Sold! By Jesse Smith http://slicer69.tripod.com/ It was about 6am when I unlocked my apartment door. I was tired, sore and more than ready for sleep. It was dark in my little home, but of course, it was dark outside too. I flicked on the light and closed the door behind me. I wish I could say that I'd been out on a wild night of fun. I wasn't. I was getting home at six in the morning from work. Newspaper delivery is a lot of things, but glorious isn't one of them. It's long, cold work. Mind numbingly simple. But it pays the rent, barely. I looked through the fridge for a beer, realized that I had already had the last one and sat down. Actually, there wasn't anything in the fridge. I didn't have groceries and wouldn't have any money for them until Friday. Well, I did have that can of soup in the cupboard. That would be dinner for tomorrow. Now, it was time for a nap. "You could have more, you know," I thought the words were mine. However, the tone wasn't quite right. I felt goosebumps break out on my skin. I turned around. Standing behind me, on the opposite side of the room was a man. A short man with dark hair. His clothes were plain, but well kept. I had been sure I was alone in the apartment until this point. But there he was, clear as day. Well, actually, that was the odd thing about him; I could see through parts of him. I kept my eyes on him as I reached for a cutting knife. "Don't worry about it," he said and took a step forward, "I'm not here to hurt you." "Who are you?" I demanded, still reaching blindly for a weapon. "Call me Larry," he said and laughed as if it were some private joke. "Fine, Larry. What the hell are you doing here!?" I demanded. He held up both hands and stopped in the middle of the floor. He looked solid, for the most part. But every so often I'd catch a glimpse of my wall through his arm or leg. Maybe I was over-tired. I hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. "I am here," he said, slowly, clearly, "to offer you a deal." "A deal?" That wasn't what I was expecting. I thought he was here to rob, rape or kidnap me. Dealing isn't what I was ready for. It must have shown on my face. "You're thinking about moving. Going west?" he pointed at the kitchen table. I followed his gesture to an open newspaper on the table. An ad for discount airlines lay open...and circled. It seemed pointless to deny. In fact, I had been planning a trip west. What little money I could squirrel away had been put into "Mike's Travel Fund". A savings account with, now, three hundred dollars in it. I had been putting away spare change for about a year now, hoping to get out of this little fishing community. The West, land of culture, busy people and good food. Women, song, etc, I thought. "Yes," I admitted. "I thought so," he gave me a friendly smile. "It is nice out there." He paused. I wasn't sure if he was waiting for something or just thinking. He seemed to be looking past me. No through me. It was an unusual feeling. "So, um, Larry. What can I do for you?" I'd given up searching for a weapon. This guy just didn't seem a threat. Even standing, uninvited, in the middle of my kitchen. He looked at me, gave a half grin and said, "I don't want you to go." Odd. Odd and getting odder. I racked my mind, searching for any clue that I might have met Larry before. Nothing came to me. "Why is that?" I asked, blankly. "I have, well, business out west," he said. "I'm afraid that you might...get in the way," he seemed like he was trying to be diplomatic. "I'd rather you didn't go out west." Oh. This was interesting. "How would I effect your business?" I wondered out loud. He shrugged, "I'd rather not go into that. However, you're an active sort of person, Mike-" (how did he know my name too?) "- and I have reason to want you to remain here." I took a deep breath. This was probably some sort of bad dream. It had to be. "So, that's it? You just want me to stay here? Not move?" he nodded. I stopped to think. I had my heart set on this trip, this change. "Excuse me for seeming mercenary," I began after a moment's thought, "but what's in this for me? Staying here, I mean." I was too tired to speak clearly, I thought. But he obviously followed every word. In fact, he smiled. "What would you like?" he asked. When I didn't answer right away, he looked around the room. He walked over to my mattress, which lay on the floor. "Money?" he asked and walked over to my book shelf, "women?" and then turned to face me, "respect?" he took a step closer, "peace of mind?" I nodded, "That would be a nice start," I laughed. He laughed with me. "If you agree not to move, you may consider it done," he dead panned. I stopped laughing, "What?" "If you agree not to move west, you can have those things." "Really? You'll give me those things?" he nodded. Well, this was getting to be a bit much. Shouldn't I be awake by this point? "I want these things up front," I warned. "I'm not going to cancel my plans, sign a new lease without something up front." "Certainly," he replied. "You'll have it." I thought for a minute, "If I don't think I'm getting enough, I'll move anyway," I said. I had expected this to anger him. He did stop smiling for a moment. Then he nodded, slowly. "That's only fair, I suppose," he agreed. "Are we in agreement then?" This seemed awfully real. Yet, somehow it was hard to believe, since I was currently able to see my bookcase through his stomach. "Agreed," I replied. "Good!" with a big smile, a toothy one, he spun on his heel. A second later he'd gone, closing the door behind him. I just shook my head. It all felt slightly unreal; I'd just sold my dream to a man I didn't know. I awoke the next morning on the floor. This wasn't much of a surprise. I usually woke up on the floor. My head was sore, either from lack of sleep or the angle at which I'd fallen. I