Next row down. Cookie and Shawn still arguing. Shawn was whining, now, just a bit on the edge of his voice. How loud they were. Shawn had lungs to wail for city blocks.
It’s been a day of déjà vu, thought Ellie, as she came upon an older woman, perhaps upper forties, with dyed hair showing grey close to the scalp. Behind was a young man, college age, holding two bags on his shoulders full of books. Both were unreaped.
Ellie pulled out the woman’s soul and sent it upstairs. Then she grabbed the young man’s wrist, noting how tall he was. Almost Niles’s height, she thought. She was about to jerk at his soul, pull him free, but then she glanced into his face... and froze.
The young man’s eyes were moving. She was looking at him—
And he was looking back.
Chapter Twelve: Rebel With a Cause.
Ellie stared at the young man’s eyes for some time, or rather not-time, noting details. Hazel eyes. But hazel was hazel because there were many colors in them. She picked out lines of green, blue, brown. Seamlessly blended together to form an eye.
The eyes stared back. They were the only thing moving on the young man’s face.
This can’t be, Ellie thought. I must be going mad. All this stress, the end of the world...
Other reapers had lost their minds. Supposedly, that was what solitary was actually for—or so rumor said. A place to store the lunatics until they got better. If they got better. Ellie could not blame anyone who went crazy in her line of work.
But as she looked, the eyes were still looking back. Hazel.
Anna Woodsworth’s words came: There’s things other than demons and mortals...
A prickle ran up Ellie’s spine, skin bunching into goosebumps. She had never seen anything like this. She asked those eyes with her own: What are you?
How are you not trapped in time, like a reaper, yet are trapped in time, like a mortal?
Are you something that could live through the end of the world?
What would happen to you when the stars fall?
The eyes did not respond. Apparently, the guy could not even manage to blink.
Ouch, Ellie thought. I wonder if that’s painful.
Slowly, the sound of Cookie and Shawn arguing filtered back into Ellie’s consciousness. Cookie was moving through the five stages of grief, now bargaining, which for her and Shawn meant threats of violence. Ellie wanted to tell her that arguing with Shawn was like arguing with a brick wall. Except the brick wall could feel amused.
Scratch that. Ellie wanted to say something else.
“Guys,” she called. “Guys, you really have to come see this.”
If only to confirm that I haven’t lost it, she did not add.
Something in her voice broke through to them, because there was a pause in their quarrel. And then the soft padding of feet and the clink-thump of a ball-and-chain. They appeared by the bookshelves, Cookie standing and Shawn peering around the corner.
“What?” said Cookie, probably only noticing the already-reaped older woman.
“Look,” said Ellie, gesturing to the young man with a trembling hand.
There was a pause, as Cookie observed her, and then him, frowning with confusion. When the moment stretched long, Shawn snorted and said, “Yeah, he’s hot, good find. Harder to play head games with guys than girls, though.”
Ellie turned and rolled her eyes at him, ending the roll with a head jerk that read, ‘pay closer attention, idiot.’ She crossed her arms, waiting for them to see, steadying herself.
Shawn frowned back at her, glanced back at the young man. Then he must have caught understanding by accident, because the sides of his face blanched, obvious even through the tone of his skin. The corners of his eyes went tight.
“Shit,” he said, sounding breathless.
This seemed to confirm to Cookie that something was wrong. She frowned deeper, said, “What? What is it with you two? I don’t see anything.”
“His eyes,” said Ellie, deciding to end the game. Thus directed, Cookie watched how those hazel eyes darted down to her own face, then back at Shawn, at Ellie, and finally landed back on Cookie. There was no other movement in the body.
Cookie said only, in a small voice, “I see.”
And then she reached for the young man’s hand, as if to let out his soul. Ellie tensed, was about to stop her. Shawn let out a meep of protest. But Cookie faltered. She seemed to think better of the idea herself, and returned her hand to her side.
Ellie told herself that the small sigh emerging from her mouth was relief.
“Is he a reaper?” said Cookie, edges of wonder and fear in her voice.
“I don’t think so,” Ellie responded. Her mind went back: the three new rules, Anna Woodsworth’s voice intoning—If it’s stuck in a body, absolutely don’t let it out...
“Yeah,” said Shawn, and his face was shuttered. “That’s... creepy. I’m gonna go find another place to hang out and wait for the stars to fall, good luck.”
He turned to drag his ball and chain away. Cookie hissed, “Hold on, you coward—”
But Shawn whirled and roared back: “Shut the hell up!”
Ellie had never seen Shawn respond like this before, not to anything, and clearly neither had Cookie. They stared at him, the not-quite-frozen college student forgotten, as Shawn’s shoulders and chest heaved. Shawn made other people angry—he did not get angry himself. Not unless there was a clear reason, like fighting someone.
“Oh?” said Cookie. Gleeful. Like a doctor who had discovered a bruise, and now could not resist poking the sore spot. “Coward? You don’t like that word?”
Shawn raised his fist. Snarled, “I’m serious, shitface. You wanna fight?”
Ellie had not seen Shawn start fights like this, either—not directly. Usually he goaded people into the first move. But she had only known him for a year. She glanced at the frozen student, who was staring out at Cookie, Shawn being out of his line of sight.
