Scythe

by M K Mancos

  Keely put her hands on her hips. “No question asked is pointless.”

  “One. Two. Three.” The numbers were said under his breath. His eyes closed tightly. By the time he got to seven he must have realized she’d stopped talking, or he was calm enough to continue.

  Placing the sickle before him again, he held it facing outward. “The sickle must be held thusly. You want to cut in a diagonal motion.”

  Keely watched as he moved his arm in a downward arc. It looked easy enough. “Why?”

  “Blunt lines do not allow the soul to regenerate in a new host or to move forward to the next plane.”

  “So, reincarnation is real?”

  He gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. “For some. Not for others. You ask way too many questions and we have a schedule to keep.”

  He turned the sickle handle out. “Here, practice, I’ll be back in a moment.”

  Keely took the weapon and held it in her right hand. It was heavier than it looked and that same weird tingle from before spread through her hand again. “Hey, Sam, why does it tingle?”

  Samson didn’t answer. She followed the way he’d gone, toward the kitchen, but he wasn’t there. “Sam?”

  The apartment door definitely hadn’t opened. She would have seen him leave. The bathroom door was still open, so he hadn’t excused himself to go in there.

  He walked out of the bedroom, holding a long black robe with a cowl like he wore. “Here, put this on.”

  “Where did you get that?” Because she was more than sure she didn’t have anything like that in her closet.

  “Never mind where it came from, just put it on so we can go.”

  She took the robe from him and shoved it over her head. Maybe when he saw that they wouldn’t be scything anyone, he’d wake from whatever delusions held him in their grips. “Where are we going?”

  “We have a long list to take care of tonight. If you want to make it home in time to get sleep before you start your day tomorrow, I suggest you step to.”

  They walked through the streets of Water Point Station’s trendy east side, looking like a couple of trick or treaters months too late for the candy. In the folds of the long black robe, her sickle sat encased in its own special pocket. It banged against her thigh whenever she took a step.

  There had to be a better way.

  What was she thinking? Was she out of her mind trying to problem-solve a uniform she would never wear again? The man who walked beside her was a nut bag. The robe she wore a joke. If she got caught walking down a public street with a sickle in her pocket, she’d be arrested for carrying a concealed weapon. And she was almost positive the he made me do it defense held little weight in these days of domestic terrorism and Homeland Security.

  “Who’s our first client?” Samson held out his hand and wiggled his fingers for her to pass him the scroll.

  Instead of passing it over, she unrolled it until she could see the first name. It was the first time she’d really looked closely at the list. The list was not arranged in alphabetical order but chronological, according to time of death. There was also more than one name listed for each time.

  “Um, Sam, how are we supposed to do multiple names at the same time?”

  “Do not call me Sam.” He rolled his eyes and snatched the scroll from her hands. “And they are clients, not names.”

  “Sorry.” She had to run to catch up. Her feet got tangled in her robe and she started to fall. He turned and put a strong arm out to catch her. “Thanks.”

  They started walking again, and he picked up the pace. If they had such a tight schedule, why didn’t they take public transportation, or jump through some kind of dimensional gateway or something? He was a heavenly being, right?

  Keely looked up at him. He sure didn’t glow like Ephraim, but he had that scowl down pat.

  She lifted her robe and tucked part of it into the waistband of her jeans. If she had to wear the stupid thing, she might as well be able to walk in it.

  They turned down Cooper Landing and started for Restaurant Row. Samson still hadn’t answered her question. That really annoyed her. She wasn’t used to being ignored.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Samson looked down on her. “You haven’t answered mine.”

  “You took the scroll before I could.”

  “Maybe next time you’ll answer my question before it becomes necessary to take matters into my own hands.” He unrolled the scroll as if only now realizing he had possession of it. “Ah, yes. Poor soul.”

  They passed a rather noisy club and turned down a dark alley. “Where are we going?”

