Skillful Death

by Ike Hamill

  “And impossible to verify,” I say.

  “How can you say that? Just ask your employer. If he corroborates the information, then she wins the prize.”

  “If he can verify the information, then it’s something he knew. What he knew, someone else could know. How is that evidence of the paranormal?”

  “Because she learned it from spirits.”

  “But how would I know that? We have a standard test for psychics. I can send you a copy.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us that earlier? Why did you come out here and waste our time?”

  “You told me to come out here. You said your aunt was possessed and you wanted to cash in,” I say.

  “Who said I was possessed?” the aunt yells. Her quiet voice suddenly packs some punch. Her eyes are open now. They’re open wide.

  “She did,” I say. I point to Franza.

  “I never did,” Franza says. She shoots me a look, daring me to contradict her.

  I do.

  “Of course you did,” I say to Franza, then I turn to Laurette. “You remember, Laurette? You said outside I could call you Laurette even though it’s the name of the spirit group that inhabits you? Your real name is Susan, right?”

  “You’re a very rude man,” Laurette says.

  “Me? She’s the one who said you were possessed. Is this all part of the act?”

  “What is this test?” Franza asks.

  “I have several. You can choose. She can guess the sequence of a random set of symbols. We can record specific predictions for tomorrow, ten days, and one-hundred days. There’s a number guessing one. There’s a remote viewing test. They’re all done downtown in a controlled environment. It’s fun. I’ll take you to lunch.”

  “You have to pay for the reading I gave you today,” Laurette says.

  That’s my cue to leave.

  “You know where my office is,” I say to Franza as I stand. I hand her my card. “My number is on here. Give me a call sometime.”

  Franza jumps up.

  “He has to pay. Make sure he pays,” Laurette says.

  Franza takes me by the arm and walks me to the door.

  “I’ll be in touch about the tests. She doesn’t like to travel, but I’ll figure out how to get her there.”

  “Okay,” I say. I’m pretty sure that as soon as I send over the details of the tests, I’ll never hear from Franza again. There’s no way to cheat the tests, so just the details usually scare away the fakers.

  “I have to pick up my kids, so I can’t offer you a ride back to your office.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “I can expense a cab ride.”

  She opens the door and shows me out to the porch.

  “Make sure, Franza,” Laurette yells from her chair.

  Franza closes the door, cutting off the old woman’s voice.

  “There’s one thing I have to ask,” she says. “I know it’s going to seem weird.”

  “Yeah?” I ask. There’s always one more thing. These people try to get their hooks into you by establishing a relationship. Those relationships always start with just one more thing.

  “About the reading today. She’s kinda OCD about this stuff. You may not believe in it, but she does, and she has to get paid when she does a reading.”

  “Look, I sympathize, I have crazy relatives too, but I can’t establish a precedent of paying people who show up unsolicited at my door and drag me off to the suburbs, you know?”

  “I know, and I’m not asking for much. Do you have any change or anything? Hell, do you have a loose button or something? She just has to get some kind of a payment. A penny will do.”

  Ugh. This is the worst kind of scam—the kind that seems perfectly reasonable and you can’t figure out what the real scam is.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. I really don’t want to get wrapped up in this. “I gave you my card. Doesn’t that count?”

  “Come on,” she says. “Don’t make me beg. I won’t do it.”

  “You can beg if you want. My policy is firm.”

  “You’re making me do this,” she says.

  I take a step towards the yard and she takes a step back towards the door. She reaches back and grabs the handle of her front door and shoots me a disgusted look. I don’t know what she’s planning to do, but I suddenly have no interest in any more interactions with Franza and her crazy, possessed, OCD aunt.

  ♣ ♢ ♡ ♠

  I’m sitting in the guest chair in my office, looking across my desk at my empty chair.

  “What the hell?” I ask my empty office. The door is shut behind me. Did I have a weird dream?

  I circle my desk and pull out my laptop. I start a script running that will find me the password to my building’s security system. This is a trick I frequently use to get access to the video surveillance. I have my own cameras in my office, but they’re shut off when I’m here. I don’t like the feeling of being watched.

  While I’m waiting for my computer to finish, I check my phone. No calls in or out for the past few hours. I wish I had checked the time when I was on Laurette’s porch. It’s three-thirty in the afternoon now.

  I’ve got access. I run the video backwards and it doesn’t take long to find what I’m looking for. I watch a video of me walking backwards from the elevator to the front door. So I came in alone, about twenty minutes ago, and then what? I just came up to my office, sat in a guest chair and zoned out? Did they drug me somehow? I thought I was so careful.

  My wallet! I pull it from my pocket and thumb through the contents. Yup, there’s twenty bucks missing. I don’t know how she got me back to the office, but she managed to get her fee for the reading. With a skill like that, I’m surprised she needs my boss’s prize money. With that kind of mind-control it seems like she could just take what she wants whenever she wants it.

