OTHER PEOPLE'S SHOES

IT started with a buzzing noise. Soft at first, and then slowly grew into an annoying loud sound - like ten thousand bees buzzing all at once. 

         Now, not much ever bothers me, but this does. I follow the sound to the far wall of my bedroom and put my ear up close to the wall to listen. Were there really bees in the wall? If not, what else could be making that sound?         

         Suddenly, it stops. “ok”, I think. Maybe I imagined it. Not a chance. I only trade in reality. Maybe I better call the exterminator, just to be sure. But before I could do that, from out of nowhere, I am physically bombarded by thousands of yellow jacket bees.

         I fall to the floor in agony, screaming into the empty room as the angry stinging bees engulfed me. There is no one to help me. I was going to die – I am dying. 

With that last thought, I feel myself falling at lightning speed through my bedroom floor. Down, down I turned head over heel a million times into a deep dark, piercing- cold abyss where I finally hit bottom with a bone-crushing thud.

         I’m conscious. I’m alive. How is that possible after the swift journey downward I just took? Where am I? I look around, but the black darkness gives way to no light source at all. Can I stand up? Yes, I’m standing. Surprisingly, I feel ok. Nothing broken. I don’t think I’m bleeding anywhere either.

         “Is anyone here,” I call out loudly. The only return response is my voice echo.

I panic. Perhaps no one hears me. Is there a way out?

         “Yes, I’m here”, a none too friendly voice answers.

         Quickly, I look around for the source of the one speaking. “Where are you?, I ask receiving no immediate response. I ask again, and this time I hear a rasp, mocking reply,

         “I’m here to get out of this deep hole you’ve dug for yourself.”

         I don’t understand what he means, but I don’t care. “Well, let’s go then!”

And with that, I feel an icy-cold hand take mine and immediately we transport to a cold, dark, uninviting dungeon room, like one might find in an old decaying ancient castle. The smell here is beyond horrible. I know that smell. It’s the smell of decaying flesh in its worst stage of decomposing. I gag.

         “You’ll get used to that because that disgusting smell will be present everywhere you go,” says the unseen voice with contempt.

         “Why?”

         The voice sighs impatiently. “Because you are responsible for what you smell, what you see, and what you experience here.”

         I laugh. “You are crazy. I don’t have anything to do with this cruel game you’re playing.”

         Coming into the dull light from the shadows, a tall gaunt man appears. He’s dressed all in black, wearing a 1940’s style hat pulled over his eyes to hide his face.  His age is indistinct. In his left skeleton-like hand, he carries a pair of blood-red high heel shoes which he holds out to me.

         “What do I want these for?,” I say after I take the shoes from him. I immediately notice that the shoe color is not red, but black. The abundance of red is actually dried blood that covers them almost completely.

         “You wanna get out of here?” I nod. “Then put those shoes on,”  he instructs.

         I take a good look at them and laugh. The entire idea is ludicrous. One: they are a really small size. Two: they are women’ shoes. And three: high-heels. But, just to humor this guy, I make like I’m going to put them on. I’m no Cinderella, and these are not glass slippers. No fit for sure. But, much to my astonishment, they do fit! How can that be? I stand up wobbling, but within moments, I realize they are not only well-fitting and comfortable, but familiar to my feet. I’m walking just fine in them. I stare at Hat-man dumbfounded. Another ‘how is this possible in this land of impossibilities?.’

         “Follow me.”  He leads the way. The huge iron door guarding the dungeon opens into a bright, sunny downtown street of some little ‘Andy of Mayberry’ town. When my eyes adjust to the bright sunlight, I see I am alone. Hat-man is gone. Well, what do I do now? Looking around, I’m perplexed and confused.

         “Excuse me Miss. You look lost. Can I help you?, says a young man who happened upon me. Of course I look around to see who he’s talking to, but he’s looking straight at me. Right at me. Why would he call me ‘Miss’? The shop window I glance into mirror-reflects a pretty young woman dressed in expensive jeans and a tee-shirt, wearing black high heels. Is that me? I peer closer. Yes it is. What kind of ridiculous joke is this?

         “No! I don’t need any help. Now get out of my way,” I demand. My words, but they come out of the mouth of this girl person I’ve morphed into. Angrily, I push him aside. 

