I met Death in the park. And then he offered me a jobâŚ
My name is Cal Thorpe and I worked for the premier marketing firm as a marketing and public relations agent. Then, I met Death. He gave me two options: go back to the moment when Iâd been shot or work for him as his marketing agent. Obviously, I took the job.
The only thing is, working for Death was absolutely nothing like I expected. For one, my assistant is a rock troll named Yolanda who smiles a lot and has a penchant for salt. Then, thereâs the fact that I have to interview assassins who work with Death to get a sense of the guy. Oh, and finally? Death is married to Life and sheâs accusing him of murder.
Death says he didnât do it.
Now itâs up to me to go and solve this impossible crime, taking me on a trip through the magical realm of Elsewhere, and back to the mortal realm of Earth, to track down a killer who outsmarted Death. The only question is what's going to happen if I actually find the culprit. Things may never be the same again.
I met Death in the park. And then he offered me a jobâŚ
My name is Cal Thorpe and I worked for the premier marketing firm as a marketing and public relations agent. Then, I met Death. He gave me two options: go back to the moment when Iâd been shot or work for him as his marketing agent. Obviously, I took the job.
The only thing is, working for Death was absolutely nothing like I expected. For one, my assistant is a rock troll named Yolanda who smiles a lot and has a penchant for salt. Then, thereâs the fact that I have to interview assassins who work with Death to get a sense of the guy. Oh, and finally? Death is married to Life and sheâs accusing him of murder.
Death says he didnât do it.
Now itâs up to me to go and solve this impossible crime, taking me on a trip through the magical realm of Elsewhere, and back to the mortal realm of Earth, to track down a killer who outsmarted Death. The only question is what's going to happen if I actually find the culprit. Things may never be the same again.
Have you ever had a time where you thought things were going really, really well and life could hardly be better? Have you walked around with a smile on your face, knowing precisely where things are going to end up? The world is about to be laid at your feet. Everything is good. Fantastic, even. Thatâs usually right about the time when Life likes to kick you in the shins, let me tell you.
Iâve met Life. She delights in being unfair and favours only those who fight her. Death, on the other hand is far more of a gentleman, if slightly scarierâŚwell, perhaps Iâd better start at the beginning.Â
My name is Cal Thorpe. Of Harcourt Marketing? I was their top marketing manager and public relations agent, well on my way up the ladder. I had been in this job about four years, and I was doing good. No, not good. Spectacular. I had just finished up a highly-successful marketing campaign for a sports medicine doctor who had written a book about some journey in some foreign country where he discovered the secret to life or some such nonsense. It was an overdone idea, but I had marketed it and done fantastically well. The sales had hit the New York Times bestseller list in a week, and his social media following was enormous. He had talks scheduled with all the national shows and there were even whispers of an international tour. I was just that good.Â
Anyways, on this particular night, I was walking through the park on a shortcut to a celebratory dinner, likely to do with my recent success. Old lady Harcourtâthe widow of the original ownerâwas being generous enough to treat me and a few of the other executives at a steak house across the city. Ostensibly, the dinner was to celebrate the firmâs mention in one of the top business associations, but I think everyone in attendance really knew what was going on. When you got in with her, you were in. I could see a vice presidency in my near future.Â
Basically, things were going well for me. Really well. I was making money faster than I could spend it. I was practically rolling in new clients. Even now, my phone was vibrating with requests from people to take them on. My assistant had stepped in months ago to field most of those, but even the ones that went through kept me busy at all hours. I had a fancy apartment that had more space than your average big-city digs and a view that photographers would envy. Not that I actually needed the space, since I didnât have a girlfriend or even a cat, but it was worth every penny. I wore tailored suits. Patent leather shoes. Had designer glasses. My social media pages were growing exponentially, and I was about to have dinner with someone who thought her diamond bracelet was casual wear.
I was on top of the world.
And then, I wasnât.
âGive me your wallet.â A pressure in my side.Â
I panicked.Â
There was a man mugging me in the middle of the park. He had a gun. âGive it to me!â
âA-alright,â I said, holding up my hands. All the success in the world couldnât stop them from shaking. I reached into my jacket pocket and tried not to pass out.
