The Nudge Files

By Michael Lorimer

Death is an eventuality for all of us. Perhaps it is just a transition from this life to the next one. True, the event of death can be difficult and great suffering can occur, but does it have to? Wouldn't God create a being who helps the dying to ease into their next life? History has pictured DEATH in a most terrifying way, dressed in black with a black hood over his skeletal face, carrying a wicked scythe to harvest the dead. Instead of that horrifying image, suppose he is a being of light, filled with compassion and love, wearing an expensive suit and driving a fancy car. The New Grim Reaper. The Nudge Files is the story of a man and the strange demigod who mentors him about life, death and beyond.

This is a story about the being called DEATH, aka Mr. D, who is nearly all powerful, loving in his job and very curious about the strange beings known as humans. After witnessing the death of a young woman and the compassion of one Jeff Collins, who comforted her during her death throes, Mr. D befriends the man and offers him a job.
Come and witness the strange and often crazy adventures of Mr. D and Jeff Collins.
*Read about Jeff Collins as he investigates a mysterious intruder who is terrorizing an aging movie star.
*See Jeff train in self-defense to confront a serial killer and save a woman's life.
*Blast off in a rickety space ship to the Large Magellanic Cloud to witness a supernova, up close and personal, in the "good seats," to comfort an entire civilization who will be wiped out by the blast.
*Witness the greatest comedian in the world, who is tired of life and wants to die. Discover the plan to save him.
*Travel back in time to the US Civil War and be with Jeff on a mission to save one man who is crucial to the future of mankind.
*And enjoy more adventures of Jeff Collins and Mr. D as they work to nudge the Universe back toward balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098317881

Book preview

© 2020. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-09831-787-4 (print)

ISBN: 978-1-09831-788-1 (ebook)

I dedicate this book to my wife, Kara, whose editorial skills were extremely valuable and to Sam White, who inspired me to write.

Contents

Preface

Moon Pie

Death Postponed

Hell Coaster

The Big Kaboom

Wally's World

A Little Chat with DEATH

Preface

This is my first published book. I have written a South American adventure about a thirty something woman who travels to Venezuela to find her want-to-be lover, who is living among the most feared Indians in the world. I hope to publish this soon. I am currently working on a space novel. Sort of 20000 Leagues Under the Sea in space, where Captain Nemo kidnaps a woman and takes her to Mars. I have a couple short stories, which I will be offering to the public for free, once I get them formatted properly.

A word about The Nudge Files. I’ve always thought that if there are angels, why not a demi-god who helps people make the transition from life to that which we call death. Life is eternal, but there are rough spots. This is my light hearted attempt to do so. Since this is a story about death, we must start with someone dying.

Moon Pie

Jeff would always remember the fateful day when he met the man who changed his life and revealed hidden secrets of his soul. Man, he laughed at the term, this man was nothing of the sort. What do you call someone––something might be more appropriate––that can come and go as he wished? Ever so close to death, yet undying. The magnificent power this man has at his command. He must never forget about that. How he suffered from the expression of this ultimate energy. The awe he felt when watching this man manipulate reality easier than an artist creating a fine piece of work. Oh yes, the terror that touched him to his very core. Mixed with that ultimate fear was such extreme compassion expressed by this great soul. He remembered the day, when he first encountered with this being.

He sat sweltering on an old concrete bench, waiting for the downtown bus. His old Pontiac Sunfire was acting up again and, because it was on its last legs, he was afraid there would be a costly mechanic’s bill. If his mechanic could get it running at all, that is. Jeff didn’t have much money or much of anything else for that matter. He had a small monthly income from a trust that his dying father had set up for him. That paid the rent and utilities for his cheap one-bedroom apartment, with enough left over to put a modest amount of food on his table. If he wanted little luxuries, like eating out or driving a car, Jeff had to earn them by selling articles and stories. It was a rare but welcome day when he sold some of his writing. Unfortunately, he wasn’t very successful at his chosen career. Fresh ideas were rarer than rain under the simmering Texas sun. Today, he was hoping to have a one-on-one with an agent at her downtown San Antonio office.

Having nothing to do and an abundance of time to do it with, Jeff gazed down the roadway, watching for the bus. The street, which wasn’t much more than a glorified alley, was where his bus shifted its route on its way downtown. The traffic was sparse this time of day and Jeff languidly began counting the cracks in the pavement. He brightened up when he saw a bicyclist slowly peddling toward him. Jeff himself was disinclined to practice any activity that could possibly be considered exercise, maintaining his weight via the poor man’s diet, but he watched with interest as the bicycle approached. He wondered whether the slim form riding it was a man or a woman. The thought of a brief glance at a pretty woman pleased him. He had never been too successful with the ladies. He had had a couple of brief affairs, but like many other aspects of his life, they tended to go nowhere.

Soon, he recognized the shape as distinctly female. She was in her early to mid-twenties, slim, but not skinny. She wore a blue jersey with a matching helmet, and her shorts were black, showing off her shapely hips. It was her face that Jeff liked most. She was pretty, beautiful in fact, with long blonde hair in a ponytail which ran down her back like a golden river lit by the setting sun. He wondered what it would be like to have her for a friend. I would love to marry a girl like that, he thought.

She rode by at a leisurely pace, looking as though she had not a care in the world. Jeff smiled at her. Acquaintances had often remarked that he had one of those dopey-friendly smiles that women liked.

She smiled back with such radiance that it stirred something in his soul. She turned her head and maintained eye contact for a moment as she passed him. In that instance, Jeff caught a hint of sadness. He wondered why a woman like that might be melancholy.

As she moved down the street, Jeff’s mind and gaze shifted from her face to her well-formed derriere and her smooth, shapely legs. Oh, what I would give to be allowed to touch those legs. Jeff realized that he had stopped breathing.

As he watched her slowly pedal out of his life, he observed a speeding car accelerating toward her. She noticed it also and moved to the extreme edge of the street. The car accelerated and moved toward her with demonic intent. It actually shifted to the oncoming lane, aiming directly at her. Realizing the driver’s intent, Jeff shouted, Watch out! The car!

It was too late. She was hit, spinning off the road. Jeff watched in stunned horror as she slammed with a liquid thud into a gas riser, flopped like a rag doll and smashed into a wooden fence with an unsettling crunch. The maniac’s job wasn’t finished. Now, the black late model Chevy careened toward Jeff. Jeff quickly jumped up and behind the bench. As the car closed the distance, Jeff’s gaze was riveted on the bloody bumper. The car hit the heavy concrete end of the bench, sending pieces flying. The old bench shifted as the car scraped by and sped off into the distance. The driver, a teenager with a tattoo of a pitchfork on his left cheek, gave Jeff the bird as he drove off.

Forgetting the boy and his deadly car, Jeff ran to the girl. She was sitting with her back to the fence and looked as if she had casually decided to take a little break. Only the blood on her face and the unnatural angle of her right leg betrayed that something was dreadfully wrong. Kneeling down, he was horrified to see that her helmet was split in pieces with the bloody right half dangling down by her ear. Her life’s blood was flowing freely from a massive head wound. She looked up at him, dazed. The car...I tried...

He placed a friendly hand on her shoulder and, not knowing what to say, only said, I know. I saw.

She looked sadly at him, with incredibly blue eyes and said in a barely audible voice, Am I going to die?

One of Jeff’s faults or qualities, depending upon the situation, was that he was always truthful. He looked at her jersey and discovered blood seeping from her stomach. He reached around behind her and felt some kind of bolt or rebar sticking out from the fence. He carefully placed his fingers on the bloody spot and felt a metallic bump protruding from her stomach. I don’t know. But...maybe... Do you have a cellphone?

Yes...battery...dead, she replied weakly.

Shit, Jeff muttered under his breath. He didn’t own a phone himself, as he couldn’t afford the monthly fee. He looked around and there wasn’t a soul to be seen. He bellowed loudly, Help! Call 911! His entreaty was met by silence.

Just then, the woman shuddered violently and her teeth rattled. She said, in a voice barely a whisper, Please...hold ...me.

Jeff sat next to her and positioned himself to hold her without moving or hurting her further. With his arms around her shoulder and his face close to her still beautiful face, he looked into her eyes. For years, he had prayed for a woman of his own with eyes that he could get lost in. But not like this, God, never like this, he thought. On pure instinct, he kissed her gently on her blood-flecked lips. His kiss was more than a father’s kiss, but less than that of a lover. It was something in between as if to say that even though he didn’t know her, he loved her and wanted to comfort her. To his surprise, her lips returned Jeff’s kiss with feminine softness. She said quietly, That was nice. What...is your name?

Jeff...Jeff Collins.

Nice...to...meet you, Jeff Collins. I’m... Just then, she was overcome by an uncontrollable fit of shaking. He held her and placed his hand upon her head wound in a vain attempt to stem the bleeding and perhaps save her life. As she shook, he noticed the bump in her stomach move in and out. He imagined the rebar must have been sawing away at her insides. When the eruption subsided and she had recovered somewhat, Jeff saw tears in her eyes. She said softly, That was a bad one. She put her left hand on his cheek. Jeff couldn’t help but notice that her naked ring finger was broken back at a 90-degree angle. Jeff...it hurts...I’m afraid...he… Once again, she trembled and Jeff held her tightly as she struggled against death. She coughed, spraying blood in his face.

Jeff did not recoil, but he said urgently, I’ve got to find somebody. We have to get you to the hospital.

No, she rasped. Please don’t leave me. Talk to me.

He whispered, his lips just touching her ear, When you rode by, you were loveliness in motion.

More... she said softly.

I...I wanted to know you, he paused, trying to find the words. To touch you. You are so very beautiful.

In an almost silent whisper, she said, Was...I was.

"No, are. Even now, your beauty shines through. It wells up from your soul."

Again, she went into a spasm of agony as her fatally injured brain fought a losing battle to survive.

Jeff felt her tears on his cheek and her scream nearly deafened him. He held her tightly as she cried out, Polish the ear... Him...hurts... dark...kittens...I’m afraid...

I’m here. I’m here, holding you. He reached deep inside himself to the innermost part of his being as he tried to project love into her heart and support her on the journey that no one desires to take. Some part of him tried to pull away her pain and take it upon himself. Whether this was successful or not, he didn’t know as she continued to tremble. Not wanting to move his head from hers, he listened intently, but couldn’t detect the slightest hint of a siren or even the sound of a passing motorist. Though he wasn’t particularly religious, he prayed to the gods above, to take this poor woman and end her suffering. His prayer was ignored as she continued to cling to what little life she had left.

Jeff...Jeff...don’t let me go.

Not knowing her name, he said, I’m here, my love. I have you. I will be with you. Let us take this journey together.

Just after he said those words, her struggling subsided and, with a barely perceptible shudder, she let out a long, final breath. He couldn’t remove his gaze from her lovely eyes as she looked up at him. Through some primitive part of his mind, he felt her life force fade away and cease its struggle. At last, there was that subtle change in her eyes that went from the vibrancy of life to the dullness of death. Unwilling and unable to let her touch the cruel ground, he held her as the faint sound of sirens echoed in his ears. As he closed her eyes, he heard a vehicle stop and doors open.

A woman’s voice behind him said, Sir, we’ll take her now.

Without looking up, Jeff said, Please treat her gently. She has suffered much.

We always do, she said, resting her hand gently on his shoulder.

