Count the cost

It was midday and Franklin was inside his cabbie waiting for another customer to hail him, he’d been on the clock since 6 am and was ready for a lunch break but he’d only made about 50 bucks in tips and he needed way more than that to make rent, he was already three days behind and Mr. Lemeny wasn’t going to be any more lenient then he’s already been, Franklin had to work through lunch & decided to go to one of the busiest areas, the airport.

Pulling into the taxi/ shuttle lane, Franklin slowly drives around the loop hoping to find a willing vessel, and fortunately for him, a young man hails his taxi. He pulls over and gets out to help him with his luggage.

“Hey, how are you ?” he asks,“nice day out, how was your flight sir ?” Franklin continues, politely. The young man, dressed in a worn business suit with a loose tie around his neck, seemed to be in a rush, his red eyes were rimmed with dark circles and his hand kept going to his face moving the brown damp hair from it.

“I-I’m good thank you, ” he replies nervously he rushes inside of the cabbie slamming the door, all the while cradling a little black book to his chest. Franklin closes the trunk and gets inside of the vehicle, putting on his seat belt he looks through his mirror at his increasingly anxious rider.

“Soo..where will it be?” he asked. The young man stuck his hand out to give Franklin a piece of paper. “Hmmm not much of a talker,” he thought, but he looked at the address on the piece of paper and typed it into his phone, seeing it was 25 minutes away he started the engine and began driving.

He could hear him whispering to himself in the back ..reading something it sounded like...

“What are you reading back there? I tend to do some reading of my own when I can-”

“My name is Dylan.” the young man spoke indifferently. “Do you believe in magic?” he continues to speak in the same dull tone, “I didn't, not at first..” he continued.

Franklin looks up at the asking of his random question only to be met with red-rimmed eyes glaring back at him.

“Something changed that belief though..this book,” he spoke again. “Many other problems came with it too..evil ” he muttered the last part.

“Well, I can't say that I do... I like to imagine it does but that's just a way to cope with life..nothing concrete has made me believe, no.” Franklin finally answers

A silence falls between the two men as the ride drags on.

“This book is magic” Dylan continues. “2 days ago I got into an argument with my wife and decided to drink it off at my favorite bar. I was so drunk I didn't know how long I had been out, shot after shot until my belly was hot with the vodka I was downing. Eventually, I got up to pee but the bathroom line was too long so I just went outside into the alley. Just as I was zipping my pants up I saw something next to the dumpster and when I picked it up it was a simple black book, I don’t know if it was the liquor or just mere interest but something was almost pulling me, so I took the book back inside with me and preceded to vent in its pages. In my drunken stupor, I wrote about my money troubles and how I was losing my home and my wife. I had to take out a second mortgage on our home just to pay off debts I built up gambling and with my law firm giving me fewer cases things were more than tense, anyways my wife finds out just how bad things are-

Now at a red light, Franklin peers at him again through the review, hearing the sadness in his voice becomes more evident at the mention of his wife

“Where is she? Your wife, if you don’t mind me asking? Franklin interjects. The light turns green And he continues driving just as Dylan picks up where he left off ignoring Franklin's question.

“She finds out about the second mortgage and becomes depressed & of course angry with me. I tried working more hours at the firm taking cases that no one wanted and for the life of me I couldn’t give up gambling, I just kept thinking I’d win big and everything would go away & I could make her happy again. I wished there was a way she didn’t feel anything that she felt anymore & I wrote all of this in that damned book. I continued drinking & the next thing I remember is waking up inside the car outside of my house. I couldn’t remember the drive back home. Grabbing my briefcase & keys, going Into the house, my wife was on the couch crying. I sighed and dropped my keys in the bowl, but before I could take off my jacket and go to her, the doorbell rang. My wife saw me go to the door and she still sobbing, said not to open it, that we had more important things to talk about- and she was right in hindsight- but I still try to answer the door telling her it would only be a moment and that we would be able to talk all day. I go towards the door again when she finally stands up with a gun in her hand. The knocks get louder and a migraine starts to throb behind my eyes, I rub my forehead and tell her to calm down that's she's exaggerating the situation & I go to open the door.

