The frost of death coated my hand where smoke trailed from a candlewick. It sent a shiver down my spine. The table next to me bore a matchbox lying open. It only had three matches left. I tore one out and tried to light it, but it didn’t even spark. I grabbed another, same thing. The last; nothing. None of them would light and the coating on their tips were spent. I stood staring at the candle, trying to will a flame into existence as if it was just out of reach.
The absence of light that seemed to be growing made the room feel colder. Defeat niggling its way into my shivering hands caused me to drop the candle, but as it clattered to the floor, a modicum of hope warded away doubt. I noticed a wood stove in the corner. All I could think about was getting warm.
I opened my eyes and was immediately blinded by the sun shining through one of my tall bedroom windows. Water stretched to the horizon with sailboats dotting its surface. The sun’s reflection rippling across its expanse would have made a beautiful painting, but the novelty had long worn off for me. Lately, the view only reminded me of the outrageous rent that I could barely come up with each month.
Even though the room was a bit toasty, I had to shake away the remnants of the cold, dark dream, and half expected to see my breath when I yawned. I hadn’t slept well, and my muscles ached.
As I dragged myself out of bed, I stumbled over a pair of jeans. The laundry basket in the corner overflowed into a layer of dirty clothes that was obviously there to protect the carpet. I was always too busy watching videos and such on my phone to wash clothes. Plus, washing led to drying which led to clean clothes in a pile on my bed where they’d be moved around until I eventually mustered the ambition to put them away. So, what was the point?
I walked out to the living room in my underwear and strode to the kitchen with another yawn. Bottles and cans spilled out of a small blue recycling bin next to the fridge. A cover over the garbage kept me from thinking about the contents barely contained within. It was too inconvenient to take a trip down to dispose of either container. Considering the cost of the apartment, someone could at least come and pick it up for me.
My choice of décor didn’t exactly fit the usual standards of an upscale apartment overlooking the water. There was nothing but a couch, a TV, and a kitchen table with chairs. I bought them all second-hand since my ex took almost everything when she moved out. She had been kind enough to leave me a couple things though: an outstanding rent balance and the landlord’s most recent reminder to pay it or get out.
After starting the coffee maker, I sat down at the kitchen table. My laptop lived there amongst half-opened piles of mail. It wasn’t a shiny, silver laptop that I saw most people my age toting around; it was a cheap, bargain computer I bought on clearance. It wasn’t fast, but it got the job done.
I ran a business, but I’ll admit it wasn’t a very successful one. I was disillusioned by the glamorous lifestyle society implied owning a company would consist of. The false assumption was filled with parties, swimming pools full of money, and bikini-clad 20-somethings dancing on my yacht. Instead, it was more like throwing money into a toilet and hoping that with each flush, it would finally clog and overflow gold. Since I hadn’t mopped up any precious metals recently, I figured marketing was the reason for my lack of clients.
When I was a kid, I remembered seeing lawyers’ faces plastered on billboards with catchy slogans like, “If you’ve taken a fall, give us a call.” or “Call in a hurry and you won’t have to worry.” Everyone knows attorneys make a lot of money, so I maxed out my credit cards to put one up for myself.
It was brilliant. I thought long and hard before settling on: “For healing the sick or raising the dead, I accept cash, crypto, or cred!” Unfortunately, I didn’t get many more calls than before. The only explanation I could come up with was people just don’t look up anymore.
I resigned myself to checking my email. According to the number next to the inbox, I had 732 unread messages. Scrolling through the list, none of the emails on the first page were from actual people, just junk mail. I’d eventually find time to unsubscribe from all those mailing lists – probably.
I switched over to the calendar. I had an appointment this morning at 9:30. It was titled, “Second Chance” with an address listed in the location box and the name, “Cara Hasbrook” in the description.
The coffee maker started hissing without the drips associated with filling the pot. I went over, turned it off, and grabbed a travel mug from the cabinet. Lacking forethought, I filled it to the brim. I stared dumbly at the lid, then the mug on the counter, then shook my head. My cellphone rang.
Shawn’s name flashed on the screen, and I groaned. I let it ring a few times to gingerly take a sip. I burned my tongue.
“Where are you?!” he asked when I finally answered.
“Uhh…in my apartment?”
“You were supposed to be here at nine.” I halted another tentative sip.
“What are you talking abo- …Shawn? Are you at my 9:30 appointment?”
“No. I’m at your nine o’clock appointment. You’re the one that invited me.”
“No. No, I did not and it’s at 9:30, not nine.”
“You definitely said nine when you told me to help,” he said without a shred of doubt in his tone. My eyes narrowed.
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“I never--" I clenched my teeth, knowing that arguing with him was pointless. “You know what? Just – park on the street and stay in your car until I get there.”
“I’m walking up to the door now. See you when you get here.”
“Shawn don’t--" He’d already hung up. I frantically redialed him. No answer. “For the sake of dying,” I cursed, rushing back to my bedroom for my uniform: a white dress shirt, black tie, and black pants.
It was only ten after nine when I left my apartment, which should have given me enough time to walk to my car, follow my phone’s directions, and make it to my 9:30 appointment with time to spare. I did not account for elevator maintenance, nor the 12 flights of stairs I had to descend as a result. Thankfully, it was just a minor inconvenience considering my perfect physique. My mentor used to tell me that the mind and body always has to be prepared to handle anything, but I always figured, why train and meditate when I was me.
“Hey Jesse,” Dale, the security guard, asked in the lobby. He had dark skin, dark eyes, and a dark sense of humor. Also, his pencil thin mustache made him look like a 1940s supervillain. He was a cool guy. “Why are you breathing so hard?”
