There’s a lone scream burning with salt.

Its bubbles scatter like crows on the shoreline, leaving the waves to sweep their remains into nothingness.

Then, a knowing silence paints the water red.

The high tide continues to cascade over the sound of rattling bones, reducing the bubbles to nothing more than hollow shells carrying unspoken wishes towards the sky.

And once they pierce the surface, the ocean lays still once more. 

Hidden in plain sight and blanketed by the sunrise, none would come to think of such a lovely view as a graveyard. The current coiled around my neck like a cold-blooded predator starved for flesh. These depths bear their fangs to swallow all men equally with its maw. It’s commendable, respectable, and simple to understand. Should the darkness take a liking to you, that’s where you’ll go, no matter what you hope to live for.

The fizzing pressure crushing my ears was my first brush with a scythe.

Wrapped in its embrace, it slowly starts feeling more like relief than suffering. Like a mother rocking her crying child in its cradle until she lulls it to sleep. While the chilling midnight water drained all the heat from my limbs, my will to live kept my heart beating hot until I finally chased the light past the cradle and broke into a sprint.

The grim reaper came to collect my soul.

So, I offered him a deal.

There’s a flash of light that’s soon followed by a subtle rumbling. 

It is not the thunder that wakes me from my musings, but the slow trickle of rain that knocks on my window. The gentle tapping sound that so many people find calming makes me irritable. Rather than hearing each drop like a harmonious note played upon a piano, it feels like someone pulled out its keys and smashed them against my head.

“Haaa…” I breathe out and subconsciously reach for my neck.

I’m still breathing.

“Boss, is everything okay?” I don’t realize I have my eyes closed until I open them and find my subordinate by the entrance. The way he’s holding his knuckles against the door tells me he tried knocking, but didn’t get a response. “You’ve been spacing out a lot. Don’t you think it’s time for a break?”

I let out another deep breath before clocking into reality. 

When the weather acts up, I can still feel the pressure of the ocean weighing on my back. I get chills constantly, and I’m always cold. No matter what I wear or how much I try to stay in shape, I know it’s not the seasons that are responsible for my shivers during summer. It’s not my body that’s cold, it’s my mind poisoning my body. 

But what can you do when the mind is both your drug and your salvation?

“Just tying up loose ends for my last case.” I answer without sparing him a glance. He’s not phased in the slightest.

“SR-F32?” I put this system in place when I was still a teenager, but I’ve come to rely on it straight through adulthood as well. Something I needed on a whim proved worth its weight in salt later down the line.

“Yes.” 

“What is the current status?”

“I’ll mark it as SL-5M after tonight.” Serial Rapist; File 32. Successful Lockdown, 5-months. I mark them like this to avoid disturbances and keep our clients' information private. Even if someone were to find the documents, only I know how to read the abbreviated verbiage. The less people privy to the situation, the better. If we, by some random stroke of misfortune, got our private files leaked, they’d be unintelligible to those who could not spot a pattern. And even those that could recognize a pattern would be unable to fully understand the meaning. If I could actually put my trust in others, perhaps I could train someone to sort these files for me, but as it stands now, covering up our tracks is a one-man-operation. At the end of the day, I can’t be greedy when I’ve already asked for more than I should’ve been allotted in this lifetime.

When my gaze wanders, my eyes connect with my assistant. His silence and refusal to leave means there’s something on his mind.

“Why are you still here, Seito?” I ask. If I don’t coax him, he never says anything. As efficient as he is, he’ll simply stare at me until I allow him to speak. It’s not like I have him on a leash, but it seems he’s quite fond of wearing one against my wishes.

“You have an appointment… I thought I’d inform you, in case you forgot.”

“You think I’d forget something like that?” 

I totally forgot.

I glance down at my wrist instead of the wallclock to pretend I didn’t lose track of time.

“I still have five minutes. Call in SR-F32 so I can give her the final delivery.” I don’t know how long my next appointment will last, so it’s better to deliver it before the meeting starts.

“Right away, boss.” The door closes only briefly so Seito can accompany the client from the waiting room to my office.

A meek woman visited the black market one day and asked me to commit murder on her behalf.

That’s not too unusual a request, but I could immediately tell she had no experience. Regular people think you can simply ask for anything at the black market if you have enough money to pay for it. While it’s true that there is a moral gray area for us in this line of work… I have no intention of ever breaking the law for someone else’s benefit.

When the time comes, I’ll consider what I care about more- remaining an upstanding citizen on paper, or wrangling my father’s neck for murdering my mother.

When the sound of heels approaches, I rummage through my drawer and motion for the lady to step inside. I find myself taking on requests from female students and older women more-so than men. Be it because they want someone meticulous to handle things delicately, or because men believe they can resolve their issues better on their own- I’m glad my clientele is mostly female. Women are not as hard to please as some people believe them to be.

“Welcome. Please, have a seat.”

My mother was just as simple to please as my clients. Behind her smile was no ulterior motive, no facade, and no desire to climb corporate ladders for excessive wealth. All she wanted was to work part-time on her hobby as a painter and take care of her family. She was a beautiful and kind woman, but more importantly, she was wickedly cunning. It didn’t take her long to figure out that the scum I despise to call a father was cheating on her. As a child, I knew her ability to read others was like a rope. Depending on her wit, it could act as a lifeline as equally as it could a noose. She used that wit to dig up information and corner her suspects into confessions. As much as she enjoyed creating art, I believe she saw communication as an alternative form of art as well. All she desired was a confession and a vow not to repeat the same mistakes. She was far too kind to ever consider punishment- the noose never once saw its use. All my silly lies growing up were forgiven the moment I got caught. There was no reason to be intimidated or fearful of such a gentle person.

