do this…I can leave all of this behind me?” He still refused to look at her, and she smiled triumphantly.
“Yes, all of it. Like it never happened,” there was none of the playfulness that had patronized him earlier. He could’ve sworn he even heard sympathy in her voice. He nodded.
“Alright,” he took a deep breath and finally allowed himself to look at her, “Yes.” He saw the triumph spread to her eyes as her whole body tensed, standing a little straighter.
“I’m happy to hear that,” she said softly. “We of course need to give you a test to make sure you really do fit our specifications.”
“What kind of test?” He was apprehensive, but excited too. He felt different, better even, knowing that a world of endless adventure and opportunity had just been opened to him…something that would’ve terrified him in the past. All that stood in his way was her test.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, I think you’re going to enjoy it,” She smiled knowingly and reached for his hand. Malcolm studied it for a moment before grasping it tightly. She smirked, surprised by how firm his grip was.
“This is going to feel strange, but you’ll get used to it,” she warned as the world around him began to melt and rush by him in a swirl of color. His skull felt as though it could crack from the pressure and his stomach was bouncing around as though he were falling off a cliff. If he could’ve opened his mouth, he would have screamed, but his body refused to obey him. Then, as quickly as it’d begun, it was over, and he was standing on the walk leading to a handsome blue Victorian. He put a hand to his stomach and the other to his head, trying to relieve the memory of the sensation.
“It’s tough the first time, but it gets easier, I promise,” she patted him on the shoulder encouragingly then started up the stairs onto the porch of the blue house with white trim. It was very old and needed maintenance, but that only added to its charm. The building looked familiar to him, even in the darkness.
“Where are we?”
“Right around the corner from your apartment actually. This is where you’ll be tested,” she motioned through the front window, “this is the first name on your list.” She smirked as Malcolm gazed anxiously where she directed.
“Leah,” her name felt like lead on his tongue as he peered in her window, recognizing her immediately. She was sitting on her couch, smoking a cigarette and watching television. She looked serene, not necessarily happy, but comfortable. Then it struck him. “You want me to…to kill her?” He looked to the black haired woman in horror.
“No, Malcolm, you’re not a killer. We want you to bring death to her. We’re not murderers, just the guiding hand of fate.” She motioned to the window.
“And fate decided it’s her time?” He asked sadly, looking in on her again.
“Why the hesitation, Mal?” She asked impatiently. “She broke your heart, turned you down, cast you aside. This is what she deserves for being so dismissive with your heart. It’s justice!” Her voice was loud and he looked around nervously to see if there were any onlookers. Inside, Leah sat puffing away, ignorant of their presence. As he watched her he felt the same longing that had guided him every Sunday for five years, but it gave way to the memory of her curt dismissal and insincere apology. Again he felt the ache in his chest, and the burden of rejection. Then he felt his anger swell and this time it was towards her. She put him in this desperate spot; she put herself in this spot. Maybe if she had accepted his offer, opened up to him, this wouldn’t be her fate. By loving him in return she may have been spared…and so would he. The pain in his heart and the heaviness in his chest acted as barricades against reason. He hurt, and she was the cause, and maybe by doing this the pain would go away, he hoped the pain would die with her.
“Alright,” he said resolutely, still watching her through the window. “How do I do this?” The black haired woman grinned grotesquely again and stepped up close behind him.
“Just focus, reach out to her, grasp her,” she ran a hand slowly through his hair, stroking his head, “here. Once you have hold of her, you can choose whatever you want. Painful, not, conscious, in her sleep. Just write it into her and it’ll play out the way you tell it to. Think of it like…a game, or like you’re telling a story, but just the ending.”