After the paramedics had taken the girl from Jeff’s arms, he watched them try to detect any vital signs. Failing this, they spread out a black vinyl bag and placed her inside. With tears flowing from his eyes, he watched as they zipped the bag, her lovely face disappearing forever into darkness. As they put her on a stretcher, he wandered aimlessly until he found a seat on the damaged bus stop bench. Dazed and bewildered, he sat there, until a police officer came up to him and said, Sir, did you witness what happened here?

With a dull nod, he said, I saw the whole thing. I’ll answer any questions I can.

After five minutes or maybe an hour, the officer thanked Jeff and left him to his grief. Jeff remained on the damaged bench, silently weeping for the love of his life that he had known for less than fifteen minutes. He sat there for uncounted minutes, shocked by the grief of what he had just experienced. Finally, he decided it was time to go home. He stood up and noticed that what had been a bustle of activity only a few minutes ago, was now a scene of lonely isolation. He idly walked back to the gas riser. The only traces of that horrible accident, no murder, was some of the girl’s blood painting the fence and the grass.

He turned to return home. It was then that he became aware he wasn’t alone. About a hundred feet away stood a tall, well-dressed man in front of a white Lincoln. He looked at Jeff with an inscrutable expression upon his face. Curious, Jeff approached him and, when he was roughly ten feet away, he stopped to take stock of him. He appeared to be in his late sixties, but Jeff couldn’t be sure because his face had a timeless look that spoke of joy and sadness. His most distinguishing feature was his eyes. They were almost black, perhaps a deep, penetrating shade of gray. They seemed to look at Jeff as if the man could see into his very soul. He had a full head of silver-white hair that looked as if he had just come from the barber. He sported neither beard nor mustache, but wore his side burns long in the manner of a century past. His suit looked to be made by a fine tailor and his black shoes hadn’t the slightest trace of dirt on their immaculately polished surfaces. There was one other thing—he appeared unaffected by the blazing Texas sun. The temperature had to be in the mid-nineties by now and the humidity was unseasonably sweltering for this time of year.

That was a beautiful and loving thing that you did for that girl. Clarice Springer had had a difficult life. The man’s voice was deep and rich and seemed to emanate from a cave or cathedral, rather than the chest of a man in the last years of his life.

You knew her then?

No, not really.

Puzzled, Jeff asked, Then how did you know her name? Do you live around here?

The old man smiled warmly. "Live, what’s an interesting word. No, I don’t live. He paused on the word as if it were some tender morsel to be slowly tasted and enjoyed. I don’t live here or anywhere, to tell you the truth."

Confused, but ignoring his last statement, Jeff pressed on, So how do you know her? How do you know her name?

Just as I know your name, Mr. Collins. I know. I really can’t say how I know, yet I know nonetheless. Clarice never knew love in her too short life. Until that is, you came along.

I...I just held her.

Much to the contrary, Mr. Collins, in those few short painful moments at the end of her life, you gave her more love than she had received during most of her brief life.

How could that be? Jeff asked.

Well, I saw you.

Jeff puzzled and confused asked, You were here? You saw? Why didn’t you help? Maybe she could have been—

Cutting him off, the strange gentleman said, I saw, though I wasn’t here...technically. I see what I need to see. Mr. Collins, I appreciate your concern, but there was really nothing that I or anyone could have done to save that young woman’s life. If you want me to list her extensive injuries, I will do it, if you think it would help.

Please don’t. I think I have a good idea.

A better idea than a forensic physician, I would wager. You gave her what no emergency room in the nation could have given her. You gave her love, Mr. Collins.

I just held her and tried to comfort her.

You did much more than that, Mr. Collins. For much of her life, Clarice Springer has been cursed by her good looks. Men have been, what’s the word? Oh yes, hitting on her from the time she was a young teenager. All they saw was her beautiful exterior, but she was much more than that. She had a quick and brilliant mind. Her personality was as beautiful as her body. Too bad you didn’t get a chance to know her, Mr. Collins. I think if conditions were different, you might have gotten along quite well with each other.

