The woman was
pleading. They always plead. It gets tiresome. Every client runs through the
five stages of grief -- denial, anger, bargaining, depression and finally
acceptance. It's almost like clockwork.Ten years ago, the petite blonde in pink yoga pants before me was pleading for the universe to make the star high school quarterback fall in love with her, marry her and have a McMansion in some well-manicured suburbs. She was willing to give or do anything. Anything, she said over and over as she lay in her darkened bedroom each night, dreaming of a jock's hands touching her secret girl parts. So when I showed up, offering to make her dreams come true, she barely hesitated signing the contract and letting me caress her plump young lips with mine to seal the deal. Ah, teenage hormones. They are often my best sales tool.
As the woman continued to beg for at least another year, I pulled out my pocket watch to check the time. The watch was a strange affectation, especially for a female demon. I took it from a particularly greedy banker in October of 1929, just before he decided to leap from a window on the 20th floor. I think he was in the depression stage. He was my first collection, so the expensive gold watch seemed a nice souvenir.
"...only seventeen so it can't be a legal contract. You can't possibly hold me to it," the woman was saying as my attention returned to her.
I snapped the watch shut. "The age of consent is lower in Hell. So the contract is indeed valid for our purposes."
Her shoulders began to slump slightly. I sensed she might be entering the depression stage. I watched her silently, letting her process her fate. It's better not to rush the client. They do unexpected things when rushed, as in the banker splattering himself on the sidewalk. That was quite the mess. My superiors were not impressed. We prefer to collect our souls quietly, preferably in private without a crowd of onlookers.
She lifted her head, shook her perfectly coiffed locks back in place and squared her shoulders once more as she prepared a final argument. "What if I... You could..."
She trailed off as I dropped my chin slightly and raised my eyebrows to give her a pitying look. Her shoulders sunk again, deeper than before. She was finally accepting the hopelessness of her situation. Her soul was due, and that was that. There was no further negotiation to be had.
I understood her distress. Few who strike bargains with me stop to consider the future. Ten years can seem so distant, like another world and lifetime away, when your heart's desire is being presented on a silver platter. Half of them don't even think it's real. They think selling their soul is a joke. Until the day I reappear on their doorsteps, letting them know it's time to get their affairs in order as I will return in one week to collect final payment. Then the stages of grief begin, usually with the door being slammed in my face. Denial. So predictable.
This one was like all the rest. She pretended not to know me, although I saw the recognition in her eyes as her pupils dilated in fear. She swore she didn't remember ever signing a contract. After I produced the document with her adolescent signature, complete with cutesy heart dotting the i in Bridgett, she cursed me repeatedly with a string of rather impressive, and creative, epithets. Anger. I get it. I left her alone then. Now, seven days later, her pleading was thankfully nearly finished.
Bridgett collapsed into the overstuffed chair of her living room, dropping her face into her hands. "My children. How can I possibly leave them? I'm only twenty-seven. They're so young," she sobbed. I turned my head to view the family portrait above the fireplace. The former star athlete, still handsomer than should be possible, is smiling at his well-groomed wife on a sunny autumn day in the park. The six-year-old boy is riding piggyback on his daddy, while his three-year-old sister squirms happily in her mother's arms. It's the epitome of the American family.
"I wouldn't worry too much," I said, pulling out the watch again. "Your husband is bound to find a new wife to help care for them." She sobbed harder. "Are you ready? I really need to get to my other scheduled appointments."
She shook her head. I sighed inwardly. I would have to force the issue after all. I took a step toward her and her head bolted up, eyes wide in terror. "Shhhhh......," I said. "This doesn't have to hurt. Try to relax. It's better if you don't struggle."
Fortunately, her fear kept her glued in place. Even her sobs ceased as she held her breath at my approach. "Now, I'm afraid I'll need to take my natural form for this part. But it's still just me, so don't be alarmed."
I placed a hand on her shoulder. I felt her shudder slightly at my touch, but did not take offense. I let my blue eyes turn solid black with no whites at all and felt the body I had been maintaining melt away. The hand that rested on Bridgett's shoulder transformed into a massive black claw covered in red-tipped scales. My smile widened to accommodate the additional fangs now apparent. My auburn hair turned white and spiny, like porcupine quills, trailing from my head down the length of my back and ending at my tailbone.
Bridgett watched my transformation and stifled a cry. "What....what are you going to do to me?" she stammered.
"What begins with a kiss ends with a kiss," I replied, my voice now deep and gravelly.
I leaned down until my monstrous face was inches from hers. She did not try move, not that she could have escaped at this point. Her eyes were still as big as saucers as I placed my scaly lips on hers. Keeping one claw on her shoulder, I used the other to grasp the back of her head tightly so she couldn't pull away. Using my forked tongue, I forced her lips open and inhaled deeply. Her soul came loose immediately. When I felt it touch my lips, I broke contact with her, but kept inhaling as I moved backward. The soul stretched between our open mouths like a glowing silver cable. Once enough of it was free of her body, I simply grabbed the soul and pulled the rest out.
As soon as the last silver tendrils escaped her lips, Bridgett's body gave a final shudder before her head lolled back on the chair and her eyes went blank. She almost looked like she was taking a nap. Acceptance. The coroner would probably say she had an aneurysm.
The soul pulsed with energy as I balled it up and placed it in my bag along with two others I had collected earlier. I took a moment to breathe in their scents and enjoy the lingering aromas of hubris, lust, envy and greed. Each collection was exhilarating. I willed my human form back into place. It felt terribly confining after having been free of it for the extraction, but it was a necessary tool of the trade. I checked my appearance in the mirror by the front door before stepping out on the front porch.
My pocket watch said 2:15. I had plenty of time to get downtown to meet with a rather successful playwright whose contract was up in a week.
