Fine Print.

I sighed. By God, it stinks in here. The walls were littered with custom gold Carrara subway tiles coated in a film of disgust, and there he was, just sagging on the toilet, unaware. This couldn’t be any easier. I stood in the corner of the bathroom and watched him. His expensive designer jeans were so effortlessly thrown to the floor as his floral mesh thong dangled between his ankles. I grimaced at the sink. Greenish-yellow vomit stained the white grout lining the stone finish. A gooey stretch clopped as I lifted my foot, stepping forward. The noise startled him, causing him to look up at me. I couldn’t believe it was my hundredth anniversary as a reaper—100 years of this. 100... years... Sometimes I question my decision. Was collecting this filth of a rockstar better than Hell? Had it been easier to take a young mother away from her children? Halt a boy from getting the chance to finish high school? Steal a queens crowning? I guess I’d been a bit selfish. I pulled the small hankey from my pocket and wiped my face in an attempt to ease the stench.

I recalled the first one I collected. I knew her. The assignment was most definitely on purpose. A deal with the devil is never cut and dry. In the heat of the moment, no pun intended, most are willing to sign anything, and I had been one of them. Diane Santiago. She was my mother’s best friend and confidant. She’d been like a second mother to me. At sixty-one, she had a heart attack. I’d been pushed through a door and plopped into her kitchen. I watched as she grabbed at her chest, gasping for air. Strands of greyish-blonde hair covered her face, and her shirt had risen above her belly in the struggle.

I’d gotten no instruction for this. Papers were signed, and no words were said. They’d dressed me in a black cloque and handed me a wooden rod. A monstrous creature with red skin said, “Good luck,” that was it. I approached her in a panic. Unbeknownst to me, I didn’t look the same. I thought Diane was seeing me, Carl, the kid she’d always known, not a blurred-faced being in all black. I terrified her. Every word I spoke was muddled with demon scripture and slang.

A clear entryway appeared after a few minutes. Unsure of what to do and wanting this to end, I grabbed her arm and yanked her through. It was all white, and a very regular-looking man approached us. He had light brown skin, a buzzed haircut, and brown eyes. His teeth were impeccable.

“Diane Santiago?” he said, reaching for her hand.

She stared ahead, frightened to silence. I could tell her pain was gone, though, as she breathed normally. It made me feel better about the yanking.

“I’m guessing by the lack of an answer, you are,” he said, nodding at her. She unintentionally nodded along. “Ah,” he looked at me, “you’re the new one. I’m Mitch,” he reached for my hand.

“Carl,” I said, shaking it.

“Ah, Carl. You must’ve gotten one of the red ones. They don’t like to tell anyone anything. Just a moment.” He looked back at Diane. “Miss, could you step over here, please.” Stunned, she complied. “Diane, that black blob there,” he pointed to me as she nodded, “that’s your boy Carl. He didn’t mean to scare you. He’s new. You’re going to a beautiful place. They’ll explain more there.” Her face twisted in confusion as he'd snapped his fingers without allowing her to speak, and she was gone. That was the last time I’d see Diane Santiago and the first time I’d deliver a soul.

“Carl, is it?” Mitch said with a hint of a British accent. “Lucky you landed me, chap—a few things. The black cloque look, you can change that. You can wear whatever you want. The wooden rod is a touch more difficult and might take some practice, but you can change that too. Many of you reapers don’t read the fine print and just sign. They know how to pick you. Anyhow, you always have access to that document.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper, “Here. When we depart from the white space, you'll return to Diane's kitchen. Go to the address on the paper.”

“Yes. What's the white space? Why are you helping me?” I said, severely confused, pleading.

“Sorry, chap, but no time for details here, and eh, I like to irritate the other side. You know? It’s like a coworker that makes you angry. They don’t train their people well. It trickles down. We can’t stay here much longer. The white space crumbles after a few minutes, and I prefer not to get lost in the void. Good day, Carl. I’m sure we’ll cross paths again.”

I blinked and was back in the kitchen just as he said. I unfolded the paper and read 28 Rue du Sergent Bauchat, 75012 Paris, France. Diane had lived right outside of Shelbyville, Kentucky.

“Urghh, gack.”

I sighed again. The rockstar was on the way out. That noise usually signifies organ failure. “Hiya,” I said, leaning slightly to meet his eyes. He stared at me in delirium. I’m sure he’s assuming that he’s tripping right now.

“Who are you?” he muttered.

“Carl. You’re dying, and I’m here to take you to the afterlife.” He tilted his head and chuckled. The ability to communicate in this role has been life-changing. It’s a nice reprieve from the curdling screams and tears in my earlier years. That trip to France had been well worth my time.

“Yeah, okay, guy,” he laughed and reached for a syringe hidden behind his left foot. His long dark hair was caked to his forehead and highlighted how pale he was beginning to look. As awful as his appearance was, the guy was still handsome. Chiseled jawline, sculpted abs, and tattoos placed just right. Some people are meant to be famous, and some of us average-looking folk land reaper jobs. I stepped back and watched as he injected the contents of the dirty floor syringe into his arm. Not many clients blatantly ignore me. Most encounters include a long conversation, the entryway appearing, and me dragging or walking them through. His eyes glossed when the fluid hit his vein, and the entry appeared. The opening surprised me. It was the white space but no essence of hell. I thought for sure this guy was going there. I shrugged it off. I didn't care. My hundred years were up.

