I frown at him. He laughs and it sounds like a gust of winter wind through the eaves. “I know. Hard to picture, ain’t it?”
“No shit. And when was this?”
His smile fades. “Can’t remember.”
I’m appalled to find myself feeling sorry for him. I have to remind myself why I’m here, and whose fault it is. But that’s not so clear, no more than it’s ever been. I can’t be sure Cadaver wasn’t toying with me by planting the seed of doubt in my brain. He hasn’t said Kyle took the bargain he was offered. He hasn’t said he didn’t either. The fact that I’m alive is about the only thing keeping me from being convinced the latter holds true.
“Had a wife, and two children too,” he continues, as wistfully as his artificial voice will allow. “Can’t recall their names, or their faces. I know I cared about them a great deal though.”
“So how did you get demoted to this position?” I’m hoping to get a rise out of him, simply so I won’t have to feel sympathy for the old bastard anymore.
It’s his turn to shrug. “Can’t rightfully recall that either, but I’m sure it began with the scandal. See, I mentioned I was good at my job. Turns out I was maybe a little too good. I could talk the talk like no one else in the company. Had a ninety-six percent success rate you see, which means almost everyone who opened the door to me bought whatever I was sellin’. Which is good, unless it’s discovered that what you’re sellin’ emits toxic fumes, which when inhaled, causes seizures, and eventually a very painful death.” He shakes his head. “Sold an awful lot before the company recalled it, Tom. That’s an awful lot of dead folk.”
“And that’s why you’re—”
“No idea. You could say the death of all those people wasn’t my fault, but we might have to argue about that. I’ve had plenty of time to think it through, and I suppose there could be any number of reasons why I ended up doin’ what I do now. Could be because I shot my father to keep him from beatin’ my Momma to death with a shovel, or because I shot a few bluejays with my BB gun when I was a kid. At the end of the day, don’t really matter why. I still am what I am and always was: a salesman sellin’ death to whoever opens their door to me.”
“And that’s what we’ve done? Opened our doors to you because we fucked up our lives?”
“Because you fucked up the lives of others. Why do you think you’re involved here? We both know you didn’t murder your wife, but you keep tellin’ yourself you did. Why?”
“I figured you’d already know.”
“Humor me.”
“Why should I?”
I search for words, but like the answer he’s seeking, I can’t wrench it free of the dark that’s coiling inside me like oil in a spinning barrel.
“Who’s the victim of your sins, Tom? Kyle?”
“Maybe.”
“No.” The word is flat, dead, delivered like a hand slammed down on a table. “It’s you. You’re the victim. You’ve let yourself drift on a tide of bad judgment, let this town suck the marrow from your bones and the ambition from your heart because it was easier’n puttin’ up a fight. You’re a quitter, Tom.”
I’m a little stunned at the vehemence in his artificial voice. Whatever the motive behind his little rant, I’m inclined to believe he’s just accused me of an unforgivable crime, not on some malignant whim, but because he desperately wants me to know. Because I have to know.
I’ve heard some people say that when they were faced with extreme danger their lives flashed before their eyes. That’s who Cadaver is, or at least a part of what he is. He’s a reminder of all you’ve done, and should have done. He’s an accountant who keeps track of how much you’ve squandered and how much you owe. He’s a debt collector of the most ruthless kind because he deals in the currency of souls.
“You’re a failure.”
I’m getting angry, and that’s about par for the course. I can’t walk away from this like I’ve walked away from everything else, and with no distance to put between me and the man judging me, and no gun to shove between his eyes to force him to reevaluate, I have no choice but to defend myself with words.
“Is this supposed to make me see the light? Change my ways? Am I supposed to leave here with an arm around my boy, both of us skipping to the tune of The Andy Griffith Show, all because I was fortunate enough to heed the wisdom of a mass-murdering parasite? Fuck you old man. You brought Hell to this town just as much as Hill did. You infected it, infected us, and then have the gall to sit there like God himself judging everyone you’ve set out to destroy. Why not just wave a magic wand and blow the fucking place off the earth and be done with it. Why drag it out like this unless you like the suffering, unless it’s how your limp dick gets to twitching?”
Cadaver seems unaffected by my outburst, but right now I want to wring his scrawny neck, or at the very least rip that goddamn box out of it so he’ll stop talking.
“I’ve done nothin’ in this town the people didn’t ask for, Tom. I’m as cursed as everyone else, maybe even more than they are. I don’t get to make choices. I just get to grant power to people who make them too freely, and without thinkin’ them through. And I don’t get to change them.” He frowns. “So no, I don’t expect you to see the light. That star burned out a long time ago. But whether or not you choose to understand what I’m tryin’ to tell you, you’ll learn to appreciate the message when the choice is taken away.”
“Riddles.” I stand, muscles trembling, hands clenched into fists I want so badly to use but know I won’t. I can’t. “You’re speaking in goddamn riddles. What do you want from me? From Kyle? How do we end this? Do we have to die, to burn? Is that it? Tell me!”
Cadaver rises, a skeleton beneath plastic skin. The smell of his cologne will from this moment on remind me of death. “How these things turn out depends on the choices that are made. Sometimes it happens that everythin’ turns out fine. But not often. It ain’t in our nature to consider others when we’re sufferin’ ourselves. And unfortunately for Milestone, everyone gets to bargain if they want it, even the monster hidin’ among you.”
I’m standing as close to him as I am willing to get. His one good eye holds me as sure as if it were a loaded gun. “Tom, you were a good man once. You lost your way. Tonight you’re goin’ to lose everythin’ else, and for that I’m truly sorry.”
He’s trying to scare me. It’s working.
“What about the coins, the loan? What about—” Frantic, I dig in my pocket until I have those two cold discs grasped in my hand, then I hold them out for his inspection. “—these?”
“What about them?”
“You said they were a loan.”
“I did.”
“What if I give mine to you? What if…?” Unsure what I’m doing, but praying it achieves the desired result, I shove one of the pennies under his nose. He backs away, looking slightly annoyed. “What if I let you have mine, me, right now, whether or not Kyle took the bargain? What then?”
“You misunderstood, Tom.”
That’s not what I want to hear.
“Just listen—”
He puts a hand on my wrist, forcing me to lower the coin from his face. “It was a loan for you. The coins ain’t some kind of barter for your soul and Kyle’s. They don’t represent souls at all.”
“Then what the hell are they?”
“Time. I let you borrow time.”
I feel something being yanked away from me, the knot in the tug o’ war rope vanishing into the darkness in the corners of a room that smells of death/cologne and furniture polish. The man looking at me from the glass over Cadaver’s shoulder is a monster. His eyes are gone. My eyes are gone, but I’m not blind enough to miss seeing the picture this old man has drawn for me.