The Debtors (standard:Psychological fiction, 1226 words)
Author: Kenneth Moon	Added: Jun 05 2003	Views/Reads: 3751/2270	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A story about a man who died twice. Sounds simple right . . . ?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

where he signed carefully scrutinized forms and kept his money 
painstakingly active.  He passed the front desk clerk, who clipped a 
hello and tried to act like she was busy doing something.  Stephen 
glared at her suspiciously and shuffled briskly to the stairs, the 
elevator always to full of pressing people. 

When he reached his floor, he pushed the door aside and limped into a
bustling office.  A money-grubbing woman smiled at him in passing, a 
steaming Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand.  She was an exception.  No 
one ever spoke to Stephen, and only a select, naïve, few dared smile at 
him.  So he was understandingly surprised when Harvey, the poor, 
balding secretary muttered a few words in his direction. 

“The young woman you met at the party the other night is in your office.
 We tried to get her to leave, but she wouldn't listen.  She is Walde 
Worth's daughter, after all,” he stammered.  “We couldn't very easily 
turn her away.” 

Stephen's brow furrowed in annoyance as he walked away from Harvey's
pitiful attempt at sucking up.  There was only one plausible reason for 
her being there.  Stephen clamped his jaw tight.  He would rid his 
world once and for all of this rapacious wench who had been doting on 
his wallet for years.  He swung open his oak doors speedily and stalked 
into his spaciously well-lit office.  Too late did he realize that he 
was alone with another human being. 

She was dressed in a short, bright-red skirt and jacket, the latter
covering a glimmering white blouse.  Her heels added an inch to her 
height and her fashioned hat cast and imposing shadow across her face, 
red lipstick contrasting the darkness.  Before he could act, he was 
trapped in the depths of her eyes.  Immediately, he could see her 
desire for his riches.  “I know what you want!” he shrieked, edging as 
close as possible to the nearest wall. 

“I like a man who knows what I want,” she purred demurely, casually
stepping closer.  She placed her thin hands on his chest and moved to 
touch his lips with her own. 

Panicked, Stephen turned and raced toward the door, grasping the handle
with a shaky hand.  He could feel her breath at the nape of his neck as 
he rushed from the room.  In a daze he staggered to the elevator; it 
was worth the risk this time.  Soon after, his cane clicked rapidly on 
the sidewalk.  He turned into an alley and ran headlong into a gun. 

“Hey, buddy, gimme yer wallet, or I'll blow yer guts to Toledo,” the
unshaven vagrant blurted. 

“Never!” Stephen gasped, raising his gold-tipped cane to bat the fiend
away.  He heard a muffled pop and felt a wrenching in his stomach.  
Doubling over, and striking the ground, he could vaguely feel rough 
hands searching his pockets.  He mumbled, “My money.” 

The disgruntled vagabond, satisfied with a pure leather wallet in hand,
searched its crevices and cried, “A lousy five dolla' bill!  No credit 
cards!  No nothin'!  What kind of paranoid freak is this guy?”  His 
hand crumbled the bill and he threw the wallet to the pavement. 

From what seemed far away, Stephen heard the man hustle away in the
distance, and shuddered one last time, his hand gripped tightly around 
the tip of his cane, hiding its color. 


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