âNo funny business,â the man growled, pressing his gun deeper into my side.
âN-no o-o-of course n-not,â I stammered. I was reaching into my pocket when a dog barked from not far away. My mugger cursed violently and jerked against me. I felt time slow down. My heart beat once in my ears, blocking out all noise. For that fleeting moment, I was certain everything would be alright. The mugger would run. I would call the police. Go to dinner. Then, there was a spectacular roaring clap and I was even more certain that I was going to die.
âGood evening, Mr. Thorpe.â
I gaped at the figure in the three-piece suit. He had a hat onâone of those wool fedoras from the 1940sâand it shaded most of his features. All I could see was that he was tall, slim, dressed in clothes that cost more than my last pay checkâa three-piece suit with an embroidered silk waistcoat that matched his bright red pocket squareâand that he was floating two inches above the ground. Oh, and he hadnât been there two seconds before.Â
âIâm dead,â I said stupidly.
âNo, not yet,â the figure said, striding casually forwards. His feet touched lightly on the ground as he moved towards me, like he was fully appearing in this time and this place. His hands were in his pockets, completely relaxed and at ease. Didnât he realise that there was a man with a gun right here? That I had been shot?
âIâve been shot!â Iâm fairly certain my intelligence had flown out the window. Apparently I didnât do well in life-or-death situations.
âNo, not yet. You are about to be shot. There is a difference.â His voice was kind and gentle, not at all judgemental, despite my panic and incoherence. âLook. See.âÂ
I jumped away from my attacker and stared, mouth open like an idiot. The muggerâhood up, jeans torn, gun shiningâwas perfectly still, desperation twisting his features. Where I had been standing, was a single piece of metal. A bullet, suspended in mid-air, not moving. Had it continued on its path, I would most certainly be dead.Â
But I wasnât.Â
âAm I hallucinating?â I asked carefully.
âThat depends,â the figure said, shrugging. âHow creative are you?â
âUh-huh. Iâm lying on the ground, bleeding out and this is what my brain comes up with to make it all better.â I patted myself down desperately, afraid that I was going to feel blood. Afraid that I wasnât.
âIf you like. How about we go sit on that bench and have a talk.â He nodded to a spot not a hundred feet away, pleasantly lit by the street lights along the path. There were even flowers growing by the bench. âThis might make things clearer.â
âAlright,â I agreed. It wasnât as though I had much else better to do. I was never going to make my dinner, now. I was going to give up everything I had worked to achieve, by missing this dinner, by being almost shot in the park. Somehow, I doubted that the old bat would take dying as an excuse. Oddly enough, though, I didnât really mind.
We sat on the bench. The light from the lamp post filtered down so that my companionâs face was still completely in shadow. I could see his hands though. They were long, elegant and blacker than charcoal. It seemed an unnatural colour, not quite human. I knew and was friends with plenty of black men and women and had never seen someone whose skin seemed to just absorb light.Â
âI have come to offer you a job,â the figure said. He brushed some dust from his knee. I blinked.
âReally? My hallucination offers me a job?â
âI would like you to be my publicist or marketing specialist or whatever the term is.â He ignored my dig about being a hallucination. I wasnât sure what that meant.
âYou want me to be your PR guy?â I scuffed my shoe over the concrete, flattening a few blades of grass that managed to spring through the tough material. âAre you having image problems? Bad publicity can kill a career, you know.â
âOh, I am well aware.â I got the impression that he was smiling. I wanted to see his face, but the part of me that had learned good mannersâsome clients would bite your head off for asking anything remotely personalâwouldnât ask. So I just nodded blithely.
âYou sure picked a bad time to ask me to represent you.â I jerked my head back to where the mugger stood, frozen. Maybe my good manners werenât all that well developed, after all.
âIt was the only time I could ask you, Iâm afraid. I am bound by certain rules. But here, in my domain, I can do as I wish,â the figure said. I frowned. His domain? I was beginning to think that I wasnât hallucinating. I wasnât nearly this creative. I had failed my creative writing course during my undergraduate degree, with a note from the professor stating âthis is impressively terribleâ on the final exam. It was supposed to be impossible to fail that course.