Unfortunately, my mother was far more trusting and kindhearted than I grew up to be. As such, the noose was only ever used once.

I never would have forgiven someone who wouldn’t mind killing me. As a child, I didn’t understand her, but as an adult, I believe the feelings she harbored for my father at the time played a role in her demise.

Love.

It’s a toxic chemical that impairs your mind and muddies your critical thinking skills.

Had she not been blinded by love, perhaps she would still be alive.

And perhaps I would have grown up to be something other than the grim reaper’s bounty hunter, voyaging in a sea of miserable souls that bite like starving sharks.

“Sir…” she’s so quiet. It’s incredibly obvious she doesn’t feel comfortable here, nor that she belongs here. She was grateful and relieved during our last meeting, but she must be concerned that I’m about to deliver bad news.

I’ll just give her what I have and let her be on her way. There’s no need to torment her if it’s too difficult to look at me.

“Yes, this will only take a moment. Go ahead.” She bows her head low and hides her fear behind her bangs. At times like this, I can’t help but see my mother in this lady’s frail figure. She was around the same age when some wicked force decided to drag her down to hell. In this woman’s case, it was her younger sister that ended up on death’s door due to another man’s selfishness. She shyly takes a seat and puts her fists in her lap. She’s incredibly tense; like a violin whose strings are one pluck away from snapping like an elastic rubber band.

“Oh, that?” I smile politely and dig through my drawer to find what I’m looking for. When I realize I have the wrong drawer, I check the one below it. I should have realized something was wrong when I couldn’t get my hands on it right away. I make them stand out on purpose to avoid delays like this. “Yes, it’s complete. But I never handed you proof of delivery.”

“Proof of…?” She blinks when I extend a thin, red envelope to her. I have to shake it a little for her to take it in hand and open it. Yes, it’s yours. Who do you think I’m giving this to? She stares at it curiously before flipping it open. Her eyes light up so brightly they illuminate all the many slumbering memories of my past.

“Ah-! This is-!” I carry a piece of my mother with me in every breath I take. So, I leave a piece of her and myself with every client that begs me for help.

“Do they resemble each other? I’m not the best with portraits, but I think it came out just fine.” I always painted with my mother, but I was never any good. She told me to keep practicing every day until I could surpass her. I promised to become a better artist than her one day.

I didn’t actually think it would ever happen.

I didn’t really want it to happen either.

“My…my baby sister…” Her eyes are glued to the charcoal drawing. It appears that all the remaining fears she’s been carrying around have finally rolled off her shoulders. 

Now, she is truly free.

“But… What is this…? Where did you get a drawing of my sister?”

“What? I drew it, of course! This marks my final delivery, and the end of our contract.” I tap my desk impatiently. I only have a few minutes to finish up with her. I hate that I have to rush it, because this exchange is the most rewarding part of running an independent trade agency. “Only one thing left to do. May I?” She looks up at me and notices I’m holding a ballpoint pen in my hand, so she slides the drawing over to my side of the desk.

“I hope you’re satisfied with your visit today, and although I’ve enjoyed working together with you,”

Signed, Karma.

“-I truly hope we don’t have to see each other again~!”

This should come as a surprise to no-one, but I don’t actually sell or trade artwork at my shop. People can come in and request art, of course… but people with a special kind of desire know where to find me and what I actually do for a living. I’m not interested in taking commissions from the happy-go-lucky types.

If you need to collect a debt, you head to The Devil’s Closet and dress for Karma.

“I… thought that my case was over… the um…” The criminal was never punished by the law– as it is with most cases. They dismissed her based on insufficient evidence. The girl’s older sister was the only one to believe the victim’s claims, and she was also the only one willing to fund her rehabilitation after her suicide attempt. She came to me bearing a strong face and steely determination; all which crumbled once she spoke of her younger sister. As much as I would have liked the law to deal with him, I think the sewer rats will chew him out better than any ex-convicts in prison will do. 

Still, since money trades hands, I make sure any trace of our meeting comes right back to selling paintings. I have no intention of making the police suspicious of me, nor do I enjoy getting questioned if someone ends up dead. The deaths of inconsequential people that never contributed positively to society is of no concern to me. If they kill themselves because of the hardships they face after committing crimes, I’ll see it as the trash taking itself out for me. It saves the grim reaper a housecall. 

“Thank you… I… I’m-” I don’t get to hear what she has to say before the door to my office swings open. But instead of it being my informant, Seito, it’s a man I don’t recognize at all. No, that’s not completely true. He looks somewhat familiar, but I’ve never seen him set foot in my establishment before. He barges in unceremoniously, but he doesn’t actually say a word to get my attention. However, someone as tall and as well-dressed as him will naturally catch people’s attention, even if he doesn’t make his presence known. It may be that he expects me to initiate conversation because of it. I suppose it’s my fault for turning my head on instinct and validating that behavior.

“...Do you have an appointment?” I ask, but he only looks towards the clock on the wall. He must be my impatient 5-minutes-ago client.

“Oh! Forgive me for taking up your time! I’ll go-!” The woman rushes to her feet, cheeks bright red and puffy. I tap the desk to remind her to pick up her red envelope, and she hurries to hide it in her arms.

“If you need the restroom, it’s to the left by the entrance. The door is a little janky, so don’t hesitate to push it open with a bit more force.” It looks like she’s holding back tears when our eyes meet. She can’t walk home like this, so it’s better if she cries it out in private and leaves with a clear mind. Thankfully, she appears to understand what I mean, and she utters a quick “Thank you!” before rushing out. 

I lean back in my chair and click my pen. I’m visibly irked by his presence, and I don’t try to hide it either.

“You couldn’t wait?”