As she spoke he began to obey without having to concentrate. He reached Leah easily, and he saw her mind like a system of hallways identical to the ones at his bank. The complex network of halls and rooms was easy to navigate with his purpose in focus. It wasn’t long before he reached his destination: a black door at the end of a long white hallway. The handle felt cool in his hand, and it took some force to shove the door open. The room itself was white, painfully white, and unnecessarily large. At it’s center was a simple desk and chair like those found in a high school. Resting on the table was an antique typewriter with a single cream-colored piece of paper loaded into it. His footsteps echoed in the absence of sound, and the floor let out a long screech of agony as the chair slid across it slowly. Once seated, he let his fingers caress the keys of the rusty old typewriter, carefully considering all of his creative choices.
“Leah Cullen…”
He wrote, then began again to think about their last encounter at the grocery store, but this time as he replayed it something stood out to him, something he’d been choosing to forget until now. The pain in her eyes, the sadness that, were their eyes to meet now, would undoubtedly be reflected in his own. And that was when he understood. Hurting him hadn’t been about him, it was about her, her own pain. She didn’t intend to hurt him, that wasn’t her goal. She just wanted to be left alone to cope with her own angst, to try and recover from her own heartache. He sat in the cold silence of his epiphany for a moment before reaching out and wrenching the paper from the typewriter. He stood up, ripping it in half and watching it fall to the floor before turning fluidly and heading through the black door.
When he heard it close behind him he felt the cool breeze rush through his hair as he came back into himself.
“Is it done, what did you choose?” The black haired woman asked excitedly. Malcolm looked away from Leah and turned to her.
“I didn’t choose anything. I tore the paper in half. I want her to live.” The black haired woman’s eyes narrowed into slits.
“What? Why would you do that?” She demanded coldly.
“Because I wanted to. She’s not done yet, she has more to do,” he glanced over his shoulder towards Leah and almost felt a smile, “she has to heal.”
“So What! She hurt you! Get revenge!” She was screeching, enraged, and Malcolm realized now how ugly she was.
“She’s hurting too. It’s not fair for me to put my pain before hers. Hers is no less than mine, it’s not fair to assume it is just because I don’t feel it,” he began to walk down the stairs trying to work out the quickest route home. She clenched her fist until her knuckles almost split.
“YOU’VE RUINED IT, MALCOLM! YOU’LL ALWAYS BE NOTHING! INVISIBLE! NO ONE WILL REMEMBER YOU AND NO ONE WILL MOURN YOU!” Her hair was disheveled and she was stomping her foot furiously. He stopped walking, not daring to look at her for a moment.
“That may be,” he said, his hushed voice riding the wind to reach her, “but I’m doing what’s right. Sorry, I’m not what you’re looking for.” He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and started down the street, not stopping until he reached the door to his apartment, the black haired woman’s screams still echoing in his ears.
When he closed the door to his apartment he kicked one of his wayward yogurts in the darkness. He turned on the hall light and sighed as he surveyed his neglected groceries. Without a word he scooped them up and rushed them into the kitchen to figure out what was still salvageable and what would have to be thrown out. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started to make a list for when he stopped at the co-op after work on Monday.
He’d accomplished nothing in his life worth recounting. He’d never gone anywhere important or dared to go on a grand adventure, and the closest he’d ever come to a vacation was dorming at college. In school he’d never been athletic, but wasn’t without skill, and though he always did his work on time, he wasn’t particularly smart, so his grades didn’t stand out. He had an average build, and was ordinary looking, with features that weren’t handsome but were by no means ugly. He had fair skin and dark brown hair that he always kept tidy and at a respectable length. His matching brown eyes were deep, but lacking the twinkle of youth and ambition.
He worked as a high-level data analyst for a bank, his reward for completing four years of college being the cubicle closest to the window. He’d just celebrated his fifth year with the company, but nobody remembered. He didn’t know any of his coworkers well enough to call them friends, and he didn’t particularly want to. With his family on the other side of the country and no friends to speak of, Malcolm had fallen into a very rigid routine that he’d grown to love.
Mondays and Wednesdays he would go running before work, and on Sundays he run at eight o’clock, letting himself sleep in a bit. Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays he’d relax and watch his favorite TV shows; he enjoyed the investigative “who-done-its” that had flooded the networks over the last few years. But even more than his television shows, he loved his Sunday trips to the grocery store.