  I go over to my filing cabinet and begin to put together a packet of information on the psychic tests we have available. I put together this documentation years ago. My boss always joked that I shouldn’t have to send any information to psychics, they should just psychically figure it out. But I’ve found this packet really helpful. It has really cut down on the number of people I have to test. Before, they’d come in figuring they could scam me somehow. Now, once they’ve seen the test procedures, most of the them figure out that they’re not going to be able to pull any scams. They never bother to come in.

  I put all the documents in an envelope and then take them out again. On second thought, forget Laurette and Franza, who somehow stole my memories and my twenty dollars. I’ll never hear from them again. They’re not worth the postage.

  33 COURTING

  HOW MUCH WORK WOULD he be doing? A month later, Dom still didn’t understand how to answer the question, but began to understand the scope of the work. Although he could only work in a client’s house during regular business hours, his labor required every free moment. If he didn’t set aside time for Tara, his job would have eaten that too.

  Tashi helped Dom plan the business, but expected Dom to do all the management. He had to keep the books, work with his suppliers, find storage and fabrication space, and enlist low-cost labor for the routine work. Dom achieved new standing in the community. People met his eyes when he walked through the market. Vendors touched his arm to show him their wares. When he strolled with Tara in the evenings, men nodded and women smiled. Children no longer chased Dom making guttural growling sounds and then running in fear from the “scary bear.”

  For Tara, Dom set aside his evenings. Every few days, she invited him to dinner at her aunt’s table. Other evenings, they went to their rock in the circle on the west side of town. Regardless if they were alone or in a group watching a performance, they sat close to each other and faced the setting sun. Whenever her hip touched his, Dom focused his attention on the contact. On the stroll back to her aunt’s house, she took Dom’s arm, and sometimes rested her head on his shoulder. All the while, she clutched the box to her chest.

  Dom
worked several houses at once. He managed a small staff of respectful, well-dressed young men who assisted him with preparations, hauling, and cleanup. Dom taught them to use raw materials to build the parts he would need. In the morning, he set them to work. At his first job site, he installed plumbing and fixtures. At noon, he checked on his diggers. Afternoons were dedicated to measuring and fitting. Before he visited with Tara, Dom reviewed piecework and paid his staff. After leaving Tara, he focused on bookkeeping and correspondence. His days disappeared into his work. His dreams were still haunted by the lake.

  After nearly two months of hard work, the money began to flow. Black numbers overtook the red in his ledger. As each payment came in, his debt to Tashi vanished, and Dom confirmed his numbers with Tashi each day. Tashi seemed unsurprised by all the intricacies of Dom’s business, but even he looked shocked the day that Dom made his final payment against the seventy-five percent rate, driving Tashi’s cut to thirty-percent of the profit.

  That evening, Dom invited Tara out to a fancy dinner, at a restaurant where the staff brought out a constant stream of exotic food. When they finally pushed away from the table, Dom thought his stomach would burst from the food and that his heart might burst from pride. Tara beamed and didn’t have anything to say besides, “Thank you.”

  Dom arrived the next evening in his new suit. This one he’d bought all by himself, on credit from the tailor. Tara met him at the door. She wore a stunning yellow dress with a white sash. Her orange cloak, draped over her shoulders, would protect her from the chilly wind.

  “I think it’s time we take a walk,” Tara said.

  “Okay?” Dom asked, confused. They almost always took a walk when Dom wasn’t invited to supper. He wasn’t sure why this one had so much gravity.

  “Do you remember the favor I asked you for, so long ago?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think we should discuss that again,” Tara said.

  “Okay?”

  “In my village, when a boy and girl make a promise to join their families together, the boy’s family gives the girl a present. It’s usually a box, with something inside,” she held her box up towards Dom. He reached to take it, and she pulled it back and walked away. Dom fell in behind her and she turned to continue her story. “The girl doesn’t know what’s in the box until the day the promise is kept. But I know what’s in my box.”

  “A knife?”

  “Yes, you remember. It’s good to know that you listen. I went to a blind woman who is able to speak with the dead. She heard my problem and then she reached out to my parents to discuss if I should maintain my vow.”

  “Your parents are dead?” Dom asked.

  “Obviously,” she said. “Why do you think I’m living here with my aunt?”

  Dom raised his eyebrows as Tara continued.

  “The woman said, ‘No.’ She said that the vow could no longer hold my body because my body became my own when my parents passed away. Unfortunately, my father was the person in our village who would negotiate that type of arrangement. Whenever anyone would die, he would assess their wishes and determine if the normal inheritance should be overruled. In my case, I would have gone to him to ask if my vow remained, but of course he was dead.”

  “Couldn’t the blind woman speak for your father?”

  “Her word is only binding to the person who pays for her services. After my father passed on, the person who took over the duty of arbitration was none other than the father of my betrothed. He decided that I should go away for one year to stay with my closest relatives until I’m the proper age. When I return, I will marry his son.”

  “Oh,” Dom said.

  “But the blind woman came to me again. This time she came on her own and she said that my box holds a knife, and this knife is capable of cleaving my body from my soul. Only my soul is still promised to the boy because my body is now my own. Once my body and soul are cleaved, my soul will go to the boy back in my village and my body will be free to do whatever I wish.”

  “But how can your body continue on without a soul?”

