The Promise - Part 1 (803 hits)
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Submitted by Julia (View user info) at 2004-09-28 17:55:26 EDT
Part 1 - "The Deal"
The January air was heavy and damp with fog. A few degrees colder, snow might fall, but the city hadn't seen snow in years. Michael huddled farther into his ragged overcoat as he sat on the park bench that morning, letting his hair fall around his face like a veil. His ears were stinging with cold. He hated that the shelter turned everyone out of doors at dawn, but that's how it went. It was probably around seven, Michael thought. In a few minutes, he would take the twenty-six-minute walk toward the subway station, where warmth would billow from the steam vents and where he would spend most of his morning. Soon he would go. Not yet. His feet were still warm, and that was a feeling worth relishing. Tucking his hands under his arms, Michael slouched into his coat and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a man was sitting next to him.
Michael jumped a little and stared. He had heard no one approach, nor had he felt any movement in the rusted metal bench. The stranger was looking at him, and then he smiled.
"Good morning, Michael," he said.
Michael hesitated, then answered, "Hello." Even after only four months, he was well-acquainted with the cops downtown, since he was regularly arrested for vagrancy. This was no cop. Social worker? Too nicely dressed. Someone from before, maybe, from when he had an apartment and his little business and gloves that had all their fingers intact. Finally--"Do I know you?"
"In a way," the stranger said. "But we've never met." Looking down, he idly brushed away a leaf from where it had fallen on his lapel. His coat looked like cashmere. "Alpaca," said the man.
"What?" The stranger was looking at him again. His eyes were . . . Michael felt strange looking at him directly.
"This coat is alpaca. You were looking at it. You'd like to have a coat like this, wouldn't you?" Michael said nothing, but wariness was rapidly replacing confusion. "It's so cold this morning," the stranger said carelessly.
Michael had heard about men like this. Rich men who wanted to tend to sick, secret urges. What did he mean when he said Michael knew him "in a way"? He didn't want to find out.
"I don't know who you are, but I'm not for sale," Michael said firmly, standing. The stranger dropped his smile and fixed those disturbing eyes on him.
"Of course you're not for sale, Michael," he said seriously. "I wouldn't have come to you if you were. And now you're perplexed. I have a proposition for you, and it's nothing like what you think." The man paused, then waited. "Please sit, Michael." There was no coaxing in his voice now.
Cautiously, dubiously, Michael sat. "Who are you?"
The stranger leaned closer, and the pupils of his eyes yawned open and open, until his eyes had no whites, no color. Transfixed, Michael looked into their depths, feeling as if he were falling. Infinity gaped, time staggered, and the world began to wrinkle into those black points. Vertigo hit with sickening force.
Then the man blinked. His clear blue eyes returned. "You know who I am."
"Jesus Christ!" Michael swore, wildly leaping away from the man. He was going to vomit.
The stranger smiled more grandly than before. "No, not he." His teeth were slightly pointed. He watched pale and panting man before him, unwinding his scarf to reveal a black business suit beneath the alpaca coat. A black wool suit and blood-red tie. "You know who I am, don't you?"
"Yes," Michael gasped.
"Now I will tell you why I am here. I want you to work for me." The man waited patiently through the obligatory refusals and horrified protests while Michael tried to make sense of the last sixty seconds. "At least let me tell you about the job."
"No."
"At least let me tell you about the job, Michael," repeated the man. "I'll tell you again that it's not what you think. Okay? It's nothing worse than spending your days walking through the mud and living in the cold. It's nothing worse than having no bed to call your own, nobody to call even if you had the money to use a payphone. It's nothing worse than what you've already got, Michael, and many would think it's a good deal better."
"You're a liar," Michael managed weakly. "They call you the Prince of Lies. I'm not listening to this." But he didn't move.
The man frowned. "I never lie. Ever." It began to rain.
"A liar would say that," said Michael triumphantly.
"Michael," the man sighed. "Here's the deal. Promise to work for me for seven years. You can be powerful, wealthy. At the end of the seven years, you're free."
Michael laughed, a brittle sound. "Doing what? Killing people?"
One of the man's eyebrows flicked upwards and his nostrils twitched. "Killing people? No, no. Absolutely not. You will just commit no acts of generosity or kindness for seven years. That's it. Seven years of selfishness."
"No. Never."
"Really? What selfless acts have you committed recently? You're not exactly in a position to do any good to anyone now, are you? Work for me, and at least you'll live comfortably instead of having your only hat stolen while you sleep."
"Seven years of selfishness," Michael repeated.
"Yes, that's it. You'll have all the money you want. You were a selfish bastard before, I know. It's not like this is a stretch for you."
"What's the catch?" What a stupid question, Michael said to himself. It didn't work on telemarketers or car salesmen--it certainly wasn't going to work now.
"No catch, really. Well, one, I suppose. Give up before the seven years are up, and you're mine. But you've been pretty selfish for going on thirty-four years." It was true. "Buy a house, watch videos all day. I don't care. The idle rich do nothing all the time. You can too." The man pulled off a glove, revealing well-manicured nails, and held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"
Michael's coat was rapidly becoming soaked from sweat and icy rain. Perhaps it would snow after all. Still--"I don't trust you."
"Tell you what. Take this." The man pulled a credit card from his pocket and held it out. It was green and said MICHAEL A. NEVINS on it. "Go to that ATM." The man nodded at the bank across the street. "Withdraw some cash, get something to eat, buy some warm clothes and get a good night's rest. Sleep on it. Meet me here, tomorrow, and tell me what you think."
Slowly, Michael took the card and went to the ATM. He turned to call and ask for the PIN, but he saw the man wink from across the street. 666, he typed. $300.
"I will see you tomorrow, Michael," the man said, suddenly beside him. "I hope we'll have a deal."
User Reviews
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2004-10-08 11:59:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Mercutio (user info) at 2004-10-01 13:02:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
As always, excellent.
Submitted by electrictoothsyndrome (user info) at 2004-09-29 19:14:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Reminds me a bit of Beggar's Banquet post 2...interesting twist with the selfishness thing. I feel a morality play coming on perhaps...cool.
Like I've said before, you're already one of my favorite new users...keep it up!
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2004-09-29 11:39:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
I would like to see more!
Submitted by Badlands (user info) at 2004-09-29 08:24:05 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nice concept. You've got my attention...
Submitted by whiskey_jack (user info) at 2004-09-28 22:43:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Good so far. I look forward to the rest.
Submitted by Monarch (user info) at 2004-09-28 22:02:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
It's too early to tell how good this will turn out, but I'll give you a tentative +2.
I'll be waiting for the next installment.
Submitted by JMG114 (user info) at 2004-09-28 21:17:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Nice.
Submitted by drfeggphd (user info) at 2004-09-28 18:25:02 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
indeed, probably.
looking forward to the next installment.
What is to give light must endure burning -- Frankl
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2004-09-28 17:58:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment