Greetings listeners and welcome to Dark Corner. My name is Kyle Coffman and I'll be your host on today's episode. 

For Death’s Amusement by Rollin Jewett 

James Trist returned to his penthouse apartment in the exclusive El Dorado Club Towers later than usual that evening. He’d had yet another argument with his business partner, Thomas Morrel. The argument was over their latest investment property and whether it was facing imminent bankruptcy or not. Trist knew it was time to cut their losses, but Morrel felt they could bring her around eventually. Trist was sure Morrel was deluded. 

Lately, tempers had been pretty high between the two men. They had once been great friends, sharing business triumph after triumph and enjoying the spoils of their successes. They had bought many real estate properties together, gone on vacations together, dined in fine establishments and traveled the world. They even once took a fencing class together on a dare, finding out that they both actually enjoyed the competition and discipline of it. For a time, they continued to take lessons after the class had finished. It was good exercise. 

But now they could not seem to agree on anything, either in business or in personal matters. Trist knew it was time to dissolve the tenuous relationship. Anyway, he was ready to make a break in more ways than one from his shared business dealings with Morrel. In due time, he thought. A few more details to put in place and he would never have to deal with his contentious partner again. Trist put business out of his mind and entered his abode. 

As he strode into the marbled foyer, he smiled smugly to himself, admiring as he always did, the intricate Moroccan mosaic floor pattern he’d paid many thousands of dollars to install. He flipped on the lights in the grand rotunda, which featured Corinthian columns and a crystal chandelier that descended from a 30-foot-high frescoed dome. Galleries on either side led to an elegant living room with an ocean-facing window wall flanked by a carved ebony fireplace. 

The El Dorado Club was the most prestigious and exclusive luxury tower apartment building on Marco Island. One had to be of a certain financial echelon to even be considered as a tenant. Trist & Morrel was a highly successful business entity, so Trist got the place easily. There had been a waiting list for this particular penthouse but Trist needed only to flash his card and the list magically disappeared. But only for him. His wife had been so intent on the place that she pestered him until he acquiesced and forked over a fifty percent down payment – 2.5 million dollars. The realtor had been very impressed. 

His wife wasn’t home when he walked in, but he didn’t expect her to be. She had been going out quite a lot in the evenings of late, and not coming home ‘til the wee hours. “Visiting a sick girlfriend” or “drinks with the girls' ' she'd say. This was the third time this 

week and Trist was beginning to get irritated, knowing he’d have to make dinner for himself. Again. 

He walked into the kitchen to prepare himself a Reuben sandwich when he got a sudden text. He expected it to be from his wife but it was from his partner, Morrel. 

“Jim. I’ve got to see you tonight. About business and our partnership. It’s of vital importance that you meet me in person at the warehouse at 11:00. Please.” 

Trist read it over again. He tried to find a reason why Morrel would need to see him. They had just left each other moments before. And why the warehouse? It was only used for storing furniture and equipment. Very strange. He felt a little on guard due to the fact that during their argument earlier, Morrel had mentioned something about a discrepancy in one of their accounts. Perhaps he’d found something out. Still, couldn’t it wait until morning? But Trist knew Morrel’s characteristic impatience. He was like a dog with a bone when he got hold of something -- unshakeable. Might as well get it over with, thought Trist. Maybe this was the breaking point. If that was the case, he’d be ready. He had a few ideas about how he’d handle it. It was only ten now. Trist still had time to make his sandwich and take a quick shower. He texted Morrel back he’d be there. 

At 10:40, Trist got into his Mercedes AMG-GT and headed for the warehouse. He raced along the back roads to miss the lights. And the cops. It was a twenty minute drive but he could make it in fifteen. 

When he arrived, he saw Morrel’s moonlit silver Maserati out front. He parked next to it. Before he got out, he felt in his coat pocket. Yes, the Glock was there. Just in case Morrel tried any funny stuff. His partner could be pretty volatile. 

Trist let himself quietly inside the warehouse. It appeared empty. He called Morrel’s name but there came no answer. Of course, it could be a trap, but Trist decided to investigate anyway. He tried a light switch and an eerie red light came on overhead. He didn’t remember there being a red light, but he hadn’t been to the warehouse in months. He called out for Morrel once more. No answer. 

Suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind and got him in a headlock with what seemed like superhuman force. He was being dragged down the hall to an open room. Trist struggled against the cold looming figure, but it was useless. As he struggled, Trist was aware that the figure wore a dark hood and robe. When the figure reached the room, it thrust Trist to the ground and quickly closed the door behind as it exited the room. 

Trist jumped to his feet and tried the door handle, thinking he hadn’t heard the telltale “click” of the lock. But it was no use. The door did not open, though the handle turned easily. Trist banged on the door and yelled. 

“It’s no use, Jim,” said a tired but familiar voice behind him. Trist turned and looked into the weary eyes of Thomas Morrel. 

