The Audit

Part One

Jason leaned over conspiratorially, motioning for me to do the same. I obliged.

“Mark, do yourself a favor. Buy stock of Wagner Electric. Right now. As much as you can afford.”

I pondered this, wondering what my buddy knew. He did tend to have good contacts in various industries. 

“Wagner Electric? What do they even do?”

“I’ll save you the elevator pitch,” we waved off. “Just know that they’re about to score a HUGE government defense contract. Huge. And the best part? No one knows about this yet. Top secret stuff.”

I considered this. Huge defense contract? The government has big pockets. And I did have some cash to invest. But this sounded an awful lot like insider trading. 

“When?” I inquired.

“Within weeks. Maybe even days. Call your guy this afternoon.”

We wrapped up our lunch, shifting gears from Wagner to work, sports, and politics. By the end of the meal I was ready to go. Jason was fine, just in small doses. A little too intense sometimes. A little too bro-ey.

That said, I was strongly considering his hot tip. Wagner Electric.

I was distracted as I navigated my way back to my Acura. A little too distracted. As I crossed the street to my car, I didn't see the bus until it was nearly too late. 

Yes, yes. I was looking at my phone, googling Wagner. Guilty as charged. No, I should definitely not have been doing that while crossing the street. I looked up at the last second, seeing the city bus barreling towards me, laying on the horn. Death was seconds away.

Until it wasn’t. I was pulled backwards, out of the way of the bus and to safety. I exhaled and opened my eyes - apparently I’d shut them in anticipation of death. I turned to see my savior, and it was a short but well-built man in his late 20’s. Crew cut and a muscle shirt. Clearly a guy who spends a lot of time in the gym. But I was certainly thankful for those gym muscles, as they had just easily pulled me away from certain doom - or at the very least incredible pain and a long recovery, if not paralysis. 

“Hey man, you alright?” the bodybuilder asked.

I was too shocked to say anything coherent, mumbling something about buses and phones and my car, and nodding like a bobblehead. I was glad at least one thing I muttered sounded like a “thank you”.

He patted me on the back and told me to be safe, and then meandered off.

I looked around the scene. Few other people witnessed my near death. Except… there was this odd short man standing at a distance.

The first thing I noticed was his skin. It was this brownish-gray color, with some red blended in. And shiny, really shiny. Like the clay in my garden, somehow both dull and yet glistening in the sunlight. And lumpy, again like clay, that is in the process of being molded. His hair was a deep black, with a pronounced widow's peak. He was wearing this shiny silver suit, like something a future moonbase resident would be wearing in an old sci fi movie. As I mentioned, he was pretty short, maybe 4 feet tall, and the pants to his shiny space suit were too long on him. This man, this Clay Man, looked like a kid wearing his dad’s suit. Just an odd guy all around.

He was holding an old notebook and a long fountain pen. He looked like a journalist from the 40’s. He was observing me closely - pausing only to jot something down.

I eventually recovered from my near death experience and made my way - looking both ways this time - across the street to my car. 

Before I drove off, I made a call to my financial advisor. 

“BUY Wagner Electric”.

Part Two

I saw Clay Man again that afternoon outside my office. We’re a small little engineering firm in a business park in the suburbs, so it was really weird that the guy was in our parking lot. But there he was, notebook and pen in hand.

Then he followed me into the office. Walked right past reception without saying a word.

I walked to my cubicle, looking over my shoulder with worry as he followed me. I pulled out my phone and dialed 9 and 1. Ready to go with the last 1.

I sat at my desk - and he just stood next to me. What the hell was going on?

Finally I spoke up.

“Umm, can I help you?” I asked.

No response from Clay Man. He just watched, gripping his notebook and pen.

“Seriously. What can I help you with?”

He flinched. This was the first indication that he’d heard me.

“Why are you following me?”

His mouth dropped ever so slightly. There was this look in his eyes - was it fear?

“YOU. WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME?”

Now Clay Man looked absolutely terrified.

I noticed a few curious heads of my coworkers looking in my direction. 

Not really sure why, I reached for him. He backed away as if I were on fire.

“Ahhh…” he muttered, as if testing his voice for the first time.

Then he found his confidence.

“Outside,” he commanded.

I waited for him to lead the way, but he was clearly waiting on me. I stood up and made my way back out to the parking lot. Clay Man followed closely behind.

As we got outside, I started getting worried. Why did he want to separate me from all those other people? Was I in danger now?

Clay Man stood before me, trying to assess the situation.

“You can see me?” he asked, with a blend of curiosity and terror.

“Yeah… of course I can see you! Why have you been following me, man?”

“This is highly unusual.”

His voice sounded gravely, like stones grinding together. My first thought was of those goblin bankers in the Harry Potter movies. I got the impression Clay Man didn’t speak often.

“What are you talking about? What’s unusual?”

