HEEDLESS

“This book contains $20,000 cash. Whoever comes to own this book is free to spend this money however they like. However, every purchase made with the money within this book will cause the death of someone known to the owner within 12 hours. This person can be anyone the owner knows by name or face.”

Those were the first words John read upon opening the little black book he found outside of his home. He didn’t know who or where it came from, only that the moment he touched it there was a shift in the air as if he made a mistake. After reading this sentence by his front door and finding the money was indeed there, he verified to himself he was not being watched and took the contents to his office for further examination.

“If the owner wishes not to keep this book, they may pass it onto someone else, be it a stranger or someone they know.”

“If this book is discarded and the money is kept, the money will turn to rubbish and the owner will die. If the book is kept and the money is discarded, the money will double. If both are discarded, both will turn to rubbish and the owner will die. All 3 rules will take place within 12 hours.”

“If all the money within this book is spent at once, no one will die. This rule only applies to the first $20,000. If the money is doubled or partially spent, this rule is nullified.”

John sat in his office, plotting the most logical means of testing the book’s validity with minimal consequences. Despite his skepticism, the conditions provided for spending the money intrigued him, forcing him to weigh his options before spending any.

Every option ending in someone’s death was out of the question. Verification of the book’s power was necessary to John before passing it onto someone, and even then, he needed to be very cautious of who he passed it to. Passing it to someone he knew could result in his death should they spend a portion of the money, and passing it onto a stranger could result in countless deaths should the book wind up in the wrong hands. The only option that didn’t directly lead to someone’s death was to spend the money all at once, but this led John to two more problems: the first being the IRS, the second being what’d happen to the book once the money was spent. Would the book turn into rubbish? Would he die? Would anything even happen?

John feared the book being fake almost as much as it being real, for many improvements upon his life could be made with such a large sum of money. One of the last things John wanted was to get the IRS involved. What would he say? How would he explain the contents of the book to the government, and why should he risk losing the money to them for a book whose truthfulness he was still uncertain of?

Even the safest route, doubling the money, wasn’t without faults. If his attempt to double the money succeeded, he could no longer spend all of it at once to prevent anyone’s death. Still, John concluded it was the best way to test it out.

The plan was simple: John would throw the money away in the trash, taking the trash bag outside for good measure, before going to bed. If the book was fake, he would simply retrieve the money, and if the book was real, he would spend all but $1 for three reasons: it would only cause one casualty, ensure he retained ownership of the book, and if someone found the book, there wouldn't be enough incentive to steal it.

That night, John set his plan in motion. As he laid in bed, he thought of the vast possibilities now available to him. Convincing himself the book was a hoax, his outlook grew more optimistic.

The following morning, John went through his normal routine, and when he got to his office, he found the book exactly where he’d left it. Nowhere was the money to be found except outside from the night prior. John scoffed, reinforcing his belief the book was a farce.

After work, John went to the liquor store and treated himself to around $100 worth of alcohol in celebration of his newfound wealth. As he drank himself drunk, he laughed at the book and threw it away in his kitchen trash can, all while talking to himself about everything he’d buy with the money. The next morning, he awoke to banging on the door that agitated his buzz. It was Nate.

Nate, one of John’s friends from college, arrived at his door, panicking about the death of his girlfriend, who happened to be John’s ex-girlfriend a year prior. Nate and John were good friends throughout college but grew distant when Nate fell into drug addiction after the death of his mother. Nate had suffered quite a few losses that resulted in his mental decline until he met Irene, his now-deceased girlfriend. She was the reason he tried getting clean until he relapsed and convinced her to try heroin with him. She caved and tried it, overdosing. Once her death was confirmed by paramedics, Nate rushed to John’s house.

John comforted Nate the best he could, offering him a seat at the kitchen table and leaving him alone for a moment while he searched for a box of tissues. During John’s absence, Nate used a paper towel to blow his nose. When he opened up the trash can to throw it away, he found the book. John came back to find Nate standing there, holding it.

“What is this?” Nate asked.

“It’s an old journal.” John lied.

“You don’t have to lie to me, John.” John was confused. “Did you spend the money from the book?”

“How do you know about the book?”

“I asked you first.”

“...Yes, I spent the money. I tried to test it out but it didn’t work so I assumed it was fake and spent a bunch of money on alcohol last night.”

