Soul for Sale

by Masters, Cate

  She moved the food around her plate, but rearranging it didn’t make it more appetizing. “Nothing tastes right today. And I could care less.”

  Gwen studied her with concern. “You sure you’re not sick?”

  She set down her fork. “I don’t know what I am. I had the strangest dreams all night.” She decided not to mention the workmen crowded around her apartment building, the odd trek to work, her near-encounter with an auto in front of the Whitney Center. Or seeing him.

  “I’m bland. I’m blah. I’m…” She searched for a description and realized she was “…soulless.”

  Gwen widened her eyes. “Wow. You’re really freaking out about this.” She speared pork onto her chop stick.

  If she only knew the whole story, Gwen would be past the verge of freaking herself.

  Madelyn tried to sound casual. “He wants to meet me.”

  “The guy who bought your soul?” Her eyes held fear. “You’re not going, are you?”

  She shrugged. “Why not? It’ll be fine. It’s a public place. The coffee shop. Our coffee shop,” she said pointedly, challenging Gwen to explain that away.

  “You’re not seriously thinking of going.” Her friend’s skepticism seemed to relate now to Madelyn’s mental health.

  “How can I not go? He paid six hundred sixty six bucks. He should at least see the container it’s in.” Her mind recognized it as humor, but she couldn’t laugh, or chuckle. Not even a titter, though she’d always laughed at her own jokes, prompting Gwen to say she’d broken the cardinal rule of comedy. “Besides, I don’t want him to sue me.”

  “He can’t. You never agreed to it beforehand.” Gwen stopped chewing her stir fried rice. “Six sixty-six. Isn’t that…”

  Madelyn leveled her gaze at her friend. “Yeah. I know. There’s a lot of weird little coincidences that worry me. Because you know Friday is Halloween. All Souls Day.”

  Gwen’s mouth dropped open.

  Madelyn winced, and not just because Gwen hadn’t chewed all her food. “All except me, apparently.”

  As if touched by the hand of inspiration, Gwen’s face lit up. “This is great stuff. I’m using it in my routine.”

  “No – Gwen, no. Please.” She hoped she sounded sufficiently pathetic, so her friend would take pity.

  So what if Gwen did use it? It wouldn’t affect Madelyn’s life in the least.

  Gwen’s shoulders slumped, and her face resembled a sad puppy. “I have to. It’s killer material.”

  Madelyn wanted to say that Gwen was supposed to suffer for her art, not make her friends suffer, but she didn’t have the heart. Or rather, the soul.

  What she lacked in spirit, Madelyn seemed to have made up for in shrewdness. Last night was open mike night. She studied her friend. ”You already did, didn’t you?”

  Gwen’s smile smacked of complicity. And victory. “They loved it.” She cracked open her fortune cookie, and read: “You will be showered with luck.”

  If Madelyn could feel anything, she’d want to puke. She handed her fortune cookie to Gwen. “Here, take mine. I only attract bad luck.”

  Ripping it open, she read: “You will travel far and wide.”

  She punched her arms through her coat sleeves. “Sure, hell’s about as far and wide as I can go. Bet getting the return ticket’s a little harder, though.”

  Gwen rummaged in her purse. “Do you have a pen? I need to write this down. Seriously.”

  Five

  At the coffee shop, Madelyn waited at a table by the window and scanned the pages of the Evening Gazette. The news was always the same. Until she reached page six, where a blurb described a disturbance the night before in her neighborhood. Telephone reception was lost. Television signals were scrambled. Residents reported strange noises, though no one saw anything out of the ordinary.

  No one but Madelyn.

  The guy in black entered the coffee shop. Her breath caught in her chest. As he held her gaze, his dark eyes sparkled like black diamonds. Her heart pounded as he walked to her table and sat across from her.

  “It’s you.” But she’d known it would be.

  His expression was warm and inviting as he looked her over. “I wanted to be sure that, with such a low starting bid, your soul isn’t tarnished.” He spoke to her as if she were an old friend.