  “I assume the body can grow a new soul? Or perhaps one will be reincarnated into my body? Whatever the case, at least my body won’t be promised anymore. The boy is fat and terrible. I can’t stand the thought of my body going to him.”

  “But your soul?”

  “My soul will go with the knife and the box. They will be returned if the cleaving is successful. When I first saw you, I thought, ‘Here’s the boy who will release me from my vow.’ But then I decided it wasn’t you, after all. The blind woman said my true love would be a boy unlike any other I’d seen before. She said he would be tall and strong. You’re definitely different than other boys, but you’re not all that tall. You look strong, but who knows? I’ve never seen you do anything that required all that much strength. Perhaps she meant strong-willed, or strong of character, but I’m not sure you’re either of those.”

  “But have you seen any other man who fits the description better than I do?”

  “Well, there is a boy who lives down near the creek. His family have a small herd of yak and his mother processes the wool. He wears the most amazing yak costumes I’ve ever seen. He’s definitely unlike any other boy I’ve seen, but I think it’s mostly because of the dye his mother uses for the yak wool. I wonder how she does it? He’s also not very tall, and his shoulders are not as broad as yours. But I can’t speak to which of you would be stronger. How could I know that?”

  “I don’t know,” Dom said. He briefly imagined challenging this boy to a fight so they could prove which of them was stronger. But he didn’t want to fight this boy he’d never met. The yak boy might not even have interest in Tara. How would he like it if some strange boy came up to him and wanted to fight over some girl he didn’t even know? The thought depressed him.

  “And there’s another boy I met who lives on the plains with his family. They have a horse and they hunt. He’s very tall, but he looks just like one of my cousins back on the mountain. The blind woman said he would be tall and strong, but also unlike any other boy. He was definitely not unlike my cousin, and come to think of it, he may have just seemed tall because he was riding the horse on the day I met him. Still, I wonder if maybe he was the boy. I’ve never seen anyone my age riding a horse before.”

  “Oh,” Dom said. He understood her fascination. He’d seen people riding horses and had felt a deep envy. The bond between a man and a giant animal was something his soul seemed to covet.

  “But I wanted to discuss this favor with you again,” Tara said.

  “Why me?” Dom asked. For weeks, he felt like he was developing a special bond with beautiful Tara. Now, with one conversation, he felt like he was just one of many prospects in her busy love life.

  “Because if you’re the one who is going to release my body from my soul, then you should be the one who will wed my body.”

  “Oh?” Dom asked. He suddenly wished they were at the rock so he could sit down.

  “Don’t you want to marry my body?”

  “Without your soul?”

  “Yes,” she said, “without this soul that you’ve grown to know.”

  “Yes!” Dom grasped her by the shoulders. “I would be so happy to.”

  “Then you’d better start discussing it with my aunt. There’s so much snow collecting in the passes. It would be foolish to try to reach my village this time of year, but my aunt and her husband can start to talk with you about such arrangements. Let’s go to our rock.”

  With no performances scheduled for that evening, and a harsh wind blowing from the west, they found themselves alone in the circle. They took their customary seat on the sloping rock and Tara set her box down in her lap. She used her sturdy thumbnail to break the paper seal around the edge of the box and opened the lid on its wooden hinge.

  “It is a knife, she was right!” Tara said.

  The knife inside didn’t look capable of cutting anything more substantial than a soul. It had a
curved red handle and a pounded copper blade that came to a rounded peak instead of a point.

  Dom reached for the knife and Tara didn’t stop him. He lifted the small blade with his finger and thumb and turned it, letting the metal reflect the light from the setting sun.

  “It’s beautiful,” Tara said.

  Dom didn’t agree. If one of his workers had turned out such sloppy metalwork, Dom would have replaced him the next morning. The handle looked interesting though. Its enameled surface was shinier than the copper.

  “I hope you have studied how to cleave my soul from my body, because I know nothing about it,” Tara said.

  One of the most important things Tashi had taught Dom was this: a customer is most happy when they have confidence in the person they’ve hired. Their satisfaction invariably comes from the level of mastery demonstrated by the businessman. Dom used this lesson. He imagined what Tashi would say.

  “Yes,” Dom said. “I’ve studied cleaving extensively since you last mentioned it.” He had not. “Our traditions down here are commensurate with the lower altitude, so they may seem slightly different than yours.”

  “I’ve never seen the ceremony,” Tara said.

  “But still, if you see them in the future, they may seem different because we’re at a different altitude than your village.” Dom waved the blade in an S pattern, catching the orange light and sparkling it in their eyes. “You must set the box on your chest and lie back on this rock.”

  Tara bit her lower lip and followed his instruction. Then she decided that she was uncomfortable because her head was on the low side of the rock, so she spun around so her head was elevated. She put the box on her chest and then let her hands dangle to her sides.

  “Now close your eyes,” Dom said. “When I cleave your soul from your body, it will find its way into your box. You can’t look at your own soul directly, or it won’t detach from your body. Once your soul is back in the box, I have to close it immediately, to trap it inside.”

  “With the knife,” she said.