  “Quickly, now. He’s about to take his last breath.”

  “Who?” But any other questions Keely may have asked died on her tongue as they approached a man, sprawled out on the ground, hand clutched to his heart. His lips were pulled back from his teeth in a pained grimace. “Oh, God.”

  A raspy breath eased from between the man’s nicotine stained teeth. Then nothing. The expression smoothed out. The pain gone.

  “It’s time, Keely.”

  She stood frozen, staring at the man who only moments before had been a living, breathing individual.

  “Keely.” Samson shook her. “You have to sever the cord.”

  She swallowed. The weight of the sickle shifted against her leg, bringing her back to herself. “Shouldn’t we call an ambulance?”

  “No. It’s his time.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong.” A shiny bracelet on the man’s wrist shimmered in the dim light. “Look, it’s a medical alert bracelet.”

  She bent and turned it over. Diabetic. “Maybe he needs some insulin.”

  “He’s past the point of needing insulin. Cut the cord.”

  Keely shook her head. “I can’t see the cord. I can’t see anything but a dead man.”

  “Take your sickle out.” Samson’s voice had taken on a razor sharp edge.

  She groped inside the pocket for it. It got hopelessly caught in the folds of her robe. The distinct rip of fabric sounded loud in the alley. With the sickle free, she held it up and away from her body like he’d shown her.

  “Get down closer to his body.” Samson pushed on her shoulders until she went into a squat position. The sickle flashed in the light spilling from the mouth of the alley, illuminating a tendril of what appeared to be smoke rising up from the man’s body in the area near his heart.

  “Oooo.” It was the most miraculous thing she’d ever seen. How many people could claim to have seen the soul leave the body?

  On instinct, her hand went out and tried to touch the whisper-thin cord, but it danced away from her reaching fingers.

  “Quit playing around and do your job.”

  Her job?

  She sat down on the pavement, unmindful of the alley’s stink. The enormity of those words hit her like a New Jersey transit train. It was real. The entire business, from beginning to end, was real.

  Samson bent down and started to pull her up off her bottom. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Helplessly, she waved the sickle back and forth. All intelligent thoughts fled. “I…a…how…”

  “Snap out of it!” He cracked his big hand across her cheek.

  She blinked a few times before she hauled back her hand and returned the sentiment. Her hand stung from the contact. She’d gotten him with her open palm on the flat of his jaw. He stood back and stared at her for a moment as if not knowing quite what to do next. He rubbed his hand across his injured face. The scowl deepened.

  “Are you finally ready to perform the duty for which you were recruited?” He’d gone all formal on her again. That was never a good sign when dealing with Samson, plus her cheek still smarted where he’d slapped her.

  She pushed up to her knees. “I didn’t think angels were into abusing their charges.”

  “I’m not an angel. I’ve never been an angel.”

  “That’s obvious.” She held the sickle away from her body and flick
ed her wrist across the cord. Immediate resistance met her swing. The cord was much tougher than it appeared.

  “What are you doing?” The words exploded from him. He wrested the sickle from her hand. “Didn’t I tell you to make a downward slash? You’re cutting straight across.”

  She hadn’t cut much of anything. There was only the barest of a slice along the left edge of the cord. More of a faint indentation than an actual cut. “Stop grabbing things out of my hands. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude?”

  He handed it back. “Do it right this time.”

  She shot him a look over her shoulder. It was meant to be a glare that had been known to strike fear in more than one bad date. However, it had no effect on Samson. “Quit yelling at me.”

  “Then pay attention to your task.”

  Keely put her free hand on her hip and twisted her waist so she could turn enough to see him. “You don’t have the temperament to be a preceptor.”

  “Thank you. At least one person agrees with me.” He made that irritating twirling motion with his hand again. “Get on with it. We have a full list tonight.”

  At this rate, she’d still be at it tomorrow night.

  “Concentrate all your force in the lower half of your arm, but swing from your shoulder.”