“No one has seen me before.” He had the cadence of a scientist, noting the odd results of an experiment.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re not supposed to see me.”

No idea how to respond to that. Supposed to?

“Okay… Well, I can.” 

He started to write in the notebook, but then thought better of it. I could tell he was fascinated by whatever was going on, but also scared. Like a kid about to get scolded by the principal. 

“Who are you?” I asked.

“My name… my name doesn’t matter. What matters is what I am.”

WTF.

“What are you then?”

I don’t know what I was expecting to hear, but his response certainly wasn’t it.

“I am what your people call an angel.”

Huh?

“An… angel? How? Where are your wings?”

The little gremlin actually smiled. He was amused by this!

“We don’t have wings, of course. Silly human idea.”

“So, are you like… my guardian angel? Did you save me from that bus??”

“The bus…” he mumbled to himself. “Nearly killed you. That must be why you can see me…”

“Dude, what the hell is going on here?”

Clay Man flipped through his notebook, then slid it into his back pocket. The answers he was seeking weren’t in there.

I sat down on the curb, and my “angel” proceeded to fill me in, and best he could.

Part Three

Here is what I know:

• Clay Man is an angel, but not in the way us humans think angels are.
• He’s not my guardian angel. 
• He’s been monitoring me - for an undisclosed amount of time - conducting some sort of random “morality audit”.
• Basically, he’s determining my eternal fate.

Here is what I still don’t know:

• He won’t tell me how long he’s been watching me, or how long he’ll continue to do so.
• He won’t tell me how I’m doing. Whether I’m passing or failing.
• He won’t confirm whether he heard me conducting insider trading. 
• He won’t confirm whether I’ll ever get another of these audits, or if my entire eternal fate depends on this undefined stretch.
• He also refused to answer any questions on God or the afterlife, if there are such things as heaven or hell. No help here at all. 

Oh, there’s something else that I learned. Over the next few days, every effort I made to be a good (even great) person did not matter.

First, I sold the stocks. Then I made a nice donation to a charity. I volunteered at a soup kitchen. I tutored kids. I gave money to the homeless. I picked up litter and held open doors. I did every good deed I could think of.

Clay Man wrote none of this down in his notebook. He just solemnly shook his head. Eventually, he’d completely stopped talking to me, clearly regretting telling me as much as he did. But he didn’t need to say it. By seeing him, and understanding his mission, I’d throw off the audit. All these good deeds were now forced. I was clearly doing them in an effort to get a good score. Not because I knew they were the right thing to do.

This continued, in futility, for days. Nothing I did triggered a reaction from Clay Man. The notebook remained untouched.

I was going to hell. I just knew it.

Who knows, maybe I’d get another chance at another random audit, one where I couldn’t see my creepy little auditor angel. But I had a terrible feeling that wouldn’t happen. I was done.

That’s when I just gave up completely.

Part Four

It had been roughly a week since I discovered Clay Man and his audit. I’d given up, gotten depressed, knowing I was now sentenced to an eternity in hell.

I found myself in a nearby park, half drunk and just wandering. Literally kicking rocks as I strolled. The sun would be setting soon, and I had big plans to continue drinking deep into the night. Maybe I’d still buy some Wagner stock, and at least enjoy the rest of my mortal life.

Clay Man followed dutifully behind me, keeping his usual distance of about 10 feet. He hadn’t spoken to me in days, and truth be told, the guy seemed broken up about this himself. Maybe he felt bad for me. Or maybe he knew that when he returned to wherever it is he’s from he’d be in trouble. Maybe he was out of a job. Can angels get demoted or fired?

I was lost in my thoughts, wallowing in self pity, when I heard a scream. And then laughter.

Up ahead, three teen boys were furiously kicking at something on the ground. At closer inspection, I learned they were kicking another boy, who was curled up in the fetal position.

I completely forgot about Clay Man. And his morality audit. No thoughts of angels altogether. I just took action. I ran towards the kids, tackling one. He squirmed away and ran for it, with his friends following. I shot to my feet to run after them, but then turned my attention to the kid on the ground. 

I knelt down and put my hand on his back.

“Those guys are gone now… you alright?”

He turned towards me, bloody and in tears. He gave a weak nod.

I called 9-1-1 on my phone and waited with the boy until help came. The boy was clearly beaten up badly and in pain, but he was trying to be brave. He told me his name was Marcus. He was just walking home, cutting through the park, when the other boys jumped him.

Eventually the police arrived, along with an ambulance and Marcus’s parents. I gave my statement to the cops, and then drifted away, preparing to return home.

I allowed myself a little smile. Even after giving up, I did something good. I didn’t think. Didn’t worry about my fate and the morality audit. I just acted out of instinct. I helped someone. I saved someone. 

I’d been doubting it for days… but I really was a good person.

It was then that I noticed something - Clay Man was gone. In all the excitement I have absolutely no idea when he departed.

Only one question remained… How much of my good deed did he actually see??