checked the time, got up and started cooking that last can o' soup. Today would be, like any other, long and cold. The dream, it had to be a dream, was already fading from my mind. There was, of course, no see through man; no gennie; no miracle cure for my life. That evening, however, when I left to go to pick up the newspapers, I found a five dollar bill, half buried in the snow, on my doorstep. Odd, I thought. But, it'll buy me a sandwich. The next few days passed like any other wintery week. Papers were delivered, rent was payed and I struggled to sleep during the daylight hours. I slowly forgot, or dismissed, the stranger named Larry. The following weekend I talked with a friend, Heather, who lived further out west. She had just lost a roommate and, knowing I hoped to travel, offered me a place to stay. I thanked her, said I'd consider it, and started looking at plane tickets again. Cheap, they were and very inviting. How long before I could tie my loose ends and be gone, I wondered. I would sleep on it. Nothing like a brand new night to put everything in order. That Monday I was on my way out to the post office. I almost tripped over Susan, a friend of mine from work. She was standing on my porch, looking slightly lost. "I didn't know if I had the right place," she explained. I assured her that if she was looking for me, that she did indeed have the right place. She pushed some of her brown hair out of her face and gave me a lost puppy look. Susan, certainly a cute young lady, cold and, oddly, on my front step. I invited her in and as soon as she sat down, she started her story. Her boyfriend, David and she had gotten into an argument. Their relationship was on the rocks, she felt and needed a friend to talk to. It seemed, I was the friend of the hour. Flattering, really, since Susan and I had never talked outside of work. She suggested we go out and grab some pizza, which sounded great. However, as I pointed out, I didn't have any money. For the first time of the evening, Sue smiled. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. "It's Dave's," she said to push aside my objections, "I was doing his wash, as usual, and found it." Well, far be it from me to reject a pretty lady's offer for pizza. Off we went. What a nice change of pace; eating pizza with a friend and co-worker, joking about our jobs, our boss and life in general. That night, while dropping off the last of my papers on a woman's door step, the lady of house appeared. She was on her way off to work and stopped to chat for a moment. Usually, I'm in a hurry and don't have time, but as this was my last paper of the day.... She was a middle aged woman, children off in college, divorced husband. After a minute she said, "Oh, I'm sorry, you must be tired. Been working all night?" "Yes ma'am," I answered, "nearly time for my nap," I joked. She chuckled with me, then slipped a twenty into my hand. In response to my quizzical look she stated warmly, "You're always on time and don't leave my papers in the bushes," she gestured toward her rose bushes, "this is my thank you." "I..um." But she had already turned and walked away, waving over her shoulder. Quite the bonus for my day. The next evening, I arrived at work. I'd slept well that night. Like a rock, one might say. Maybe there is something comforting about having milk in one's fridge. My supervisor quickly pulled me aside, into his his office. "Uh-oh," I thought. He sat down behind his desk and offered me a chair. I sat and waited for.... something not good. "I just wanted to say that I've been reviewing you, Micheal," he began. He cleared his throat. "You've been doing good work. You come in on time, you don't cause any trouble and there haven't been any complaints from customers on your route in a long time." He paused, "Keep up the good work." I was slightly stunned. This wasn't the yelling, angry review I'd be fearing. This was actually quite good. "I talked it over with Mrs. Stunach," that would be his boss, "and she suggested we give you a small raise. Not much, but we want to keep you around." And it was getting better. "Thank you, sir," I replied. "Don't let it go to your head," he smiled. With that, the review was over. That's when many things seemed to all happen at once. My post office box started to fill with notices or letters of various types. They were, in order, the following: The first was a letter from my bank, announcing that I had been approved for a $10,000 credit limit at low interest. All I had to do was sign the paper and send it back. At first I thought this was a scam or a joke or a trap. However, re-reading the contract agreement and a call to the local branch confirmed that it was legit. Since it's always nice to have money on a rainy day, I accepted. The second letter was actually my tax return cheque. The government happily told me that they owed me money, rather than the usual me-to-them relationship we had developed in the recent years. An added bonus to my week. Third was a letter from Heather. She wrote to inform me that she was coming east in a few months. She had family that she would be staying with and she was hoping to see me before she went back. No complaints there, I hadn't seen Heather in over a year. Sadly, the fourth letter was bad news. An aunt of mine had recently and suddenly passed away. I hadn't known her well and felt the loss of a missed relationship more than loss of a connection. Missing what wasn't there, I suppose. I attended the funeral that weekend and returned Monday to find the fifth and last letter of the barrage. The final letter of the group was a second government cheque. Identical to the first in every way, except the date at the top. I read it over and re-read the enclosed letter. Then re-read it again. Yes, it was a cheque, not a receipt. How odd. Odd, yet welcome. A