Day 30 – The Pickle Jar

    It's 1:00 in the morning and I'm sitting here staring at a pickle jar full of severed fingers. I think there's like eleven or twelve pinkies in there, I lost count.

    I looked over to the coffee table where a bottle of scotch, a butcher knife and a bloody cutting board rested. I reached over and picked up the knife and began to saw through the knuckle of my pinky finger. Blood poured from my finger, trickling off the board, over the table, and then on to the plastic drop cloth I had laid down on the floor.

    It only took a few seconds to cut through the ligaments and then all the way through the other side. I carelessly tossed the finger into the pickle jar, that wasn't what I was interested in at the moment. I watched the little stump at the end of my hand. Over the course of the next thirty seconds, I could visibly see bone, skin, and muscles grow, replacing the pinkie finger that I'd just hacked off.

    I leaned back in my oversized lounge chair, still looking at my newly grown finger, watching as the skin, hair and finally the fingernail finished growing. I shook my head.

     "So weird," I said out loud as I touched and pinched the newly grown skin. The weirdest thing was the lack of pain. I could still feel things. I mean even if I pinched myself, I could feel it. But when the knife cut into skin, severed nerves and muscle, I felt nothing.

    I had been doing this for hours now. I'd burned myself -- cut and stabbed limbs and appendages. Everything I could think of and nothing seemed to hurt me. I still had a hard time believing all of it. I'd seen the proof so many times now that at this point I didn't even flinch when I did something to myself. But how was I supposed to believe I was indestructible? Things like that don't happen. But neither do pickle jars full of finger

    What the hell am I going to do? I don't want those… people coming to get me. I don't want to die—but I really need to talk to someone about what's happened. How would they know if I told someone? What if they did know that I told some, what then? I can't tell anyone. I couldn't risk the chance they might find out.

    I stood up and started pacing around the living room. I'm hungry, I thought to myself. And I need some air. I looked over at the clock and it was almost 1:30 in morning. I grabbed my coat and walked out into the cool night air.

    Thank heavens for 24 hour convenience stores, I thought as I started walking to the 7-11 a couple of blocks from my house. The sky was clear and moon was almost full, giving me plenty of light. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to settle down. What the hell am I supposed to do with all of this?

     Mr. Kristof said that they would contact me. I wonder what they wanted me to do; blow up some building or something… kill somebody. I'm in a no win situation. I'm going to be their patsy and when everything goes down, I'll be the one whose life is ruined, I thought and kicked at stone, sending it skipping down the sidewalk in front of me.

    I walked into the empty parking lot of the 7-11. I could see the clerk sit up as she saw me walk toward the door. I opened the door and stepped into the fluorescent light.

"How's it going," I said as I walked by her. The woman was in her late forties with patchy dyed hair and was little more they skin wrapped around bone. Too much meth, I thought.

    "Boring," she said and then went back to sitting, resting her head on her elbows.

    I walked to the Slurpee machine, grabbed a cup and filled it with a Coke Slurpee. Looking around, I walked over to where a couple of sad looking hot dogs rotated in a heating machine.

    Just for the fun of it I asked, "How long have these been here."

    The clerk looked at me with annoyed contempt. "They're fresh. I put them in less than an hour ago."

    "Right," I said and then went to the aisle with the chips. As I bent down to grab a bag of chips, I heard the bell on the door ring as someone walked into the store. I started to stand up when I heard a voice.

    "Open the drawer. Now!" a man yelled.

    "Okay – I don't really have much," the clerk said. I could hear her struggle to get the cash register open. "I can't –"

    The store echoed with a single gunshot. Startled, I lost my balance and fell forward into the shelves.

    "What the f— who else is here." he said. I could hear the clerk crying. Thank God she was still alive.

    Marcus you are a feeb, I thought as I tried to steady myself. Okay what am I going to do? I looked around, noticing there really wasn't much to use as a weapon. Can't really throw a tube of Pringles at someone now, can I?

    "Whoever you are get your ass out here."

    I took my keys out of my pocket and grabbed a bag of flour. I could hear the robber slowly make his way to the aisle. This was it, I thought as I used my keys to cut a large hole into the bag of flour. God just let it be real. God just let it be real. God just let it be real and please keep her alive.