  She had no clue what he meant, but she tried it anyhow. The cord severed cleanly, sending a shock of electricity from the point of contact up the golden sickle and through her palm.

  “Ahhhhh.” She dropped the sickle with a clatter and held her hand to her body.

  Footsteps sounded at the mouth of the alley.

  “Stop! Police!” a deep voice boomed.

  Samson bent down, scooped up the sickle and pulled her to her feet. He held her injured hand as they ran in the opposite direction of the cop toward what looked like a brick wall.

  “Samson, stop. I can’t go through there.”

  Cold enveloped her as she lost Samson to nothingness. The warmth of his hand still wrapped around hers, but he was no longer there. She looked down and gasped.

  Keely was no longer there either.

  3

  Water Point Station Police Detective Josiah Adler sat in his unmarked car, watching as patrons came and went through the arched double doors of the one-time Catholic Church that had been turned into a Goth club.

  He shook his head as the costumes and hairdos became more outlandish. Half the time he couldn’t tell who was under the makeup and costumes, and he really didn’t want to know. As long as the young man he surveilled, a one Thomas Egan aka Midnight, came out the way he went in, Josiah didn’t care about the rest.

  All in all, the Goth culture wasn’t anything to to worry about, once you got past all the drama and makeup. His sister, Emily, had taken up with a similar crowd during high school and all the kids he’d met had proved pretty harmless. Same went for most of the patrons of Doxie’s Dark Haven.

  All except Midnight.

  Bad things always seemed to happen when he was around, though he always managed to slip under the long arm of justice. There was a string of dead bodies all the way to Fort Lee and back and no way to pin them on the dude.

  This time would be different. Josiah would see to it.

  His attention was caught by a head of golden hair, so out of place amid the dyed black Morticia Addams look that permeated the street in front of Doxie’s. It was cut blunt to her shoulders and parted on the side, so a little more of it fell into her face on one side than the other.

  Even under a long robe and cowl, he could tell she had a smoking hot body. The dark fabric clung to her curves like a spider web. Josiah stared in wonder. They just didn’t make women like that every day.

  She hurried to catch up with a similarly dressed man who walked a few paces ahead of her. She tripped over the hem of her robe and he reached back to catch her with one big, beefy arm.

  Graceful.

  Josiah watched them until they turned down an alley across the street from where he had parked. That gorilla she was with definitely didn’t match her petite stature. Why was it that all the really hot women went for goons with more brawn than brains? Granted, he had no way of knowing if the guy had a GED or a degree in nuclear physics, but as a general rule, women went for the looks and the wallet.

  He turned his attention back to the club entrance. So far his partner, Shelia Dobbins, hadn’t given him the word that Midnight had made a move to leave Doxie’s.

  The thought of her inside the Goth hangout made him want to laugh. Dobbins was about as straight-laced, uptight and by-the-book as they came. Definitely not the type to have darkness and angst by the balls. She’d looked pretty damn hot in her black wig and Elvira costume, though. Too bad she would have slugged him if he’d commented on it.

  Shouts from the alley pulled him away from the business at hand. It sounded like a fight had ensued. Male and female voices echoed out into the street.

  Probably the hot chick and the gorilla. He didn’t want to get mixed up in the middle of a domestic. But damn if a vision of their size discrepancy didn’t keep running through his mind. The gorilla was at least twice her size. If he got it into his mind to hit her, it would only take one good swat to break her neck.

  Though he’d probably regret it later, Josiah got out of the car. He still had in the earpiece and could hear Dobbins inside the club. Likewise, she could hear him.

  “I’m going into an alley to investigate a possible domestic.”

  “It doesn’t look like Midnight’s going to be leaving anytime soon.” She sounded slightly annoyed. He imagined the loud music had already given her a headache. Dobbins preferred symphonies to synthesizers.