“Oh, it’s real. I know because I owned it before you.”

“Wait, so you left it on my porch?” John asked.

“No. I spent all the money.”

Nate explained he spent about a quarter of the money before receiving news of his mother’s death. Afterward, he looked on social media, which he didn’t use very often, to discover numerous posts about people’s deaths and links to crowdfunding sites raising money for their funerals. This discovery was what led him towards drug addiction as a coping mechanism. When he started dating Irene, he tried numerous times to get clean, failing each time. He spent the remaining funds, numbed by the heap of innocent lives lost by his hand. The following days he spent with Irene going through detox until he relapsed.

John was livid. He already felt guilty and doubtful of his position on the book, but now he was certain. He killed Irene.

“Here, I’ll tell you what: I got nothing left to lose, so give me the book, and I’ll get rid of it.”

“No. I can’t just let you kill yourself for my sake.”

“Oh don’t act like you give a fucking shit about me, John.” This took him by surprise.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You say you can’t let me kill myself, but isn’t that what you’ve been doing this whole time? You never even called to ask how I was doing. Not a single fucking call, not even a text, so just give me the fucking book and you won’t have to worry about either of us again.”

“I’m not giving you that book, Nate.”

“Why not? It’s not like you’d care.”

“I would care,” John replied, frustrated, “I’d feel terrible.”

“Bullshit! Be honest, John, would you feel bad for not helping, or for not caring?”

John started tearing up. “... I do fucking care.”

Nate teared up, too. “Then why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you reach out at all?” he asked, raising his voice. “How come every time Irene told you to help me you just brushed her off and then fucking dumped her when she started helping me herself, huh? Why were you so afraid of talking to me?”

“You wanna know why? Cause you’re a fucking druggie. What’s the point of asking if you’re okay when the answer’s obviously no, if you’re not going to get help when I tell you, or take any suggestions that I give you. I didn’t help you because it was pointless. You’re a fucking junkie, and THAT’S why I’m not giving you this fucking book because what’s stopping you from blowing the money on more drugs and getting more people killed?”

Nate was silent, glaring at John with tears running down his eyes. John immediately regretted everything he said.

“Be honest with me,” Nate asked quietly, “You were one of my best friends in college, but was I one of yours? Be brutally fucking honest.”

John didn’t answer. Nate stormed out of the house, cursing under his breath. John didn’t follow, staying in the kitchen instead to let his emotions out. John always felt bad for not helping Nate, but never considered him that close of a friend. Nate’s last question struck a nerve in him because it put into perspective how he viewed him. Nate needed John, and he not only failed his friend but destroyed his last personal connection to this world and left him a suicidal mess with nothing to lose. John, on the other hand, had a lot to lose. He had friends and family members who loved and cared for him.

John was conflicted. The merciful thing to do was to let Nate sacrifice himself, but he still felt a moral obligation to destroy the book himself to save Nate’s life. John felt the need to sacrifice everything he had going for him to ensure his friend at least had the chance at a better life. After all, it was John’s selfishness that prolonged Nate’s suffering.

It was an impossible dilemma. He only had the book for two days and spent so little of the money, and he now had to choose between his life and Nate’s. There was no other choice besides destroying the book, but whose life was worth more, the man with everything to lose or the man with nothing?

John understood what needed to be done, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He had to burn the book. Even after leaving Nate’s possession, it affected him more than it did John. For the rest of the week, the situation never left his mind. He had next to no appetite and no desire to distract himself. His mind was constantly switching between wanting to live for his loved ones and dying for Nate.

It wasn’t until that afternoon when John accepted his fate. After countless hours dreading the idea, it was decided he would burn the book. He went out to pick up lighter fluid and wood for his fire pit, which he hadn’t used in months. The book was drenched in lighter fluid before being placed beneath two logs of firewood. John soaked the book, getting in every page, his hands trembling every moment.

While the book burned, John began feeling more at ease, as if something had left his body. He sat and watched for a long while, ensuring every page was reduced to ash. When the last glow of red faded, he reentered his home, taking his final seat on his couch, awaiting the end. The anticipation was unbearable. Every abnormality sent a rush of adrenaline through his body with the expectation that his life was finally ending. He sat for hours in agony until he finally felt it: the sharp pain preceding the heart attack that would end his life.