Repossessing Sanity
By Darrell B. Nelson
Copyright 2012 By Darrell B. Nelson
Repossessing Sanity
By Darrell Nelson
I heard the knock on the door and looked out the window. I let out a sigh of relief that it wasn't a cop. No subpoenas today. I automatically looked at the curb in front of the driveway to see if there was a tow-truck to repo my Jaguar. There wasn't because the Jag was repoed last week.
Satisfied that the man at the door couldn't take any more of my few remaining possessions I opened the door to greet him. At first glance there was nothing threatening about the balding man. He was several inches shorter than me, maybe 5 foot 5 inches, roughly 40 pounds lighter than me 125 to 130 tops, it was hard to tell under his three-piece suit. He was of some mixed ethnicity that was hard to pin down.
One look in his eyes told me I shouldn't underestimate him. They were the cold and determined eyes of someone who would do anything to get his way. I recognized that look as I saw it every morning when I looked in the mirror.
“Mr. Johnson?” he asked.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Mr. Johnson, you probably don't remember me but my name is Mr. Beals. Twenty years ago you signed a contract with my firm, Lightbringers, LLC. The terms of the contract were very specific, We would give you a degree of sanity by taking away your uncontrollable urge to kill and in exchange you would help to spread human misery to the best of your abilities. For twenty years you fulfilled your obligations admirably but two months ago you stopped spreading evil. Now I'm afraid we must repossess your sanity.”
At that moment I remembered our first meeting. He appeared out of the woods in the very secluded clearing that I had found perfect for my liaisons with my girlfriend. Back then I didn't look at his eyes to judge him so I didn't feel the least bit threatened by him walking up to me while I was sprawled out naked next to the body of my girlfriend.
“Hello Doug,” he said. “I heard you wish that you could silence your urge to kill?”
“I would think you would want that more, as I can't let you leave here.” Having him live wasn't an option.
“Oh, I'll be leaving fine.” Mr. Beals laughed, “whether you let me help you or not.”
I couldn't have him laughing at me so I grabbed a good sized rock and flung it at his face with all my might. He didn't even flinch as the rock hit him squarely between the eyes and bounced off his face.
“Are you going to continue to throw things at me or will you let me help you with your little problem?” he asked.
“You've got my attention.”
“I can see why you need help, your girl is really starting to smell,” he said.
“Yeah, I killed her a few weeks ago,” I admitted.
“Well she must have done something to deserve it?”
“Not really,” I said. “She needed to get home, and said she'd make it up to me but the urge to kill was too great and I strangled her. I wish I hadn't, sex was better when she was alive.”
“I can imagine, how long do you think you can still have sex with her?”
Looking her over I knew I wouldn't be able to do that much longer as her body wouldn't hold up. Her flesh was already a blackish gray and pulled back to expose all her bones. Her hair was falling out at a rapid rate and her lips had pulled up to reveal a toothy grin. Worst of all was the smell, her rotting flesh gave off a putrid odor that was released strongly every time I thrust myself into her.
“As long as I can. The only time the urge to kill goes away is when I make love to her,” I said. “I can feel the dark places in my mind ready to take over and make me kill again.”
“What if I told you I could make that urge to kill go away?” Mr Beals gave a slight smile.
“Let me guess, I just have to sell you my soul?”
“Dear boy, do you really think your soul isn't already mine? I own that lock, stock, and barrel. But I could use someone like you in the physical world. During that time I can silence your urge to kill.”
I thought about what the future held in store for me. Killing random girls every few weeks so I could have sex with their rotting corpses. I knew I could only do that a few more times before I got caught and sent to jail. He rattled on about the conditions of the deal but I was already sold.
Now he was standing at my doorstep telling me that he was here to take my sanity.
“I see, won't you come in?” Threats were pointless, I could just try and negotiate.
“Why thank you.” Mr. Beals came in and sat on the couch. He placed his briefcase on the coffee table, I couldn't help but notice it was identical to my own that I had left sitting next to the coffee table. He opened it up and grabbed one of the many contracts that were inside.
“This is your amortization schedule.” He placed the paper in front of me, “As you can see you did an admirable job spreading human misery as a loan officer. Putting people in houses they couldn't possibly afford just to have them evicted in a few years. Broken both financially and in spirit.”
“I can't take a lot of credit for that, the rules were stacked against them,” I said.
“But you did your job so aggressively you helped spread human misery like few others,” Mr. Beals said. “We had expected to repossess your sanity when the housing market collapsed, but you had the foresight to get into the foreclosure division. Kicking people out of their homes because they couldn't comply with the junk mortgages you sold them.”
“It wasn't hard to see the crash coming,” I said.
“But then you had to grow a conscience. You turned over all the junk foreclosures to the authorities. You caused us quite a few problems. Luckily most of the politicians are working for us. Most of them signed on for much less noble reasons than you.”
“I found that out when I was back-listed and had my assets seized for bogus reasons.”
“Something you should have thought about before.” Mr. Beals smiled, “But it does make it more pleasurable to do this repossession. Normally it is just a routine matter but with you it is so much more enjoyable.”
“Okay, I've listened to you, now what do you want?” I asked.
“Absolutely nothing, This is merely a formality. You didn't fulfill the terms of your contract and now you have to pay the price.” He closed his briefcase, “Even if there was something I could do, I wouldn't do it for you.”
He stood up and got ready to leave and I had an idea.
“Well, thank you for the twenty years of sanity.” I held out my right hand.
Mr. Beals was surprised, but he put his briefcase down next to mine and shook my hand. “You're welcome. By the way the urge to kill won't return for 24 hours. It would be unpleasant if it came back while I was in the room with you.”
“Understandable.” I reached down and grabbed my briefcase and held it out, “Don't forget this.”
“Thank you. I must say I'm surprised at how well you're taking this.”
“You didn't really think I'd give you the satisfaction of letting you see me beg.”
“Of course not, good day.” He headed out the door.
As soon as he was gone I grabbed his briefcase and fired up my personal scanner/copier. I had the names of people who worked for Mr. Beals and an idea of how I was going to put them to good use.
The urge to kill did return the next day but I was prepared for that. I knew that no one would be expecting a serial killer in a professional office building, especially not one in an Armani suit. It was all I could do to resist the urge until 7 pm, but I knew it would be worth it.
I pretended to be taking a drink from the water fountain in front of the closed executive dining room when she came down the hall. I suppressed a grin as I remembered the joke she loved
to tell.
“A man asked a woman, 'If I offered you a mansion filled with jewels and life free of toil so you could enjoy only the finer things in life, would you marry me?'
“'Why of course,' the lady replied.
“'In that case would you give me a blowjob for five bucks?' the man asked.
“'What kind of woman do you think I am?' the lady asked.
“'I've already established that, now I'm just haggling about the price,' the man said.”
Veronica's price was steep, she was a lobbyist for the mortgage industry. She had no qualms about sleeping with politicians if it would get her their vote. Thanks to her beauty, provided by Mr. Beals, it gave her a multi-million dollar salary.
“Veronica?” I