Silence follows as both Franklin and Dylan adjust to the moment. Franklin still driving but intrigued in the story he's vividly picturing as Dylan's sad voice begins again.

“I opened the door and seen the mysterious black book same as the night before, next to a small duffle bag, before I could register what was happening, a loud gunshot & then a thud. I turn around to see my wife lying in her blood. Running to her, I quickly take her in my arms, nothing makes sense as I take my phone dialing 911. my sobs choked me as I beg them to hurry. sitting there thinking about how I could've avoided it, feeling guilty I remember the book and the duffle bag left on the steps. I get up slowly, carefully placing her body on the ground and going over to the door, looking inside the duffle I see rows of hundred dollar bills, I quickly close it, shocked looking around I was wondering how it got here. I pick up the book next flipping through it like the night before only this time it wasn't blank, instead, my sloppy drunk handwriting is between the pages and as I began to read, the words got darker and darker as if I traced them a billion times - I wish my wife felt nothing... I wish I had money to save my house..- and all the words suddenly disappeared until the pages were back to the original inkless white.”

An eerie silence fell inside the cab. Dylan stared out of the window and Franklin was now parked on the side of an old bridge,

“Are you sure this is the correct address..doesn't seem to be much out here.”

Again the cold uncomfortable silence was louder than the two men.

“Aye..man, I can uh I can take you somewhere else if you need me to..” Franklin trailed off waiting, hoping that he could get off of the strange bridge with the strange guy. He looked up to meet the stone eyes of Dylan unmoving without blinking he said to Franklin,

“Count the cost.” before Franklin could comprehend the meaning of his vague sentence, Dylan springs out of the vehicle and Franklin hurries to follow him, “hey man! You didn't pay, you can't take off without paying me!” Franklin shouts behind him. Dylan stops running and stands firmly in the middle of the road “count the cost, ” he says again, out of nowhere Franklin sees a semi-truck racing towards him as Dylan leans his head back and smiles, the truck smacks into him.

After the police questioned Franklin they sent him on his way. They were confident it was a suicide from the detailed description he'd given of the odd encounter. Making his way back home for the night he felt dazed he felt drained like he'd experienced enough of life to carry him into the grave himself, not to mention Mr. Lemeny would probably be waiting for him by his apartment door, his problems returned that quick and drained the last bit of energy he had.

Deciding not to return his cab to port, he decided to just go home rest, and hopefully wake up early enough to sneak out without running into Lemeny & make cash that he still needed for rent. Stepping out & opening the back door, he sees laid out on the seat, the little mysterious black book, the shiver that went up his spine caused him to look around carefully before grabbing the book locking the cab up, and going inside.

He sat down with the book on his small worn coffee table, “does this mean I believe in magic?” he questioned whether he actually believed Dylans' story. Standing up from the couch he walks back and forth with his hands folded across his chest, eyeing the book, his thoughts were going rapid

“what if it works? ..Am I crazy? ...what if though..”

The next day Franklin is parked at the airport again waiting when a woman hails his cab, he gets out and helps her with her baggage. “How are you today? “ he asks being polite just as she answers Franklin opens his trunk and his mind immediately goes elsewhere, inside the trunk was a small black duffle bag.

“Could it be?” as he thought back to yesterday he realized he never gave Dylan's things to the authorities and they never asked..it was completely forgotten.

The women's irritated voice pulls Franklin from his thoughts, “hello?” she says louder waving her hand in his face, “I said I need to be at the convention center in the business district by 11, can you get me there?” Franklin then apologizes and hands her belongings back to her as he hops in his cab with the small duffle thrown in the passenger seat, he hurriedly pulls off in search of a more secure setting. Finding an alleyway, he parks the cab and shuts it down.

Franklin glances at the duffle bag a while before reaching over and opening it, & just as Dylan had described it rows of stacked hundred dollar bills were inside, he closes it and hesitates before opening it again and counting each stack. A little over an hour passed as he sat with $20,000 in his lap.

The exact amount he'd written into the book the night before...

A shiver of terror ran down Franklin's spine as Dylan's last words echoed in a hushed whisper around him.

Count the cost...