Eternity's Echo

by H. C. Southwark

  This is always how it is, Ellie realized. Everyone thinks of death this way. ‘It will happen sometime, but not today.’ And then when it does happen, they’re all surprised, because they had thought the same thing over and over, even on the day they died.

  Except me, Ellie considered. I was pretty sure I was going to die. And then I did.

  Ellie looked over the boy in the yellow beanie, considered how he probably had told himself the same thing as always: I am going to die sometime, but not today. Your lucky day, bucko, Ellie snorted. Of course, that was assuming that he had enough self-awareness to think of death at all. Most people intentionally avoided the subject.

  Does it matter if I’m killing them? Ellie thought. They’ll all die anyway.

  And inside her screamed a small voice: Of course it matters!

  Heaving in a breath, Ellie scuffed her boot against the floor, felt the impact rise up through her thigh muscles into her belly. Her pocket-watch heavy in her hand. She reminded herself: one million four hundred thousand souls. They’re gonna be a fireball if they don’t get sent upstairs before the stars fall. C’mon, to work, to work.

  A reaper’s motto: Work, work, work.

  Except reapers did not kill people. They collected them.

  Ellie was about to turn and follow Shawn up the stairs, when the finger of the beanie-boy, pressing onto the elevator button, caught her eye. She paused. Glanced up at the digits above the elevator doors, where the number four was lit up.

  There could be someone in there, she realized. An elevator—we could miss someone, and he would be left behind when the sky literally falls. Shit. I bet there’s people in all sorts of hidden corners—in the back, where they sort the books, and the toilets...

  She was interrupted by a hand on her shoulder. Thinking of Shawn, she whirled, ready to snarl, but then the face that met her own was that of a dark-eyed girl.

  “Cookie,” said Ellie, and that was all she could think to say.

  “You’re working hard,” Cookie responded.

  Ellie watched her glance over the empty shells in the lobby, pursing her lips. When Cookie resumed her grin, Ellie could see the strain on the edges. Why must you always try to be happy?—the question came to Ellie, but she did not voice it.

  “So where’d you go?” Cookie said. “One minute, I’m teaching Shawn a lesson. The next, Niles is there, and you’re gone. I had to do the explaining all myself.”

  There was something perhaps a little nasty in her smile, now, as though this memory was a treat of sorts. Ellie thought back to how loudly Shawn had been wailing before she left, wondered if Niles had taken Cookie’s side automatically. Probably.

  “Went home,” Ellie said, because she knew Cookie would pry the truth out eventually.

  Cookie winced. “Ouch, girl. You get caught?”

  Ellie scuffed her boot, but softer this time. “Yeah.”

  “Lucky you,” said Cookie, and this was not sarcasm. She meant it.

  Ellie was about to ask why Cookie considered being caught breaking the rules was lucky, but then Cookie’s eyes moved, sizing up the frozen meat of beanie-boy.

  “What’d I miss?” Cookie asked.

  “Well,” said Ellie, not quite sure how to put things, “the world has ended.”

  Great going, she thought, after the words left her mouth.

  But Cookie did not seem surprised. She said, “Yeah, I heard. Was with my little old lady, and she freezes—y’know, like they do, sometimes—but doesn’t start moving again. I thought I was going crazy. And so I reaped her, talked to her, weighed her heart, brought her upstairs. She got to Heaven, cool. And they told me I missed the party.”

  “The mentors still up there?” Ellie asked.

  “Yeah,” said Cookie. “They were arguing something about mousetraps, I dunno.” And then, confirming what Ellie suspected, she added, “Niles sent me after you.”

  Of course, thought Ellie, but did not voice this aloud. She said, “What do you think?”

  “About you going back home?” asked Cookie, sticking her hands in her pockets. She wore a blue coat and there were brownish smears from where her gloves, when wet, had entered her pockets before. “Or the end of the world?”

  Both, thought Ellie, but she only managed a shrug. Tell me some theories, Cookie.

  “I dunno, girl,” said Cookie, sighing. “I think they tell you not to go home because it makes you sad. And keeps you thinking about your life and dying, your mistakes, when you should be thinking about everything after. Work, reaping, all that.”