The co-op at the corner was where he did all of his shopping, which consisted of the same things from week to week. What made Sundays stand out for Malcolm wasn’t shopping, it was a particularly beautiful cashier that made the sun shine a little bit brighter whenever he saw her. Her name was Leah, he only knew because it was on her nametag, and to him she was breathtaking. She had thick dark hair and eyes with endless beautiful depths that made him weak at the knees. When she spoke, it was always with a confidence he could never muster, and she almost always brought a smile to the faces of any who heard her. There were a thousand things he wanted to say to her, but every time he had the chance he’d panic and scurry off quietly.
The walk back from the co-op was always bittersweet. On the one hand, he got to see Leah, but on the other his cowardice and insecurity nagged at him. His cowardice prevented him from even attempting to get to know the girl who sent his strict and structured mind into an uncontrollable frenzy. He pitied and hated himself all at once, but by the time he reached his apartment his mind had reasoned away his feelings and his complacent, lonely calm had returned.
This was Malcolm Smyth’s life, day in, day out, and without variation. And while he was lonely, and while he’d once dreamed of being more and having more, he’d traded his dreams for a sense of security he’d grown to value more than he could any romance or adventure. His greatest adventure was waiting in Leah’s line at the grocery, practicing in his head what he was going to say to her and knowing full well that he was never going to say it.
His favorite time of year was when autumn and summer clashed. He loved the way the vibrant greens of the trees that lined his street always faded in just the right way so that they blended with the rich blue sky to form a sea foam canopy over his world. As he took his Sunday walk to the grocery store he smiled and nodded politely to anyone who passed him, careful to give ample room whenever a dog went by. The day was unusually warm for late September, and the breeze was without its usual bite, which meant he would pass many dogs and their masters on his trek. He grimaced a little, but wasn’t particularly bothered: even animals ignored him.
When it happened, he thought that he’d noticed her fist, but in retrospect he was certain it was the other way around. He noticed her bright red dress, then the captivating body squeezed inside of it. By the time he took his eyes off the sway of her hips and the bounce of her breasts he saw that her brilliant green eyes had narrowed on him with an unsettling focus. Her uncommonly fair skin and deep red lips added to her beauty and her flowing black hair made her look like a Goddess to Malcolm.
His heart began to slam against his ribcage when he realized that she was headed right for him. Maybe she doesn’t see me, he thought hopefully, but he knew he wasn’t that invisible, even to a woman as beautiful as her. He heard the click of her heels on the pavement like the ticking of a bomb, counting down until they finally met at the center of the sidewalk. He stood awkwardly, watching her with wide, terrified eyes as she placed a confident hand on her hip and looked him over with a sultry smirk on her face.
“Malcolm Smith?” Her voice was rich and powerful.
“Um, it’s pronounced ‘Smieth’, actually,” he stammered, struggling with all his might to force the words out. Her smirk flickered then widened into a smile.
“Well, Malcolm, it’s lovely to meet you. Do you have a moment? I have a bit of a business proposition for you,” she was menacingly calm, and Malcolm grew even paler, if that was at all possible.
“Oh, um, I don’t generally…I mean that type of business isn’t something I’m interested-“ her laughter was haughty yet feminine and when she was finished she beamed down at him with patronizing sympathy.
“I’m not a prostitute, Malcolm,” she was amused, but there was a disturbing grit underneath that made Malcolm shiver. He looked at her apprehensively, not sure whether to believe her or not. She sighed dramatically. “Malcolm, if I were a prostitute, how would I know your name?” He drew a blank for an instant then studied her carefully.
“Even if you’re not…how do you know my name?” She smiled and he felt his gut tighten with desire and dread all at once.
“You should be less concerned with how I know your name, and more interested in the offer I’m here to make,” she lifted her eyebrows and crossed her arms over her chest. For an instant Malcolm was interested, but this encounter did not fit into his routine, and he was anxious to get back to it, so he scurried around her quickly with his head down.