Really? Just my luck. How could you know such a thing?

I know, Mr. Collins. I know many things. Sad, I think that you two might have been very compatible. You would have been good for her.

You mentioned her life was difficult. How so?

To begin with, she was abused by her father when she was little. Only the intervention of her mother prevented something much worse. That early experience set the stage for trouble later in her life. In addition to being wanted for her good looks and not the whole of her being, she was raped in the girl’s locker room when she was seventeen. You were the first man in her adult life to give that young woman complete and total love. You didn’t want anything from her. You knew that in the moments she had left to live that she had nothing to give. That was a great gift, Mr. Collins. And you gave her an even greater gift than that. Do you know what that was?

No, what could I have given her? Jeff asked, more confused than ever.

You took away her pain, Mr. Collins. Not all of her pain, but much of it and you made her transition much easier, he said with intense energy emanating from his dark eyes.

How do you know this, Mister...ah...Mister...I don’t even know your name.

If you want to know that and more, Mr. Collins, please be seated in my car.

Jeff looked at the immaculately clean white leather interior and then his clothes, which were saturated with Clarice’s drying blood, and said, I can’t. I don’t want to get blood all over your car.

The man’s face softened and he put a kindly hand on Jeff’s blood-soaked shoulder. Let me worry about the car. It is important that I talk to you. I have a proposition for you.

Jeff immediately recoiled as if recalling a childhood ghost story. You’re the Devil, aren’t you?

Nothing as folkloric and fanciful as that, Mr. Collins. Come, sit down, relax and I will tell you what you want to know and let you decide for yourself.

Feeling overwhelmed and out of sorts from the strange experiences of the last hour, Jeff slid with greasy ease into the expensive car. The gentleman walked in front of the car and got behind the wheel. Jeff, nervous, having nothing particular to say, blurted out, My father used to say that one should never walk in front of an occupied vehicle because he may get hurt or worse.

The man looked intently at Jeff and said, That couldn’t possibly apply to me, could it? He started the engine and began to drive.

After a few minutes of silence with the tension building up in Jeff’s already stressed mind, he asked, All right, what’s the proposition?

Patience. First things first. My associates and I are in the business of assisting people in making their...transitions. Normally, the transition is fairly easy. Sometimes there are obstacles that can be overcome with great effort. There are times and situations where my associates and I have great difficulty. Sometimes the job is botched. My boss doesn’t like that and neither do I. My boss is also concerned about another thing. Do you know what that could be, Mr. Collins?

How could I possibly know that? replied Jeff.

Are you aware of the universe, Mr. Collins?

Confused, Jeff said, Yes, the planets and stars, cosmic dust, asteroids and all that. What’s your point?

The universe is much more that what you see around you. You refer to the physical world, which is only a small part of the whole, which is the Universe with a capitol U or the cosmos if you prefer. There is a deeper cosmos than what you perceive. This underlies your emotions and your mind. It is the home of your spirit.

I’m confused. What does my spirit have to do with the universe?

Everything. The universe, the world that you see around you, is out of balance. My task is to help bring it back into balance. Does that give you an inkling of what I am trying to convey to you?

Balance. Universe. Soul. No, I still don’t understand.

I have been working on this problem for some time and I believe that I have come up with a solution.

As the car moved through the tree-filled countryside, Jeff realized he couldn’t remember how they had made their way north out of San Antonio. They seemed to be flowing past the traffic. That struck Jeff as extremely odd, as San Antonio was growing quickly and had notorious traffic jams. So, what is this solution? he asked.

In a word, Mr. Collins, you.

Me? How could I help you? I don’t even know you.

The man pulled the car over onto the wide shoulder and exited the vehicle without a word. Jeff followed him at a distance as he wandered down a faint trail into the woods. When they came to a secluded clearing, the mysterious man stopped and turned to face Jeff. Do you want to know who I am, Mr. Collins?