    Just as the robber rounded the corner I stood and swung the open bag of flour back forth. A wall of flour erupted between me and the robber and without hesitating, I ran into the cloud. I heard several gun shots and I was pretty sure a couple of them hit me, but I didn't have time to notice as I collided with the robber, sending us both to the ground.

    A memory flashed in my head as I fell to the ground. I remembered when I was eight my dad teaching me about fighting. He had told me that in a fight it wasn't the strongest or fastest person who won, it was the meanest. Hit the face and groin, he had said.

    I hit the robber as hard as could in the face and heard the crack and squish of his nose. I grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the tile floor over and over again until he finally stopped moving. The flour slowly drifted to the ground mixing with the blood that spread from the back of the man's head.

    I pushed myself up and looked down at the robber. He was maybe in his early twenties, wearing a hooded sweat shirt and jeans. He stared at me with blank dead eyes. He lay there motionless as I stood up and took the gun out of his hand.

    I ran to the counter and found the clerk lying on the floor. Blood was slowly seeping out of a hole in her leg.

    "Are you okay?" I asked.

    "I don't know. Is he?"

    "Dead, I think, but not sure. Where's your phone?"

    "You're shot," the clerk said pointing at my stomach.

    "Don't worry about me. I'm fine. Where's your phone," I asked again, sparing a second to look over my shoulder and make sure the robber was still on the floor.

    "Right there."

    I grabbed the phone and dialed 911. The nasally tone of an emergency relay agent answered.

    "911 emergency. What is your emergency?"

    "The clerk at the 7-11 on Pine Street and 52^nd has been shot. The robber is still in the store," I said and then placed the receiver on the counter top.

    "The police and ambulance should be here soon," I said to the clerk and then turned and walked out the door.

    Once I was outside, I began to run and didn't stop until I was almost back to my house. I looked down and could see three gunshot wounds in my stomach and chest. I reached into one of the holes in my shirt and found the gunshot completely healed. I sighed in relief. It wasn't until I reached up and brushed the flour from my hair and tried to clean myself up a little that I realized that I was still holding the robber's gun.

    What the hell am I going to do with this, I thought. The thing that first came to me was to dump it into a trash can and just forget about it. But then it occurred to me that someone might find it, hand it over to the police, and it would have my finger prints all over it.

    "I guess I just hold on to it," I said out loud and then started walking again. It was as I walked up my drive way that my cell phone rang in my pocket.

    I took my cell phone out and found that the incoming call was "unavailable". This was it – the cops were calling me about the robbery. They were going to find out about all of it and then…

    "Hello," I said

    "Hello, Marcus. You're up late tonight," Mr. Kristof said on the other end of the line.

    "Yeah…"

    "I have to congratulate you, my friend. You're first endeavor was a resounding success."

    "How did—"

    "Because it's our job to make sure that you're a success, Marcus," Kristof said. I could hear the humor in his voice.

    "Our little friend had been contemplating robbing that convenience store for the last month. When we saw that you were going to take a late night stroll, it was only took a little nudge to ensure he acted on his desires tonight."

    "How the hell could you know that?" I said.

    "This is our job, Marcus. I must say, you really did outstanding. However, in the future you might want to take a gun with you. It will make your tasks much easier."

    "I'm not going to do that any—"

    "I'll contact you again very soon, Marcus. Now go get some rest – we have a busy month ahead of us. "

Day 31 – “I thought it was just a regular sales call.”

 

    "His name is Mr. Kristof," Marsha said before transferring the call to my desk.

    Right on, I thought for the half second before she connected the call. I really need a couple of new clients, not to mention the money. It hadn't been going well this quarter. I was almost twenty thousand behind budget and management was getting on my case, not to mention the fact that I was getting collections calls from credit card companies.

    "Mr. Kristof? Hello, my name is Marcus Shaw. Marsha was just explaining how you're interested in purchasing some advertising with our radio station."

    "That's correct…did you say your name was Mr. Shaw?" the man on the other end of the line said. He sounded like he was probably older, maybe in his late fifties or sixties.

    "Yes, you can call me Marcus though," I said reaching for my notepad. "So tell me a little bit about your business, Mr. Kristof. What do you do?"

