Death's Tale

"And what do you do for a living, Mr…?"
"Jacobs. Jake Jacobs."
"Mr. Jacobs. What do you do for a living?"
How was I supposed to answer that? 'Oh, I'm a hit man. I go out and kill the people that you don't want to kill or don't have the skill to. Got any jobs for me?' Now, don't you think that's an alarming answer to tell someone who's supposed to be 'curing' you? This doctor was going to think I was absolutely off my rocker.
"I mostly do odd jobs. You know, lift heavy things for sweet little old ladies, work on farms, load trucks... That kind of stuff."
"I see."
It was the typical answer for a counselor. Or therapist. Or whatever the heck this guy was, I don't know. I don't even know why I was there. My wife, she thinks something's wrong with me. Thinks that I'm unemotional. What the hell am I supposed to be, anyway? You have to be detached when you're in my line of work. Of course I couldn't sit there and tell her that either. She'd divorce me in a hurry and take the kids away.
Now, I know I just went and said that I had to be detached in my line of work, but that doesn't mean I wasn't your average family man. I loved my wife, and I loved my kids just as much if not more. They were the one thing I had any sort of compassion for in my life, and that alone was my weakest point. My wife knew that I loved them all deeply; I wasn't afraid to show my love for them. But it was my lack of emotion for anything else in our life that worried her. God, Annie just worried too much about everything, but most of all, she worried about me.
Annie knew I had a 'troubled' past. My mom flew out on us when I was eight, and my dad slowly lost control from then on. He got involved in drugs and soon I had to learn to fend for myself. Fending for myself not only meant doing the laundry and cooking my own meals; it also meant sticking up for myself. You see, when your dad's involved in the drug scene, work will most definitely follow him home. And when good ol' daddy's all hopped up on drugs and some guy's got a gun to your head, threatening your dad, it's hard to depend on the drugged party to help you. So I bulked up. I got some muscle, learned how to fight, and even got a gun license. That's as far of my past as Annie knows. I won't let her know about how I became a hit man, or even that I am a hit man.
"Mr. Jacobs?" The counselor/therapist/whatever peered at me over his glasses.
"Sorry?"
"Do you know why your wife's so worried about you?"
"She thinks I'm detached, Dr." I smiled softly. Sweet little Annie.
"You find this amusing," The doctor stated, his eyebrows going up his forehead a few inches.
"Oh no, doc, I really don't," I shook my head, unable to get rid of that smile. "Annie worries too much for her own good."
"And why do you think that's so, Mr. Jacobs?"
"Please, call me Jake. Mr. Jacobs is awfully irritating."
If his eyebrows hadn't been high enough all ready, they shot up a little bit more. "I'm sorry; why do you think Annie worries too much, Jake."
"She loves me, doc," I sighed. "She's so in love with me, and I'm so in love with her."
He took a moment to write some words down on his pad that he held in his lap. The one thing that I found so irritating about visiting these types of doctors was that they always gave off an impression that they were studying you like some caged animal. I wasn't a caged animal. I was closer to a wild one, yet I was being studied as if they had captured me and wanted to see what my behavior was like.
"You make that sound like it's a bad thing."
"It is a bad thing."
He looked at me expectantly and I stared right back at him. If he wanted to dig for emotions, he could dig all he wanted. I was good at hiding those emotions in the deepest pit inside of me. Again, it was something a hit man could not let get in the way. If I had been as emotional as Annie, or any of the saps that came into this office, I wouldn't be alive. The first gun that had ever been pointed at my head would have done me in.
"What do you want, doc?" I asked, leaning back in my chair.
"Why is it a bad thing, Jake?"
"Because it endangers her."
"Why does it endanger her?"
"It just does."
I stared at him again, daring him to go on. Honestly, his repetitive questions were getting highly annoying. Every time I answered a question, he wanted me to elaborate. He kept firing questions at me, and I was so over this whole meeting. I loved Annie, I really did. It was why I even humored her by coming to this place. But there were no amount of questions in the world, no amount of treatments, that could ever get me to change. Some people think that everyone can change. I would agree with them, but I was past my point of changing. I changed a long time ago and I wasn't turning back now.
"That doesn't explain anything, Jacob."
"Who said it had to, doc?" I sat up in my chair, leaning forward so my face was closer to his. "Who said I had to explain myself to you? You don't know a damned thing about me, doc. If you did, you wouldn't be asking these questions. You'd know you were wasting your time."
He looked at me with those same raised eyebrows. His eyebrows weren't what I was focusing on though. His eyes, his deep brown eyes, showed fear in them. He had recognized the animosity in my voice. He didn't need a second warning.
"I think we're done for today, Mr. Jacobs."
"Thanks, doc."
I leaned away from him before standing up and grabbing my coat. I was at the door, my hand grasping the handle when he decided to speak again.
"What do you really do for a living?"
"I'm Death, doc," I replied, opening the door with a soft smile on my face. "A prying man's worst nightmare."
I got one look at his face as I swung the door closed behind me. It was a face that I would never forget. He had obviously taken my words seriously, for there was a look of pure terror on his face and I was very positive that it wouldn't leave it until he saw my car drive away.