Yes, of course.

I am known by many names. His voice took on a loud resonant quality as if he were speaking in a narrow canyon or a small tomb. I am the Grim Reaper, the Angel of Death, the Devil of Death. I am Abaddon the Destroyer, the Angel of the Abyss. I have been called Thanatos, the Escort to Hades, Ankou to the ancient Breton people. And sometimes, I SPEAK IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS. However, you can simply call me Mr. D.

You’re Death? I admit you present a good act, Mr. D, but geez! You don’t expect me to...

"Act! You think this is an act?" The stranger’s form immediately changed into a swirling, angry, gray cloud that hypnotically drew Jeff’s gaze down into its center. From out of that maelstrom of gray and black rose a tall figure, hooded in a dark robe. In his left hand, he swung a wicked looking scythe with an ugly razor-sharp blade. What he held in his right-hand frightened Jeff more than anything he had seen his short life. A clawed hand held out a golden hourglass with the sand slowly falling. In an instant, the grains fell with great rapidity and Jeff felt his life ebbing away. Then, with a slight movement of the being’s wrist, the grains reversed their course and Jeff started to feel an energy radiate through him that he hadn’t felt since his teens. When he looked at the hourglass again, he saw two things: One, the grains had resumed their slow downward progress, and two, the hourglass had his name etched in fine lettering: Jeffrey Kurt Collins. Nobody knew his middle name; it wasn’t even on his birth certificate.

Mr. D had one last thing to show Jeff. The figure dropped the scythe and carefully set down the hourglass. Two skeletal hands reached up and slowly removed the hood, which exposed a grinning skull wreathed in fire. However, it was the eyes, those horrible and hypnotic eyes, which drew in Jeff’s gaze. It was as if his soul was being sucked into them. Jeff saw figures burning, blood, mangled bodies, and starving souls crying for relief from indescribable torment. The sounds that echoed out of those abominable eyes were worse than the ghastly images. What he witnessed was more real than real as the suffering and torment fused itself into the deepest reaches of his mind. Just then, he heard a loud and thunderous voice rise up above the din, THESE ARE THE IMAGES AND SOUNDS THAT HUMANKIND HAS MADE OF ME AND WHAT I DO. I DID NOT CREATE THIS. YOU AND YOUR KIND DID, MR. COLLINS. THIS IS HOW MANKIND SEES ME. Now do you believe, Mr. Collins?

I do, said Jeff. I must. But why do spirits walk the earth, and why do they come to me?

As quick as a finger snap, the specter was in his elderly human form again and calmly said, I see I’ve scared the Dickens out of you. Please except my sincere apologies. Actually, I am not like that at all. I’m rather nice, in fact. As you can see, I have an image problem to overcome.

You scared the living shit out of me! Jeff cried out.

Mr. D approached closely and sniffed him a couple of times, No, I don’t think so. Then his expression changed and suddenly he laughed loudly, It’s a metaphor. I always have trouble with metaphors. Mr. Collins, what you saw before you wasn’t real, not in the strictest sense.

You mean the hourglass wasn’t real?

Oh, that was real, but it was only a physical representation of the time remaining to you. A metaphor, if you please. Do you believe me now?

I guess I have to. Seeing is believing.

Seeing is not believing, if you must know. However, believing is seeing. If you can grasp that simple concept, and few actually do, you will go a long way in your life. Now where was I before you wanted to see some proof? Oh yes, my proposition.

Yes, tell me about your proposition Mr. D. Do you want to buy my soul?

What nonsense! Buy a soul? How could you possibly sell something that is not yours to sell? No, Mr. Collins, I do not want to buy your soul. Hire it, perhaps, but never buy it.

You want to offer me a job, Jeff said wearily.

Yes, Mr. Collins, I want to give you a job, if you will accept it.

