No Good Deed

When I met him he smelled of peppermint and honey. What an odd scent for a man to have I remember thinking to myself at the time. It was overpowering but gentle like thick poison lulling me to sleep. I wish I could blame my downfall on that. That would be easy. Simple.

It was more complex. Like others I was a slave to my own human desperation.

“I can help you with that”

Were the first words he said to me as I rode the bus down Greenborrow street, the soft bumps of the ride echoing drums in the background. I ended my phone call startled as I looked over at the man who’d seemed to suddenly appear out of thin air.

Maybe he was there the whole time, while I’d been wrapped up in my tunnel vison, only able to focus on the crisis at hand.

My non-profit organization. I’d started it years ago, poured my all into it and then just like that all of our investors, all of our money, just gone.

And here was this stranger, offering to take all my problems away.

“I can help you with that”

I didn’t stop to question how he’d heard the other half of my conversation. That’s the thing about tunnel vision, mixed with human desperation you can skip over those important details. If not for that I would have noticed things about this man in the baseball hat. Things I can see so clearly now that my brain hurts with the clarity of it all.

There was a color about him. No I’m not talking about his skin. It was almost as if he were a bright spot of saturation in the dull world around him. Everything about him was sharp and vivid, making me question how it was possible for me to miss him as I got on the bus. The people around us glanced at him curiously.

Kind of like that feeling you get under your skin when you know something isn’t right, isn’t normal, but you can’t quite place your finger on it. The more you try the more your brain hurts from the strain of it.

With his cotton button up and blue jeans he attempted to hide his otherness, but it only made him stand out even more.

Aquamarine eyes pierced mine. In his hand he held a black book outstretched to me. It hovered there calmly waiting for me to take it.

“You’re in the business of good deeds aren’t you” he pushed. The smell of peppermint and honey was suffocating now. I shook my head trying to jar the smell from my senses.

“What?” A haze of confusion trapped me.

Good deeds? What on eart….

“Safe Haven? Your non-profit? I’ve seen the good work you do”

There was another one of those moments. Had I been thinking clearly I would have realized how unlikely his words sounded on my ears. Safe Haven for all it was worth was still a start-up. There was no way we could’ve ended up on anyone’s radar so soon, but I was trapped now and caved to his words.

“Yes um…. we help runaways. Well we used too” I added solemnly.

Nudging the black book towards me, a ripple ran though him as if my sadness had sparked something in him. Feeding a part of him that increased, only momentarily, the stark hue of his skin. Like a battery getting a jolt of power.

Why didn’t I notice that then? Why didn’t it stop me from grabbing the black book from his hands?

A slight static shock pinged my fingertips as my fingers closed around the edges of the binding. I didn’t drop it and instead eased it into my lap like a bomb on the verge of exploding. My brow furrowed.

“I’m in the business of good deeds myself. Well in compensating them at least.” The confusion on my face spurred him on. “My partners and I feel it’s in our best interest for you and people like you to get what you deserve. Good deeds aren’t to be taken lightly” there was a dark lilt in his voice as he said that last piece.

The thumping of the bus turned into a scraping screech as it eased to a stop. He stood, bathing me once again in peppermint and honey. I almost choked from the thickness of it. Gathering his things, he continued to talk.

“Every truly good deed you perform write it down in that journal and we will make sure your efforts don’t go unnoticed. Good bye Ms. Wilkins” with a tilt of his baseball cap he left. Wading through the sea of people to get off the bus, he was eventually swallowed by the influx of bodies.

So many details, so many things missed.

Who were his partners?

Why did the book I held have a slight vibrating hum that tickled my fingertips?

Most importantly how did he know my name and why was it carved in bold cursive font on the front of the notebook?

Moments later I exited the bus and began walking home. I was entranced, my brain frantically trying to put the pieces together. Just as I felt my synapses about to snap an icy hand landed on my shoulder in a death grip. I didn’t think I just swung. My knuckles cracked hard and painful against something solid and warm that let out a loud “oomff” on impact.

My attacker fell backwards, stumbling a bit before landing clumsily against a green bush.

Adrenaline was replaced with guilt. This person was familiar. He epitomized the very thing I hoped to save younger teens from becoming. The homeless man rubbed his jaw increasing my guilt tenfold.

