The Bargain

It was back. The small, black book which I thought I’d trashed in the dumpster after my father had sent it for my eighteenth birthday, now sat, seemingly untouched and unblemished on my nightstand. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake the cobwebs of sleep from my muddled mind, before sitting up to take a proper look.

I stared at the book. It seemed to stare right back. Shuddering slightly from the early morning chill that had set about the house, I slowly got to my feet and picked it up, turning it about in my hands. Same, plain black cover. Same, untouched white pages with my name scrawled onto the first page. I flipped through the book, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. I could have sworn I’d gotten rid of this last night. Maybe my mother was right. The late nights at the bar were obviously getting to me. I needed a vacation.

After a long, hot shower and a much needed cup of coffee, I padded into the living room of my tiny one bedroom apartment in the Lower East Side of New York City. I’d always dreamt of moving back here after my family and I had left the when I was younger, but I hadn’t exactly imagined my glorious return to be quite like this. Old pizza boxes lay scattered on the ground near the overflowing trash can. Dishes and mugs littered the tiny bit of space the kitchen counters had, and clothes and shoes lay strewn about on the ground. Wondering if I had time to clean up before my first class of the day at NYU, I was about to grab my phone when a loud, insistent banging on the front door made me jump.

“224! Open up!”

I closed my eyes, groaning. Being a full-time college student on a waitress’s salary in the middle of New York City was not exactly considered posh living. But still, I’d always managed to scrape up enough to at least get the rent to my landlord Billy on time, but I’d twisted my ankle last month and the trip to the emergency room had depleted my bank account. Praying that Billy would leave soon, I crept back into my room so he wouldn’t hear me, and grabbed my phone.

Opening up my banking app, I entered my information, fully ready to see the $0.00 balance, when I suddenly dropped the phone, my eyes widening in shock. No, there had to be some sort of mistake. Ignoring the incessant bangs on the front door, I crouched down to the threadbare rug and picked up my phone with shaking hands. $20,000 had been deposited into my checking account. I stared at the obscenely large number, eyes moving from one zero to the next, unable to believe what exactly I was looking at. How had this happened? Should I tell someone? Surely the person whose money this actually belonged to must be missing it by now.

But what if you didn’t say anything.

A calculating voice said in the back of my mind. After all, whoever this money belonged to was probably used to getting deposits of this size all the time. They probably wouldn’t even notice the $20,000 was gone. And even if they did notice, wouldn't they file a complaint with the bank and get the money back anyway? Was it my responsibility to look a gift horse in the mouth?

I entertained the thoughts for a few seconds, fantasizing about what I’d do with the money. I could decrease my hours at the bar, pay for tutoring for my pre-med classes. I could send money back home to my mom who’d just left my dad and was now out on her own for the first time in her life. I enjoyed myself, fantasizing about taking a vacation some place with pink drinks and umbrella straws, before reality set in, cold and heavy. There was no way I could pretend nothing had happened. Me, the honor roll, perfect attendance, never had a detention in her life perfectionist, not report this to the bank? I shook my head and dialed the number, a sense of resignation settling into my chest. At least Billy had tired himself out and left.

“What can I help you with ma’am?” the man asked me after I’d given him my account information.

“Well, you see, I’ve just had a look at my bank balance and noticed a large sum of money has been recently deposited into my checking account last night at midnight,”

“Yes I can see that as well on my end,”

I waited for the inevitable “it was a mistake, thank you for pointing that out to us”, but it never came. After an awkward pause the man on the other end of the line continued speaking.

“Is there something I can help you with ma’am?” he asked, a touch of impatience in his voice.

“Well, there has to have been some sort of mistake right? I don’t make that kind of money, I never have,”

“Oh, it’s no mistake ma’am. $20,000 no more, no less, will be deposited to your back account every month until the day of your death.”

I opened my mouth, unsure of what to say at this latest startling development, and then closed it again. $20,000, every month, until the day of my death? What was going on?

“I don’t understand,” I muttered, as soon as I’d found my voice again. “Where is the money coming from? Surely you have that information?”

“It looks like the account holder’s name is Jay Laghar who-”

“That’s my father,” I interrupted, feeling more confused than ever. I knew my father didn’t have that kind of money, not with all the gambling and the debts and who knows what else my mother didn’t think my “pretty little ears” could handle.

“Yes. I believe he’s the one that set up these payments seven years ago,”

I was about to say something else, when a soft beeping came from the phone.