How much does it pay? Jeff asked hopefully.

Nothing.

Nothing? I’m broke! I have bills to pay, the rent is due, and I need food. Aren’t there even any fringe benefits?

There are rewards aplenty, but nothing as mundane as money, cash or filthy lucre.

What kind of rewards, then?

If you’d like an example, take that suit that you are wearing.

Jeff looked down at his clothes. His blood-soaked shirt and pants had been replaced with a finely tailored suit, shirt, tie and shoes. He had never felt the change. He looked at his hands and they were still painted with Clarice’s blood. Immediately, he took off the jacket and looked at the label. There, in gold letters upon a background of brighter gold, was the name Armani.

Jeff’s mouth dropped open when he read the delicately hand-stitched letters that read: Handcrafted especially for Jeffrey K. Collins. How are you doing this? he demanded. How is this even possible?

Mr. D looked at him and said, Suffice it say that you will be well paid, just not in cash. We never deal in money except when we absolutely have to. Now would you like to hear my proposition? And please refrain from interrupting me while I explain it to you.

Jeff nodded meekly and Mr. D went on, Good, now listen. For a long time now, for many years, or is it centuries—I get these things confused—my associates and I have been dealing with certain types of situations that result in souls arriving damaged at their intended destination.

Damaged? How can a soul become damaged, Mr. D?

Through extreme stress, sorrow, loss, pain, you name it. I am starting a pilot program to help mitigate these situations. Do you want to give it a try?

I don’t know. What are you asking me to do?

Patience, Mr. Collins. Experience is always the best teacher. I have a little job in mind for you. Consider this job a little test to see if you are up to the rigors of your new profession. File it under ‘other duties as required’. I will be calling on you in a couple of days. I must depart now, as I have business elsewhere. I am a busy man if the word ‘man’ can be applied to me. Be ready in a couple of days.

Then he was gone and so was his car. Jeff was wondering how he could possibly get home, when he turned around and discovered that he was standing in front of his apartment.

Two days later, Jeff heard a knock on his door. As he seldom entertained visitors, he wondered who it could possibly be. Upon opening the door, he saw Mr. D standing there.

Well, are you going to let me in or do I have to loiter around here all day? I am a busy…man, as I told you before. Time doesn’t wait for me and it waits even less for you, Mr. Collins.

Come in, please.

The Master of Death walked into Jeff’s shabby apartment, looked around and said, I take it you don’t have maid service?

Maid service? I wish.

Granted.

Just then, a pretty French maid walked out of the kitchen and said, Monsieur Collins, I‘ave just cleaned your kitchen. It is spotless. Do you want me to clean your bedroom now?

Uh, sure.

The maid disappeared into Jeff’s bedroom.

And I guess this is one of my fringe benefits, Jeff said, staring after her.

This just an example of what could be available for you. And now, to business. Mr. Collins, as I said two days ago, the universe is out of balance.

Out of balance.

Yes, and my boss wants it put back in proper working order.

Proper working order.

You, Mr. Collins, are going to do that.

Do what? Sorry. How can I, a lowly human, put the entire universe in order?

I didn’t say that you would do it in one day. It has taken many thousands of millennia for the universe to become misaligned. We will start small, with a little nudge here and there.

A nudge?

Yes, a nudge. Listen carefully. There’s a gigantic asteroid headed towards Earth.

There is? Should we call NASA?

Mr. D looked up at and beyond the ceiling and said, No, all clear. I should have said, ‘For example, there’s a gigantic asteroid headed towards Earth.’ Anyway, should such a thing occur, would NASA try to stop it when it is close to Earth or when it is far out in the solar system?

That’s easy, when is far away. Just a little nudge would most likely change its orbit enough for it to safely pass by our planet.

Precisely, Mr. Collins. So, taking our analogy along, if that is true for planetary physics, wouldn’t it also be true for metaphysics?

I don’t get you.

