Tell Me the Name
by Darren O. Godfrey

"Tell me the name of the person you hate the most."

"Tom Smith."

"Really. I would have guessed you'd say your father's name."

"I never say my father's name."

"Then your hatred for your father does run deeper."

"No, I've simply pushed my father away from me. He is no longer a part of me, therefore he is not hated by me."

"Well, who is this Tom Smith person?"

"He's the one I want to get closer to."

"Ah. I see. 'Keep your friends close, your enemies closer.' That sort of thing?"

"Exactly."

"And what, exactly, was it that brought about such hatred for the man?"

"He had sexual relations with my wife."

"Tell me, what would you do to this Tom Smith, if you could?"

"You mean, if it could be done without the risk of legal penalty?"

"Correct."

"I would kill him."

"How? What method would you choose?"

"I believe I would slowly introduce Ajax cleanser into his blood veins."

"Feel that would 'clean up his act', do you?"

"Yes."

"Why such a gruesome retribution?"

"Because he was my friend--once. When we were children, he was my best friend."

"I see. And what would you do to your wife?"

"My wife? I would do nothing to my wife. I did nothing to my wife."

"Why not?"

"Because I love her."

"But did she not betray you in the same manner that Mr. Smith did?"

"Perhaps. But I never took a vow to love, honor, and cherish Mr. Smith."

"Ah, I see. You take that vow seriously then?"

"Very."

"Even though your wife apparently did not?"

"Even though."

"Why do you suppose she did not honor her wedding vow?"

"She suffered from brain tumors. Four of them to start with. Several more developed later. I suspect that had a lot to do with it."

"And what's become of her?"

"She's dead. The tumors."

"And Mr. Smith? What's become of him?"

"I don't know."

"Is he still alive?"

"Last I heard."

"Do you have plans, then, to bring him 'closer' to you?"

"Plans? No, I wouldn't say plans. I will let things take their natural course."

"And you feel this…waiting will result in…? Help me out here, I don't understand."

"I feel that justice will eventually be served, balance will be restored."

"Ah, the Great Wheel, eh? Or will it be, to your way of thinking, divine justice?"

"By 'the Great Wheel', do you mean fate?"

"Yes."

"I suppose it could be something like that. 'What comes around goes around', yes."

"And so Mr. Smith's retribution will not come about, you feel, by God's hand?"

"No, I don't. I do not believe in God."

"No Supreme Being?"

"No Supreme Being. Unless you're talking about Marilyn Monroe. There, at least physically, was a supreme being."

"Ah. Body like a goddess."

"Yes."

"Well. Back to the matter at hand. Payback. Do you honestly feel that Mr. Smith will eventually get his comeuppance, even if you remain idle?"

"I'm not idle. I am preparing."

"Really? 'Chance favors the prepared mind' and all that?"

"Yes."

"And how are you preparing?"

"I am destroying my soul."

"Oh really? Fascinating. Two questions on that: How are you destroying your soul? And how will doing so prepare you for the destruction of Tom Smith?"

"I'll answer the second one first: Without a soul, allowing him to die, watching him die, will be so much easier. I will feel no pity for him. I will relish his passing."

"And the first question?"

"I've decided I cannot answer that one."

"Why not?"

"The destruction of one's soul is a very private thing. Also, the mere mentioning of it may be construed as confession…and that may restore my soul."

"Wait one minute. Doesn't that bring us back to You Know Who, the One in Whom you do not believe?"

"Not necessarily. Confession is also a sort of meditation…of contemplation and resolve. That's too mentally healthy for me…too risky for my objective."

"To destroy your soul."

"To destroy my soul."

"Isn't the notion of a soul a Christian one?"

"You should read more."

"You realize, of course, that you are allowing this Mr. Smith's heinous, yet petty, act to destroy you. That is such a waste, is it not?"

"Who said anything about destroying me? I'm talking merely about my soul."

"And you feel you will be able to function as you without possessing a soul?"

"Of course. Most people do."

"Most people?"