  “If he moves, let me know. I just want to make sure King Kong isn’t going to take a swipe at Fay Wray.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Never mind.” He got tired of explaining his fascination with classic monster movies to people who couldn’t appreciate them.

  As he neared the alley’s entrance, he could make out a flash of a blade, a dead body and then Blondie screamed and fell back, clutching her hand in pain.

  “Stop! Police!”

  King Kong reached down and grabbed the girl and the weapon and took off for the other end of the alley. Josiah pushed the button on his radio. “Request assistance for a 10-39, possible homicide in progress. Approximately a half block west of Doxie’s.”

  Dispatch confirmed and assured him there were units in the area. He pulled his gun from the holster and took off after the suspects, stopping to feel a pulse on the victim.

  Nothing. Shit! He didn’t need this tonight.

  He looked up to see where the suspects were headed. The end of the alley came to a dead end, so where in the hell did they think they were going? There was only one delivery door on the left side, and it was the big, metal, roll-up kind. One couldn’t exactly ease one of those up stealthily.

  Icy apprehension moved down his back. This was not a real good setup for him. He didn’t know if King Kong was packing any heat, or just the bladed weapon Josiah had seen.

  He stood and started deeper into the alley. The farther he moved, the more the darkness sucked at him. His eyes had adjusted enough that he could see he was now alone.

  Where in the hell had they gone? The delivery door hadn’t been raised. And it didn’t bang back down either.

  He walked over to it and observed that it was down all the way to the ground and locked tight for the night. He kicked it with the toe of his wing tips. Well, hell. Two people couldn’t have just vanished into thin air in the middle of a closed alcove.

  Flashing lights lit the alley like a dance club as backup arrived. It was about damn time. Let the black and whites try to figure out what happened, he was supposed to be on surveillance.

  “Hands up and drop your weapon.” A young cop who looked like he wasn’t even old enough to shave opened the door of the police cruiser and used it like a shield.

  “Detective Josiah Adler, I’m the one who called i
t in.”

  An ambulance screeched to a stop behind the police vehicle and all along the sidewalk people stopped to gawk at the unfolding scene. Any moment now, news-hounds would be sniffing out the story like a pair of dirty underwear.

  “I said, put your hands up and drop your weapon!” The young cop’s hands shook.

  Josiah really didn’t need to be shot by his own colleague. “Listen, I’m going to throw my badge to you. Take it and look at it, chew, swallow and run it through your lower intestines if you have to, but if you shoot me, there’s going to be a real shit storm coming down on your head.”

  Meanwhile the paramedics came into the alley. A tall African-American man with close-cropped hair and massive shoulders nodded at Josiah as he and his partner walked by. “S’up, Adler?”

  “My arms apparently.” He turned and watched them as they neared the body. “I couldn’t find a pulse.”

  “We’ll put the pads on him to be sure.” John Stevens was as laid-back as they came. He and Josiah had been friends for about five years and occasionally shot pool together when John’s wife let him out of the house.

  “Yeah, well, while you’re doing that, assure Rookie Cop Barney Fife here that I’m one of the good guys.”

  “He’s good,” John said on cue.

  By this time, Barney had picked up the badge and studied it as if he were deciphering hieroglyphics. He dutifully called in the badge number to verify it wasn’t stolen, an exchange which Josiah could hear over the radios.

  When dispatch finished telling him he’d successfully apprehended the officer who had called in the possible homicide, he holstered his weapon and walked toward Josiah. “Sorry, Detective. It’s a dark alley.”

  “And my suspects got away.” He took a quick glance around the alley. “Call crime scene and let them get to work.”

  “Yo, Adler,” John called from the dead man’s side. “I’m not seeing any marks on the body. How do you think they offed him?”

  No, there had to be some kind of marks. The flash of the blade had been so clear. He knew he hadn’t imagined it.

  He walked back over to the body and squatted down. There were no visible cuts, slices, gunshot wounds, or ligature marks. “What the hell?”