“I’m getting another call. Thanks for all your help,” I said quickly, hanging up.

“Reya it’s your father!” my mother’s shrill voice made me jump again. I sat down, my legs now unable to support my weight. “He’s d-dead. Heart attack, last night. I-oh Reya I’m so sorry!”

This was far too much at once. Dropping my phone, I collapsed, and everything went black.

--

“So sorry for your loss,” the tenth person of the day told me as they filed out of my parents’ old house where we had just finished having the wake after my father’s funeral.

I nodded, plastering on a polite smile. The funeral had gone smoothly, though planned quickly, and my family and friends had flown in from all over the country to pay their respects. It was surprising to me, as my father had lost many friends through his descent into drinking and gambling over the years. And yet about a hundred more people than we expected had shown up, people I’d never met or known before, but who seemed to have some kind of intimate knowledge of my father.

There was one man in particular who looked very familiar though I knew I’d never met him. He was tall, abnormally so, towering over the rest of my relatives and guests, his all black suit and bowler hat a strange sight amidst the modern outfits of everyone else. I had watched him, from the corner of my eye at the procession and even now, in my parents’ home. He stood away from everyone and stared around the room, his face impassive and cold. Everything about his features were sharp, from his hook nose, to his pointed chin. But it was his eyes that I had a hard time looking away from. They were coal black, blacker than the darkest night, blacker than the chipped nail polish on my nails.

Tearing my eyes away from the stranger, my eyes found my mother, who was being comforted by my father’s sister and smiled. She would be moving up to New Jersey next month, to be close to me. I’d quit my job at the bar, now that I was suddenly rich, and had even bought a used car for my mother, so she could drive into the city to see me. Even after paying for the funeral, which insurance mostly covered, when the next month rolled around, the extra $20,000 had felt exorbitant. I simply didn’t know what to do with all that money. I’d use it for medical school and taking care of my mother but still, even then, $20,000 monthly for the rest of my life…it was more money than I ever thought I’d have. I vowed to figure out some way to donate part of it. This miracle money had to be shared. It was what my father would have wanted, at least the father I had known before he’d changed, before he’d turned cruel and selfish.

“Hello Reya,”

I jumped.

The strange man had somehow crossed the room and ended up standing right next to me without me noticing. I looked around and saw that we were alone for the time being.

“I’m sorry I don’t know who you are. How did you know my father?”

The man cocked his head, staring at me unblinkingly. I shivered, a chill running down my back.

“Do you have the little black book?” he asked, ignoring me completely. I stared at him.

“How do you know about the book?”

“It was I who gave that book to your father seven years ago. And with his death, it now belongs to you.”

I blinked. The man smiled, a strange, lascivious smile and I took an involuntary step backward.

“Your father made a bargain with me,” he continued, ignoring my attempts at maintaining distance. He stepped closer. “Seven years ago. And I never renege on a bargain.”

I clasped my hands together to stop them from shaking.

“Your father fulfilled the terms of our agreement and as such, it is only right that I fulfill mine,” he murmured, leaning closer to me still. He smelled divine, like sin and decadence and power. “Your family will be taken care of, from here on out. You will never have to worry about money or anything related to financial trouble again.”

“What did he promise you?” My voice was a mere whisper.

The man’s smile widened, displaying a set of perfectly white, pointed teeth.

“Don’t you worry about that my dear,” he replied. “Enjoy your life Reya Laghar.”

And with that, he seemed to glide away, shutting the door quietly behind him. I stared after him for a moment before running up the stairs to my old room where I was staying, and found the small book that had somehow ended up in my luggage. I stared at the book before putting it away, under my clothes, and sat down, thinking of my father. His gambling, drinking, his anger and violence, all that had started seven years ago. Could that have something to do with the deal he’d made with the stranger in the bowler hat? Was there even a stranger in a bowler hat?

Everything had started to become fuzzy in my head. Blaming the whole interaction on too much wine and too little sleep, I rummaged around in my bag before I realized that I didn’t know what I was looking for. Furrowing my brows, I sat and stared at the mess of clothes on the ground, trying to clear my head. What was I doing in my room? My mother needed me. Shaking my head at my exhaustion levels, I stood up and headed for the stairs, not noticing the eyes that followed me from the large picture frame of my father on the wall near my bedroom. They followed me all the way down the stairs, up until I disappeared from view.