I didn’t have time to chat, but he obviously didn’t pick up on that, from my I’m-too-busy-to-stop-and-chat pace. His question went unanswered as I tried to walk past, but that just left room in my head to remember that my coffee was still sitting on the counter 12 flights up. My stomach and I groaned at the same time. I hadn’t gotten a chance to eat breakfast either.
“I heard that you got thrown out of the hospital yesterday,” Dale said, his charisma slowing my steps – it had nothing to do with needing to catch my breath.
“How did you — find out — about that?” I asked, between breaths and caffeine deprivation.
“I have my ways,” he replied with a smirk.
“Heh. Yeah. You’d think the hospital would be happier about a stage IV cancer patient getting cured.”
“You know you got the dean of medicine fired, right?”
“Wait, what?” I stopped completely and turned back toward him.
“Yeah, he resigned shortly after your little stunt,” he explained. “The staff is convinced the board came down on him hard and the resignation wasn’t his idea. Apparently, you’re bad for business, my friend.”
“For death’s sake… I offered to come on as a consultant. That lady would have died, plus the hospital probably got paid instead of me. Speaking of which, I gotta remember to send an invoice or something.”
“That’s not the way they saw it. Your picture is tacked up at every entrance like a wanted poster. They’re making you out to be a criminal, a charlatan.” His eyes shifted conspiratorially. “What’s more, and you didn’t hear this from me, as soon as they kicked you out, they killed the patient to send a message. ‘Stay off their turf or else’.” I stared at him in disbelief. He stared back. A long moment passed before he burst out laughing.
“Oh man, seriously? Do you think the hospital is run by the mob or something?” he said between chuckles. “You’re too easy. It’s not even--" I turned and started walking toward the door again. “Aww, come on, man. Don’t be like that.”
“Goodbye, Dale,” I said as the door closed behind me. I liked Dale, he really got me. I shared the good stories with him, and he screened unwanted guests for me. Actually, I think he kind of enjoyed that part, especially if it involved Detective Blames-Me-For-Every-Suspicious-Death-Because-Of-An-Old-Grudge; can’t imagine why his mother would name him that.
“Oh, reaper snacks!” I exclaimed. The memory of Shawn’s call resurfaced, and I started sprinting down the sidewalk looking for where I’d parked the Jesse mobile. I spent the next 15 minutes failing to find it, trying to report it stolen, finding out that it had been impounded, and using a phone app to desperately get a ride.
Pulling into the Forest Hills subdivision, the landscape was a major departure from the tall apartment buildings downtown and the tightly-packed, dilapidated houses I grew up around. There was a good mix of ranches and colonial homes with big yards and mature trees lining the streets. Furthermore, the road wasn’t filled with cracks and framed by deteriorating sidewalks, it was perfect with no sidewalks, just lush green lawns.
My driver turned onto Cherrywood Lane and parked in front of a nice ranch with bluish-gray siding and an attached two-car garage. I got out of the car and pulled out my phone. I hoped it looked like I was leaving a tip, but anything I gave would have overdrawn my account, so I just looked up and waved at the driver with a nervous smile.
Shawn’s black and red convertible was parked in the driveway. Walking past his sports car, the empty front seat registered as a slight increase on the anxiety meter. It seemed he hadn’t just been messing with me.
To my relief, the door to the house opened and Shawn came strolling out. He was wearing a pastel pink polo and khaki shorts like he was heading to a country club. He also wore a condescending smirk accented by a looking-down-his-nose-at-me head tilt. In contrast, I looked like a teenager going to his first interview.
“Look who we have here. You made it just in time,” Shawn said, without a hint of sarcasm.
I blankly considered his stupid face. It made me realize I’d already taught him how to control his life force. He wasn’t a danger to himself or others anymore, so lessons should be over. Like terminating an employee though, I’d wait until after the workday ended to tell him to pound sand.
With an air of showmanship, I shot back, “What can I say? I like to build suspense for the main attraction.” His smile widened.
“Well, sorry to ruin your big entrance. The job’s done.” His expression melted from challenging to satisfied. “I don’t think I’ll be needing your instruction for much longer, oh wise and punctual teacher.”
“What do you mean, ‘the job’s done’?” My anxiety came back, and its meter was tipping into the yellow.
“I was tired of waiting for you, so I went in and brought the client’s daughter back on my own. I gave Cara her ‘Second Chance’. She’s pretty hot too. I might have to give her a first chance with me.”
Classy…
“Shawn? What do you mean ‘you brought her back’?” I asked.
“I just… brought her back,” he said with a shrug. “Some of us have lives you know. I have an 11 o’clock tee time.”
“Shawn! How exactly did you bring her back?” The needle on the anxiety gauge was rapidly approaching red. He sighed.
“Relax. I did it just like you do when you heal people. I had her mom, dad, and two aunts join hands in a circle with the two on the end touching my back, then I grabbed the dead chick’s chest.” He sneered, but I gestured frenetically for him to continue, to which he sighed.
“I moved their energy around until the girl had roughly the same amount as they did. It was easier than I thought, so I don’t know why it takes you so long.” He took on a contemplative expression. “It did feel a bit different than practice though.”
I reached for his collar and drew it up in my fists, which was difficult considering our height difference. “It takes me so long because it’s a lot more complicated than making sure everyone’s glass has the same amount of beer!” There was more in the analogy keg, but my anxiety meter blew past red and shattered when a scream came from the house.