I pull into the parking lot of my apartment complex and take the last space on the left next to the wall, hiding the ravaged door from the casual glance. I turn off the engine and look up into the apartment on the second floor in front of me; the kitchen light is on, the blinds up, and the heavy white girl with nappy red hair is in her nightshirt, making a sandwich at the floor-to-ceiling window. I’ve passed her numerous times in the parking lot, with barely three words between the two of us.
Her name is Debra. She never was attractive, growing up awkward and overweight. Boys have stopped looking at her altogether. She has a seven-year-old beagle as her only companion, never going out at night, staying away from the world of beautiful people.
I get out of the car and slam the door, staring into Debra’s apartment. She looks out the window at the sound and meets my eyes. I stride to the stairwell and pace up to the second floor. My knock makes the metal door sound like a gong, and Debra opens it slowly. Peanut butter crusts the side of her mouth. I lean down and lick the extra-crunchy from her face, then stand back and smile.
"May I come in?" I ask.
Debra steps aside and I enter her apartment. An ugly purple sofa sits against one wall, opposite a 32-inch television. Four tall bookshelves line the other walls, filled to overflowing with romance paperbacks and mysteries. Her beagle trots out of the bedroom and up to me, sniffs my knees. I scratch the dog behind the ears and it pants in contentment. I turn around as Debra closes the door and walks up to me.
I motion to the bedroom with my head. "Shall we?"
Inside the room I disrobe slowly, letting her stare at my thin body. When I’m completely naked, I walk over and lift her nightshirt over her head, wincing discreetly at the fresh pain in my ribs. Her large breasts sag; her skin is soft and doughy. I guide her over to the bed and lay her down on her back.
I stroke her face with the back of my hand. "Don’t worry," I say, "it will only hurt for a second."
Debra’s thighs ripple as I pound into her, and she turns her head to the side. She bites her lower lip and lets out a small cry as her hymen gives way, her short nails digging furrows into my shoulders. The LifeWeb adjustment coincides with my orgasm, momentarily rendering me blind and mute. I sense the vastness of the Web itself, stretching far past our solar system to the four corners of God. It constantly heaves and shudders, vibrating with an infinite number of plucks from all over its endless reach. After a long moment, the feeling subsides, and I’m back in my frail human body again, lying atop Debra. I pull out and roll to the side to catch my breath.
"Do you want to hear a story?" I pant quietly, not wanting to spoil the moment.
She nods her head. Her red hair is plastered to the pillow with sweat.
"For years now," I say, "scientists have theorized about how the universe works. Some believe that it will continue to expand until every star and planet is so far apart that journeying from one place to the next will become impossible, and we will be completely isolated."
Debra’s breathing is steady next to me; I have her full attention.
"Others say that the universe expands and contracts, forever swinging from one side of the pendulum to the other, achieving a cosmic balance through positive and negative cancellation. My boss likes that one. But it’s not what really happens. The truth is that the universe will stop expanding and begin contracting, cramming tighter and tighter until everything is ultimately destroyed in the Big Crunch, kind of like the opposite of the Big Bang. And that makes me happy, because I won’t be needed any longer."
Debra puts her knees down and rolls onto her side, her back to me, pulling up into a fetal position.
"That’s not much of a story," she says in a quiet voice, tinged with a soft Southern accent.
I chuckle and lace my fingers behind my head. "No, you’re right, it’s not. But I wanted to share it with you."
I wait until I hear Debra snoring lightly, then get out of her bed. My clothes are crumpled on the floor at the footboard; I dress quickly and leave the apartment. I want to stay and tell her all the mysteries of the universe, that she would have died alone and unloved in seven years from ovarian cancer. That perhaps now she’ll have the confidence to leave her apartment at night and meet new people, and that one of those new people might find her attractive. That maybe he’ll notice her looking pale and clammy one day and convince her to go to the hospital. I want to tell Debra how important she is, how necessary Officer Ken Tyler was tonight, in maintaining the balance. Instead, I tiptoe down the stairs and back to my own ascetic apartment.
Inside, I click on the halogen lamp. I walk over and stand before the headshot of the Prince. I had the portrait framed years ago, not long after the Master started contacting me. He always finds unusual ways of telling me what my next assignment will be. I make the sign of the Libra and descend to my knees. I press my hands to the floor, close my eyes and take a deep breath. Something in the kitchen is rotting.
A blue light fills my soul as the presence of the Master manifests; my skin prickles as all my body hairs stand on end. I gaze up at the portrait.
YOU HAVE DONE WELL TONIGHT, the voice of Fate booms through the Prince’s mustachioed mouth. The portrait is from his Purple Rain phase. YOU EQUALIZED TWO LIVES, THOUGH THE GIRL WAS BALANCED AHEAD OF SCHEDULE.
"Yes, Master."
YOUR NEXT ASSIGNMENT IS IN ANN ARBOR, TWO DAYS FROM NOW. YOU WILL TRAIN A NEW CONSCRIPT IN THE ARTS OF SYMMETRY. DO NOT FAIL ME.
"A new conscript? Master, I don’t think I’m ready . . . "
YOU ARE READY ENOUGH. SHE WILL BE TRAINED.
"But Master, what about my car? And new supplies?"
YOU WILL BE PROVIDED FOR. FATE IS ALL.
"Yes, Master."