         As I walk down the street briskly surveying my surroundings, I realize I have been in this town before. Maybe a year ago. I was here to do a job. Oh, yeah. Just to let you know I’m a hitman by trade. I get a contract, I fulfill it, and I get well paid for my successes.  Hum, I can’t remember who my mark was in this town… 

         “You were,” replies Hat-man who appears at my side.

         “Oh, man! Now you’ve gone too far. How can I be my own mark?” 

         “I thought even a dull-wit like you would have figured out by now that you are who you killed.” He’s exasperated with me.

         “In two minutes, you will be dead,” Hat-man adds casually stepping aside.

         Before I can say a rebuking word, a shot rings out. I feel a deep searing pain in my back, as I fall forward onto the sidewalk. The pain is unbearable. I feel like I’m being torn apart.  Never having been shot myself, I never realized how much agony my victims suffer before they die; not that I care, you understand. But now that it’s me, well, that’s a different story. Someone is helping me up.   Blood from the gaping wound is gushing down my legs onto and into my shoes that collect a significant amount of spillage. My breathing is labored. In fear, I fight for every suffocating breath willing myself not to die. Her life flashes before my eyes. Her childhood, young adulthood, her husband, and children like short scenes in a movie. I feel her regret at being ripped away from her happy life with them. I/She call(s) out to them with a last dying breath.

Finally, I’m released from her dead and tormented bloody body. I’m myself again standing over her looking at the wreckage I caused. I almost feel bad for her. And that so-called loving husband of hers that she didn’t want to leave, well, he put out the contract on her. I’ve no idea why, and I don’t ask; primarily because I don’t care. She was just a job to me.  

         Ok, so it’s over. “Let’s get going, Hat-man. I’ve had enough of this.”

         “For you, there is no ‘enough of this’.”

         For a fleeting moment, a horrible realization washes over me accompanied by overwhelming fear. Fear is an emotion foreign to me, like caring.  “Steel up buddy. You’re tougher than this,” I tell myself.

         “Time to move on, Robert Stone,” Hat-man directs.

         And with that, we are back in the putrid-smelling dungeon once more.

         “This place again?, I am agitated beyond belief. “Am I having an Ebenezer Scrooge moment? Will another spirit come next to show me more of my ill-deeds?”

         Hat-man ignores my question. He holds out another pair of shoes.

         “You know the drill. Put them on, or you don’t get out of here.”

         With a sigh, I accept a pair of ultra-expensive designer sandals. Now, I’m not a poor schmo by any means, but even I can’t afford these shoes. They’re a big size for a guy with big feet. I should swim in them, but experience tells me these puppies are going to fit me just fine. And, as I predict, they are my perfect fit.

         “Where are we off to now. The beach?”, I chuckled

         “Follow me.” Again, we walk through the dungeon door, but this time there is no ‘Mayberry’ town to greet us. Instead, we are on a high-rise penthouse rooftop. It sports all the trappings of massive wealth. A jacuzzi for eight, a lap pool that seems to go on forever, high-end luxurious patio furniture, well-maintained flowering plants, and a fully stocked bar. The courtyard table is set with European crystal and bone china, French champagne, and a single red rose displayed on one of the two gold-rimmed dinner plates. It looks like I’m expecting a real trophy girl with all this enticement. 

         I hear a woman’s voice call out from within the apartment. “Martin, are you here?” Coming outside from the penthouse, she saunters seductively over to me at the railing. Wow, she’s a real knock-out. At least a 10, if not a 12.

         Wait a minute. I know her. Who could ever forget a class-act like her, but from where? I turn and look out over the city. Yup, I’m in Vegas, no mistaking Vegas for any other city in the world. I remember that I flew out here to meet her about two years ago when she hired me to do a job. If this is anything like the last time travel into the past, I must be the mark now. Wonder why she wants to kill me, meaning Martin? Guess I'll never know. It’s not like I can ask her now, can I?  

         I remember how the hit went down. They were both up here on the rooftop. Everything was the same as it is now. When she saw me sneaking up on Martin, she quickly stepped back away from Martin just as I, hitman extraordinaire, rushed him. One forceful unexpected body slam and he was over the side pronto. Hey!  Now I’m coming for me (again). How’s that for truly weird. So, I decide to hold tightly onto the railing, knowing what’s coming, but I can’t. No grip – just weak hands.