    "Marcus, I really hate doing business by phone. It's so impersonal—don't you think?"

    "Sure, sure. Would you prefer me to come down to your office?" I said.

    "That would work so much better," he said and then told me the address to the business. "We're upstairs, in suite 20. Do you think you could come over within the hour?"

    I looked at my schedule in Outlook. "I think I can make that happen."

    "Good. Very good. I will see you soon."

 

    It took about twenty minutes to get to the address Mr. Kristof had given me. The building was located in the back of an industrial complex in a part of town that made me a little nervous. It was a three story building and most of the window seemed to be covered in what looked like a thick cake of dust and dirt.

    "Gonna get mugged," I muttered as I stepped out of my car. Up on the second floor, I could see a light in one of the corner offices which made me relax a little. I grabbed my planner and jogged to the steel door that seemed to be the only entrance to the building. I pulled on the door half expecting it to be locked, but with a little effort it opened and I stepped into the foyer.

    The front foyer was empty save for an old artificial plant covered in cobwebs. The tiled floor was cracked in several places and there were large spaces on the walls were paint had cracked and fallen away. The building smelled of cheap cleaner and cinnamon.

    I stood there for a moment looking around me. Yeah, I don't think this is going to turn out how I wanted. I doubt this guy has any money to spend if he does business out of a building like this. I started up the stairs to the second floor, taking them two at a time. The faster I got this over with, the better.

    It only took a few moments to find Suite 20 and as I began to turn the door knob, I heard a door open behind me. I started to turn to see who had opened the door when something hit me in the face and everything went black.

    

    "Mr. Shaw? Marcus? Are you awake?" a voice said from out of the painful darkness. I tried to lift my hand to my head but it wouldn't move.

    I opened my eyes and found that I was sitting in a battered office chair, my hands tied to the arm rests and my legs bound to chair legs. In a chair similar to mine, an elderly man sat looking at me. The man was wearing an ancient wool suit, a fat paisley tie, and loafers. He was short, maybe only five and half feet tall and his graying hair was shaved short. He had a salt and pepper mustache and thin wire glasses rested on his nose. And he wasn't tied to his chair.

    "What the hell." I tried to pull my arms free from what I could now see was duct tape bonds. "Let me go—" I said struggling. I tried to look around. Someone from behind punched me in the face.

    "Marcus, please, we don't want to hurt you any further. Please stop struggling."

    "Why're you… doing this to me," I said tasting blood in my mouth. I'm going to die, I thought as looked at the old man. Fear ran through my body as if someone had injected ice into my veins. I could feel it make me physically ill, causing my body to shake uncontrollably.

    "Because we've picked you, Marcus Shaw. It's why I called you."

    "Picked me? I don't understand. Just let me go and I won't, I won't do anything. Mr. Kristof… that's probably not your name… just let me go. I don't want any trouble."

    "Aren't you tired of being useless?"Mr. Kristof said standing up. "This sales job of yours, you like it?"

    "What're you talking about?" I yelled.

    "Right now you're worthless, Marcus. You sit around all day helping to pollute the world with noise. You have no value," Mr. Kristof said as he slowly walked to one of the grim covered windows, his shoes squeaking on the tiled floor with each step he took. "You're ex-wife, Sharon, she thought you were a failure – that's why she left you."

    "How do you know about Sharon?"

    "And Andrew… how old is he now, nine? Don't you want him to be proud of his father?" Mr. Kristof looked out the window and I could see him slowly smile. "It really isn't about your job… it's about what's on the inside of you Marcus? You can be better then you are. You are better, I know it, and you just need the opportunity."

    "Leave my kid alone – I swear I'll kill you if you touch him. When the police—" I had to figure a way out.

    "Marcus, I'm going to give you the opportunity. I believe in you," He said as he turned to look at where I sat. He looked at someone behind me and then said, "Put the hood on him."

    "Wait a sec –" I said as some placed a hood over my head. Everything was dark and I couldn't hear anything.

    My ears filled with rushing blood and I could hear the quick thump, thump. For a few moments I felt as if my heart was going to burst from fear. Then something snapped in me. I felt very disjointed from what was happening. I was still afraid but it didn't seem to matter. It was almost like the things that were happening weren't really happening to me, but to someone else … and I was just watching from the inside.