  “I feel like it is.” She proceeded to unburden her troubles to him. Even as she thought she should be embarrassed to be doing so, it made her feel lighter, like it opened up space inside her, previously weighted with bad thoughts, unfulfilled hopes, despair and gloom. Now it was kind of airy, little particles sparking in the light as they floated by.

  His gaze penetrated her to the bone. “So you think fifty dollars is all it’s worth? Your soul – the essence of your being?”

  She couldn’t feel more exposed if an x-ray of her insides hung in the window beside them. “It started out as a joke. I thought people would read it and laugh. I wasn’t expecting anyone to place a bid. I wasn’t expecting…” she gulped, “…you.” Her intellect recognized the idiocy of her situation. And stupidity. What a mess she’d made.

  He leaned in, his voice low, his smile like a crocodile about to snap her up. His breath was like a heat wave across her face and neck. “Didn’t your mother warn you not to wish your life away?” It seemed less a question than a reminder.

  “All the time.” She missed her mom, who died five years ago. Sometimes she felt her mother’s presence. At night in bed, her hair would shift as if there were a breeze, but she liked to think it was her mom, kissing her good night. She wanted to run to her now, become lost in the folds of her shirt, bury her head in its lavender protection. Her mother wouldn’t let him take her away.

  Maybe it would help to deflect blame. “I did it on a dare. I never expected anyone to bid hundreds of dollars.”

  His voice reminded her of every horror show she’d ever seen when he said in a slow, soft, deliberate tone, “Surprise.”

  She was surprised when he added, “And it wasn’t a dare. You were bored with your life. Desperate, I believe is the term you used, to improve it.”

  Her fingers twirled her coffee cup. His smile widened as his gaze flicked from the cup to her face.

  She lowered her hands and grabbed her knees. “So what now?”

  His leer intensified. “Now,” a wave of heat alighted along the path his gaze followed across her body, “I get what I paid for.”

  She could barely get out the words. “Will it help if I wear flame-retardant clothes?” Or perhaps it was clothing optional. This thought eased her worries.

  He sipped his latte, then held the cup to eye level, considering it. “This is excellent. I wonder if they sell it by the pound?”

  “You drink coffee down there?” She had a huge learning curve ahead.

  He winked. “Nothing but the best. Of everything.”

  “Of course. What else?”

  He was all business now, writing on the back of a business card. His collar shifted enough to reveal a long scratch reddening the skin above his collar bone.

  She gasped. “What happened to you?”

  She reached across the table but he pulled his shirt collar closed.

  When she leaned back, he began writing again. “The scuffle last night. The losing bidder didn’t take it well.”

  A shudder ran through her. The scuffle last night? Outside her window? How was it that her neighbors thought it to be a storm?

  He shoved the card across the table. “Tomorrow morning, be at this address at eight-thirty-three – not a moment later.”

  “I can’t. I’ll be late for work.” Work might be obsolete soon, but until then, she needed to finish that report, at least.

  Sliding his pen inside his coat, he said, “Evelyn will understand.”

  “She never understands. Wait.” She never mentioned Evelyn by name. “How did you…”

  Two tables away, the waitress looked up from clearing away the dishes and gave her a sad smile. Madelyn smi
led in return, and the waitress sighed as she turned back to her work.

  “Tomorrow morning.” His eyes narrowed as he peered intently out the window.

  “You’re not leaving already, are you?” Their visit had been so short. She wanted more time. She had so many questions to ask.

  And it was the first time all day she’d experienced an emotion.

  His warm eyes burned into hers. “We’ll meet again soon.” He stood, almost bumped into the waitress, who hurried toward a couple at a table down the aisle. “Excuse me,” he said.

  Interesting. Madelyn had thought manners were obsolete where he came from.

  Outside, three police cars rushed by, their lights flashing red in warning as their engines roared.

  She turned and said, “What was all that?” to empty air.

  Six

  Eleven thirty. An hour past her normal bedtime. Madelyn paced from room to small room. Brutus followed her with his gaze.

