"I know I probably should, but I don't understand any of this."

"No, I don't really get it either." Hope muttered over my shoulder. "I've never seen dad make a contract like this. We make them complicated some times, but never like this. I've never even seen half of these words, I even think that bit there’s in Latin."

"You should pay more attention to the terms listed. The fancy words are a distraction meant to draw attention away from the mid-section." Amy had finally spoken up after a long silence. "He's giving you an opportunity to continue writing for him indefinitely, which is a great offer with unspecified requirements of how much writing he wants. The sneaky part is it's in exchange for the intellectual rights of your work and the rights to your existing spiritual property."

"Spiritual property?" I was familiar with intellectual property, but I had been raised under the impression that you don't take anything but your knowledge with you when you die.

"He probably just wants that typewriter back." Hope reassured.

"I would agree," Amy interjected. "If the broad terms being used couldn't also include his soul as spiritual property."

"I still have my soul?" I'd been under the impression that I'd lost it somehow.

"Yes, but you really are still mostly dead." Hope said bluntly. It shocked me that even she would say that without the slightest bit of remorse. "What?" To make it worse she was emotionally clueless too.

"He didn't know, genius." Amy glared at her. With them looking at the contract the way they were, I felt like I had shoulder angels.

"Oh, sorry Al." She didn't really sound sorry, but I figured it would be the best I got.

"You should get this fixed, if there's one thing you never want to give someone, it's your soul." I stared at Amy. Did she think I was that stupid? Although I had been completely fine thinking I'd lost it before. "People do it all the time, it's how and why we exist."

"I suppose you have a point. I wouldn't though, not after what's happened." That still left the contract to be dealt with. "I should fix this... you contract, right, Hope?"

"I don't think... I mean..." She was stuttering around for the right words. "I don't think I should be interfering with dads work."

If there was going to be a time to make my move out of the shark tank, this felt like it. I looked over to Amy to see if I was right, she gave me a subtle nod. This could be my opportunity to gain control of the situation. I felt a little bad that it would probably involve manipulating a girl, but it was Hope… someone that probably deserved it.

"Maybe, if you worked something out with me, you could… I dunno, get out of the house more maybe?" I was trying to sound as tempting as possible. "You know, see the city. You can work it out that I write for your dad too, so he doesn't get mad. I could be a present from you to him, and whenever he reads something from me he'll think of you.”

“As much as I want his attention, he doesn’t want me to make contracts without his supervision. I’m not great at it.” She was wavering.

“You really want to call him back in here and say there’s a problem with his work?” She let out a deep breath and pulled a pad of paper from her purse.

“Let’s get this over with, and in case this is a trick I’m adding a clause that kills you if I get in trouble for this.” I couldn’t help but smile, even if I felt a little bad for taking advantage of her.

---------------

“Is this good?” Hope was getting frustrated. She was a better contractor than she let on, but she definitely didn’t have any practice, as Amy had stated multiple times before she’d been ordered to shut up.

I read over the contract again, skipping over the formalities and standard protocol that apparently went on every contract. I had managed to narrow the terms of what I gave but Hope had bumped up the other half as well. Instead of complete ownership of all intellectual and spiritual property Death received the rights to all of my written literary work and could have back the typewriter if he wished. Narrowing the spiritual property down to just the typewriter had been the hardest part and had been the biggest argument.

On the other part of the contract were the terms of life; I would continue to live as I had under the “employment” of Death providing at least one substantial literary work per two months. There were also several clauses I wasn’t so sure about. If I physically died while under Death’s employment the fate of my soul would be left to Death. If my work was not satisfactory, Death maintained the right to terminate my contract and I would be dealt with as he saw fit. If the creation or enactment of the contract caused trouble for Hope, I could be dealt with by Hope in any way that she saw fit in accordance to her own punishment which included but was not limited to the reenactment of her own punishment, death, dissipation, or mutilation. I was particularly worried about the last one, Hope had gotten a little too creative with what she could do. It also worried me that it could be very possible that she did get in trouble, however I was willing to take the risk.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“I like it, I think this should work.”

“Finally.” Hope groaned. “This is why I don’t like doing this... it takes way too much time.” Amy glared at her from across the room. “Fine, are you happy? I said it. You can talk again, but if the next thing you say is a rude remark you won’t speak again for a month.”

