The Harbinger

The Harbinger

“You know, if we had more money you would be happier” Walter sipped his coffee as Sharon sighed exasperatedly from listening to the same old speech, he always found his way back to. He stared at her with concern, “Are you feeling any better today?”

He patted her free hand as she popped in a couple more antidepressants “Honestly, I don't care.” There was no contempt or hostility in her voice, it was very matter of fact.

So, with this news Walter did what he always did: held Sharon's hand, smiled dreamily, and promised her they would see the world together as soon as he had more money.

They were not poor in the strictest terms but like most of the American middle class they struggled for the lower side of comfort. Little did Walter know, his plea for wealth had been heard, and his life was about to change.

After a long and excruciatingly boring day at work, Walter went to his favorite coffee shop. He sat with his coffee contemplating what he could do with a little extra money. A tall man in a black suite approached him, standing quietly next to his table.

“Excuse me, sir?” Walter spoke sheepishly.

They locked eyes for a moment, the strangers gaze being the most intense Walter had ever seen.

Walter leaned away from him slightly, feeling very unsure of himself. “May I help you with something?”

The gangly man reached into his inside jacket pocket pulling out a small, black notebook. Quickly and without a word he set it across the table from Walter.

Staring down at the little black book Walter did not notice the man leave. He reached for it across the table then turned it over in his hands, the cover was smooth and plain. After a lot of back and forth in his head he opened it quickly thumbing through. It was completely empty, except for the first line which read,

“Ruth Carver Aneurysm”

Walter repeatedly read the words, mulling them over in his head, and wondering what they could mean. He could not even remember knowing a woman by the name of “Ruth Carver”.

The next day at work, out of nowhere, his GM called him into the back office. Stepping into the office slowly he felt a small itch, like something bad would happen.

“Hey Walter, come in and have a seat.” The GM gestured to a chair next to a beautiful dark-haired woman with creamy coffee colored skin and large golden eyes. “Walter, this is Ruth. She transferred in from Brookfield.”

With a heavy expulsion of his breath, Walter realized he had not been breathing since he walked into the office. He chuckled lightly, extending his hand to greet Ruth properly. “Welcome aboard, Ruth.”

She returned his smile with a beautiful one of her own. “Thank you, Walter. I am excited to be here. I look forward to you showing me the ropes today.”

Walter had gotten home after his shift and found his wife lying unresponsive on their bed. After calling 911 and administering mouth to mouth resuscitation, she was brought back around with a shot of Narcan.

He paced back and forth slowly in the hospital room that she had been put in. Seeing her strapped to her bed on a forty-eight-hour suicide watch broke his heart. He felt small, and powerless as he looked down at her. Anger flared up inside of him, as his inadequacy built up along with it. Thoughts of how he failed and what more he could have done spun around in his mind.

When she woke, she would feel betrayed and restrained like an animal. His first thought was ‘Good, she should feel that way.’ But that was the anger talking. Finally, as he gently kissed her head, he settled into thoughts of sheer empathy and sorrow.

Walter stepped out on the curb by the hospital and pulled out his phone to order an uber, but on second thought he decided to save some money and just walk the twelve blocks home. Sticking his hands in his pocket as he strolled, he felt the soft, supple leather of the little black book.

“What a strange gift.” He spoke his thought out loud after pulling it from his pocket. He ran it under the pad of his right hand as his left held it up for him to look at. The feeling of the book helped to soothe the anxiety in him.

As if the book beckoned to him, his fingers caressed the pages then slowly opened it. Scanning the first page again, his eyes widened, his breath stopped, and he dropped the book to the pavement. ‘What the crap?!’ he thought unable to speak his mind out loud, ‘Is this an elaborate prank?’

He stared down at the book, as it felt like the world was spinning around him. The book lay there on the ground with his eyes boring holes into it.

He bent down and picked up the notebook, not fully realizing that he had done so until his knees crackled on the way up.

Where Ruth Carvers name was written at the top of the page, now had a thick, black line slashed through it.