“Sorry, I’m not interested,” he muttered as he went. She spun gracefully on one heel, her arms still crossed, and watched for a moment as he walked down the street.
“Aren’t you tired of being invisible?” She called after him tauntingly, and wasn’t surprised when he stopped. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and turned to her.
“I’m not invisible,” he said with a forced smile.
“No? Is that why you’re completely alone? Why your co-workers don’t see you, women don’t acknowledge you, and your own family can’t even remember your birthday?” She was so smug, so confident that he wanted to get angry, but the truth of it prevented him from being anything other than disappointed. She was right, and he looked away from her piercing, expectant gaze. “Don’t you want to be someone?” This time her tone was gentle, soothing even, and he looked to her with his pathetically hopeful brown eyes.
“You could…make me someone? Someone worth remembering?”
“Oh yes,” she nodded and the smile crept back onto her face slowly.
“How?” He urged hungrily and her smile grew wider. To Malcolm it seemed almost grotesque in the way it contorted her face.
“By making you one of us.”
“And who are you?” He asked skeptically.
“Not who, Malcolm, but what,” she watched confusion cloud his eyes before walking towards him and placing a delicate hand on the trunk of a large oak tree with long healthy branches and an endless sea of beautiful crisp leaves. “We’re death,” she looked to Malcolm, then to the tree, and slowly began to move her hand along it’s trunk. “We bring death to those who are ready for it…whomever we want, whenever we want,” as her hand moved back down along the oak’s trunk, Malcolm’s jaw went slack and his eyes wide with disbelief. He watched the bark grow brittle and chip off, the leaves shrivel, and the branches grow wiry and dead. The few birds who were resting in the tree crashed to the pavement in little bloody heaps of flesh and feathers with a bone-crunching thud. “We are the Harbingers of Death, we control the fate of every living creature,” she looked to the horrified Malcolm and smiled yet again, “and we’d like you to join us.”
Malcolm looked about madly to see if anyone else had witnessed the impossible scene, but there was no one to be found and he supposed that was no coincidence. He looked to the black haired woman and found that the sight of her now made his body react in a very contradictory way to when he’d first seen her. There were a million questions demanding his lips to move, but one stood out above the rest.
“Why me?”
“Because no one would miss you. And you don’t have the type of personality that would abuse our power. Our purpose is to go where we are directed. I was directed to come recruit you,” she held out her arms, “and here I am.”
“Who ‘directs’ you?” He asked nervously, as if he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer and she waved a finger at him.
“Not until you agree to join us. And before you ask, yes you’d have to leave everything behind, but you don’t really have anything. I mean, you don’t even have a goldfish,” she chuckled lightly, then let it fade and was serious once more. “So whaddaya say, Mal? Are you in?” She watched him expectantly, searching for any sign of excitement or interest, but was met only with uncertainty.
“This is insane,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. When he looked up again, she was a breath away from him, her green eyes making a thousand promises she had no intention of keeping.
“This is real,” she whispered, watching him with the entirety of her focus. “How about this,” she cooed as she played with the collar of his shirt. She could feel the heat coming off of him and took it as encouragement, “Why don’t you take the day to think it over. I’ll meet you at dusk, and I’ll need your answer then.” She leaned against him, her face so close to his that he thought for a moment that she was going to kiss him. “And I want you to say ‘yes’,” she kissed his cheek and stepped away, politely moving around him and leisurely walking up the street as if nothing had happened. He watched until she turned the corner, blowing him a kiss as she did so without bothering to check if he was still there. With the black haired woman out of his sight, he could do nothing but stare at the oak tree’s corpse in awe.