"Most politicians, lawyers, educators, entertainers. Most doctors. Most leaders of men. Most people."

"So, to your way of thinking, there are few humans walking this earth who can boast custody of a soul."

"Yes. But the soulful ones do not boast about it. Pride is a step toward losing one's soul."

"You know, for a non-believer, you sound exceedingly Christian."

"So I've been told."

"Your plan then, or rather your 'preparation', is to demolish your own soul so that, when you and Mr. Smith once again cross paths, you will have no trouble…what? killing him?"

"No. I told you that is what I'd do if there was no risk of penalty. Remember?"

"I remember. But how will you 'allow' him to die? How will you 'watch' him die?"

"What could happen is…well…I may find him, after I've become 'friends' with him once again, I may find him suddenly in a dying situation. I may then watch him die, and enjoy it. Being soulless."

"And what if you do not find him suddenly in a 'dying situation' as you call it?"

"I don't know. I'll play it by ear."

"But let me ask you this: Once your soul is thoroughly demolished, will you not then be capable of killing him yourself, of introducing that bit of Ajax into his circulatory system?"

"Only if my becoming soulless also destroys my sense of self-preservation. I wouldn't want to go to prison, even for that bastard's death."

"All right. Now I want you to tell me something else."

"Certainly."

"Tell me the name of the person you love the most."

"I love no one…no one who is still among the living, that is."

"You still love your wife."

"Of course. I believe I said that earlier."

"You love no one else?"

"You got it."

"You have no children?"

"No children."

"You realize then, that the love you still feel for your late wife may be your highest hurdle in achieving your goal of soul destruction."

"I do."

"You still honor your vow."

"Yes. Though I try not to."

"How? How does one eliminate love?"

"I'd give worlds to know. I've been working on it quite a lot, but it isn't easy, let me tell you."

"Yes. Please tell me. How are you doing it?"

"I cannot. I've told you that."

"Yes, so you have. 'Confession', and all that."

"Yes. All that."

"With no one to return your love--no one breathing, that is--perhaps it can be done. You have no one with which to share. No one to nurture you, your dreams."

"You may have something there."

"And what about your mother?"

"What about my mother?"

"You've not mentioned her in matters of either hate or love. Where does she fit in?"

"She doesn't. I never knew my mother. She died soon after I was born."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"You're a psychiatrist, aren't you? I was hoping you weren't. Shrinks are expensive."

"What I am is curious, curious how the absence of maternal influence on your life might affect your outlook…and your chances of soul destruction."

"I had never given it much thought. It may be a benefit at that."

"So: You will not tell me how you are destroying your soul. Could you at least tell me whether or not you're making any headway with it? Is your soul at least …gasping? withering? clawing at the air?"

"It's difficult to tell. It is in quite a lot of pain, I can tell you that much. And I must say, you've been a big help."

"Glad I could assist. One more thing, then I will leave you."

"All right."

"Tell me the name…of that sandwich you're eating."

"His name was Bobby. I happened upon him in the canal. The neighbor kids tell me he used to drown cats there, so one day I went to…to watch."

"And to learn?"

"Perhaps. Yes, perhaps that's what I had in mind. The children's descriptions of him did paint a picture of a soulless little bastard. By all appearances, though, the boy slipped and hit his head on the concrete, slid down into the water. It's very slick there, you know. Slime build-up. It was all a bit sad, actually."

"A bit?"

"Yes. A bit."

"I see. So you suddenly found him in a dying situation. How incredibly lucky for you."

"Yes."

"And so now you've got a little 'You are what you eat' thing going for you, is that it?"

"Well. One can always hope."

Darren O. Godfrey is a forty-something writer originally from Idaho, currently floundering about in the sea of humanity in Southern California. His short stories have appeared in the Borderlands 2 and The Museum of Horrors anthologies and Black October Magazine, Gorezone, Black Petals, The Scream Factory, Aberrations, Demontia and the Goofus Office Gazette. He has stories coming up in Borderlands 5 and Quietly Now: A Tribute to Charles L. Grant.