  “We’re reapers,” objected Ellie, tabling the end of the world for just one breath, “We can’t stop thinking about life and death. It’s in the job description.”

  “Yeah, but in abstract,” said Cookie. “Other people’s lives and deaths. Like, they’re easier to deal with when you’re not thinking of yourself. Objectivity, I think it’s called.”

  What about the end of the world? Ellie wanted to ask, her mind circling back to the great concern on hand. Can you be objective about that?

  If I told you I want to stop it, would you call me crazy, Cookie?

  Would you report me—or would you have a theory how to re-start time?

  Would you help me?

  But Cookie’s grin was looking wistful, and she said, “I went home, just once.”

  Ellie had not heard this story. Which was strange, considering that Cookie was such a blabbermouth. Ellie supposed that everyone was tempted to go home at least one time—otherwise, the reapers would not have that rule in the first place.

  She asked, “What happened? Carson catch you?”

  “Yeah, and no,” said Cookie. She bit her lip. “I got to my parents’ house and just kinda stood there. I thought I could go inside and see them, one more time. But then I thought about... well. That I would see what my death had done to them.”

  And her smile faltered. “I never made it inside. Carson found me, just standing there.”

  Ellie sucked in a breath. “Well, my family—” is happier now that I’m dead.

  But she was interrupted by the sound of screaming.

  A young woman’s voice, coming from upstairs. Both Cookie and Ellie stared into each other’s eyes, their conversation, the possibility of re-starting time, all forgotten. The screaming continued, only now separated into words: “This isn’t real, this isn’t real, stop it—” And Ellie watched as Cookie blinked, recognition in her face.

  “Shawn,” said Cookie, and as though crunching the name in her bright teeth.

  Oh boy, thought Ellie, and before she could grab her, Cookie took off running for the stairs. Ellie tore after her, just like an hour ago, just like she had a dozen times before. And yet—as they pounded up the steps, Ellie found herself making a resolution:

  I’m not calling Niles this time.

  After all, the world had ended. No more consequences.

  The words of the red-haired girl came to Ellie: Who says doing the right thing is necessary? I should just enjoy myself. I’m gonna die.

  You can have him, Cookie, Ellie thought. As if Cookie had read her mind, she glanced back at Ellie and nodded, her grin crooked on the lower half of her face.

  At the top of the stairs they emerged to find a young woman, pretty, with blue-dyed hair, running naked past them to dodge down one of the book rows. She had a dozen tattoos and there was a hole in her lip as if for a piercing, which was missing.

  Ellie saw the indecision sweep over Cookie. Her gloved hands were out of her pockets, nails ready for clawing, but Shawn was not in sight. And the woman was. Cowering, hands over her mouth to try and stop sobbing, right in front of them.

  Cookie seemed to come to a decision and, redirected, was pulling off her coat as she approached the woman, her hands up in a nonthreatening gesture.

  Ellie was certain that the woman would see that Cookie was offering her coat, but instead the naked soul saw Cookie approach, shrieked like a bans
hee, and fled back further down the aisles out of sight with a blast of heat in her wake.

  Cookie turned and gave Ellie a look that read, This is the thanks I get?

  Ellie shrugged, and then raised her eyebrows as if to say, What now?

  The both of them knew to be quiet, without stating their agreement aloud: it was best if Shawn did not hear Cookie—and likely Ellie—coming for him.

  Ellie had never kicked the tar out of another reaper before. This might be fun.

  Moving quietly on the carpet flooring, Ellie and Cookie crept among the bookshelves in the direction of the woman, crouched low. They might not be able to see Shawn now, but if they spotted him first, they would have the advantage.

  Ellie felt feral, somehow. Like a jungle cat stalking prey. There was something like glee stirring in her. And relief. She analyzed the feeling, and began to see: it was a relief to do something. Shawn had become like an outlet, a valve to let out steam.

  If I can’t stop the end of the world, she thought, then I can beat Shawn’s brains in.

  This was something. Even if, in the scheme of things, it was actually nothing.

  Up ahead, the woman screamed again. And there a flicker of movement through the shelving. And the sound of Shawn’s ball-and-chain: clink, bump, clink, bump.

