Her Sister's Soul

On the corner of Bogart Avenue and Humphrey Street a man stood in a tweed suit jacket. His brown leather shoes tapped in time to the slow pattering of spring rain. And his arm moved up every few minutes to check the time on his wristwatch. In typical villain fashion he wore a scowl and a velvet red tie. A sudden clamoring drew his attention East to a run-down looking dive bar with flickering neon lights. He eyed a young couple as they stepped out. The woman was obviously buzzed, her red tinted cheeks and boisterous laughter were the only indicator that the man needed. The partner though, was too far gone to even remember how to walk properly. He leaned up against the slight frame of the woman for support, oblivious at how she struggled to stand beneath him. The man shook his head. Humans and their ridiculous coping mechanisms, no matter how much time he spent among them he was sure he would never understand it. As they approached him, he let out an annoyed huff. It was tempting, sure, but companions always ruined any chance of successful business. And quite frankly, he didn’t feel all that up to wasting his time. So instead of engaging with them, he watched them walk back through the parking lot and hop into the back of a yellow cab. His job was not meant to be easy. He knew this. Actually, he thought that it was the hardest job in the world. But he couldn’t work in these conditions. The whole city was falling apart, and the infamous intersection in which he stood was home to only broken-down factory buildings and that one, lonely bar- Out of which no one came sober. He checked his watch again, another annoyed sound escaping his throat. Midnight. He had been standing there for a full day and still had no prospects. It was in this moment of, not despair, but more like profound disappointment, that a pair of shadows appeared a few yards away. A devilish smile broke out across his face. He felt it necessary to make this distinction, even though any smile coming from him would be inherently devilish, because recently he had found himself becoming more and more encumbered by sporadic human emotions. And because in that instance, he recognized one of those shadows, and he would never forgive himself if he allowed even the slightest tender feeling towards her. Abigail McAllister. He would be hard pressed to forget the sight of the moonlight streaming through the auburn of her hair. “It’s up here.” She said. Her face was turned towards the second shadow. Which belonged to a man who looked like he had spent the last year on a never-ending bender. Greasy blonde hair, nails untrimmed and caked with dirt, not to mention the bags under his eyes. “We’ve been walking forever.” He said, his voice sounding increasingly nervous. “You’d better not be lying to me.” The man in the suit crossed his arms over his chest. His long, bony fingers tapping against his elbow. “Ronnie.” Abigail said. “Look.” The man, Ronnie, stopped in the dark. His eyes searching eagerly until they finally settled on the man. He brought his hand to the fraying end of his checkered sweater and twisted the strings with his index finger. “Is it you then? Are you the guy?” “I suppose I am.” The man said. His voice came out smooth and even, and he smiled again. This is what he was great at, making people feel comfortable. It was a very useful, albeit irritating façade. “What’s your name?” Ronnie said. “That is something you don’t need to know.” Ronnie grimaced at the inflection in the man’s voice and his body contorted from the false bravado typical of a man like him, to the passive and anxious persona that he often found himself trying desperately to hide. “Sorry...right, I just- “He began. “Never mind. Can you really give me anything that I want?” “Probably.” The man said. Then added. “For a price.” To ensure that there would be no confusion. “Then...can you give me Abigail?” I mean, can you make her fall in love with me?” The man’s lip twitched, and Abigail, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the whole exchange turned her glare towards the man. She shook her head slightly. It was such small gesture that he could have easily pretended he hadn’t seen it. In fact, the conniving and terrible part of him relished the thought of inflicting that kind of suffering on her. It was his nature after all. But then he had another idea. A much more pragmatic one that would benefit him for many more years to come, and at the same time bring Ronnie a bit more suffering. “Sorry, can’t do that.” He said flippantly. “Free will and all that.” Then he found himself taking a moment to bite back a chuckle at the simple notion of free will, so he didn’t see the relief wash over Abigail’s face. “Then I guess...” Ronnie said, trailing off as though he really had quite a lot to think about. “Money. I want money. How much can you give me?” The man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a black bank card. “More than you will ever be able to spend.” Ronnie’s eyes widened. “How much time will I have?” “Seven years.” Ronnie nodded. And suddenly his face was not that of someone who had just been given a death sentence, but of a person who was receiving an incredible gift. And the man could sense right away that Ronnie had made up his mind. He had no choice in the matter. Not really anyway. The man smiled and pulled out a small notebook from the same pocket in which the card had come. “Fantastic. Just sign here.” Ronnie stared incredulously at the blank piece of paper. “What, with a pen? I don’t have to sign in blood or something?” “Of course not. Doesn’t that seem a little archaic to you? Not to mention terribly unhygienic.” The man said. His “smooth like honey” voice was beginning to scratch at his throat. Ronnie shrugged, took the pen and put it to the paper, leaving behind his name in big, block letters. “The deal is done.” The man said. And almost as soon as the words were out his face lost any hint of warmth that he had managed to conjure up. He just didn’t need it anymore. “Take this and go.” Ronnie did as he was told. Pocketing the card and casting one last glance at Abigail, one which she reciprocated, but only for the briefest of seconds before turning away to look back at the man in front of her. There was something like guilt on her face, but it was hidden well behind her perpetual poker face. Then Ronnie took off running back the way they had come. He ran so fast that soon all that was left of the man was a disappearing silhouette and the faint sound that his shoes made as they came in contact with the gravel beneath them. The man was not focused on this though. Truthfully, he had lost interest in Ronnie as soon as it became clear that he was going to take the deal. He was now homed in one the woman in front of him. He did not have the capacity to find her attractive, but even he had to admit that there was something about the imperfectness of her face- The way the pieces of her fit together, that kept his eyes coming back to her. It was in those imperfections that the true beauty of Abigail could be found. Though he would rather die a thousand times over that admit anything like that. “I brought him, now pay up.” He shook his head. And then there was that sharp tongue of hers. Yes, she was brave. He would give her that. But it was the kind of brave that teetered just on the edge of stupid. She had been that way the very first time they had met, too. When any other human would have frozen with fear at the mere sight of him. She was different in that way, and though there may have been hundreds of humans he could have entered into an agreement with, she was the one that he had met. She was the one that fate had instructed him to meet. That in itself made her entirely different from anyone else in the world. “That was much too easy miss McAllister.” “It doesn’t matter.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I brought him, and you owe me, it’s as simple as that.” He ran his tongue over his chapped lips. “I make the rules here. Or has it been so long that you’ve forgotten?” “Fine. Then I will never bring you another soul for as long as I live. Look around you, do you really think you can survive on the odd one every few weeks?” His face contorted in rage, and she braced herself for what might happen next. The game she was playing was much more dangerous than it had been when she started. She was sure that he was going to yell at her or reach out and kill her himself. She was so frozen with fear that she only allowed herself to breathe again when she saw his lips begin to part. His answer surprised her, and she thought that judging by the look on his face, it had surprised him too. “Alright. I suppose I do owe you.”