Little Black Book

Detective Emel, a 43 year old NYPD vet stares at the body of a young woman near a dumpster in an alley. The trench coat shielding Emel's body from the slight chill in the air, sets the detective apart from the surroundings... Emel's brow twitches, perplexed by this seemingly random act of malice. This woman has nothing of value, not even a cell phone, so the likelihood of a family close by is slim to none, but Emel has had a string of these occurrences as of late; this just so happens to be the latest... There's something missing. Something very important...?

Not far from the crime scene, a homeless man with blood on his hands clutching a black plastic bag, and a little black book of fine leather and golden stitching frantically scrambles into an abandoned building. He closes and locks the door behind him finally relaxing as he sighs in relief.

"Is that Blood on your hands?" A woman's voice asks behind him.

He turns to see his wife. A smile and sublime joy takes him as he dangles the black back in front of her. She looks tired, but not exhausted; more emotionally frustrated. Specifically with him and apparently his shenanigans.

"Money. We have money; enough to get the fuck out of here." He tells her with bright eyes.

"What did you do to get this money, and why do you have blood on you?" She stands unmoved with her arms crossed."

"Nothing, I didn't do anything; I found it on a dead girl not far from here." He explains as the bag of money sways from side to side like a pendulum.

The two of them take refuge inside of one of the apartments in this abandoned building. They sit next to the fireplace to keep warm as they count the money in the bag. The wife stops counting after the book catches her eye.

"What's the book about?" She asks.

"Nothing." He responds without skipping a dollar.

"Little black books don't usually mean nothing." She argues.

"We have all this good money here and you're pressing me about a fucking book?"

"A book you took from your dead whore bitch!" She swipes her hand over the money they've counted completely messing up their count.

He rolls his eyes then drops the stack of money in his hand to retrieve the book by his leg.

"Look, nothing. Nothing at all." He shows her the blank pages in the book.

"Then why take it?"

"She told me this book gave her money; this money. Said she heard it came from a pig. She got it from a guy, who got it from another guy, who got it from his mother. She said something about three choices, and her name in the book, but that's all bullshit obviously. I took the bag, and the book when she had an accident with a lead pipe. I looked in it on my way back here and it had "One Thousand" written on the pages. When I looked again, there was nothing there." He explains.

She looks him in his eyes taking in his story, and ignoring the fact that he may have killed a woman...

"You're full of shit." She curses her husband.

"Well fuck then, I must be constipated because I couldn't give a shit. We've got money!" He jokes flashing some cash to her.

The two laugh and celebrate their financial triumph envisioning their new future out of abandoned buildings and near starvation. They retire for the night, but she is restless; the cold is keeping her awake. They have the money to at least get a hotel, but he thinks moving so fast would draw too much unwanted attention...

Suddenly a 'thud' is heard outside their door. The impact is loud enough to awaken her husband. The two are baffled because they aren't expecting guest(of course), and just one the one sound beyond their door and nothing more seems strange. He eventually gets up, and hesitantly pokes his head out of the door noticing only a black plastic bag in front of his door. He retrieves the bag and the two of them open it to find one thousand dollars in cash neatly stacked, just like the other, larger bundle of money.

The husband tosses the bag aside, but as he's about to add the money to the larger bundle he finds a note that reads: Open my book to increase the coin. Your eyes, your name, your donation is claimed. Or pass my book on with half you got. I stared, you have shared, and are spared the rot. Or bury this book with all that come with. Return what's mine, temptation is quick.

"Babe, we can get more if I open the book." He tells her but she remains silent.

He opens the book and upon its pristine pages appears his name on every. It is in this moment he puts multiple pieces together. a revelation that comes a little too late. Temptation is quick. Quick indeed...

He is struck across the back of his head by a pipe in the hands of his wife. The blood splatters across the fireplace causing the glowing hot firewood to sizzle like water hitting a hot skillet. She hits him a few more times after caving his head in and leaving him twitching. She grabs the money, and the book making her escape from this hellhole. Unfortunately for her, this ends her journey as she is met by Detective Emel...

Later after the paperwork and reports filed. Detective Emel returns home to an apartment that seems almost too empty to be inhabited. A cold beverage from the refrigerator satiates the pallet as a seat next to an open window relieves the legs after a long day. Detective Emel pulls the little black book from a pant pocket, and opens it. An albino cat hops up on the window ledge. Emel pets the feline softly before casually turning the pages of the little black book. Upon its pages reads countless names of people who fell victim to their own repulsive greed...

"So many names, so little time missing... Maybe an apocalypse would bring about the best of them."

The cat stops licking its paw almost as if acknowledging and communicating with Emel.

"That's a thought; I guess you've learned a few things whilst observing them..." Emel responds to the cat...

Several hundred years later, the world is changed. Events from the past became a catalyst for a God who'd seen enough whilst living amongst humankind. Here, in this new future, no one in power is over the age of 40. The wealthy are the people, and the people are wealthy. Schools teach the old ways as a warning, and museums hold relics of those ways as a visual to the carnage they bring. People love freely, uninhibited by others. Religion and personal belief is restricted to the homes and buildings of those who practice instead of brandished widely without restraint. The air is better, the waters are safer, and the land is more vibrant... People are happy. What could have possibly transpired in the past to have had such a change?