He wasn’t sure how long he stood dumbly looking at the lifeless chunk of wood, but when he finally regained himself he decided that it would be best to carry on with his daily routine as though he’d never met the black haired woman. It was surprisingly difficult for him as his mind was wandering the different potential paths laid out before him, each seemingly more unlikely than the one that preceded it. He wandered through the co-op absently, wondering if this really could be the last time he ever bought condensed soup and pretzel robs. The outrageousness, and the silliness of his thoughts was not lost on him, but as he stepped up to Leah’s line, the potential ramifications of the black haired woman’s offer suddenly weighed heavy on his heart. This could be the last time I ever see her, he thought soberly. As the line in front of him shrank he decided it was time to speak up: what did he have to lose?
When she offered a rushed smile, he melted and almost lost his resolve, but determined, he willed it back to him. He wasn’t going to back down this time; her answer could decide what he was going to tell the black haired woman.
“My name’s Malcolm,” he said as she bagged his yogurt. She looked at him, surprised, and smiled distractedly.
“I know,” she said simply over the beeps of the scanner. She saw his head cock to the side out of the corner of her eye. “I’ve run your credit card almost every Sunday for the last five years.” He jumped a bit and laughed nervously.
“Right! Just like I know your name is Leah, because I’ve seen it on your nametag every Sunday,” he offered, but she stopped what she was doing and looked at him sternly.
“So you’ve been coming in here every week and staring at my chest?” She demanded fiercely and Malcolm turned as white as a ghost as the people around them began to chuckle. When she saw his face she smiled, “Relax, I was kidding,” she said gently, and he let out a breath so big he thought it might knock her over. Unsure what to do, he laughed, hoping to convey calm and casualness.
“Um, Leah, would you maybe want to-“ she turned her head quickly.
“No,” she cut him off before he could finish the line he’d practiced a million times before. “Sorry. Now’s a bad time,” she said callously and then she looked away from him. Malcolm saw a flicker of sadness he’d never noticed before and didn’t say anything else on the matter. The rest of their encounter went the same as the hundreds that had come before, except that Malcolm now felt the cool hard tear of rejection.
He walked back to his apartment in a daze, wallowing in the ache in his chest. On his way he passed a small crowd of about a dozen people, all surrounding what was left of the oak tree that he’d watched whither and die. He didn’t bother to try and catch any of what they were saying, he didn’t care. His mind was churning with a thousand thoughts, most about his failed encounter with Leah. He stopped walking, his grocery bags swaying unnoticed at his knees, and took a deep breath. He thought he’d had nothing to lose by speaking up, but taking the risk, and he knew he’d never been so wrong. As he breathed out he felt the ache in his heart pulse through his body then fade for an instant before lodging itself in his chest again. He took another breath; Leah still stuck in his mind, and felt the ache even stronger this time. The pain was new to him, and it hurt more completely than any physical injury he’d endured in his whole inconsequential life.
He started walking again, but his eyes were narrow and his jaw tight with rage. He felt a fury he’d never known directed inwards. Fury over his rejection, over his empty existence, and his meaningless job. It all felt useless, his routine, what little he had accomplished: what good was it if there was no one to acknowledge it?
When he reached his apartment he dropped the groceries in the hall, ignoring his yogurt cups as they skidded across the floor. He walked through the apartment as though he were on a museum tour. Everything was tidy and sat in its designated spot. Even the sofa cushions had to be placed a certain way. There was no color to his world, just a pallet of white, black, and beige. His walls were the sterile white of a doctors office, and there was not a single decoration or work of art to be seen. The books on his bookshelf were all non-fiction and mostly textbooks from college. All that space and nothing to fill it.
He sat delicately on the sofa, which felt stiff and uncomfortable now. The mid-day sun splashed through the window but it made the room seem all the more lackluster and barren. He sat there with his arms folded, thinking about the black haired woman, her impossible offer, the dead oak, and about Leah. It all ran through his mind over and over. He thought about what had brought him to this sad point, thought of all the women he’d passed up and the adventures he’d turned down for the safety of his terribly disappointing apartment. His sudden burst of courage had thrown open the floodgates to his enlightenment, and he felt the pain in his chest grow and grow until he thought his heart would burst from sadness.