  “Don’t look at me like that. You have nine lives. Time to spare. Why should cats have nine and humans only get one?” She paused. “How does that work anyway? You must keep the same soul throughout that process. Otherwise, your personality would change, wouldn’t it?”

  Brutus yawned, and his eyes drifted shut.

  She scratched his ear. “Drop the aloof act. You know you’d starve without me.”

  He purred in agreement.

  Grabbing the remote, she flicked on the TV, flopped on the sofa and scanned through channels. Heaving a sigh, she flicked it off again and resumed pacing.

  She picked up a piece of charcoal and held it to the surface of her sketch pad, but her mind was crowded with thoughts, unable to focus.

  Exhausted, she sprawled in bed, but sleep eluded her, hovering just out of reach, safely above the ping-ponging of manic thoughts through her head.

  The alarm clock on her nightstand registered tiny increments of time’s progress. When it finally beeped at six thirty, she felt as if she’d been wrestling all night.

  “Sure, with my conscience,” she told Brutus as she fed him. “I’ll sell that next on uBuy. At least then it won’t keep me up all night.” She paused on her way to the bathroom. “I wonder if I could auction my mind.”

  Brutus looked up from his food dish, skeptical.

  “You’re right, it’s too late. I’ve already lost it.” She turned the shower faucet. Maybe she should go to work as usual, and forget this nonsense. The agreement included nothing in writing about fulfilling any tasks. She hadn’t even agreed verbally.

  What would the consequences be, she wondered, of not showing up at the appointed time and place? Of saying she’d forgotten? It would likely involve hellfire and damnation, multiplied by the lie and brought upon her sooner than she bargained for. Worse, she would disappoint him.

  Besides, something told her she had to go. Her soul hung in the balance.

  The horrific image in the bathroom mirror snapped her to reality. It would take a lot of work to fix that mess. But she didn’t have the luxury of time this morning to make herself any more than acceptably presentable.

  Outside, rain fell like someone somewhere should be building an ark. As she stepped to the curb, a puddle swallowed half her foot and chilled her to the bone as wetness seeped up her pant leg. The irony of cursing him did not escape her.

  On the bus, she checked the appointment card for the thousandth time. At the corner of Sixth Street and Hope Way, Madelyn acknowledged that he at least had a sense of humor, dark though it was. She adjusted her umbrella but the cold raindrops aim for it like a bull’s-eye during target practice. Rain dripped off in sheets that wet her shoes and slacks in places the occasional car splashes had left dry. She didn’t complain. She might miss a good quenching rain. Soon.

  Fog hung above the street like a bad omen. The walk signal flashed and one crowd bustled toward her and another away.

  The minute hand on her watch ticked to eight thirty-two. Was it accurate? She had no way to tell if it was even a minute too slow or too fast. It wasn’t one of those watches that set itself atomically to the correct time – and how did that work, anyway? Was there some magnetic needle of time out there those clocks adjusted themselves to?

  The red digital hand flashed in the crosswalk sign. An elderly woman stepped off the curb too late. Across the street, a shadow flitted through the crowd of pedestrians, then hovered behind the light post. It could have been the lights changing, reflecting off the wet streets, but it seemed to have moved of its own volition.

  The old lady tottered along, so slowly there was no way she’d make it beyond the median before the light changed. Cars jammed the roadway, waiting at the red light with their tailpipes steaming like racehorses at the gate.

  Madelyn called, “Ma’am? The signal’s changed.” The rain, the swoosh of tires on the wet roadway drowned out her voice. The old woman’s coat was somewhere between grey and tan, bordering on invisible in this weather. She didn’t carry an umbrella, nothing to distinguish her from the scenery. A distracted driver might not see her until the second before his car made contact.

  The shadow shifted behind a passerby on the other side.

  She ignored it. “Ma’am?” she called louder.

  The distinct possibility existed the old woman was hard of hearing. She trudged ahead, oblivious. She’d just crossed the double lines separating the lanes when the light for oncoming traffic turned green.