  Cookie halted, Ellie behind her. They peered through the books to see Shawn strolling, devil-may-care, or at least as closely as one could stroll, while lugging a ball-and-chain. He whistled, loudly, raising his fists upright like torches.

  “Hey, pretty lady!”

  The soul had made an error: she had run back into the stacks, but this was the end of a row that met the wall, having no gap. She was trapped in an alley. Cowering low, she shrieked, “Leave me alone! You’re a demon, I don’t care what you say!”

  Shawn laughed, but there was something odd about the sound—something forced—

  From behind, Ellie saw the tension ripple through Cookie’s shoulders, her hips, ready to whirl around the stack corner and pounce forward like a tigress—

  But Shawn paused. He lowered his hands and took a step back. He said, as though talking to himself, “Nevermind. This is stupid. I’m stupid.”

  Cookie halted, Ellie froze. The woman’s mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out. Shawn stuck his hands into his pockets and turned away from her.

  “I thought this would be fun,” Shawn added, and now he seemed to be including her in his self-conversation. “I mean... sometimes it is. A way to pass the days, you know? But this isn’t working anymore. I just scared you for no reason, and I’m sorry.”

  Those last two words were something Ellie had never expected Shawn to say. Her mouth dropped open. Cookie’s face twisted, as though the words were physically painful to hear, but then her expression shuttered as she stepped forward.

  Shawn started when Cookie appeared beside him, but she did not look at him, merely handed over her coat to the still-cowering woman. This time, the woman took it, holding the fabric close like the coat was a teddy bear, her eyes wide like marbles.

  “You’re an asshole,” Cookie said, as though talking to the air.

  “Yeah,” Shawn replied. He was avoiding looking at Cookie, keeping his eyes on the lowest bookshelf. Ellie stood from her crouch and padded around the shelf to join them.

  The blue-haired girl was looking among the three of them as if staring hard enough would make everything make sense. She stuttered, “You mean... you’re not a demon?”

  Ellie snorted. A demon would not have stopped. She said, “Close, but no cigar.”

  Cookie turned and pinned Ellie with a hard look. Ellie paused, uncertain, but did not speak further. This was apparently what Cookie wanted, because she turned back and knelt down on the floor to the girl’s height.

  “Hi,” she said, “I’m Cookie. This is Ellie and that idiot is Shawn. What’s your name?”

  The girl’s mouth worked, “Clara.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Clara,” said Cookie. “Do you know what’s happened?”

  As Cookie tried to break the news to the girl—the inevitability of death, the end of the world, upstairs—Ellie tuned out the girl’s increasingly frantic responses, and observed Shawn. He was listening to the exchange, although pretending otherwise. After what seemed like a long time and yet no time at all, Cookie reached out, took the girl’s trembling hand in her own, and clicked the knob of her reaper’s tool. The girl vanished.

  “When I get time,” Cookie said, straightening up, “I’m still kicking the shit out of you.”

  Shawn did not look surprised. He shrugged, said, “Whatever.”

  Ellie watched him turn and walk out of the stacks. Cookie huffed, patted Ellie on the shoulder as she followed. “C’mon. And thanks for being quiet back there.”

  “No problem,” said Ellie. “I can hold back snark for like fifteen minutes.”

  “That wasn’t fifteen minutes,” said Cookie. “That was more like—”

  And Shawn barked out a laugh ahead of them. “More like no minutes, right?”

  Ellie and Cookie paused, watched as Shawn found a couch among the shelves, with a young man sitting in the middle cushion. The vacant eyes told Ellie that someone—probably Shawn, before he had found the blue-haired girl—had already reaped the soul.

  Shawn shoved the body. The empty vessel toppled forward as if it was made of something light, like cardboard, and it held its pose as though it was one solid piece. It fell on the floor, still in sitting position, making no sound as it did so.

  Absurdly, Ellie noted that its clothing—the flaps of its jacket—that had been touched by Shawn had moved, but the rest of it was still as though gravity was pulling toward the feet, not the side, of the body—despite that it was lying on its side on the floor.

