Spliced

The office in question was paneled with exquisite mahogany, fine furnishings, and no windows. It was well suited to the man who occupied it, given the town rumors. A man who was well-suited himself.

It was often said he had no soul. But that was silly, after all, he who is so talented at catering to the wants of others must surely know what it is like to yearn for something. How could he understand the needs of others so clearly, if he was not intimately familiar with the feeling? But if Coal longed for something there was not a soul alive who knew what it was. And so the rumors persisted, and the townsfolk wondered at what mysteries lay beneath those windowless icy blue eyes?

Whether or not the stories were true however, was of little interest to the man who wanted.

The man who wanted was also well-suited. He might have been mistaken for Coal’s reflection, if not for the fairness of his hair, the gaunt cheeks, and the shadows under his eyes. He must have had a pretty face once, but sleepless nights had stolen it away. He hung in limbo, on the threshold of the doorway to the office, reluctant to make his request just yet, but also too desperate to flee back out the way he had come, like any sensible man would have.

Across the room Coal sat comfortably in a leather chair and studied his new guest. Hesitation wasn’t uncommon among the people Coal entertained.

Yet, despite the guest’s obvious discomfort he stood straight and firm. He did not wring his hands like some, but kept them clenched at his side in gentle fists. He was probably rich, stubborn, and used to getting what he wanted.

Coal did not like stubborn people, but in return for a small fee, he was very good at giving people what they wanted, and he didn’t have to like the man to enjoy the good old game of negotiation.

The man stopped between the two chairs in front of Coal’s desk but he did not sit.

Coal laced his fingers together and leaned forward. Unperturbed by the hesitation he smiled at the man. “What can I do for you?”