  Unable to stand by and simply watch the nightmare unfold, Madelyn rushed toward her. A black sedan rounded the corner too fast as the light changed from amber to red. Its engine roared as it bore down on Madelyn, then its brakes screeched. The car slid sideways, gliding atop the rain-drenched road. Time plunged into slow motion and advanced frame by frame, as if in an editing room. Madelyn’s legs and arms moved robot-like, comically. She hoped she didn’t end up on the cutting room floor of her life story, if that was what this was.

  She sprinted ahead and shoved the old woman toward a man watching from the curb, his mouth and eyes rounded in expectant horror.

  She yelled, “Catch!” and the old lady landed in his arms like it was a rehearsed pratfall. Too bad Gwen hadn’t seen it.

  The corner of the sedan’s front fender bumped Madelyn’s rear, knocking her off balance. She fell to the roadway, and the car’s tire came to rest near her head, steaming in a puddle like a victorious predator. Rain puddles soaked her clothes through to her skin. The old woman turned to see what caused the commotion, then the man helped her onto the curb. People crowded the sidewalks, straining to see.

  Among the gathering mass of gawkers appeared his smiling face. The guy in black.

  She pushed herself up on one elbow. “You’re here.”

  Through the din – pounding rain, honking car horns, the rabble already telling their version of the story to one another – he heard her, somehow. He winked.

  A camera’s flash blinded her, and the back of her head whacked the pavement.

  This is it, now I’m going to hell. The world around her went dark, like the end of a movie with no credits.

  She floated through a white haze, vaguely disturbed by the bumpy ride, but probably the road to hell wasn’t supposed to be smooth. The piercing shrieks of a siren seemed miles away. She woke up in a white-sheeted bed surrounded by tacky multicolored striped curtains. She hadn’t expected eternal damnation to have such an antiseptic smell. Hellfire was surely hot enough to disinfect newbies without supplementation. Maybe Satan’s many attributes include being anal, a Howard Hughes germophobe type.

  In the space beyond the curtains, a man called, “Is there a Madelyn here?”

  “I’m Madelyn,” she said, feeling silly. “In here.”

  The stripes undulated as the curtain billowed, someone feeling along it, following it to its end. A white-haired gentleman carrying a bouquet appeared. “You must be something special. I’ve never delivered flowers to someone in the emergency room before.”

  “The emergency room?” The
back of her head ached. The image of a car speeding through pelting rain flashed in her mind. When the image of the shadowy silhouette came to mind, she shivered.

  “Thanks.” She took the flowers and he disappeared again behind the curtain.

  The aroma of the small bouquet soothed her. Irises, baby’s breath and lavender. The card read, “Meet me at six o’clock tonight at our spot – S.”

  Our spot? Would that be where she would make her farewell to this world? Was this morning only a practice run?

  A nurse pushed aside the curtain. “All right, you can go, but you can’t drive. The instructions are all here.”

  “Oh, no. What time is it? I’m late for work!” She sat up too fast, and her head pounded.

  The nurse handed her an instruction sheet. “You have a slight concussion. Call someone to pick you up. Then go home and rest, but don’t sleep.”

  Sleep. She felt as if she hadn’t had a decent wink in weeks.

  She called Gwen, but left out any explanation of where she’d been injured and why, which would invite a scolding. Gwen couldn’t get away to pick her up, but sent a cab for her and promised to smooth things over with Evelyn.

  As it turned out, there was no need.

  Seven

  That evening at five forty-nine, when Madelyn inserted two quarters into the newspaper box outside the coffee shop and pulled out the daily paper, she realized this morning’s camera flash had been from a reporter. There she was, on the front page of the Evening Gazette. Tucking it under her arm, she went inside to wait.

  When he walked toward her, smiling as he sat across from her, she found his perfection a tad irritating. His teeth too dazzling white, his black clothing too obvious in their wannabe mysteriousness. She wanted to reach over and tousle his hair, but he’d probably look even better that way.

  As he reached for her hand across the tabletop, she resolved not to be deterred by his many charms. “I had a very interesting day today. But you know that. You were there.”