“I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice.”
“Oh, anytime, of course,” Cyril said, glancing up from her cup as if we’d met before.
Cyril wasn’t what I was expecting when I requested this appointment. I think I anticipated someone more, I don’t know – sleezy, fast… red. She was pretty, that almost went without saying, but something about her struck me as intentionally muted. Every individual component of her appearance, from her beige pantsuit down to her perfectly manicured nails, combined to create an unmenacing, yet obviously expensive, image. A costume, I thought.
When I requested the meeting, I was instructed to arrive here, at the Dark Roast Café, this morning at 10:00 a.m. I was assured that a representative would be assigned to my case and provide me with all of the necessary details.
“Sorry I’m a few minutes early,” I said.
“No bother at all. Have a seat. We’re going to be here a while.”
I sat and faced the street, watching through the glass windows as people rushed past in the pouring rain, doing their best to sprint from one awning to the next. It seemed to rain more lately. Or maybe I had just started noticing.
For a moment I thought it odd that she recognized me immediately, but it occurred to me that everything about our meeting was odd.
We soon settled in. Cyril drank a chai tea latte while I sipped coffee. She reached inside of a leather handbag and removed a slim laptop. “I have your file here,” she said. “I would like to review it with you before we move on to the particulars.”
I laughed, a nervous reflex. Cyril glanced up at me with an expression that was both serious and unreadable. My stomach churned under her gaze. “I’m sorry. I’m not really sure I should be doing this.”
She issued a brief, compassionate smile, but it felt hollow, an imitation of what a caring person would do. It reminded me of the stories I had seen online about tourists who, in their ignorance, think that a gorilla is smiling at them, right up until it mauls them.
“Perfectly understandable,” she said. “Please let me assure you that my only goal is to broker an agreement in which you receive everything you want for a price that is really rather nominal in your day-to-day.”
“Right, yeah. That is what I called for.”
Cyril’s eyes returned to her laptop. She scrolled for a few moments. “Okay, here we are.”
She slid the laptop around so that I could view the monitor. Cyril had in fact opened a file that, at a glance, appeared to detail the entirety of my life. The first page looked somewhat like a cover letter, with a brief biography. Or would it be a synopsis? I didn’t read too deeply into it before I noticed the page count on the bottom of the screen: 3,258,595 pages.
“A little lengthy for a review, don’t you think?” I asked.
“Oh, no need to worry about that,” Cyril said, waving a hand. “Most of it consists of minor details, the drudgery of life. Millions of little choices leading you here, to this moment.”
Cyril smiled again. This time she meant it.
It only took about eight uncomfortable minutes to review my file. We discussed my greatest mistakes, biggest regrets, the guilt, and the loss that sometimes kept me awake at night. It would have taken a therapist years to drag that out, bit by excruciating bit, but seeing all typed up and projected at me in the blue light of a computer screen, what more could I do but nod along?
The purpose of it all was a bit of a preemptive judgement wherein, despite my life not yet being complete, Cyril estimated the current value of my soul.
She used Excel. It was all very mathematical and I was more than mildly impressed with her knowledge of shortcut commands.
“Right. Now that we have determined value we can move on to the fun bit: wish fulfillment,” she said. “No ask is too great or too trivial, no wish too large or too insignificant, provided that the trade is equitable. So…” she paused to exhale, “what do you want?”
I felt like throwing up. “I want a second chance. I found love, real, once-in-a-lifetime love, and I screwed it up.”
“Yes, page 3,258,172,” Cyril said, matter-of-factly.
“I want the chance to make it right.”
Cyril tapped her nails against the laptop’s keyboard. “A chance? We can do better than a chance, can’t we? This is not an insignificant amount of value that you have to bargain with,” she said, motioning toward the open Excel spreadsheet.
“What do you mean?”
“Far be it for me to steer you one way or another, but if I had a bargaining chip like yours, I wouldn’t give it up for a chance. I would insist upon a sure thing.”
“Isn’t that a bit unethical? Taking choice out of the matter?”
Cyril shrugged. “Ethics aren’t a subject I am inclined to trouble myself with. There would be no force involved. We do hold ourselves to certain standards of ethics, despite the competition’s rumors to the contrary. It would be almost like flipping on a few switches that would have otherwise remained in the off position. This love of yours would remember all the reasons she fell for you in the beginning while whatever reasons compelled her to leave might start to seem a little… insignificant by comparison.”
“Can you guarantee that… that there would be no force, no coercion?”
Cyril laughed, and it made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, from something old and deep in my brain screaming that a predator was sitting across from me, and I should run before its jaws closed on my head. “Oh,” she said, “I can guarantee anything.”
