Everyone Has Their Price

by Cassandra Erica, 2017

Author's note: This piece is from an early point in my career, and is depicted as written. The twist is messily executed and many of the details are aimless. That is why I am excited to have finished a newly revised version for publication in print and eBook forms, along with revised forms of most of my other work - and some all-new material never published on this site or anywhere else. If you'd like to avoid spoiling yourself, don't bother reading this version.

“Everyone has their price, Ms. Neuman. Everyone.”

The man was there in her kitchen again. He gently sipped the cup of tea with his perfectly manicured hands. The milk and sugar sat untouched.

Karen remained coldly motionless at the other end of the table.

“Just what is it that you want from us?”

“Nothing more than a better future for little James, my dear,” he replied. “I am simply an observer who notes that this is not the best that can be done for him.”

A fire had mysteriously broken out only months before, half a mile from the hundred-year house of the previous several generations. The firemen’s valiant efforts weren’t entirely for nought - but half of the building was ashy soot, still in shallow piles across the two-acre property, evenly distributed from the wind, leaving a mark of death on the grassy, charred landscape. Burnt trees stood like monoliths in the dirt, tilting and swaying with the wind, waiting to fall and crush ants, pillbugs, spiders, children.

A once proud mass of land, ten acres ago, lush with fruit trees and fauna, was not strong enough to withstand the progress of time: first a small town needed more space. There went two acres. A farmer sought to house more livestock. There went one. And another, and another - soil was chipped away for a pittance here, a pittance there. Not once did it halt, and as the bulldozers and backhoes closed in, the surrounding area entered the future. All this development came at a cost: construction had been rated by the government to be the most dangerous occupation left. Falling equipment and faulty tools were bad enough, one might suppose, but in this little hidden away grove of country there lied a ghastly deposit of lead and mercury compounds - exposure to which had been determined as quickly fatal by multiple independent scientific studies. Not many were willing to work there; even those who didn’t mind construction wouldn’t dare disturb the ground and release the toxins without multi-billion-dollar protective gear.

The family never had direct contact with any of that danger, nor had they been officially notified of it, but the clouds of dust had begun drifting ever so slightly closer to their front door - which now was recognizable only by the remains of three rusted hinges in a heap near a cloth mat reading “WELC.”

Blackness permeated a perfectly average day and made overcast the view from the kitchen window with the floral curtains. Karen regained composure from this dream and noticed the man was beginning to speak again.

“There is nothing I would like more than to help you rebuild your historic residence - but I’m afraid it doesn’t seem it can be done...do you have insurance, Ms. Neuman?”

“Well, someone from your company came trying to sell some insurance… it’s just that we...” she hesitated. “We couldn’t afford it. He was very nice, and left a candy bar for Jimmy, but he said something really strange on the way out -”

“Oh, that sounds rather like my colleague, Philip Frank. He’s always been great with children. Today he’s busy at the site - could be able to see him from your window, Ms. Neuman. It looks to be a very productive day over there.”

Karen was visibly disturbed. A sentimental type, the man thought. He continued drinking from the chipped cup with a politely raised finger. Jimmy, that boy with the unkempt hair but without much in the way of filth on him, sat in the parlor, playing with his toy truck. He noticed the man was very well groomed, with proper shoes, pants, and other adornments, save for one foul hair just out of place, seemingly trying to escape his scalp and migrate to his nose.

“What can I do to make this mutually beneficial? What could I offer? Six million? Seven? Nine? What offer could you perchance stand to take? What reason have you to restrict your son from this opportunity to learn the power of the dollar?”

“I - I can’t do this! It’s wrong! How could you see what’s been done to us and just come in here -”

“Ms. Neuman, may I remind you I was invited in? You know you want this for the two of you. It’s only what’s best -”

“What’s best for your company! You have been stepping on our family ever since you came to our county, and, and - I’m sick of it! Sick and tired of you pencil pushers, pushing people to the edge of a cliff! It should be illegal what you do to people, and you should be ashamed of yourself!”