         “Hat-man!” I yell, “why can’t I hold on?  I wanna keep it from happening!”

         Hat-man’s disembodied voice answers, “Everything is that was.”

         While I attempt to ponder this bit of philosophic nonsense, from out of nowhere a super-strong wind forcefully pushes me over the railing, and there I go, falling.  I ‘m then forced to relive Martin’s sheer terror and I even hear him praying. I see Martin’s life flash before my eyes. It’s almost sad. Just before impact, I see a future event. He was going to ask his murderer to marry him. Now that’s true irony.  Well Martin, old’ boy, maybe dying was a better future for you than being stuck with her for life. 

         Hitting the ground is no picnic. I smash onto the pavement and split apart into unrecognizable pieces. I could not escape that treacherous gripping agony.  

         Hat-man and I did not leave until after Martin’s body had been shoveled into a body bag. Why I had to stay and witness that, I couldn’t say. Was I supposed to recognize the horror of what I’d done and repent? Fat chance. He was just a job to me.

         “Hey, Hat-man,” I say to my traveling companion, “Are we done now? I’d like to get home in time for wrestling.” And with that, I don’t go home. No, I’m returned to the dungeon a microsecond later.

         “What’s up with this dungeon?” I demand to go home, now!” Because I’m not used to having my will thwarted, I am highly agitated; moving quickly into killing rage.  If I could figure a way out of this dingy dirty cave of a jail cell, I’d wrap my huge, strong hands around Hat-man’s puny pencil neck throat and squeeze the life out of him with glee.

         Hat-man stares at me a moment before off-handedly claims that I can’t kill him because he too is already dead.

         All I hear are the words ‘…he too is already dead.’

         “I’m dead?”

         “Indeed – massive heart attack. Too much ‘good’ living I assume,” he adds mockingly.

         “So, let me get this straight.  I’m gonna guess that I’m in Hell?  And I live here now?”

         “Bingo! – where there are no televisions. Just forever pain, misery, and intense fire-burning baths to look forward to for your recreation. That is, after you complete your contract assignments each day.

         My head is spinning. Horrendous unending all-consuming bouts of fear and terror overwhelm me and I can’t make any of it stop!

         “We had a very productive day. Here is your list of assignments for tomorrow.” He pushes a singed paper through the bars to me. It’s a long list of shoes. How odd.

         “What do I do with this list of shoes…? 

         No need for Hat-man to reply. I already know the dreadful answer. I don’t want to look up at him, but I feel compelled to see his reaction. He gives me an icy-cold stare coupled with a sadistic smirk that confirms my suspicions one hundred percent.

         “… I wear them. And I wear different ones, every day,”  I answer matter-of-factly as helplessness vice-grips me tightly.

         Hat-man nods looking self-satisfied.  “Yes”.

         “How many times must I do this?”

         “How many people did you kill?”

         At this point, I know it’ll be for a long time. But there had to be an end in sight, I encourage myself. Hey, what if I conned Hat-man with a show of hand-wringing repentance? Then I’d get out ‘a here early, right?  Like getting a reduced sentence for good behavior in jail. There is hope for me after all. As they say, ‘hope springs eternal’.   

         “Wrong!” pipes in Hat-man, the mind reader. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you need to know that Hell is forever, and you will cycle through wearing those same shoes over, and over again into infinity. Your victims demand it, and I aim to please.”

         I doubt he is sorry about it at all. He seems far too gleeful.

         Suddenly, ear-splitting bells toll seven times somewhere close by. Their reverberation shakes the ground to and fro so violently that I am forced my knees. “What’s that?”

         “Haven’t you ever heard, ‘the bells toll for thee?” Those ringing bells are to be a daily reminder of your dismal fate. And while you’re on your knees, if you’re thinking of praying, don’t bother.  I’m not going to save you for the same reason you didn’t save any of those poor souls whose lives you stole and whose futures you ruined. Not to mention the untold grief you cause their families and friends. You see, Robert Stone you’re just a job to me.”

         He finally got me. I hung my head in utter defeat. Sadly, I realized there is no second chance for me. Furthermore, and forever I will continue to pay for my crimes every time I walk in other peoples’ shoes.