Trist attacked him with questions. Morrel told him that he had received the same text as Trist: to be at the warehouse at 11 to talk about important business. The text appeared to have come from Trist’s number. Trist looked at him in disbelief. Someone had brought them both there for a reason. From the looks of the figure who had thrown him into the room, it wasn’t for anything friendly. 

The two men tried to think of an escape plan when the door opened and two more large figures in robes and dark hoods stood there. Before Trist and Morrel could try to escape, they were subdued by the uncanny strength of the goons and dragged to a dank room lit by a single candle. The candle was sitting on a desk with two chairs in front of it. Behind the desk, in a throne-like chair was an even larger figure in a blood red robe. A hood obscured his face 

in shadow. His billowy robe was embroidered with strange symbols. The figure wore white gloves on its enormous hands. 

Trist noticed that the room seemed unnaturally cold. The two ominous henchmen pushed the men into the chairs in front of the desk and then departed. Trist knew it would be of no use to run to the door as it would likely be locked. He looked over at Morrel and saw that he was sweating even though the room was chilly. Trist remained silent and gazed expectantly at the hooded figure in front of him. 

The figure lifted its head and seemed to notice the two men for the first time. Its face was yet to be seen, obscured by the cavernous hood, when it should have been in plain view by the light of the candle. 

“What the hell’s going on?” blurted out Morrel. Impatient as usual, thought Trist. It was obvious: this was a kidnapping ploy and a ransom would have to be paid. After all, the two men were worth many millions. The figure didn’t flinch, so Morrel shut up. There was a moment’s pause and Trist knew it would be of no use to ask questions. 

“You are both, I suppose,” began the figure in a loud deep other-worldly voice that made Trist’s skin crawl, “entitled to an explanation. I suppose you will find it difficult to believe, but it’s deathly important that you do.” The figure chuckled ever so slightly. 

“You’ve probably already guessed,” it began again, “that I was behind the texts. How I did it is of no great consequence to either of you. Why I did it is of grave consequence to both of you.” He chuckled again. 

“You,” he said, pointing to Morrel, “are one Thomas Elias Morrel.” 

“And you,” he said pointing to Trist, “are James Michael Trist. You both know who I am,” he continued after a pause, “as I have been in your eyes since the day you were born.” 

Trist wondered what the figure meant by that. He shivered in spite of his efforts to control his fear. What was going on? Who was this creep? 

“I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Trist,” said the figure without emotion. “I will tell you, although I do not expect you to believe at first. But you will, I assure you, before this night is over.” Trist straightened up in his chair to prepare for the revelation of his kidnapper. 

“I...” said the figure, “am Death.” 

Both men sat staring at the figure. Then Morrel burst out laughing. The figure turned ever so slightly to Morrel and he stopped. 

“One does not laugh at Death, fool,” the figure said coldly. Trist was so confused he could only stare. He didn’t feel like laughing at all. This had to be a bad dream. He expected to wake up at any moment. It was time to get down to brass tacks. 

“All right, Mr. Death,” he started, “What is it you want?” 

“Both of you are here for a purpose,” said Death. “Tonight is the night of judgment for one of you. Whereas two of you came here this evening, only one of you will leave...alive.” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Morrel. 

“You know what I’m talking about, Mr. Morrel,” replied Death. “One of you is going to leave here tonight and continue his life. The other will accompany me. Both of you are great sinners and shall be judged accordingly when you die. One of you shall know that judgment tonight. The other shall know that judgment whenever I decide to call again. And I will. Understood?” 

The two men stared aghast at Death. Morrel was sweating profusely now and even Trist felt his lips tighten. His throat felt parched and his breathing sped up. This isn’t happening, he thought. But deep down he knew it was. He could feel the cold, empty presence of Death in the room. 

“Each year, for my own amusement, I choose two sinners to do my bidding,” Death continued with a sneer in his voice. “This just happened to be your lucky year. You have both sinned terribly against each other, though neither of you know yet what the other has done. Fear not, you shall be enlightened.” 

The two men turned abruptly and faced one another uneasily, knowing that a dark secret was about to be revealed about each of them. Their expressions were tinged with a look of bloodthirsty expectancy. 

“You, Mr. Morrel,” began Death, “have profaned your associate’s household by a most abominable act, a sin that is practiced by thirty percent of all people in the world. The sin of adultery.” 

Trist could’ve almost felt it coming. It tore something from his body to actually hear it. No wonder his wife hadn’t been home in the evenings lately. Trist looked quickly from the figure to Morrel. Morrel was still gazing in stark disbelief at Death, thunderstruck with the realization that his affair with Trist’s wife had just been exposed. 

Trist was seething inside. It was built up inside him like a raging flood held back by the dam of hopeful disbelief. He wanted to kill Morrel right then and there. But there would be time for that later. He sat there quietly staring at Morrel, who could not bring himself to look back. 

“You, Mr. Trist...” began Death again after establishing a piercingly silent pause, “have also sinned against your partner, Mr. Morrel. But I fear you will believe that your offense is not the equivalent of his. I can assure you that it is...for Mr. Morrel loves money the way you love your wife.” 