“I’ll keep that in mind and not say what I was going to. It is only a month though...” I shook my head. I didn’t want her going silent again, I needed her to tell me what I was supposed to do. Amy rolled her eyes but didn’t say more.

“So...” I hummed, interrupting Hope from her subsequent comment. “Do I just sign this?” I indicated the contract.

“No, uh... this is just a concept draft, the real one is... well I can’t really tell you about how these things work, not that you’d understand...” She was rambling, I could tell that she really wanted to comment on my keeping Amy quiet. “I‘ll just go do that real quick..." She disappeared.

"Wow..." It’d caught me off guard. It did solve the question that had been in my mind for a while though.

"You took that well, most people freak out when they see their little vanishing act for the first time." Amy was smiling as she got up from the couch and walked over to where I was standing.

"Yeah, maybe, but I've been writing that kind of thing for a long time. I guess I'm just used to it, even if it was all only in my head before."

"You have a pretty weak connection with reality don't you."

"Isn't this reality and everything before just a fantasy?"

"Maybe this is all in your head." She had gotten closer than was necessary to carry out a conversation and before I could stop her she kissed me square on the lips with no warning. I really must have been dead too, because I felt nothing. The one time it'd probably ever happen, and I'm dead. I'd say it was karma, but what did I do to deserve that?

"What was that?" I didn't know how to sound, so I went with a blank tone.

"It was probably in your head, you do have a weak connection with reality after all."

"I'd say the same thing myself if he tried to tell me that this ever happened, but I saw it myself and I want to know the same thing." Hope had come back out of nowhere and walked up behind me. "So tell me Amy, what was that?"

"It's been awhile, bite me." Her tone was normal, but there was some extra red on her cheeks.

"How about you bite your tongue off." Amy's jaw clenched and her lips went white with the force of keeping them together. It didn't take long before I could see her jaw flex open and come back together. I tried not to look absolutely disgusted and appalled as a dribble of blood escaped her mouth and rolled down to her chin.

"What would you have done if she'd kissed me with tongue?" I was trying very hard to act casual, and it was startlingly easy. Maybe it was because I was dead, or maybe it was because in my mind I was throttling her.

"I'd make her spit it out and give it to you again. She can keep it for now." There was no mistaking it now, Hope was a sick puppy.

"How fitting." I tried to ignore Amy's painful groaning in the background. "So am I good to sign?" I didn't see the contract in her hands though.

"Not quite yet." Death had appeared behind Hope. I had half expected him to show up with my streak of luck. "I'd like to hear you try to explain yourself. I'm sure it's an interesting story."

"Not really, I just wanted to help everyone out." I tried to look as businesslike as possible as I attempted to explain. "I noticed that there were some... discrepancies in your contract. I know your time is valuable though, so I figured I wouldn't bother you with something so trivial. So I appealed to Hope, who I figured could show you that she wasn't as worthless as she feels sometimes and perhaps both impress you and give me as a gift; so you would remember her whenever you read something of mine."

"My, my. You probably think you have quite the silver tongue, don’t you."

"I only need to be as good as the man that's trying to get me to buy, or sell for that matter." Death looked at me for a moment like I was crazy. I probably was.

“Things as they are,” I saw his gaze drift toward Amy who was wiping the blood from her face on her sleeve then to Hope who had an almost ashamed look on her face. “I think I’ll let this slide.” He handed the contract to me. “Any more funny business, any at all, and it’ll be a failure of quality on your part and I will dispose of you.” He smiled and vanished. His smile still somehow managed to terrify me.

The room seemed to instantly relax the moment Death left. Amy walked over to the sink and washed her mouth out with a glass of water. I expected to see her spit out her tongue, but it was right back where it was supposed to be when she opened her mouth and not a single drop of blood to be seen. I raised an eyebrow but she didn’t look like she wanted to explain anything just yet. Hope just stood there and waited for me to sign. I rummaged around the nearest kitchen drawer for a pen before Hope handed me a quill like Death had had me use before. There must have been some kind of ceremonial purpose to it, though it could have just been what they used.

“Are you sure you want that?” Amy asked as I held the quill over the paper. I don’t know how long I’d been frozen like that.

“Yes.” I had to force myself to say it.

I pressed the tip of the quill against the line where my name was supposed to go and I somehow managed to scrawl out: Albert William Carroll.