When his mind released him from its painful visual oratory, he saw that it was almost nightfall, and remembered that the black haired woman wanted her answer before dark. He jumped up quickly, leaping over his spilled groceries on his way to…well, he wasn’t sure where. He was sprinting so hard that the burn in his lungs began to override the ache in his heart, and though he had no idea where he was supposed to be heading, he knew he was being guided.
Riverside Park was a modest little patch of grass, but at sunset you could watch the orange sun and purple clouds stain the water in a beautiful ripple of color. He ran to the barrier that overlooked the river and grabbed it hard as he tried to catch his breath. He whined slightly, resting his head on the cool railing and forcing his chest up and down slowly. Finally his body obeyed and he coughed, looking back out at the water as the sun set the horizon on fire before getting pulled down beneath the water, ushering in the moon and stars.
“Hello, Malcolm,” he didn’t turn to look at her; instead he kept his eyes on a point just passed the horizon. She walked up next to him, and he saw out of the corner of his eye that she’d abandoned her skintight red dress for something a bit more conservative and appropriate for the chilly autumn night.
“If I do this…I can leave all of this behind me?” He still refused to look at her, and she smiled triumphantly.
“Yes, all of it. Like it never happened,” there was none of the playfulness that had patronized him earlier. He could’ve sworn he even heard sympathy in her voice. He nodded.
“Alright,” he took a deep breath and finally allowed himself to look at her, “Yes.” He saw the triumph spread to her eyes as her whole body tensed, standing a little straighter.
“I’m happy to hear that,” she said softly. “We of course need to give you a test to make sure you really do fit our specifications.”
“What kind of test?” He was apprehensive, but excited too. He felt different, better even, knowing that a world of endless adventure and opportunity had just been opened to him…something that would’ve terrified him in the past. All that stood in his way was her test.
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry, I think you’re going to enjoy it,” She smiled knowingly and reached for his hand. Malcolm studied it for a moment before grasping it tightly. She smirked, surprised by how firm his grip was.
“This is going to feel strange, but you’ll get used to it,” she warned as the world around him began to melt and rush by him in a swirl of color. His skull felt as though it could crack from the pressure and his stomach was bouncing around as though he were falling off a cliff. If he could’ve opened his mouth, he would have screamed, but his body refused to obey him. Then, as quickly as it’d begun, it was over, and he was standing on the walk leading to a handsome blue Victorian. He put a hand to his stomach and the other to his head, trying to relieve the memory of the sensation.
“It’s tough the first time, but it gets easier, I promise,” she patted him on the shoulder encouragingly then started up the stairs onto the porch of the blue house with white trim. It was very old and needed maintenance, but that only added to its charm. The building looked familiar to him, even in the darkness.
“Where are we?”
“Right around the corner from your apartment actually. This is where you’ll be tested,” she motioned through the front window, “this is the first name on your list.” She smirked as Malcolm gazed anxiously where she directed.
“Leah,” her name felt like lead on his tongue as he peered in her window, recognizing her immediately. She was sitting on her couch, smoking a cigarette and watching television. She looked serene, not necessarily happy, but comfortable. Then it struck him. “You want me to…to kill her?” He looked to the black haired woman in horror.
“No, Malcolm, you’re not a killer. We want you to bring death to her. We’re not murderers, just the guiding hand of fate.” She motioned to the window.
“And fate decided it’s her time?” He asked sadly, looking in on her again.
“Why the hesitation, Mal?” She asked impatiently. “She broke your heart, turned you down, cast you aside. This is what she deserves for being so dismissive with your heart. It’s justice!” Her voice was loud and he looked around nervously to see if there were any onlookers. Inside, Leah sat puffing away, ignorant of their presence. As he watched her he felt the same longing that had guided him every Sunday for five years, but it gave way to the memory of her curt dismissal and insincere apology. Again he felt the ache in his chest, and the burden of rejection. Then he felt his anger swell and this time it was towards her. She put him in this desperate spot; she put herself in this spot. Maybe if she had accepted his offer, opened up to him, this wouldn’t be her fate. By loving him in return she may have been spared…and so would he. The pain in his heart and the heaviness in his chest acted as barricades against reason. He hurt, and she was the cause, and maybe by doing this the pain would go away, he hoped the pain would die with her.