  Shawn settled in the empty couch. Lounged, more like. He hefted his ball-and-chain onto the cushions, where it sat curled like some absurd round metal cat.

  There was a pause as both girls stared at him. He did not look back.

  Eventually he said, “Well? Get on with it, workaholics.”

  “Oh, no,” said Cookie, realizing what Shawn meant. She spoke like a parent talking to a child who had deliberately flouted rules. “No, you’re getting up and working, asshole.”

  “Nope,” said Shawn. “Look, you can waste time beating on me, or you can save souls.”

  “Beating you is never a waste of time,” Cookie responded, and Ellie laughed. She was shocked to realize, however, that Shawn had laughed, too—the both of them together.

  Cookie put her hands on her waist. “Get up, or I’m reporting you.”

  “Nobody will do anything,” said Shawn. “Mentors won’t bother with me. They’ll probably be more mad at you for wasting their time. The stars are gonna fall.”

  That caught Cookie’s attention. She said, incredulously, “What?”

  And Ellie realized: the people upstairs might have given Cookie the basics on what was happening, but had neglected to tell her about the falling stars. No wonder she was willing to talk to me downstairs, Ellie thought. In truth, it makes sense. If Cookie knew the stars were falling, she’d be the most industrious of us all. She’d save everyone.

  “Surprise!” said Shawn, who had clearly reached the same conclusion as Ellie. He seemed at once exuberant and tired. His hands made a sort of “poof” gesture around his head. “It’s the end of the world! The stars fall, souls are reaped, and we demolition the universe or something. Except me—I’m sitting this one out. Have fun!”

  In three years of reaping, Ellie found herself hard pressed to remember a tone of voice more bitter than Shawn’s in that moment. And the funny thing was—what made her want to laugh and laugh—was that she could sympathize. With Shawn, of all people.

  You didn’t celebrate, she wanted to say. Everyone else cheered, but you were horrified, just like me. You sat on the floor with me and I want to sit on the couch with you.

 
But that would upset Cookie. Cookie was already upset, but Ellie joining Shawn would be too much, so Ellie held back. Cookie was already in Shawn’s personal space, trying to argue. Ellie felt the words floating around her like dust motes in sunlight.

  “You have to work, you idiot, these are people we need to save—” “Yeah, no.” “I’m serious, I’m not gonna let a reaper sit here while people are in danger—” “And yet, here you are, wasting your own time.” “I said get up, asshole—” “Nope. This whole thing is stupid. Nobody ever agreed to end the world, so I don’t gotta play along.” “What does that have to do with anything—nobody votes on ending the world—” “And yet here we are, reaping everything and demo’ing the universe by committee—”

  As the lines of their argument became more drawn, Ellie found herself thinking on both sides. Yes, Cookie was right. If there was going to be a cataclysm, obviously the reapers should work to save as many people as possible. Ellie included.

  But the temptation to follow Shawn was so strong. To just sit this one out.

  Is there really no third option? The question popped up from the back of her mind, and Ellie heaved in another breath. This crazy question that would not stop haunting her. Why not re-start time? Why not save the world instead of ending it?

  You know why, she told herself. Because you don’t know how.

  Because even Niles won’t help. He and the other mentors may even try to stop you.

  Cookie was getting more shrill, now, and Shawn was getting into the argument, too, but in typical Shawn fashion he had discovered how best to annoy and torment his opponent, and so while he was obviously incensed he also wore a mask of indifference.

  Ellie wondered if he did things like this on purpose or if this was a habit he had practiced so long that it had become part of him, instinctual. But she could still see the tension in what he projected and what he really felt—his eyes darted back and forth from the ceiling to Cookie’s face, and his grip on his knees bunched up fabric.

  “Because it’s pointless,” Shawn said. Ellie thought, No, this is pointless, you morons.

  Knowing that Cookie would not be dissuaded until she had made a good try, Ellie turned and walked a few rows down. She spotted the empty body of the blue-haired soul, on tiptoes pushing a book higher on the shelves. Behind it was a fat something that looked like a woman, but was hard to tell. As if on autopilot, Ellie reached out, ripped the soul free, and sent it upstairs before she could learn which sex it was.