week passed, and yet another, with little out of the ordinary. It seemed that my luck, good or bad, had settled out. Papers got delivered, bills got paid and life went on. I'm not sure, but I think I'd come expect little moments of good-luck surprise. My ordinary life, however, came to a screeching stop one morning as I returned home from work. When I unlocked my apartment door, a fresh twenty dollar bill fell from the door casing to land at my feet. Interesting. I carefully picked it up, and with my keys in the other hand, I entered my apartment. I came to a dead stop when I entered the kitchen. Standing before me was an angel. Or at least, it was how I'd picture an angel, I couldn't say for sure what it was. A figure, made of pure, white light stood next to my stove. Great, beautiful wings arched up and over its back, nearly to the ceiling. I say "it" because I couldn't tell right away if the figure was male or female. Its face, what I could make out through the light, was set like stone. The body was thin, tall and impossible to look at directly. The wings, white at the base, were red tipped, as if they were about to catch on fire. My blood went cold. The eyes of the angel opened a second after I stepped into the room. A bright blue, they focused on me and appeared to look deep into my very being. "What are you doing?" the voice boomed through my head. I couldn't be sure if the lips had moved. I suddenly felt very weak. "What are you doing?" the voice echoed through my head again and I watched the angel step toward me. With slow, purposeful steps, the figure came closer. Its face had gone from firm to cold and the red light had spread to outline its entire body. Male, I thought, the voice sounded male for some- A hand gripped my wrist and the angel's face came very close to my own. "What do you mean?" I asked, voice and legs shaking. "This!" the angel reached down and snatched the twenty from my hand, "What is this? What are you doing?" The bill slowly turned black, as if ink had seeped into it from the angel's fingers. "You have a purpose! A destiny," the voice became softer and the angel stepped back, letting go of my arm. "You're throwing it away," the voice was more a whisper now. This was certainly not the "fear not" angels of the school plays I remembered. "Throwing it away? Throwing what away?" an angel in one's kitchen will play merry hell, pardon the expression, with one's nerves. The angel's eyes focused on me again. With a flick of his hand, he tossed the blacked bill aside. His expression softened for a moment. Just a moment. "Child," he said, "Do you not think there is a reason you have been asked to stay here? You have work to do. I cannot tell you what. But you have a purpose. That purpose must be forfilled." The doubt must have registered on my face. The angel came forward and put his arm around me. My skin suddenly felt warm under the touch. "Look!" the angel cried and turned me to face the far wall. Or, at least, my wall had been there before. Now it was gone, replaced by a vision, as if I was watching a movie screen. Where my wall had been once, was a moving image of Heather, my western friend. She seemed to be writing something on a small notepad. Beside her was a brown suitcase. "What-?" I began. "Shh, look," the angel whispered in my ear. The image moved closer, focusing on a envelope sitting on top of the suitcase. Heather's hand moved into the picture, placing a piece of paper into the envelope. The envelope was then flipped over. On the other side was a stamp and an address; my address. "Who was there when you decided to live?" I couldn't tell if the words came from the angel or the image. I thought back. A number of friends and family had been there for me when I gave up my thoughts of suicide so many years past. My parents, my buddy Collin...Heather. "Who was there to see you off to college?" Heather, among others. "Who was there when your marriage plans fell through?" Heather had. Without being told about my separation from my fiancee, she had arrived on my doorstep the next morning. It seemed, thinking back, that she was always there during big changes. No, not the changes. She was there when I hit bottom. When I was starting from scratch. There to help me stand again. "And," the voice seemed to be inside my head now, "she will be there when you make your choice; to stay or to go." "Look!" this voice was certainly external and most definitely came from the angel beside me. I turned. There, lying on the floor, was the twenty dollar bill. The black stain was gone and flames licked about it. My first reaction was to turn, to get water. I didn't make it. I awoke the next evening, face down, on my kitchen floor. My head ached, there was the taste of blood on my lips. I looked around. The wall that I thought had shown me images of Heather that morning was as it always was. White, bare, in need of painting. I sat up and dusted myself off. "Ow!" I looked down. Four long, thin burn marks made lines across my wrist. I placed my hand next to them. The marks looked for all the world like four long finger prints, done in red paint. Shaking my head, I stood up, collected my keys from the floor. That's when I remembered the bill, the fire. I looked down. Nothing on the floor. Something on my kitchen table caught my eye. Sitting there where three objects. The one in the middle was a black piece of paper. On it was a fancy script done in silver. The words read: "I offer you your destiny, nothing more, nothing less." To the left of the note was the twenty dollar bill. No black stain, no sign of burning. Finally, to the right was a newspaper page. At the bottom of the page was an ad for discount airline tickets. One way tickets, 10% off, anywhere in the country. Pocketing my keys, I reached down and picked one up and headed for the door.