Well, get this. If say a hundred and fifty years ago, you were to kill Hitler’s father, would the world be a better place today?

You want me to go back in time and kill Hitler’s father?

No, it’s been tried and it didn’t work. No, what I am trying to convey is that a little change now, can result in a big change down the road. You, or so I hope, will make these little changes for me. And if you are successful, I might employ others to do similar work in the future.

So, what do you want me to do? Is it something magnificent that will change our world?

No, I think that we should start you out with something small.

How small?

Just a little favor.

You, DEATH, want a favor from me?

Don’t sound so surprised. I am not allowed to interfere with human affairs, directly, though I will admit that I dabble around the edges. That’s why I hired you, to do the awkward jobs.

What is this favor?

Have you ever heard of Dorothy Knight?

The movie star?

The same.

I’ve seen a couple of her movies. I think she was a big star in the 40s, 50s and 60s. Is she still alive?

She is indeed and quite healthy for a person in her late eighties.

Okay, what do you need me to do? Help her over to the other side?

No, fortunately she still has much living to do. You see, Mr. Collins, I am somewhat a fan of hers.

You? A fan? Do you want her autograph?

As nice as that would be, no. I have watched and enjoyed all of her movies and seen her perform in her two stage plays.

"I find it difficult to imagine that Death would enjoy going to the movies."

It is entertainment, Mr. Collins. Is it so unusual that I, a created being, such as yourself, only vastly more powerful I might add, would desire some diversion? A little divertimento?

Now that you put it that way, I think I understand. So, what’s the problem and why can’t you handle this little item yourself?

This calls for a human touch which you seem to have in abundance and I lack. Frankly, I am a little intimidated by her and a little shy.

Shy? You? I find that hard to believe.

I am not shy about the functions of my job, Mr. Collins. However, as far as the social graces, I am severely out of practice. There are two types of fans—those who mob and gush, and those of the more sedate variety. They stand in the shadows and worship their celebrity from afar. Can you guess which variety I am?

Okay, you need my help. Tell me more about Miss Knight and what you want done.

She is a troubled woman. Someone or something has been prowling around her estate at night and scaring her half to death. She has called the authorities many times and they have investigated many times and haven’t found any evidence of what she has been witnessing. Not a person, footprint, scrap of cloth nor even a photo from the infrared cameras that they have placed about her estate. The police suspect she may be suffering a mental breakdown and her only living relative, a grandnephew, has been talking to his lawyer about having her committed.

If she is indeed of sound mind, I would suspect her nephew.

That is a reasonable assumption. However, the police have done some investigating and he has an airtight alibi for every night that Miss Knight has reported her intruder. It is a mystery.

So, you want me to find this intruder and make it disappear?

Nothing violent, Mr. Collins. Though I am afraid that it may come to that. If you have to use force, please do it discreetly. I don’t want Miss Knight to be upset. She is such a gentle woman. She is a rare and delicate flower.

I’ll try, Mr. D. I’ll try.

That is all I can expect. Here. He handed Jeff a white iPhone. You may need this and, if absolutely necessary, I will call you. Now, there are a couple of simple skills that I must teach you. You may need them for your little adventure.

For about 20 minutes, Mr. D instructed Jeff in some practical skills that he might need in the next couple of days.

"You are an excellent student. Of course, these simple…ah tricks are only for beginners. Consider yourself in the first grade."

Jeff thought about what he had just learned and considered how these skills might come in handy in his day-to-day life.

Next, Mr. D gave Jeff a map with a red X marked on a county road north of San Antonio and a packet of papers related to the case. Be there at 10 pm tonight, as he pointed to the map.

Mr. D, how do I get there? My car is in the shop and I don’t have the money to get it out.

Your car is in your parking space and I can assure you that it runs perfectly.

Jeff ran outside and there was his car. He was amazed that the broken headlight had been repaired and the various dents that the previous owner had so thoughtlessly