    I could feel the temperature of the room increase at an alarming rate. Had they started a fire and left me here to die as the building burned to the ground. I felt sweat trickle from every pore in my body. I tried to struggle free again but to no use. It became so hot I thought I was going to pass out. Then finally after what seemed like an eternity, the room began to cool.

    The hood was lifted off my head and I looked around to find the room was just as it had been before, the only difference was a large suitcase sitting on the floor in front of me.

    "Marcus, I want you to understand something," Mr. Kristof said as he came into view. "You've been given a gift … I expect you to do something with it."

    "You're letting me go … I don't understand?"

    "Patience. I need to explain a few more things," he said and the crouched down in front of the suit case, tossing back the lid. The suitcase was had several guns and Mr. Kristof pulled out a pistol. He stood up and turned to face me.

    I began to struggle again. I could feel the tape cut into my skin as I tried to pull my arms away.

    "Don't worry, Marcus. Everything will be fine."

    And then he pulled the trigger.

    I turned and closed my eyes as the bullet hit me in the chest.

    "What've you done?" I said looking down at my chest. Blood gushed from the gaping wound where the bullet had entered my body.

    "Don't worry. Watch," Mr. Kristof said as he slowly walked up to me. "Marcus, do you feel any pain?"

    I couldn't take my eyes off my chest. Where just minutes before I'd been resigned to what was happening to me, everything changed – now everything was real and immediate. I was dying. I started to cry. Tears fell from my face and mixed with the blood that spread across my shirt. I didn't want to die. I wanted to see my son again.

    "Answer me," Mr. Kristof said and grabbed my head and turned my face up so our eyes met. "Do you feel any pain?"

    "I … I don't … No. No I don't feel anything."

    "Watch." He repeated again, ripping my shirt open.

    I looked down at my chest. I could see the open wound and then suddenly something happened. The bullet popped out of the wound and fell to the floor with a metallic clink, clink, clink. The wound stopped bleeding and slowly shrank until it was gone, leaving only new pink skin in its place.

"This is your chance to change the world, my boy." He said to me as he placed the pistol back into the suitcase. "I've given you a gift. You have thirty days where nothing, and I mean nothing, can happen to you. Immortality for a limited time, Marcus."

    "How's this possible?" I still couldn't take my eyes from my chest. The pink new skin had begun to fade.

    "I can't tell you. And even if I could, would it really matter. I know you won't believe me, so you should test it out … but don't take too long… you have thirty days. After that you'll become your old fragile self. This suitcase is yours—to help you."

    "I don't understand." I said.

    "It's a second chance to matter. There're a lot of bad things that happen to people every day. Now you chance to change some of that. We'll contact you again in the next few days – we'll help you." Mr. Kristof said as he walked over to me chair. He took a pocket knife out of the inside of his suit and opened it.

    "There's only one rule, Marcus. You can't tell anyone about any of this. If you do, not only will you lose the gift we've given you, but I'm afraid that we'll have to kill you… so make sure to keep our little secret … because I don't like killing people."

    Mr. Kristoff looked at someone behind him. "It's time to leave. I'll handle the rest of this." I could hear the shuffle of several people as they walked out of the room. Two or three other people, I thought to myself and tried to turn and see who they were. Mr. Kristof grabbed my chin.

    "Eyes up here, boy. Now don't disappoint me, Marcus. I've a lot of faith that you will do the right thing," he said and then cut the duct tape that held my left arm to the chair.

    As I began to pull the tape from my right arm, I could see him walking out of the room. He turned back at me and smiled, and then gave me the thumbs up.

    "I will see you soon," he said and stepped out the door.

    Crazy bastard, I thought as I turned to hurriedly unwrap the tape. I need to get out of here.

    After I'd unwrapped my legs, I stood up and rushed to the window. I used my hand to smear away the dirty and grim, looking out on to the parking lot. It was empty. I turned around and found the suitcase on the floor.

    I picked it and looked down at my bloody shirt. What the hell should I do? First thing –I need to get home, I thought. I walked to the door and then looked back at the room.

    "It's not real, it's got to be a dream," I whispered as I stepped out into the hall and let the door shut behind me.