Deathday Club - part 2

There’s a confidence fueled swagger that you only see on actors on the big screen. The one that says, “I can’t die, sucka.” And it’s true. The character can’t die in the film. But actors have to dip into their craft for the effect. Mine is second nature, and it’s real.

    Nothing can touch me. Working for my chariot took some time, but once I saw for myself how indestructible was indestructible, I busted my back working two jobs and put everything into her. I no longer answer to anyone. I’m the one whom people nervously address. I’m the revered captain of my own crew.  Nothing can stop me now.
    No, nothing. I try to not look at it as signing my life away; it’s more like signing to bring my death to light. I know the day I’m going to die. I know that no matter how foolish I am, the physical laws of this reality that would crush anyone else won’t destroy me. Now that’s power. I’m powerful and rich, moving and glittering. I’m finally alive.
    The days tick by, but I’m not counting them. I immerse myself in the thrill of racing. The key to my success has been being without fear. I dare where others shy away, I accomplish the feats others can only desperately and fearfully attempt. True, my car can still get wrecked, but with my current financial situation, that is the least of my worries.  Even if I should crash and lose, the onlookers are in profound awe of my ability to walk away. I’m a legend to most, but a ghost to some. However they view me, it’s not out of love. That's fine; life is too short for real love. At least, mine is.
    The last time I saw Felicity was about a year ago, at the one year check up. After the shock, and pleasure, of seeing her again, I wasn’t surprised that she had found me. Her office, that of the Deathday Club, truly was out of this world. She works for an organization with the means to grant anyone guaranteed life for two years, on the condition that at the end of those two years the signer will meet his or her demise. For all I know, I could have signed my life away to a beautiful, auburn haired devil. I haven’t exactly been saintly with my ill begotten fortune.
    I remember signing the contract, being sure to read the fine print, though there wasn’t much of it. Then Felicity pointed a gun at my forehead and fired. The bullet made contact with my skin before stopping and falling to the floor. In that instant I was reborn.
    Thinking back on it, I was a lot like a chrysalis. You know, that cocoon stage between caterpillar and butterfly. I was cutting myself off from the rest of the world, hiding. Then, for two glorious years I’m the monarch butterfly, emphasis on "monarch".
    My deathday has been fast approaching for some time, now. It’s felt like ages, though it’s only been a month or two. I’m forced to think about the end. I can’t not. It’s not out of anxiety, per se. I just have this overwhelming desire to take care of things before departure, and I’m trying to, as best I can. My finances have been entrusted to various do-gooders, and those close to me know how much I appreciate them.
    Just one question claws at the back of my mind: is my death going to be as meaningless as my life? Let me be clear, I’ve loved what I’ve done, but I won’t pretend that it was meaningful or beneficial to mankind in any way. Heck, I’ve hurt a lot of people in the last two years. Do I regret some things? Hmm, probably too many to count.
    Two weeks. One week. I’m getting rather hysterical. I’ve been frying my mind with stimuli while also trying to take the time to be reflective, to be sure there isn’t something left undone that would bind me here as a ghost. When I do pass, I just want to pass quietly. It’s the end, after all, nothing to be afraid of. No, it's nothing to fear.
    One last day, not that I realize it immediately. My alarm goes off while it’s still dark. One last sunrise. One last- blech. This is not going to be my last cup of coffee! I deliberate to myself, to go or not to go downstairs? Felicity just said it would occur on this day, without saying a specific time. If I stayed here, death might take me peacefully, though I certainly don’t know if it’s supposed to be natural of if some suited men from the DDC Office will come for me. If I stay maybe the whole apartment building will go up in flames and kill many others to get to me. Oh, fine. I’ll risk my life for tasty caffeine.
    I’m in line at the coffee shop in the lobby. It’s the best stuff in the city, hence why I moved to the penthouse in this building. Still waiting. I’ve put so much effort into giving up my notion of time. I’m not currently wasting my last precious moments on earth, I’m just being, just existing. I am Zen. I will not go before my time.