“Guys,” Ellie interrupted, understanding dawning. “Look. He’s listening to us.”
Her mind ran back: the guy had probably heard everything, the blue-haired girl screaming, Cookie and Shawn arguing, the news about the stars falling...
“Yeah,” said Shawn, back to the matter at hand. “Nope. I’m outta here. See ya.”
Cookie’s mouth opened, probably to use the word ‘coward’ again, but Ellie spoke first: “Wait. I think it’s safe. Remember what Anna said? That we shouldn’t let it out. So it can’t get us—if we don’t let it out.” She hoped her logic was sound.
Shawn halted, but his voice was several steps further away. “I believe she used the words, ‘Don’t get anywhere near it.’ What can I say? I’m happy to oblige. Enjoy.”
“But we need to help,” said Cookie, moving after Shawn. “We can’t just leave him. Not if the stars are falling—I mean, stars are like nuclear fusion. It will kill him.”
Shawn’s ball-and-chain clinked closer, and Ellie saw him re-emerge in her line of sight.
He said, “Kill him? Are you serious? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard.”
Ellie thought, Cookie kinda walked into this one. Cookie, realizing this herself, huffed.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” said Shawn, waving a hand around. “But time is frozen? Hello. It’s the end of the world. Everything and everyone is already dead.”
Inside the young man’s skull, his eyes flickered. Ellie found her own eyes drawn to them again. Even frozen as he was, she could feel panic radiating out from him. Sorry you had to hear all this. The words nearly came, but she bit down her tongue.
A voice that sounded like Niles’s, and yet was her own, came to her mind:
I was afraid, too, when I learned about the end of the world. It’s a terrible thing, I know. But sometimes bad things happen. You can’t do anything about them. Sometimes you do bad things, even to yourself, and you can’t do anything about them either...
; Maybe if things were different, Ellie thought, if I had listened more to Niles and his teaching, I would be the kind of reaper to say things like that to you, buddy.
But Ellie was not that kind of reaper.
Cookie was arguing back—“I didn’t mean ‘dead’ in that sense, I meant more like—”
“More like what?” said Shawn, in a voice that said he was not giving up the high ground. “More like, he’ll be torn to pieces or burned up or something? Well, the bosses upstairs said not to get involved with those things. Leave them alone.”
Clearly, Cookie had not been told about the new rules, either, because she said, “What do you mean? We don’t leave souls alone, especially not now—”
“That thing is not a soul,” interrupted Shawn. “It’s not human. You ever hear a mentor tell a reaper not to touch something? Even demons—we squish them. So that thing is bad news—you let it out, you break the new rules, it must be serious business.”
“Something that can hurt a reaper?” said Cookie, in a tone between disbelief and a question, and she turned to Ellie for confirmation. Ellie, who was still staring at the young man, only saw this in her periphery of her vision and shrugged.
She had never been told to be afraid of anything. None of the living were able to hurt them. At the start of her commission, Ellie had jumped off buildings, slammed her fingers in doors, anything to feel pain. She could, to some limited extent. Shawn certainly could, when Cookie attacked him. But that was the exception.
Only reapers could hurt reapers. And they healed up quick, too. Even Shawn looked little worse for wear, now, despite the beating Cookie had given him earlier.
On one of Ellie’s first assignments, an overweight man had tried to beat his way away from her. He had pounded and thumped on her head, her shoulders, her sides. No effect. It was like being lightly thwapped with a blanket. More fun than frightening.
As she studied the young man, all the rumors about the mentors returned to her. Talk of eerie things: vampires, werewolves, witches. And the exotic: aliens, hiding among the living. Hybrids of demons and humans. Or false gods: Zeus, Athena, Osiris...
The rumors said only mentors could handle them. And Anna Woodsworth had seemed to confirm at least that part, her voice echoing: Normally, y’all wouldn’t have to worry about it, but— there’s things other than demons and mortals down there...
Ellie wondered, looking at those hazel eyes looking back:
What are you able to do, that even the mentors are worried about you?
Could something like you stop the end of the world?
And that was when the idea unfolded in Ellie’s mind. An idea that did not just pop out of nowhere—instead, it came like the inside of a flower, unwrapping, all Ellie’s attempts at obfuscation peeling apart, crusting, and dropping like dying petals:
I can’t stop the end of the world....
because I don’t know how...
because it’s too much work...
because the mentors will stop me...
because nobody will help me...
because I don’t want to be punished...
...because I’m scared.
I can’t stop the end of the world because the world will end sometime anyway.
Perhaps that was the biggest objection: What was the point? The world will end sometime—the words echoed from the red-haired girl, but now Ellie gave a new answer:
Yes, the world will end sometime. But ‘sometime’ doesn’t have to be today.
It was like her mind was a coin that had just flipped to the other side. Heads, not tails. And now the little voice of caution was speaking the opposite:
But wait, if I do this, what will happen? What if I make things worse? What if I’m caught and punished? Doesn’t this sound like the way a dying soul thinks—when they haven’t accepted that the end has come, and they think they can bargain with death—
No, Ellie thought. I’m not going to doubt myself. How can I possibly make things worse? This is the end of the world—no matter what happens, I have to fight.
