The Bargain
God knew she loved him.
“I never would have done it if I’d known,” she told
him now—although it was far too late
for any apologies. When Diana and Frank first met, she
had overpowered him; she always was
aggressive, part of her nature, she would sometimes
say, something to do with her namesake.
She looked at him with gentleness now, twirling his
hair in her fingers as she lay in the bed with
him. She tried to blink her eyes dry and recalled the
beginning, those first days and weeks when
they had been so happy in each other’s company.
“Happier than hell,” she thought. She laughed. Now it
seemed a disgusting phrase.
Like most newfound loves, they both thought this one
would never end. Because she
never grew out of that optimism, she had ruined them
both. She stared into his face and told him,
“You shouldn’t have been so damned beautiful.”
He wasn’t listening. He never listened these days. In
fact, he had stopped listening to her
and anyone else some time ago.
After about three months of being together, Diana
noticed how the intensity of the
relationship cooled considerably, at least from his
end. She compensated this thaw on Frank’s
part by becoming more desperately passionate—trying
new means of seduction at night, clinging
tighter to his body in the morning. This bothered her;
she was normally rational, so much in tune.
She never could figure whether it was her or the
relationship Frank first began losing interest in,
but it happened, and it was more than she wished to
tolerate. That’s when she made the bargain.
Bargain? She choked on the word. It was no bargain; it
was a deal. One didn’t make
“bargains” with the devil; one made deals. And there
was only one party that would come out
ahead in the transaction.
“This,” she whispered in Frank’s ear, trying to sound
reassuring, “was not what I had in
mind.”
She no longer could remember when she first called
upon the Devil. Perhaps she hadn’t;
perhaps he had called on her. All she knew then was
that Frank seemed to be slipping away from
her, and suddenly someone offered to help her, to keep
them together, “for the rest of their lives.
“He’ll never leave you,” she was told. “At least not
for long.”
That was how it been put to her as she sealed the
contract, not with blood but with a
word, and a feeling. And it was true.
In fact, it was amazing how simple it seemed once the
arrangements had been made.
Little things kept happening, minor accidents that
would detain him long enough for her to
change his mind. Every time he tried to walk out on
her, she would get some opportunity to keep
him there. Then, slowly, the occurrences took churlish
twists. The things that happened to Frank
became malicious and hard to witness, and she tried to
let him know that he couldn’t leave her;
he no longer had a choice; neither of them did. It
came to a head when Frank crept out of the
house while Diana slept.
He just packed a bag and left. Driving up the onramp
to the expressway, his car suddenly
skidded out of control and smashed into a cement
embankment. He lost both legs, just above the
knees. After being released from the hospital, he was
back with Diana.
It was then that she dared to question the validity of
the deal to her merchant. She was
reminded, in no uncertain terms, that her request had
been entirely fulfilled. She had no reason to
complain. After several bitter and sad months, Diana
decided she had to tell Frank what actually
had happened, that she had actually been the cause of
his accident and that, in fact, it had not
been an accident at all.
He, of course, never believed a word of it. He
insisted that she had lost her mind and
swore that, even in his state, she could never make
him stay with her. He didn’t feel he was
dependent upon her for his life at all. He had had
enough of her gibberish, which had obviously
turned into hysteria. The outrage that then erupted
from Frank was unexpected even though it
shouldn’t have been. After a tirade of almost 20
minutes, he wrestled himself out of her grasp,
situated himself in his wheelchair, and told her he
was leaving—this time for good.
“And even the Devil can’t help you this time!”
He wheeled out of the apartment into the corridor. She
stood in the doorway pleading
with him, but Frank entered the elevator. On the way
down, the cable supporting the car
snapped, sending it crashing at the foundation of the
building. Frank never knew that he made it
out. He was now in a coma, permanently. She knew that.
This was how her life would be from
now on. He would never leave her again. They were
together for the rest of their lives.
Just as she had wanted.
Bill (William) Cushing grew up in New York City but
has lived in various states as well as the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico
before moving to California. As an undergrad, he was called the “blue collar”
writer because of his years working as an electrician on oil tankers, naval
vessels, and fishing boats.
He earned an MFA in writing from Goddard College in
Vermont and teaches at East Los Angeles and Mt. San Antonio colleges. His short
stories have appeared in Borfski Press, Newtown Literary Journal and Sediment.
He has published creative non-fiction, poetry,
reviews, essays, and articles in various print and internet publications. He
was also named as one of the Top Ten L. A. Poets of 2017; when not teaching or
writing, Bill collaborates with a musician in a project called “Notes and
Letters.” He invites anyone interested to visit and “like” their Facebook page.
Tags:
Short Fiction