The air stiffened like the starched collar on the man’s shirt. The only sound audible was the tick tock tick tock emanating from the old grandfather clock in the parlor. Jimmy had always called it a great-grandfather clock, though it kept awful time and the pendulum wavered in speed dramatically when the room got warm. As it happens, it was about two minutes faster than it was when the man had entered the house.

Tactfully, the man gave a chance for a moment of silence and proceeded.

“I understand your sentiments, my dear. Many are reluctant to accept an offer such as this. They may feel it betrays their families, or themselves - but just look at the facts. Many people have done this, even your neighbors down the way, the Smiths. Why, when their house caught fire they thought they were going to have to go into town and buy tents and sleeping bags. Now they’ve moved on, and they’ve never been more successful, let me tell you. They’ve never been more successful - never happier. And their boy, too. They’re happy as can be. Getting a new home was one of the greatest decisions they ever made.” He continued. “I came here to make a deal. A deal our company makes with families every day, but a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you and James. I’m willing to offer you 18 million. No trust fund, no structured dispersal - it’ll all go right in your bank account. Just sign this little paper and the world is yours, your problems a distant memory. You can travel, you can buy a new house in a nice suburban neighborhood, you can take a trip to the moon and still have enough left for the rest of your life. I came here to make a deal, Ms. Neuman.”

The crows’ feet beneath Karen’s eyes began twitching and he knew he had her. What strength could withstand such a promise? Never a worry again - not one. A free ride through life that would take her places - she could meet that movie star she’d ogled on TV, and buy that dress she’d seen on that popular actress. She hesitated, struggled, picking up the burning hot gold pen, thinking of a new penthouse with a view of a less desolate wasteland than the one from her kitchen window.

The signature on the contract was shaky, but binding. The man smiled.

All of Karen’s surroundings were surreal and meaningless to her now. Reality seemed to cease to function. The drapes blew in the breeze that came in through the gap in the wall that seemed ready to close in and crush any life remaining in her. Lead paint shuddered in waves at the door frame that contracted viciously like a boa, beating like a heart two thousand times a second. The clock ticked faster even as time seemed at a crawl.

“What... have I done?”

“You’ve made a sound financial decision, my dear. If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around much longer - seems to do things to people’s minds when they don’t move immediately. It’s some sort of panic from the familiar surroundings. Can’t be healthy, no no, can’t be.”

The man rolled up the contract, walked calmly into the other room and crouched down to Jimmy.

“Hello, James. Are you ready to say goodbye to this stuffy old house?”

Jimmy looked into the kitchen with the corner of his eye to see his mother sobbing there. He shook his head.

“Well, well, well. I’m surprised at you. I thought you were a big boy, James. I thought you had more smarts than that - don’t you?”

Jimmy nodded slowly, still looking at the deep black eyes and the one hair struggling to break free.

“That’s good. Are you ready to go to work with the other big boys out there across the field?”

Karen was now bawling in the other room. The man knew from his training that this was when they became violent. Jimmy sat there unmoving. The man had experienced this exact scenario in the simulations, and so knew what strategy to use.

“James, I understand you enjoyed that candy bar my colleague gave you. I happen to know he has a whole box back at the site. Your mother has given me permission to take you there.”

Jimmy had no reason to distrust the man with the nice suit, and his mother was not arguing against the assertion. He walked away from the wailing and followed the man to his car without incident.

That evening, the man lounged in the air-tight climate-controlled viewing room at the site. Philip Frank entered and began to observe the workers.

“That new one yours?”

“Yes it is. Quite a day I had getting him.”

“Shame they won’t last long, isn’t it?”

“We’ll only get more, Philip. Though it would be easier if the company would just put a price on it.”

“You know the stockholders won’t go for that: a human life might be worth billions, technically. And everyone has their price.”

“Yes,” the man replied. “Everyone.”