Deals with the Devil {Rave}

Finnegan Hood

The boards beneath my feet creak with an uncertainty that matches my pace. It’s uneven, my left foot seeming to hit the ground just a tad harder than my right, and it bothers me until I straighten up and hear the deformities smoothen out as I shift my weight awkwardly to the right. The tight, black shirt that hugs to my body is a tradeoff for my usual attire, but the heat has made it more than necessary to leave my jacket and tie at the door and trade it for something a little more revealing. However, this wasn’t something I was comfortable with, because now I had no place to store the leather book I kept tucked away, and instead of it sitting just out of the curious eye’s view, it lay plainly in my hand, my thumb running parallel to the binding that faithfully held the thing together. The black, ink pen still marks my place, about three-fourths of the way through, waiting for me to open it again so that another person’s soul-binding deal could be written into the memoirs of history that so delicately held my life together.

See, if these things fell through, all of the pleasures that I had become so reliant upon would be gone with the wind. Every temporary pleasure and moment of luxury would crumble to the ground at my feet and I would be left with only the ashes of simplicity that fueled the fire itself. However, this day didn’t pose the threat of self-destruction, for I had more than enough deals to finalize. The list itself went on and on, tumbling into the latter days of the week, promising more treasure than almost any week before. But I had to take it one person at a time, for if it was looked at any other way, it would simply be overwhelming. However, I look at each person as a reward in themselves, for every independent soul is bound to me by each individual dependency that only I am able to provide for them.

The first stop on his ever-changing list of was in regards to a boy who simply introduced himself as “Uriel.” To tell the truth, I was slightly off put by this introduction, as just moments before I had warmly introduced myself as: “Finnegan Hood at your service. And what tactile form of heaven can I acquire for you today?” It had been my opening line for the last couple of years, as it broke the ice with most people and they immediately caved into the details that were only one half of the payment I required. His answer was in a raise of the eyebrows, as if he considered this a joke in its entirety. The silence sat between us for a few moments, and I was tempted to drop the pen in my hand in hopes of hearing it fall to the floor. However, he broke it with a single word, “Alcohol.” With that one word a smirk spread across my face, as I looked him in the eyes and replied, “That, I can do.” I was usually the one to turn on my heel and head off, writing in my notebook as I went, however, he took that honor this instance. I let my eyes trail to his back as each step he took put me further and further from the mystery that sat just on the other side of the table.

The neck of the bottle was intertwined between the fingers of my left hand, the glass smoother than the placid waters that sat beyond the shore. However, the contents sloshed about, tides of liquid forgetfulness rising against the walls of glass that did its best to contain the poison that seeped into every molecule of its structure. I had never been a huge fan of alcohol myself, for I turned to other means of payment, ones that I must keep private for the sake of confidentiality. I could see where the boy found it sufficient, though, and I didn’t think much of it as I walked up the steps of the address he had given to me as our rendezvous. My hand reached for the bell, but averted itself to knocking on the smooth wood instead. The black notebook was tucked uncomfortably against my waist, as I didn’t have my usual jacket pocket to keep it in place. Each second of apprehension brought about a new form of fidgeting, from twirling the bottle in my hand to fixing my shirt to tapping my feet. There were places I was supposed to be, people I was supposed to be meeting with, and it was all being held up by a boy who hadn’t even bothered to give me a last name.