Fiction - The Exchange

A musty scent hung in the air. Slivers of light filtered in through breaks in the boards that covered the windows. A single table, flanked by two identical chairs, stood in the middle of the room. A thick layer of dust covered every flat space.

Michael tread carefully into the house. His gaze scanned the room, halting on the portrait that was hanging on the wall. He walked over to it, inspecting the golden frame. He wondered who the woman in the picture was. Time had eaten away at the paper, leaving the woman nearly unidentifiable. Michael easily identified the frame as early eighteenth century, judging it by the design and the damage that nature had caused it.

The door creaked behind Michael, causing him to turn around. Light blinded him for a second, and only when the door slammed shut could he finally see who had arrived.

Jeremy nodded at him half-heartedly. Michael stepped forward, holding out his hand. He had been waiting for some time to meet this man.

“How're you doin'?” Jeremy asked. His joints creaked as he sat down.

“Good, good. It is an absolute honour to-”

“I know. Now get on with it.”

“Right. I have the treasure here,” Michael said, groping around in his jacket pocket.

“You know, my grandpa used to live in a shack, just like this one. All dusty and old. I'd not be surprised if this is it.”

Michael continued searching until he finally pulled out a black stone.

“Ah, here it is. I was told you'd have the money?”

“We'd go huntin' in the winters, camping out in this lil' place. It was the only time I really got to spend with 'im.”

“Right. Do you have the money with you?”

“Money? Oh, yes.” Jeremy searched a bit and revealed a small silver case. “My old lady gave this to me. She said I should always keep my most valued treasure in here.”

 “You can keep the case, if that's what you're worried about.” Micheal quickly weighed the case in his mind, taking the possible materials into consideration. “Probably not worth much anyway.”
Jeremy opened the case, causing a sharp click to sound through the room. Inside was wads of cash, packed in perfect rows.

“Packed 'em just like my old lady taught me to,” Jeremy said.

Michael stepped forward, picking up a pack. He flipped through them, mentally making a rough estimate of how many there were. Small pieces of the notes tore off as he ran his finger over the rough paper though, so he quickly stopped and put the money back.

“It's all there then?”

“My stone, please,” Jeremy said, pulling the case a bit closer to him.

“Of course.” Michael put the stone on the table. It was pitch black. So black, the area around it seemed to grow darker. He reached out, attempting to get the case from Jeremy.

“I'm sorry, kid. I can't give this money away. That's not how I do business.”

Pulling out a pistol from his pants pocket, Jeremy shook his head.

“I was just startin' to like you, too.”

Michael heard the shot echo through his mind long before he felt the pain. Saw the blood.

 Jeremy Smith was a shady guy. People say that he always hired new people to help him on a tomb robbing expedition because he killed all the previous ones. Perhaps Michael should never have trusted him in the first place. As Michael's life ended, he frowned, wondering how he could have done it differently.