“Alright,” he said resolutely, still watching her through the window. “How do I do this?” The black haired woman grinned grotesquely again and stepped up close behind him.
“Just focus, reach out to her, grasp her,” she ran a hand slowly through his hair, stroking his head, “here. Once you have hold of her, you can choose whatever you want. Painful, not, conscious, in her sleep. Just write it into her and it’ll play out the way you tell it to. Think of it like…a game, or like you’re telling a story, but just the ending.”
As she spoke he began to obey without having to concentrate. He reached Leah easily, and he saw her mind like a system of hallways identical to the ones at his bank. The complex network of halls and rooms was easy to navigate with his purpose in focus. It wasn’t long before he reached his destination: a black door at the end of a long white hallway. The handle felt cool in his hand, and it took some force to shove the door open. The room itself was white, painfully white, and unnecessarily large. At it’s center was a simple desk and chair like those found in a high school. Resting on the table was an antique typewriter with a single cream-colored piece of paper loaded into it. His footsteps echoed in the absence of sound, and the floor let out a long screech of agony as the chair slid across it slowly. Once seated, he let his fingers caress the keys of the rusty old typewriter, carefully considering all of his creative choices.
“Leah Cullen…”
He wrote, then began again to think about their last encounter at the grocery store, but this time as he replayed it something stood out to him, something he’d been choosing to forget until now. The pain in her eyes, the sadness that, were their eyes to meet now, would undoubtedly be reflected in his own. And that was when he understood. Hurting him hadn’t been about him, it was about her, her own pain. She didn’t intend to hurt him, that wasn’t her goal. She just wanted to be left alone to cope with her own angst, to try and recover from her own heartache. He sat in the cold silence of his epiphany for a moment before reaching out and wrenching the paper from the typewriter. He stood up, ripping it in half and watching it fall to the floor before turning fluidly and heading through the black door.
When he heard it close behind him he felt the cool breeze rush through his hair as he came back into himself.
“Is it done, what did you choose?” The black haired woman asked excitedly. Malcolm looked away from Leah and turned to her.
“I didn’t choose anything. I tore the paper in half. I want her to live.” The black haired woman’s eyes narrowed into slits.
“What? Why would you do that?” She demanded coldly.
“Because I wanted to. She’s not done yet, she has more to do,” he glanced over his shoulder towards Leah and almost felt a smile, “she has to heal.”
“So What! She hurt you! Get revenge!” She was screeching, enraged, and Malcolm realized now how ugly she was.
“She’s hurting too. It’s not fair for me to put my pain before hers. Hers is no less than mine, it’s not fair to assume it is just because I don’t feel it,” he began to walk down the stairs trying to work out the quickest route home. She clenched her fist until her knuckles almost split.
“YOU’VE RUINED IT, MALCOLM! YOU’LL ALWAYS BE NOTHING! INVISIBLE! NO ONE WILL REMEMBER YOU AND NO ONE WILL MOURN YOU!” Her hair was disheveled and she was stomping her foot furiously. He stopped walking, not daring to look at her for a moment.
“That may be,” he said, his hushed voice riding the wind to reach her, “but I’m doing what’s right. Sorry, I’m not what you’re looking for.” He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket and started down the street, not stopping until he reached the door to his apartment, the black haired woman’s screams still echoing in his ears.
When he closed the door to his apartment he kicked one of his wayward yogurts in the darkness. He turned on the hall light and sighed as he surveyed his neglected groceries. Without a word he scooped them up and rushed them into the kitchen to figure out what was still salvageable and what would have to be thrown out. He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen and started to make a list for when he stopped at the co-op after work on Monday.