“Damn lady, I was just tryna stop ya from stepping headlong in the middle of the damn road”

I saw what he meant. I was merely inches from the sidewalk. One more step and I would’ve collided with oncoming traffic. My apologies spilled out like a desperate woman. The wary look in his eyes told me he wished I would just walk away. That’s just what I did, but not before leaving two crisp twenty dollar bills. That should get him a nice meal a beverage for the night.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

I should’ve never written it down.

That night I sat in my room. The events of the day finally winding down. I didn’t bother to check my phone. I didn’t need to see the doomsday messages inked there. No my focus was now on the book.

“Every truly good deed you do write it down”

So I did. Stupid stupid girl. The 40 bucks Id given the homeless man would be good enough. Funny how coincidence worked.

That morning all hell broke loose. Calls came filtering in. Ecstatic voices whining on the phone excited to deliver the news. Some mysterious benefactor had deposited 20,000 into our organization’s bank account. My stomach caved on itself. There was nothing “mysterious” about the benefactor, not to me.

But I made a decision in that moment. One that would cast me so far down the rabbit hole I would lose myself.

It all happened so fast.

The book never left my side. Every chance I got I would write down one good deed after the other. Sometimes multiple in one day and every time I would be compensated. I don’t know how they knew or what connection they had to the black book, but I didn’t dare question it. The less I knew the better and It wasn’t long before I figured out a system.

Some deeds paid more than others. The riskier, more daring they were, the more I would get in return. I relished in it. So much so that the need for money had long past, now it was all about the rewards, about how much of a profit I could turn in my benefit.

I lost myself, and that’s when everything started to go wrong. After a few months I noticed that my system had stopped working. Deeds that would have usually had me profiting over 6 figures barely were getting me a couple thousand and people were noticing. The late payment calls had started rolling in, and I became a desperate woman.

“Need some help Ms. lady”

That voice! There he was again invading my senses with peppermint and honey. He stood on my doorstep just as I was leaving the house. My hair was a disheveled mess but I needed to hurry if I was going to get to the homeless shelter in time to volunteer. That was sure to get me a large sum. I could probably get more if I recorded.

I narrowed my eyes at the vivid man. What was he doing here?

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to suspend your account Ms. Wilkins” he answered my thoughts.

Before I could protest he lifted a hand to stop me. “Unfortunately the quality of your transactions have declined. At this rate you won’t hold any value worth investing in anymore”

“Wait what?! I’ve done everything you said. Damn near dozens of good deeds a day and I’ve written them all down”

He chuckled “But were they truly good Ms. Wilkins”

What did he mean by that? My mouth was propped open, but the words failed to come out. He turned to leave.

“We will be cutting you off at midnight. I will be back by to pick up the book.”

I stood frozen, a sick feeling rising up and cresting in my throat. No they couldn’t abandon me now. Not when I was just getting started. I was a good person, I truly was.

“were they truly good?”

What did he mean by that? We’re my deeds not good enough, did I need to do better?

I had to do better.

The hour was 6 slowly counting down to twelve when the idea came to me. I remembered the homeless man from months ago sitting curled at the end of the street.

I knew exactly what I needed to do. The ultimate good deed. A truly good one.

When I arrived at the homeless shelter I shuffled through the smelly bodies in a haze. I needed the right subject the perfect one. The one that would be enough to pull me back into the fold.

I was a good person

There I spotted her. She couldn’t have been older than nine sitting curled up beside her mother who was fast asleep on a cot. It didn’t take much to coax her away from safety.

I was a good person.

I took the child for a walk just to the edge of the side walk. She was getting nervous now. Her tiny fingers fidgeting in mine.

“Can you do something for me sweetie” my voiced reeked of sugar

The small one nodded her head in response, her eyes looking up sheepishly.

“Close your eyes sweetie and when I say walk, head in that direction” I pointed to the oncoming traffic behind her. Her brow furrowed in hesitance, she eventually gave me another nod.

She closed her eyes. I removed my hand from her shoulder propping up my phone to record on the nearest bench.

Maybe that would score me more points

I signaled for the child to walk. She took a few steps before stopping at the edge of the sidewalk. She was scared but there was no reason to worry, I would save her. I didn’t have time for this!

I’m a good person.

I’m a good person.

I’m a good person.

Well, I was, wasn’t I?

No, NO! I couldn’t second guess myself. I knew who I was inside. Deep down hidden underneath the fleshy parts.

In my soul I was good. I felt it. There was no denying it.

This was how I was going to prove it.

With a hard shove I pushed the little girl into oncoming traffic.