Morrel gaped questioningly at Death, then at Trist, who returned his gaze with a contemptuous grin. He knew what was coming, and he waited in excited anticipation for what he felt was to be a portion of his revenge. Death turned his shrouded head towards Morrel again. 

“You see, Mr. Morrel, Mr. Trist here has embezzled some three million dollars from the firm of Trist and Morrel over the years and is now in the process of extracting another four.” 

Trist reveled in his moment. He felt triumphant glory in the fact that he had been stealing from right under his partner’s nose and Morrel had no clue. 

Morrel gasped in stunned disbelief. But after the initial shock and acceptance comes the residual anger and rage. He turned to Trist with hatred burning in his eyes. Trist looked at him and smirked. The death pact was sealed. Trist plunged a hand into his jacket. The gun was gone. He looked at Morrel and saw that he was doing the exact same thing. They had both come expecting a trap. 

“I took the liberty of removing your playthings. My associates are clever little pickpockets, are they not?” Death spoke jeeringly. 

“Before I give you the weapons you will use, I will tell you it took me the entire day to plan this little convergence tonight. Hence, it may please you to know that absolutely no one died today. Yet.” 

Death saw both men were still seething and that neither of them could have cared less if the entire world’s population had died that day. It didn’t concern them. The only thing that concerned either of them was the death of the other. 

Death stood up. He told them to stay where they were, as he glided noiselessly across the floor and opened the door. Two henchmen appeared and removed the desk and chairs from the room. The room was now completely empty save for the figures within it. One of the henchmen brought in a black velvet case about five feet long. Death opened the case and 

carefully took out two gleaming silver swords with skull shaped jewels in the handles – one red and one green. Trist looked at Morrel and smiled savagely. So this was it. A sword fight to the finish. Winner take all. Perfect. 

Death grasped the red-jeweled sword and turned to Morrel. He threw the sword straight into the wall right next to Morrel’s right ear. In the same movement, the green-jeweled sword embedded in the opposite wall next to Trist’s left ear. Both men gathered their startled senses and pulled the swords from the wall. 

They then turned to Death, but he had vanished. The door was closed and presumably locked. The two men looked at one another and scowled, each challenging the other to make the first move. 

Trist started forward, snarling an obscenity. The two men circled each other, sizing one another up. Trist was quicker and more athletic, but Morrel was bigger and stronger. 

Morrel suddenly lunged at Trist. Trist moved out of the way and struck downward on Morrel’s sword. Morrel leaped towards Trist and the two swords struck each other several times with a loud metallic “clang”. The noise was deafening in the small room. The swords rose, struck and fell effortlessly and swiftly now. Trist lunged and struck downward, slicing Morrel’s leg. He saw the blood and Morrel’s shocked expression and laughed. 

Morrel countered and struck across Trist’s left arm. Trist felt a surge of pain as the blade cut across the skin, leaving a crimson trail. It angered him and he struck out wildly and savagely, backing Morrel against the wall. Morrel countered and reversed, striking Trist in the left leg. Trist yelled in pain and dropped his sword. Morrel seized the advantage and as Trist’s hand shot out to retrieve his weapon, Morrel’s foot landed on it and held it to the ground. 

Morrel swung his sword high in the air to bring down on Trist’s exposed neck. Trist quickly lunged forward, his head butting Morrel square in the stomach. Morrel doubled over, dropping his sword and gasping for breath. 

Trist, in one quick movement, grasped his own sword and plunged it deep into Morrel’s ribcage and through his heart. Morrel screamed once and as he fell noisily to the floor, Trist felt the presence of Death behind him. He turned quickly and for the first time saw the face of Death: it was Morrel’s agonized death grimace beneath the shadows of the hood! Trist fell awkwardly to the floor and passed out from shock, blood loss and exhaustion. 

The next morning Trist woke with a start. The telephone had rung three or four times. He reached over and answered it. 

“Hello,” he said.
 “James Trist?” said a voice on the other end. Trist acknowledged.
 “I’m Lieutenant John Decker, Marco Island Police Department,” said the voice. Oh 

god, thought Trist. He quickly looked over at his wife sleeping peacefully in the bed next to him. His heart started beating faster, anticipating whatever news was awaiting him on the other line. 

“Sorry to have to inform you,” said the Lieutenant, “Your business partner, Thomas Morrel passed away late last night. His body was found in your company’s warehouse early this morning by the janitor.” 

“Oh, god,” said Trist. “How did it happen?” 

“Heart attack, it appears” said the Lieutenant. “Around midnight last night. I’m very sorry, sir.” 

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Trist, and hung up. He glanced over at his sleeping wife, wondering how she would take the news of her lover’s death. He didn’t care. It was all 

his now to do with as he pleased – his wife, the business, the money, everything. He smiled to himself - a smug secret smile. 

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, his hand touched something small and hard beneath his pillow. He reached under and pulled up a green skull-shaped jewel – an expression of triumphant mockery on its expertly crafted face. 


Well we hope you enjoyed For Death's Amusement.