âWho are you?â I asked, a bit rudely.
âYou donât want to guess? I think you could come up with some very interesting answers. No? Very well.â He reached up with those long fingers and removed his hat. Some part of my mind started screaming, but I was too well trained in image preservation to do more than raise my eyebrows in surprise. Though, I fear I did whimper.
Like his hands, his skin was blacker than black. Shadows seemed to wreath around him, keeping the light away. His face was thin, gaunt almost, and he had a pleasant smile, though his teeth were not showing. He had no hair, no eyebrows or beard or anything. But that wasnât the most startling thing. No, it was the fact that he had no eyes. Not just skin where eyes should be, not lids closed permanently shut, but empty sockets. The darkness was vast in those two holes, and if I stared far enough for long enough, I would probably start seeing the end of the world. As it was, I saw my own life flash before my eyes. Several times. It was the same all the way through, except it ended in several different ways, all gruesomely laid out before me.
Shot.
Diseased.
Car Accident.
Drunk.
Drugs.
Violent murder.
Suicide by jumping.
Drowning.
I gasped and forced myself to blink, breaking whatever hold this thing had on me. I put my head between my knees and tried hard not to vomit. After a moment, I sat back up, my mouth dry. My terrifying companion just raised his brows, an unusual expression from what was basically a skin-covered skull. âDo you understand, now?â he asked kindly.
âWhy donât you spell it out for me,â I rasped, my heart racing. There was no doubt in my mind that I was not lying on the ground bleeding out after being mugged. Whatever this was, it was horrific and far too real.Â
âI am Death,â he said gently.
âAh,â I said. I fought the urge to put my head back between my knees and breathe slowly. Instead, I clenched my hands into fists on my knees. âI see.â
âDo you? So many have a difficult time accepting this,â Death replied, obviously pleased. I swallowed down another whimper.
âI canât believe Iâm sitting here with Death. And that youâre offering me a job. Arenât you supposed to, well, I donât know what, actually. I canât believe this. I canât,â I muttered. I could believe it, actually. Despite living a perfectly normal life up until this moment, disbelieving things like Bigfoot and the Loch Ness monster, I found I could believe this. I just didnât want to.
âYes, now you see my problem. Why I want to hire you?â Death folded his hands neatly in his lap.
âYou definitely need a PR specialist,â I agreed. My heart was racing, I was probably seconds away from passing out, and I was talking calmly with Death about marketing. Maybe being shot was the better option. âIâŚI canât just take you on as a client through Harcourt, you know.â
âOf course not. Your world is not ready for such things,â Death scoffed, brushing his fingers over his hat. âNo, you would have to come with me. You will be well compensated. I can offer you a place to live, staff, resources, whatever you need.â
I was quiet for a moment, running the implications through my mind. Work for Death. And not through normal means. I would have to go with Death.Â
âIâd have to leave here, wouldnât I?â I said. âI couldnât justâŚfreelance for you?â
âUnfortunately, that is not how this works.â Deathâs voice grew colder. He nodded over to the frozen mugger. âI stopped you in the Instant of Death. I have only two options. Either I take you into my employ, which means that you are bound to me and my realm, or I return you to die. That is how this works. That is all I can offer.â
I swallowed, feeling a pain in my chest. âIâd never get to come back here?â
âNot as you were. I could, occasionally, allow you back under a special dispensation, but you would not be as you are now.â
âWhy not?â Great plan, Cal. Ask stupid questions. If I go with Death, of course I wouldnât be the same. Well, I could hope, couldnât I? I was still young and invincible, wasnât I?