“You have to come with me.” I left it at that. He didn’t seem to need much more of a description, and I wanted to wrap this up.

“Okay,” he said, standing up in a wobble. I turned my head to avoid the visual of his hanging dong.

“Pull your underwear up, man,” I said, slightly irritated.

“Oh, yea, yea, all right. Ya, square.” He reached down, grabbed the pink flowered thong, swerved, and shuffled it up. “Do I have to find my pants too? You, Lucy,” he laughed.

I rolled my eyes, “through there.” I pointed at the entry. He mocked me as he walked through with no question wagging his ass in my face—deep breath. Don't care.

A woman was in the white space this time. One I'd never met. It must be my send-off person. My heart raced. I couldn’t believe it. I was done—hundred years, thousands of souls, and I was done. My eyes watered slightly in the excitement of it all.

“Are you crying, you pansy?”

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked at the tattered rockstar, “what is wrong with you?”

“What is wrong with you?” He spouted back, stumbling forward and giving me the finger.

“Boys,” the woman shouted, “please. Tyler, come here.”

The nerve of this guy. He moved away from me and stood by her eyeing her from head to toe, smirking. Disgusting. He wasn't wrong, though. She had auburn hair and the body of Jessica Rabbit. It was wild. He stuck his tongue out to me just as she snapped her fingers. That son of bitch. I rolled my neck in irritation. Deep breath. Who cares? He’s gone, and I’m done.

“Carl, is it?” She said, looking at me.

“Yes,” I said, with glee, “so you’ll be snapping for me then or what?”

“There’s an issue with your contract.”

“What?”

“Oh, did you not hear me? THERE’S AN ISSUE WITH YOUR CONTRACT,” she shouted, leaning closer to me.

I winced, “No, I heard you. I’m confused as to how there would be an issue. I’ve read it multiple times. I did everything listed.”

She reached out her hand, “I’m Connie, by the way. We’ve never met.”

My mouth went dry as I shook it, “Hi, Connie.” I watched as she pulled a scroll from her leather side bag that I hadn’t noticed before. She allowed it to drop from her hand a roll along the empty white space. She sat the back half down and walked about fourteen steps forward, pointing to a line on the scroll.

“Here,” she said. I met her and looked down. “This tiny dot. It's subtext," she moved her finger from the dot to the fine print a few rows down. Very, very fine print. "At least seventy-five souls need to be delivered to Hell. Out of those seventy-five, thirty must remain for thirty years. Sorry, but your contract is extended until further notice.”

My mouth dropped open as I slid down to the white space. My head fell to my knees. I should’ve known better.

“Are you okay?” She said.

“No, Connie. I’m not okay.” That bastard. I’m never getting out of this. How would I ever accomplish that? Rarely does a soul stay in one place for an eternity anymore. Thats old school. My contract was meant for a hundred years in total. This is shit. Of course, there was a clause. How could I have missed that? My cheeks were hot, and my body ached. I felt a slight brush on my thigh. I looked up to see Connie had joined me on the ground or this floor of white nothing.

“Your Mitch’s Carl, aren’t you?” I stared at her. I’d never realized that Mitch and I had an extensive relationship.

“I guess,” I shrugged.

“You know,” she whispered, “you’ll never get out of a contract, but you could probably land a new job if you want. I heard working for Hell blows.” She chuckled.

I stared ahead. I knew I only had a few minutes left in the white space. I thought about Mitch. I thought about my first visit to France. I thought about all I’d learned in the past hundred years. I thought about just staying here and finding out what the void was. I thought that maybe I could find a way at of the contract still and that maybe Connie didn't know shit. I did know that if I took too much time thinking about an opportunity, I’d lose it.

“You’re hot as hell, Connie,” I said, scanning her whole physique.

“I’ll take that as you interested?” she said in a sultry voice. I nodded. She handed me a slip of paper. “See you here in three hours.”

I was shocked that I’d received another piece of paper a hundred years later. I was beginning to wonder what kind of game I was in. We looked at one another as the white space was starting to disappear. I let out a huge breath and threw my head back. In a blink, I was staring at the bathroom ceiling. I didn’t need to look around. The smell confirmed that I was back in Tyler’s bathroom. I yanked the paper and read Rua Balbino, 4, R. Van Erven - Catumbi, Rio de Janeiro - RJ, 20211-320, Brazil. I sighed. God forbid these people plan to meet me anywhere local. I pushed through the bathroom door and strolled through the house. Two people rushed past me up the stairs avoiding eye contact. Even though that guy was a dick, I still feel bad for the ones left behind to find them. I slammed the front door and made my way to my car.

“Who are you?”

I looked over to see a man standing in the driveway, “no one,” I said, getting in my car and closing the door. I've found it's not worth indulging in the ones that notice you.

“Hey,” he shouted, racing to stop me. I took a moment to stare at him. He won’t remember a thing about me—a hundred freaking years of this if I could only have that luxury. I pushed the gas pedal hard, hearing the roar of the engine. I allow myself to daydream briefly about crashing right into the tree ahead. I touched the paper in my pocket with the address confirming I still had it, and sped down the road.