Toward Darkness

Toward Darkness

Human nature is not black and white but black and grey. ~ Graham Greene

The day had started off clear but now the gathering clouds seemed to be sponging the light out of the mid-morning air. Bob stared at the grey distorted reflection floating on the dirty glass. Middle-aged, prematurely balding, a two-day stubble shading his jawline. Who is that?

He turned away from the ghost-like image. “That’s not me!” he said forcefully, causing a passerby to start and take a wide berth around him. “Sorry,” he muttered without conviction.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he spat, recalling the last time he’d heard that word:

“I’m sorry, Bob, but it’s the economy,” his supervisor said. Make that former supervisor, he thought as he watched Alan slide the separation package across the desk. “I’m sure you’ll find employment soon. You’ve been a great employee and you can count on me for a good reference.”

Bob snapped out of his reverie. After two months, he still had not been able to find a job and he had no immediate prospects. Now, he was out aimlessly walking, trying to put some perspective on his deteriorating life. Each tick of the clock seemed to push him deeper into depression.

He looked around, trying to orient himself. He found himself at the steps leading to Saint Ann’s Cathedral. “Is this a sign, God?” He waited but didn’t really expect an answer and wasn’t surprised when none came.

He jumped a bit when the doors opened and Father Jacob appeared. He watched as the priest greeted several people exiting the church.

Wednesday mass. Well, I’m not sure how reminding me what day of the week it is answers my question but they say you work in mysterious ways, God. He wanly smiled at his little joke and began to climb the stairs.

He entered the gathering area and proceeded to the font. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” he mumbled as he blessed himself, going through the motions but not feeling it in his heart. He entered the nave and took a seat in the pews.

He started to pray but nothing came to him. “God, why am I here? I don’t know if I even believe in you,” he whispered. Feelings of quiet desperation flooded him. He felt tears come to his eyes and quickly wiped them away, bowing his head.

The checkbook was lying beside the kneeler when Bob first saw it. This fact didn't seem to penetrate Bob's consciousness as he reached down and picked it up. He felt surprised when he focused and realized what he held.

Opening the checkbook, he read the imprinted name. Tom Rogers. 1313 Bristol Street. That's only two blocks from here. A pale green corner of paper stuck out from under the register. He opened the wallet section and was startled when an identification card and a stack of bills slid into his hand.

He looked at the I.D. and saw that it had a special symbol displayed. It took him a moment to realize that Tom was disabled. I'll bet he'll be glad to get this back. Dealing with the city’s bureaucracy was no easy task as he had discovered. He had spent weeks trying to register for unemployment and attempting to find any medical coverage.

It was then that Bob noticed the money. He thumbed through the stack of bills, counting twelve, no thirteen crisp hundred dollar notes.

"Oh Lord," he muttered, "Is this an answer? Or, is this a test? Why do you tempt me so?"

Bob looked around. Of the few people that were present, no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. This is so wrong, but I need the money. I've got rent due and I need to worry about getting to interviews. These and other thoughts ran through his mind as he struggled to come to a decision on what he should – no – what he would do.

"I'll pay him back when I get a job," he finally whispered as he took the bills and slid them into his pocket. Taking a handkerchief, he carefully wiped off the cover and pushed it into his pocket.

Bob jumped when he felt a hand close on his shoulder.

“Are you all right, my son?” Father Jacob asked.

“I’m … I’m … everything is fine, Father,” he managed to stutter.

The priest gave him a blessing and, with a perfunctory “Go in peace,” continued to the altar.

Bob quickly got up and left. He was pretty sure no one had seen what he’d done.

He walked the two blocks to the address. Standing across the street, he made sure that no one was watching. He hurried to the row house and slid the checkbook into the mailbox with Tom Roger's name on it. At least I did that much, he thought, feeling both relief and a little self-righteous as he hurried away.

Nobody ever did, or ever will, escape the consequences of his choices. ~ Alfred A. Montapert

"I win!" said the rumbling voice.

"No, you didn’t. I’d call it a tie. He did return the checkbook and I.D." the Archangel Gabriel argued.

“It was your scenario. If he kept the money, I win.”

“Okay, okay! I did say that.“

“Pay up.” In a distant galaxy, in a small planetary system, the sun went supernova.

How about another round?” Gabriel responded.

"Why not. It’s my turn to define the temptation," the Dark Lord responded. "Same stakes?"

"Sure. So, what scenario have you dreamed up?” Gabriel asked.

“I’m going to make a man who is the antithesis of a good leader the President of the United States. The wager is on how the citizens will react.”

"Oh, I think you underestimate the basic good in people. This will be easy..."

An entry for "What a Character! : Official WDC Contest" 
Prompt: Write a short story in which your protagonist must to do something he or she truly detests or fears for the benefit of the greater good.
Word Limit: 2000
Word Count: 1,010