âBecause I will have removed you from the fate of the mortal realms, the world here. I could not simply let you return, to play havoc with the fate of the future. You would be separate, removed. And that requires certain changes.â
I swallowed again, leaning back against the bench and looking at the sky. There were no stars. It was just shadow, reflecting the lights of the city. It might be my last time looking at the sky, and there werenât even stars to look at. âI donât want to die.â
âNot many do.â
âI mean, Iâve just gotten to the good part of my life. Iâm doing well. Iâm a success! I have a purpose and a reason to get up in the morning,â I pleaded. Death looked at me and I suddenly felt very, very small. Okay, sure I wasnât as tall as he was. I was an average person, with an average life and average looks. My hair was even an average shade of brown and I wore glasses. But it was my average life. I was doing well at it. No, not well. Spectacular. I didnât want to give it up.
âYou would still have a life,â Death pointed out. âYou would still be marketing, still have a purpose. It would just be in a different place. With wonders to occupy your every moment. And magic most people never even dream about.â
âBut I would have to give up everything I have here,â I said.
âYes,â Death nodded. He paused, then, âWell, not everything. I could let you take your belongings with you.â
âBut everything else. Friends. Family. All gone.â
âYes,â Death nodded again, still infuriatingly calm. âThough it does not much matter, really. Your choice is not between a life working for me and a life working for Harcourt. Your choice is between life and death, as it were. No pun intended.â
âMmmm,â I smiled weakly. I took a deep breath and tried to be reasonable. Think logically. My options were death or Death. Obviously, there wasnât much of a choice. âAlright,â I said. âBut I have to tell you, there are a few things we need to agree on. First, Iâm your PR agent and marketing specialist. All your decisions that might be seen by anybody and analysed or criticised or even noticed, you run through me. Iâll be needing as much information as possible about your activities. That way, I can make sure theyâre painted in a good lightâŚDo you have social media wherever it is weâre going?â
âIndeed,â Death said, frowning. âIt is a pervasive thing to spread so far from this realm.â
âGood. Iâll get started on your accounts first thing.â
âSo you agree?â
âDidnât I just say I agreed?â I snapped. Snapping at your new boss, Death or not, is probably never a good idea. In my defence, I was having a bad day. He did not seem to mind, though, as he just sat there as calm and cool as ever. I shivered.
âVery well,â Death smiled again. âThen I insist we shake hands.â
He held out his shadowy appendage and I could feel the raw power coming off of his skin. I coughed nervously. âIs that strictly necessary?â
âActually, yes,â Death said. âIt binds you to me and seals the contract. It will not kill you.â
âHa ha,â I replied drily. I took his hand.Â
Power flooded through me, touching every nerve ending I had and setting each and every one of them on fire. I was pretty sure I screamed, but my brain was too overwhelmed by whatever was happening to take note. I saw colours swirling around me that didnât exist in nature. There were sounds running through my head, somewhere between a scream and a song. I could see Death, as calm as ever, sitting there, looking not at all regretful about what was happening. The corners of his mouth twitched in a smile.
Then, I passed out.
If Death shows up right when you're about to die and offers you a job as his marketing agent, would you refuse or accept?
In The Innocence Of Death by E.G. Stone, we find out what would happen if you say yes. Or, at least, what might happen. The concept is intriguing enough and it does make you want to keep reading to see how it's going to play out. Spoiler alert: the story goes to places you'd never expect. For better and for worse. I would not have expected to go into a whodunnit mystery or to like Death as a character, but I did. The other characters are as you would imagine them. The personifications of Life, Mercy, Justice, (and more) are quite unbothered by the human experience and do things that might be classified as morally wrong, but truly are not from the immortal, mythical beings point of view. Cal, the main character, is likeable enough and his main sidekick, Yolanda, a fun and jolly troll, is a pleasure to have around.
There is a humorous tone to this story that could be quite tricky to manage, but it feels well-balanced. The story is original and imaginative. The world is complex and well constructed enough that you'll never feel like the author threw some ideas around and just wrote them. A lot of thought went into building this world. It truly is a ride.
The only downside of The Innocence Of Death is that it could have done more. The story offers some interesting starting points of reflection about what it means to simply exist and to be alive, but it never quite hits the mark. It's a very surface-level reflection. The author could have gone more in-depth into the meaning of life, but, if you don't want something too heavy, then this will still work for a light read. You won't regret reading this. You can read this in one sitting and still get something out of it.