The Messenger (2011 reformat)
MESSENGER
Edward Lee
(2011 edition)
I created this
custom eBook from a very poorly formatted rich-text file. I did not have a
hard-copy of the original book to provide a “master” or guide as I re-formatted
and cleaned-up the rich-text file.
The source
file contained an enormous amount of spelling and punctuation errors, unlabeled
main and sub-chapters; and even missing words. As a result of not having an
original copy, and because this .rtf was so poorly created, I had to make a
small amount of interpretations of the text of the original book.
I would like
to assure you that those interpretations were kept to a bare minimum. Mostly,
I had to interpret where the author used a “-“ and/or “...” at the end of
speech, line breaks and/or paragraph ends. I also had to determine where two sub-chapters
began in two main chapters.
In the end, my
version of Edward Lee’s “The Messenger” is by far more readable than the original
rich-text file. I hope you find it an improved version as well.
In the end, I
sincerely hope you have an enjoyable reading experience of this outstanding
novel.
Flyboy707
September,
2011.
Death was in
the package. Of course, it would've been impossible for Dodd to know that,
unless he'd been psychic-which he wasn't-but either way it scarcely mattered.
He never would've been able to guess. Why would he? It was a simple fact that
he would discover soon enough: The odd box he'd just picked up off the belt
contained his death.
Dodd sorted
packages. That was his job. He was a package handler. It wasn't a bad job, as
far as jobs went. Great benefits, good pay and retirement, paid vacation,
plenty of available overtime when he needed some extra money, and the location,
of course. When he picked up the package in question, there wasn't a whole lot
on his mind. By now, his tasks had become so ingrained, most of his mind
switched off; he became an automaton, sorting all these packages.
Day in, day
out, in this same place. The same scenery, the same noises, the same tasks. He
paused by the belt, and thought: I've still got nine more years of this before I
can retire. That truth often overwhelmed him, even though, for the most part,
he didn't mind his job. He didn't want to try to guess how many packages he'd
picked up and moved in his career. Enough to circle Earth? Enough to reach the
Moon? Abstractions were of little value on the line. It was easier to just
throw the packages into the proper zone bin and move on to the next one.
Day in, day
out.
Sometimes his
mind would stray, though, usually to some image that involved sex. Dodd was
married to a loving and rather drab wife. She was not attractive, nor
unattractive, just... drab, as drab as Dodd's package handling life. On the
rare occasions when his mind strayed, he never thought of her. He'd think
fleetingly, in freeze-frames of local women he'd see on the street; living this
close to a beach town, there was much to fill his mind when he became bored or
anxious. Yesterday, for example, he'd stopped by the drugstore for cigarettes
and saw a beautiful woman-thirty, perhaps- buying a beach towel and a tube of suntan
lotion. Dodd got tunnel vision standing behind her in line. Her hair shined,
chocolate brown, shoulder length, fragrant. She was wearing white shorts and a
stunning rose-pink bikini top. The top was a bit small on her; it buoyed her
breasts like blushing satchels. Her skin wasn't tan at all, though; like Dodd,
perhaps she had a job that kept her out of the sun. But her beauty seemed
focused, very compact. To see her standing there, voluptuous yet nonchalant,
felt like an impact to Dodd. The vision was a lovely punch in the eye.
Did she sense
him looking at her?
She turned and
smiled at him.
More impact.
"Hi,"
she said.
"Hi,"
Dodd replied, nearly faltering. "Hitting the beach, I see."
"Yeah."
She sheepishly held up the towel. "Can you believe it? I've lived here
almost a year now, and I don't even own a beach towel, haven't even been out to
the beach. Well, today I fix that. I'm pale as a ghost."
"I don't
get out much, either," Dodd replied.
"A
postman?" she said, noticing his work uniform. "All that walking around,
delivering mail?"
"I'm not
a carrier. I work inside." I'm a package handler...and you are one package
I'd like to handle.
"Oh,
that's too bad."
"Not
really. I get to stay inside in the air-conditioning while everyone else gets
the heat."
"Good old
Florida." She was turning the tube of lotion around in her fingers.
"But that's one thing that doesn't bother me. I love the heat. I love it
when it's hot."
She smiled at
him again, very discreetly.
"Me
too," Dodd said.
The tunnel
vision intensified. She was radiant in curves, long legs, and fresh white skin
that shined. He imagined what her nipples were like-large and dark, the kind
that pucker a little, he decided. He imagined kissing her. He imagined being
pressed up against her, both of them naked, sharing each other's body heat,
arms entwined. Her hands ranging across his body.
"Would
you like to go?"
The impact of
the vision fractured. He blinked. "Go?" he muttered.
"To the
beach, with me," she said, still smiling. "We could go to one of those
beach bars by the hotels. I've never been."
"I..."
His hand tightened around his wallet. "I'd really like to, but-"
Then she saw
his wedding band; however, the smile didn't abate. "Oh, I see. Don't feel
that bad about it." She held up her hand. "I've got one of those
too."
Dodd's breath
shortened. Go, he thought. Just go... But he said, "I...I'm sorry. I wish
I could, but I can't."
Her lashes
batted. "I understand. You're a good man."
He couldn't
stop looking at her as she paid for her towel and lotion. I could be putting
that lotion on her, he reminded himself. Her buttocks in the tight white shorts
couldn't have been more perfect. He wanted to spread the lotion over that, too,
and everywhere else. They could go to the nude beach out past the campgrounds.
He'd spread the lotion all down her legs, up her back, then turn her around.
All up her perfect stomach and breasts, up the insides of her thighs.
Everywhere.
"
'Bye," she said. A final smile, which seemed sad now, as sad as Dodd's life.
" 'Bye.
Have fun."
She walked
out, calves flexing as her flip-flops snapped.
God...
The vision was
gone. Dodd was back at the post office, sorting his interminable packages.
That's when he
picked up the package that would be his death.
He hit the
stop button on the conveyor. He didn't know why. He didn't think, Why did I do
that? or I'm going to stop the belt. He just did it. He stood there. He looked
at the package.
It was an
oddly shaped box, oblong. It was wrapped in plain brown paper, like the paper
grocery bags are made of. There was no return address, and the postmark
appeared smeared; Dodd couldn't make out the city, state, or zip code it had
been mailed from. He looked at the top again. The box read:
DANELLETON
POST OFFICE, DANELLETON, FLORIDA
It had been
written by hand with a red felt-tip, marker in an erratic scrawl.
Due to its
nature-no return address, shoddily wrapped-a package like this was an instant
red flag to the original handler. But it wasn't a bomb. It contained no
anthrax, no poison gas nor germ warfare agents. It had already been x-rayed and
bomb scanned at the central distribution depot in Orlando. Even in this day,
before the Unabomber and before the anthrax scare of 2002, a package this
suspicious would be vigorously scrutinized. This one had been and it was
cleared. Nevertheless it still contained his death. But it wasn't anything from
a terrorist or psychopath.
Since the box
wasn't addressed to a resident or business, Dodd's next job was to deliver the
package to the branch manager, who wouldn't be in until later.
Instead Dodd
did something that he was clearly not authorized to do.
He opened the
package.
More crinkling
as he peeled the paper off. Did the box feel hot? No, that was ridiculous. He
opened it slowly, not in fear or hesitation but in some undecipherable
adoration. His eyes were wide and unfocused. He wasn't really even looking at
the box, he was adoring it in his hands.