Thursdays With Death

TWD - Chapter 8 - Death's Downtown Office

Thursday morning came quickly and I was panicking because I had no idea where I was supposed to go for my appointment with Death. I had checked the business card again, but found no address listed. It was 7 am and as I was eating breakfast, I saw something move out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over at the counter, but didn’t notice anything unusual, so I went back to eating breakfast. As I finished eating and put the newspaper back together, I noticed movement again from the counter. I glanced over again and saw nothing out of the ordinary, but decided to get up and walk over to the counter. As I got up, I noticed something on the floor. I walked toward the counter, bent down, and picked up Death’s business card. It had been up on the counter, but was now on the floor.

“Hmmph,” I grunted. I must have knocked this off when I reached for my cereal in the cupboard earlier, I thought to myself. As I went to lay the card down on the counter, I noticed something different about the card. I looked closer, and at the bottom of the card in big, bold neon pink lettering, was an address:

3333 North Central Avenue, Ste. 1301

“Boy,” I mumbled to myself, “I don’t remember seeing that?” Something wasn’t right here. I know that when I looked at the card earlier in the morning, there was no address. Well, I thought to myself, at least now I know where to go.

I cleaned up the dining table, put the bowl I used into the dishwasher, threw the dog a chicken jerky treat, and headed out the door. My next stop was downtown Phoenix.

I found 3333 North Central Avenue easily. It was one of the recently built high rises on the west side of the street. I found a parking spot in the garage and took the people mover to the lobby of the building. I found the elevators and quickly jumped through the doors of one that was closing. I glanced at the buttons, but could find no button for the 13th floor. Then it dawned on me. They don’t include the 13th floor in most buildings. As I stared at the two rows of buttons, I decided that maybe the card was misprinted. Death’s office must have been on either the 12th floor or the 14th floor. I pushed the button for the 12th floor and the elevator began to rise.

When the elevator door opened, I stepped out and glanced around. Rooms 1201 to 1230 were to my left; rooms 1231 to 1260 were to my right. For some reason, I felt drawn toward my right so I walked down the hallway and came to the end. I found room 1260 on the left and, much to my surprise, found room 1301 on my right.

I slowly opened the door, not sure what to expect on the other side. As I stepped inside, a receptionist desk was in front of me, with a smiling receptionist looking my way.

“May I help you?” she asked brightly. I hate it when people are so perky in the morning.

“Yes, I’ve got a 9 o’clock appointment with Death,” I said, with a bit of wonder in my voice.

“Oh, you must be Mr. Stone,” the receptionist said. “Mr. D. is running late. Right this way.” The receptionist stood and walked toward an ornate antique door. She opened it and led me in.

“Mr. D?” I said to myself as we walked into a huge office. A magnificent cherry wood desk sat in the middle of the room, with two overstuffed chairs in front of it. Behind the desk near the glass walls that looked out over downtown Phoenix (I can see the United Airways Center and Chase field from here, I thought to myself) were what looked like French provincial furniture. I saw a divan to my left; two high-back chairs next to that and what looked like a coffee table made from parquet flooring in between them. A gold-plated regulation-size basketball hoop stood in the corner.

“Mr. D. will be right with you,” the receptionist said. “Have a seat.”

I sat down in front of the desk and marveled at all of the artwork in the room. There was a copy of Monet's Waterlillies (The Clouds) on one wall, and a copy of Dali’s The Persistence of Memory on the other. And was that . . . no it couldn’t be. But it was. My mouth fell open as I realized that it was a . . .

Suddenly, a door that I had not noticed swung open from the middle of the wall to the left of the desk, and in walked Death.

“Hey, good morning,” Death said. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was terrible.” Death walked to the desk, threw down a newspaper and sat down behind it. “So, let’s get down to business.”

Death looked at me as I popped the rest of my eclair into my gaping mouth. I wasn’t sure what business we were talking about, so I just stayed silent.

“Since I beat you in poker last week, you are now in my debt. And since you have begun to walk the path again, you will now be required to hand over to me pieces of you that die every couple of days. It’s all in the contract that is in the folder with your name on it that you’ll find on the table next to you."

I glanced over and saw the folder on the table. That’s odd, I thought. I don’t remember a table being there. I picked the folder up and opened it, and found a contract with my name on it. As I began to read, Death interrupted.

“It’s all pretty standard stuff,” Death said. “It’s actually very nearly the same contract you signed in your last life.”

I looked at Death for a few minutes, then put pen to paper and signed on the dotted line, and my adventures with the Grim Reaper began.