The contract wasn’t as long as I expected, given the level of detail of all the other documents. She sent it to my email, and as I opened it on my phone, preparing to e-sign, she placed a hand on my arm.
“It would be remiss of me not to pause and make sure that you have a clear understanding of our process. Most everyone who contacts us has certain preconceived notions about the process, either read about in books or seen on television, that payment is collected upon death. As if any business could function that way.” Cyril shook her head. “Payment is due at the time of the transaction, which would, of course, be now. I have calculated the value of your soul as it exists here today. It would be bad business to wait until the end of your life, when you could have done significant damage and decreased the value exponentially. So, you will receive what you ask for, but you forfeit your soul here and now. The contract is set to terminate upon the death of either you or your soon-to-be beloved.”
“Is that safe? Can I survive without a soul?”
“Oh, absolutely! You’d be amazed at how many high-ranking individuals do.” She spoke with a knowing smirk. “You may find that the lack of a soul shifts your perspective somewhat, but you’ll be perfectly capable of all the functions you currently possess.”
I chewed on my lip for a moment while staring at the contract on my phone.
“In for a penny in for a pound I suppose.”
“That’s the spirit!” Cyril handed me her stylus and I signed.
She quickly returned her laptop to her bag and stood, extending a hand to shake. “It was a pleasure doing business with you. The transaction should be complete within the next hour. There is sometimes a bit of a processing delay due to high volume.”
After our meeting concluded I remained at the coffee shop for a while before walking down the busy streets that led to my apartment. Although the rain had ended I nearly fell over when I slipped on a slick bit of concrete, but I managed to catch myself. I took a moment to regain my footing, and I became aware of my heart pounding in my ears. A sick, cold sensation ran up my spine, like creeping, icy fingers. It happened so quickly. All the sounds of life, the cars passing by and splashing through puddles, horns honking in the distance, music playing from restaurant patios, became muffled. The day was overcast and gloomy to start with, but the entire spectrum of color shifted, becoming increasingly saturated until everything melded into a dirty grey. It was like I was seeing and hearing the world from underneath stagnant pond water.
I guessed that was it. My soul had been collected and the transaction was complete. I didn’t really feel anything about it, good or bad.
My phone rang, and I saw that the caller ID showed her name.
“Hey,” I answered.
“Hey, um, it’s me. This is awkward. Listen, I know I haven’t been returning your texts or calls since I ended it, but I started thinking about us this morning, and I don’t know what I was so upset about. Can we meet up for dinner tonight and talk about it over? I miss you.”
I agreed, but I didn’t really feel anything about that either.
We met for dinner at The Phoenix. I ordered chicken, and she paid. I went home with her after. The next morning, as I put on my shoes to leave, she placed her hand on my arm.
“You don’t have to go. I’m sorry, I really don’t know why I’ve been so stubborn. I love you, and I want you to stay.”
I looked at her for a long moment. “I don’t seem to feel the same way anymore.”
I knew then that it was strange, and that I was supposed to feel something. Maybe I should have read the contract more thoroughly, I thought as I left her crying on her bed.
In the weeks that followed she continued to call me and would show up at my apartment crying, sometimes hysterical. The neighbors began to complain. It’s not that I minded it, I didn’t mind anything, but being evicted would be inconvenient. Finally, I asked her to stop coming around.
Several weeks passed. No phone calls, no drop-ins.
Just a few moments ago I got a call from her best friend. I wasn’t going to answer but I did, and I heard anguished sobbing.
“I didn’t want to call you,” she said, “but I thought you might want know that she died last night. The note she left behind said that she loved you too much continue living without you, you sick bitch.”
I had nothing to say and she hung up. After a moment it occurred to me that I should probably attend her funeral. I sat at my computer to browse online for a new outfit. A new message notification box popped up on the screen. I clicked on the box and the mail message promptly displayed.
Good afternoon,
It has come to our attention that the terms of your contract (No. 89116ASPEN991001-666) have been fulfilled as of 2:08 a.m. Hades Standard Time. Please find the attached copy of said contract for your reference. We look forward to seeing you soon.
Best wishes,
Cyril
Which brings me to the present.
I glance over Cyril’s message a second time and think about how professional she has been through this process. I should leave her a positive review. She really has earned it. And I find it equally odd that I’m even thinking about such things as customer service, because my arm has started to hurt. An unbelievably intense grinding, tearing pain shoots through me. I’m having a heart attack, I think. My mind seems to be moving in slow motion now. I should contact 911 but my phone is out of reach, on the other side of—
INSTANT NOODLES 