Through the Valley: Part 4
Seeking solace in a sandwich
Welcome to my little corner of the internet! I’m so glad you’re here. Below you’ll find part 4 of my short story about death (and Death). It’s a riot.
Want to start at the beginning? Here you go:
They say our minds process the previous day’s events while we sleep. Mine must have been working a little behind schedule, because when I woke up the next morning I was still having difficulty wrapping my head around what I’d seen. I had been prepared to call it a hallucination, some nightmare brought on by the combination of catching that little girl and then seeing Victoria again.
Then I saw the top of the doorframe, where Death had collided with the wood. There was a slight indentation. I stared at it for a while, trying to come up with another explanation.
Eventually I shrugged, and tried to go about my day as though it was just like any other. The truth, of course, was that everything had changed. My entire belief system would need to be rethought. What else was true? What other mysteries, once blown off as nonsense, would visit me someday in the middle of the night?
Going down that line of thought would ruin the rest of my day, however. I needed to take things one at a time for now. The first order of business was food. Preferably something greasy, with a side order of grease. I left my apartment and headed for the local sandwich shop.
Throngs of people moved past me as I walked down the street. How many of them would die today? Would I be the reason? I tried to look at them in a new light. There was a homeless man sitting outside a grocery store. Did he deserve to die? What about that skinny dude with the ironic mustache who was yelling at his girlfriend? Offensive, but probably not death-penalty worthy.
Why couldn’t I walk by an alley and see a good old-fashioned mugging taking place? I’d look at the perpetrator, point, and say “You.” Then he’d fall over dead, or however this works. Alas, I saw no crimes being committed before reaching my destination. Raheem smiled cheerfully when he saw me.
“Jin, buddy!” he said as he finished ringing up another customer. “You’re early today. Let me guess… hot date tonight, right?” I smiled ruefully and shook my head.
“I wish, man.”
“What’s wrong buddy?” He said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I held his gaze for a minute before asking, “You ever killed a man, Raheem?” He looked around nervously, then quickly walked into a back room. I heard him rumbling around. It sounded like he was pushing boxes aside. I was about to call out to him when he reemerged, carrying a shovel and a gas can.
“Where’s the body?” he asked, all joviality gone from his voice. “We can use my car, but we’ll have to burn our clothes afterwards. Also, how long can you hold your breath?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked. “Jesus, Raheem. It was a rhetorical question.”
He dropped the items. “Ohhhh,” he said, laughing nervously. “Ha! What a couple of kidders we are! Just a couple of clowns, who have no experience whatsoever in covering up murders!” He said this last part way louder than was necessary, as though he were trying to reassure any potential federal agents who might be listening. The few customers who were in the shop looked at us, but thankfully returned to their own problems soon enough.
“Right,” I said, making a mental note to never again talk to Raheem about non-food related items. “Can I just get my usual?” He nodded, and I walked over to my favorite booth. The table next to mine was empty, but someone had left a newspaper behind. That gave me an idea.
My pastrami sandwich arrived as I was scanning the obituaries. Can we stop for a minute to talk about the wonder that is a freshly made pastrami sandwich? The perfectly toasted bun. The thinly sliced meat, juicy but not saturated. Just a hint of mustard (really, just the suggestion of mustard; a little goes a long way), and no pickles, because screw pickles. I’m convinced that a greater culinary feat does not exist.
Anyway, I was looking through the obituaries. The plan was coming together quickly in my head. My eyes stopped on one entry in particular. “Poor Mrs. Flannigan,” I said quietly, “all alone. Wouldn’t it be better to join your husband in the afterlife?”
“Pass me the comics if you’re done with them,” a voice said from across the table. I jumped, dropping my sandwich on the newspaper. Death had slipped into the chair without me noticing.
“Where did you come from?” I asked. “No, never mind. It’s not important. I figured out what to do about our problem.” Death crossed his arms and waited for me to continue. “Old people die all the time, right?” He said nothing. “And they leave behind spouses. So what if…” I trailed off briefly as Death starting to shake his head. “What if I pick someone like that and help them, you know…”
“Nope,” he said. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, slightly offended. It sounded like a great idea to me. Death folded his hands on the table.
“I didn’t take you for a coward, Jinnamon Spice. And frankly, I’m disappointed. Killing some little old lady right after she’s lost her husband. For shame.”
“I… it’s not… fine,” I sighed.
“It wouldn’t work anyway,” Death continued. “You have to choose someone close to you.” I looked at him like he was crazy.
“Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Above your pay grade, my friend.” He waved my question aside. “So, who else is on your list?”
“I don’t exactly have a “death list”. I’m not you, you know?”
“How right you are,” he answered. “There’s no one in your life that the world would just maybe be better without? Everyone has a list, Jin.”
“There’s only one person I can truly say I hate. But wishing her dead? I don’t think I’m that guy…” Raheem walked up, interrupting the conversation.
“Nice costume man,” he said to Death. “Where’d you get it?”
“It was my punishment for betraying the Angelic Council during the second rebellion of the Druids,” he said. “Now I will ask a question of you: Is your orange juice fresh squeezed?”
Raheem looked at me with one raised eyebrow. I just shrugged. “Um… no. Sorry,” he said. Death nodded.
“As I thought,” he replied. “No worries, proprietor. I must be leaving anyway.” He looked back at me. “Think about it, Jin. And remember: two days.” With that he left, exiting through the front door toward wherever it was he went.
“So what’s up with that guy?” Raheem asked me.
“I…. owe him a favor, and I’m having some trouble paying it back,” I answered.
“Ah,” Raheem said knowingly. “I know the type. You think they’re so trustworthy at first, and then the next thing you know you’re dressed up in a maid’s uniform and dancing while someone named Heavy drips butter on your head.”
If you ever see my face on a milk carton, now you know where to start looking.
“Anyway,” he continued cheerfully, “want a refill on your water?”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “I’m good, thanks.” Raheem walked away, leaving me with my now-soggy pastrami sandwich and the sinking feeling that I would be seeing Victoria again very soon.
Suggested music for Part 4: Good Things by The Menzingers
Keep reading! Part 5 is ready, for you!
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