    “Excuse me, sir. Do you have 50 cents?” I know to look down because I had felt the little hand pulling on my bathrobe. Of course I wouldn’t change clothes when I am already so comfortable, and no one who works in this building would kick me out.
    It's a little girl, perhaps 8 or 9 that had done the tugging. She withdraws a bruised arm. She adds, with her nose wrinkling, “My dad didn’t give me quite enough.” She evidently hated having to run this errand.
    I smile, charmed by her bright pink barrette. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got the check.”
    “Really? Then I can get the grande hot chocolate?”
    “Whatever you want, kid. But how about you grant me a favor?”
    The girl’s eyes become huge. “Like what? I’m not supposed to...to talk-”
    “-I know. Don’t talk to strangers. But I all I want is a good joke. Make me laugh, and we’ll call it even.”
    The girl attaches a hand to her chin, contemplating. Finally, she asks, “What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhino?”
    “No idea.”
    She giggles before she can get the answer out. “El-if-I-know.”
    I chuckle. I’ve always loved it when kids sound like they’re cussing. “I’ll take it.”
    This whole time I’ve noticed the badly shaven man behind the girl shifting uneasily. I’ve seen that state of mind, that heightened nervousness. Racers get it before the competition when they know it could be their last. But his is a little more crazed, like he knows the end is near but he won’t go quietly. His eyes are red; either he has allergies, or he’s been crying. He catches me eyeing him suspiciously. Oh God, I think to myself. He won’t go quietly.
    The man grabs the girl, covering her mouth with his filthy palm and rips both of them away from the line. He fires a gun into the air.
    “Everyone get away from me!” he howls. “Don’t call the cops. I will kill people before they can get here if you do. All wallets, at my feet, now!”
    I can’t believe my ears. He’s been pushed into insanity, because this is the furthest thing from smart. He can’t survive or walk away from this, and he probably knows it. There isn’t, never was, that much to gain. Everyone in the lobby, from the “security” to the baristas to the customers are merely statues. No one moves, not even to give up their precious wallets.
    “Hurry up, people! This girl’s brains will be all over your clothes!” The girl is sobbing, her tears running down the man’s hand in dirty streaks.
    I’ve called a lot of women “baby”, but never have I had one, or thought I wanted one. Suddenly I’m standing in Felicity’s office, her hands around my arm.
    What would you do, if you knew you were invincible?
    I would save the little girl from this creep.
    What would you do, if you knew you had two years to live?
    I would make sure her father was treating her right.
    What would you do, if both were true?
    I would try to help more many more girls with pink barrettes and boys with baseball caps.
    I take out my wallet and slide it across the floor to the man’s right. Startled, he follows its path with his pistol. At the same time I charge at him toward his left. He spins in time to stick a bullet in my chest, but my momentum falls on top of him. He lets go of his little hostage and she scurries away. I can’t breath, but I don’t need to. I slam his head against the marble floor and he’s out.
    I crawl to the wall, leaving a slimy, bloody trail behind me. My chest forces out a wheeze and blood spurts out my mouth. The front of my robe changes color as I sit somewhat upright, my back leaning against the chic wallpaper. Then everything loses saturation. Except for her. Where everyone else are just figures in a black and white photograph, Felicity strolls through the revolving doors, her hair still auburn, her eyes still hazel, her lips rosy, and her coat the whitest thing I can imagine. She kneels down inches from me, smiling sweetly.
    “Good show, Mr. Vaughn. That girl is going to remember what you did, and she’s going to live very fully.”
    I want to respond, but of course I can’t. I feel my brain failing. Felicity leans in and kisses me on my bloody lips. She draws in a breath and the breath I didn’t know I had is pulled out. She takes my hand and helps me stand. I look down at my corpse still slumped over.
    Felicity continues, “There isn’t really such a thing as death. Just new life. Are you ready to start living, Mr. Vaughn?”
    I nod, comprehending though not truly understanding. In any case, I knew I wasn’t coming back here. So long bathrobe, you served me well. So long Shangri-latte, your coffee was paradise. Felicity takes my hand and I feel very much like a child, half wondering if the Deathday club ever really existed.
    Perhaps, until the day we die, we are all invincible.