Deal with the Devil - A Short Story

He reads on. Their first candlelight dinner, the buying of their first small car, their first fight – Sammy cataloged every event in vivid detail. Nothing new, nothing to help explain her illness.

The wind gushes through the trees, picking up leaves and tossing them down further into the park. Discarded, useless to anyone but Mother Nature. Brian snaps the diary shut and releases the brake on Sammy’s chair. They had better get inside before she catches a cold. More people stroll through the park now, encouraged by the sliver of sunlight occasionally filtering through the clouds.

“Come on, Sweetheart, we need to go.”

The wheels shriek their protest at the cobbled surface when he pushes it towards the gate of the park. He turns onto the grass as an old man, leaning heavily on his cane, approaches from the front. The man stops next to them, resting a hand on Sammy’s arm. Brian shifts his weight to the other foot. Still the old man stares. Brian tries to push the wheelchair further onto the grass, but the man’s grip is firm.

“It’s almost over. Only hours to go now, Sammy.”

The old man straightens and walks by, leaving Brian gaping.  How the hell did he know her name? Brian swings around to call the man back and his mouth remains open, failing to form the words. The path is empty.  He shakes his head. Did he imagine the old man? Is he finally losing his mind? The rest of the park is curiously empty – and quiet.

He pushes the wheelchair back to the path and stretches his stride. Chills run down his spine and he glances over his shoulder. White fog moved in while he walked away and black arms of the trees fights for recognition through the mist. He shivers and runs out the gate, steering the chair into the busy street. Pedestrians grumble as he bumps into them.

The warmth of the apartment welcomes him inside. He tosses the diary on the kitchen table and picks Sammy up. For several long moments he hugs her close. Her thin frame no strain on his muscles. He buries his face in her hair and tries to capture her scent, which has been curiously absent for the last six months and gently lays her on the bed.

A gust of icy wind whirls through the apartment. Checking the windows and door, he finds them all secure. Turning around his eyes fall on the table. Pages are scattered over the surface and the diary lies open.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Brian takes a step closer. The papers remain motionless. He moistens his dry lips with a flick of his tongue. Three steps more. Nothing happens. He hovers over the pages strewn on the surface, but his eyes keep straying to the open diary. The words seem to jump out at him.

‘April 18, 2008

The old man found me today. I hoped he would forget our agreement. Guess I should’ve known better. I’m scared… Not for myself, but for Brian and my family. Will they pass the test? Will I be able to live with it if they don’t? Oh, why did I make the deal in the first place?”

Brian flips the page and reads on.

‘April 25, 2008

He said it was time. Tomorrow I have to fulfill my end of the deal. I already feel the darkness closing in, its smothering presence sucking the life out of me. My limbs are heavy and I can’t concentrate. I don’t know if I can go through with it. Looks like I don’t have a choice. It has begun.’

Brian exhales sharply. The last entry was the day before she got sick. Sammy never warned him. She could have, but she didn’t. He gathers the stray pages and piles them in a heap with shaky fingers. Despite the central heating, goose pumps turn the hair on his arms upright.

The chair scrapes on the wooden floor as he wills his legs to support his weight. He opens the window wide to let in some fresh air. The sun has disappeared behind grey clouds leaving the world clad in deep shadows.  Brian turns back to the room and the gloom of outside appeared to have seeped inside. He strides to the bed. Sammy sleeps peacefully for the first time in weeks.

“What have you done, my love?” His whisper grates against the silence of the room.

He sits down at the table again and sorts the pages into date order. Slowly but surely a picture emerges of Sammy’s secret life, her passion and burning ambition to become a mother. All the entries for over a year evolve around her trying to conceive. Brian remembers it as a tiresome period in their marriage. Sammy spent days reading fliers of why woman can’t fall pregnant and tried every advice she could lay her hands on. When she finally stopped talking about it, he thought she made peace with the thought that if it were meant to be she would have a baby. The entries in the diary shatter that belief.

She found a way to ensure conception. Three months before her illness she met an old man who offered a solution to her problem. She seemed excited, but also apprehensive. After the initial entries about the old man, she never mentions him again until the entry on April 18. Still no closer to solving the mystery, he shoves the loose pages back into the dairy and fastens the buckle on the leather cover.

He lowers his head in his hands, raking his fingers through his long black hair. Exhaustion draws his eyelids together and he folds his arms on the table. He’ll just rest for a while before taking Sammy for her bath. His eyes drift shut.

“Wake up sleepyhead.”

A cool hand briefly shakes his arm. Brian forces his eyelids apart. His muscles refuse to obey his brain as he tries to get up.  The voice seemed so real. Sammy’s voice – Sammy’s touch.