“What could this mean?” He had finally found his voice. Just as the words had left Walter’s mouth his cellphone rang causing him to jump violently.

‘Holy Moly Walt! You are completely losing it.’ He thought to himself with a chuckle.

After sliding the book back into his pocket he retrieved his phone and stared down at the screen displaying his general managers name.

“Hey Mr. Willards, what’s going on?” As the words left his mouth, he felt that he needed this interaction with another human.

“Hey, Walter. I’ve got some sad news.” His voice was downtrodden and serious. “Ruth Carver, the new store manager, died earlier of a brain aneurysm. It was instant; no pain, so they tell me.”

The voice of the GM faded into a mish mash of sounds rather than words. Walter’s head spun as a tremendous amount of nausea filled his stomach, making him think he might toss his cookies right there in the street. Walter hung up the phone and pressed his hands to his head. “It was her name in the book before anyone could’ve known she’d die.” He doubled over, as the color ran out of his face. He drew in heavy breaths as saliva drained out of his open mouth. His stomach contracted and spewed all its contents into the gutter.

He finally stopped heaving as his phone chimed with a message from his banking app. Pulling up the message he looked wide eyed at the message which was telling him that four thousand dollars had just been delivered to his account from a company named “Black Book Inc.”

Just when Walter thought his body could not expel anymore from his stomach, it surprised him by spewing into the gutter again.

“There, there now.” The tall man from the coffee shop began to gently pat his back.

Walter finished then stood his eyes widening again. “You!?”

“Hello Walter.” The tall man stood before him in his expensive suit. He spoke slowly, as if time has never concerned him. “I imagine the business proposition you have started with me and my company has got you slightly perturbed.”

Sheer terror spread across Walter’s face as he looked up into the eyes of the stranger. “What business” heavy breaths laced his words. The itching in his fingers began again just like it had before, when he had met Ruth.

A long smirk spread across the tall man’s face. “First things first: you may call me Mort. Second, the business of which I speak is the business of which you have already been introduced on a trial basis.”

No human had ever looked so confused.

“Let me make it simple for you. I need a forerunner, a harbinger, if you will. I want you to meet five people, their names will be written in the book I left you. I will be glad to give you four thousand dollars, per person, for the next four people. That is twenty thousand dollars, total, for doing nothing but meeting four more people.” Mort’s face took on a very malicious look. “If you agree to accept this job, you will not be allowed to back out no matter what.” Mort extended his hand staring directly into Walter’s eyes. “Do we have a deal?”

After a few moments of deep contemplation, he slowly shook Mort’s hand.

“Barry Herzfehler – heart failure.”

Walter met Barry later that day. After meeting the Belgian Uber driver with an Arnold Schwarzenegger level physique, Walt shook his hand and thanked him for the five-star drive. Later that week Walt read his obituary, heart attack.

The next name “Randall Orramon – Bus” Popped up instantly.

Without even realizing it Walter bumped into him on the sidewalk. Apologizing they parted ways, allowing for Randall to make his meeting with the bus.

Two weeks later while at the rehab clinic visiting his wife, Walt met the next name. A boy named Jabari Akhtar. Before Walt knew his name, he had shaken his hand. Three months later the leukemia, which had been in remission only a month before, had taken him.

When Walt heard about the most recent death he threw the book in his desk drawer and tried to forget about it.

After his wife had gotten out of rehab life was better.

He made it a habit to make Sharon breakfast in bed almost every morning before work.

One day as he was walking to work, he heard his bank app ding. Confused by this he looked at his phone to see that the last four thousand dollars had been deposited into his account.

Mort appeared in front of him with a stoic expression on his face “Thank you for a job well done and my condolences on your loss.”

“What loss are…” Walter trailed off as he watched Mort disappear.

He ran as fast as he could back to the house. He flung the door open and went inside to find Sharon unresponsive, on the floor.

That night back at home after the shocking news that his wife had been poisoned by the wrong prescription, Walter dug in his desk for the notebook. Pulling it out he opened it staring at the fifth line. There was her name and way of death with a thick black line through it

“Sharon Coombe – poisoned”