A Bargain with the Devil

An excerpt from a work in progress.

Something I’ve drafted and put on the backburner. There’s a little more to it, but it’s unfinished. It was originally intended for a James Patterson writing contest. Another was chosen, but it was fun, and a good learning experience.

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A young man makes a deal with a mysterious financier to gain access to the riches of Wall Street. When the bill for his services comes due, he finds that the price to be paid is, in fact, his very soul.

A Bargain with the Devil, By Michele E. Gwynn

Prologue

October, 2015

New York City

Declan O’Brien peered over the ledge. It was a long way down. Thirty stories, to be precise. Below, traffic snarled moving at a snail’s pace. People made their way here and there in droves looking for all the world like lines of ants going about their work. The wind whistled past his ears as the faint sounds of car horns and engines mingled. His stomach dipped sickeningly, like when a person rides a rollercoaster for the first time. It felt like that nauseating moment hanging suspended at the very top of the track mere seconds before the cart plummets down, down, down, but there was no quick save here. No hands-in-the-air exhilaration. No, not at all. Not this time. There was only one conclusion to this scenario.

Declan knew if he failed, the man would come. He used that descriptive loosely. The man. He looked like a man. Walked and talked like a man. But there was something not quite right. Something…inhumane. Something evil. If the man had to enforce the agreed upon payment for the terms of the contract, it would be worse. At least he could end this on his own terms. He hoped that would be the end of it, anyway. Declan didn’t believe in heaven or hell, but that was before. Now, he wasn’t so sure. First, it was the dreams. He could almost pinpoint the exact moment they began. The night he signed that infernal contract. How he wished now he hadn’t been so eager. But the dreams came, slowly at first. Easy to write off. Then with each passing year, they grew more vivid and their frequency increased causing him to lose precious sleep, waking in the middle of the night drenched in sweat, terrified. Still, there could be a logical explanation. But there was no explanation for last night. He’d begun to question his very sanity. There was no escaping the man’s ultimatum. Fulfill the contract. Pay up or payment would be taken by other means. The implication was clear. Declan knew he could not put his family at risk.

As the wind whipped around him, cruelly slapping him in the face with his own blue silk tie, his life passed before his mind’s eye. A childhood of abject poverty and abuse by a drunken, illiterate father who couldn’t save two cents before he spent a dollar on cheap booze. His older brother who never amounted to more than a gas station attendant out of work thanks to technology. His own college years working towards his dreams while he worked two jobs to pay tuition. His chance meeting with the man who changed his life for what he thought at that time was for the better. His years of success thereafter on Wall Street. The money. The cars. The women, and finally, meeting Heather. His life up until this moment had been an uphill battle from the gutter to the penthouse. And it all had an expiration date.

Thoughts of Heather flooded his mind. Beautiful Heather. The love of his life. He knew she’d be taken care of. The Suisse Bank account was all hers, at least, it would be soon. He’d left explicit instructions with the bank manager for transfer of the account to his wife. At least she and his unborn child would never want for anything. The thought of the baby brought a lump to his throat, and tears to his blue eyes. The harsh, cold wind dried them before they could fall. He would never know his son or daughter. His child would never know that papa did everything he could to ensure its safety. No, he would man up! He would pay the price. It was the only way. Declan muttered a small prayer, the beginning of the Our Father. He couldn’t remember all the words never having been a religious man, but he hoped if God did, indeed, exist, he’d understand and cut him some damn slack. He chuckled sadly at the irony of his foolish hope. Declan knew if it turned out he’d been wrong all along, he wouldn’t see heaven. Not ever. He was about to break one of God’s biggest rules. Still, he hoped. It was all he had left.

Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “Forgive me,” and jumped.

Should I finish it?