She told herself: If you don’t try, you will never have the chance to succeed. If you do try, you may succeed. Even if there is the slightest bit of chance, shouldn’t we try? After all, if we do nothing, then the world ends.
And, oddly, came the memory of her own snark, a few hours ago to Keith Smithson: “Regret giving the wrong answer to Pascal’s Wager?”
Pascal’s Wager. If you have multiple options, thought Ellie, then you don’t pick the option that is the no-win scenario. Her eyes swept over her companions—to Shawn, who was going to boycott the apocalypse, to Cookie, who was going to follow orders.
Except here, there’s only one possible winning scenario: to fight.
All else is a world-ending scenario.
Everything in her clicked into place, like the gears and dials on her reaper’s tool. The tool she now put into her breast pocket, freeing both hands. She ignored Shawn and Cookie’s bickering, focused on the strange creature trapped within its own body.
Leaning closer, Ellie asked, “If I let you out, will you hurt us?”
The eyes flickered, just a brief flash, as pupils reacted to the brain processing her question, the implications. With nothing but his eyes, the creature seemed to say, No.
Ellie continued, “Do you want the world to end?”
No, the eyes seemed to be saying.
And Ellie finished, “If I let you out, will you help me re-start time?”
Now the eyes were saying: Yes.
“Bargain’s a bargain,” murmured Ellie, giving him a sharp look. Hopefully even non-human potential monster things had at least some sense of honor.
If this goes wrong, she thought, I guess we can call a mentor and claim we let him out by accident. Like, we didn’t notice he was not completely frozen. That way, they won’t punish us and I can still be free to try and stop the end of the world on my own.
Though I’m sure this creature would be a help. Something that worries the mentors—he might be able to stop them, if they tried to stop me from stopping the apocalypse.
She took the young man’s hand. His flesh was warm, oddly soft to the touch, but that surprise was nothing compared to what she felt when she took firm hold of his wrist. There was a pulse. Throbbing under the skin. His eyes were not the only thing unfrozen. Heaving in a breath, Ellie focused on the soul there and pulled.
Nothing happened.
Like tugging on a rope that was tied to something, Ellie thought. There was a sense of a give, like the soul was moving, but also an endpoint, like it was tethered. Or just heavy. Tugging again, but with more strength, she felt the slack, the movement, more give.
That was when Shawn and Cookie noticed what she was doing.
“Wait,” said Shawn. As though speaking to Ellie and to himself. He took a step back, but jerkily, rigidly, as though fear was jamming up his joints.
“Ellie,” said Cookie, sounding on the verge of panic, “What are you—”
Hurry. They might try to stop me. Ellie found new strength. With all her mass, she gripped the wrist tight and threw herself backward, muscles harsh and burning in her thighs from the strain. Like lifting her own body weight—or perhaps more accurately—like lifting the young man’s weight. She took one step back, another...
The soul emerged, but slowly, like an old-time photograph layering in from white paper to form a human shape. Unlike every other soul Ellie had ever reaped, he was clothed.
And his hand against hers was cold.
For a long moment nobody breathed. Ellie, out of breath. Shawn and Cookie from terror. And the young man from the shock, likely, of being removed from his body.
Before Ellie could react, he moved. His wrist jerked—and ripped from her grip.
A soul that can escape a reaper, Ellie thought, and her mind shrieked: Impossible!
Deep down, however, Ellie realized that she was pleased. This young man was s
ome kind of super-human thing, after all. If he could pull free from her, who knew what else he could do to a reaper. He could stop the mentors, if necessary, she was sure.
Yeah, she thought, another side to the problem arising: If he can do bad things to a reaper, what could he potentially do to me?
After all, I’m a reaper.
The young man’s eyes flickered behind Ellie, to frozen Shawn and Cookie, paused on the soulless statue of the older woman, and then re-focused on Ellie again.
Those hazel eyes narrowed as he said, “What did you do to my mother?”
Chapter Thirteen: Four Men Make an Army.
Shit, Ellie thought. Shit. Shit.
The woman had been around forty-something years, Ellie had guessed. Mother. That made sense. Why else would an older woman like her be near a young man in a college library? A teacher, or a visiting parent. And Ellie had just torn her soul out.
Right in front of him.
But wait, Ellie wanted to say. I know you’re pissed. But hear me out.
Her mouth opened, but no words formed. The young man did not look happy. He took a step forward, invading Ellie’s personal space, and she stumbled back. His form was freezing. Like standing next to a block of ice. Her ripped-up coat was not enough.
“Well?” the young man demanded. “What did you do to her?”
An explanation, Ellie thought. That’s all he wants. Reasonable.
She glanced back at Cookie, hoping for some help. Cookie was good at explaining to newly dead souls. Which is what this man was, technically. But neither Cookie nor Shawn looked to say anything—they were ready to bolt. Ellie was on her own.
Turning back, Ellie struggled to string words into sentences. The young man—thing—icebox in front of her was gritting his teeth under his lips, pressed tight together.
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