Becoming Death

by Melissa Brown

  The teacher picked up a pile of papers from her desk. “I have made a copy of all the victim identification forms you are required to complete for each client. As well as the rules of data protection for the dead. If you have reaped your first victim, please use their details to fill in the form. If not, pair off with someone in the class who has.”

  The paper made a thud as it landed on my desk. No wonder my mother had to pretend to be an accountant to hide this.

  A whistle sounded, breaking the silence of the room.

  Ms. Winters appeared next to my desk. “I think you have a new assignment.”

  I could feel the eyes of the rest of the class on me as I picked up my bag and pulled out my phone. The screen read: New Client.

  Chapter 9

  My second client was a man called Max Davidson, a wealthy stockbroker in his forties. I hadn’t been able to dig up a profile page for him but his own website had been more than useful. While Elizabeth had been a health fanatic, Max seemed to be the opposite: overweight, bald and with a scowl permanently attached to his face. He looked like a dark-haired Santa Claus but a lot less jolly.

  I waited for Max inside a small Mom and Pop restaurant. The restaurant was shabby-chic with red and white tablecloths and a vase with a single daisy on each table: the kind of decor that made you picture dogs sharing a spaghetti dinner. The restaurant was loud, cheerful and smelt like Thanksgiving. The wait staff ran between tables with genuine smiles, and every customer seemed to be part of one big extended family. I regretted choosing this as the location for Max’s death; hopefully a dead body here wouldn’t be that bad for business. That is, if he ever came inside. The app had shown him arriving half an hour ago, but so far he hadn’t left his car yet.

  A homely waitress with a pen stuck in her ear and a name tag that read Sheryl approached my table. “Can I get you another drink or maybe something to nibble on?”

  “I’d love a refill of root beer,” I said, happy for the distraction.

  She leaned over the table as an “Oh” escaped her lips.

  “Are you okay?”

  She rubbed her stomach. “Nothing to worry about. He’s just acting up tonight. I swear this little guy is going to be a soccer player someday. He loves to kick.”

  I handed her the glass. “When are you due?”

  “In about three months, give or take.” She patted her abdomen. “I’ll go get that root beer for you.”

  A man wearing a wrinkled blue suit with a mysterious brown stain on the jacket and a loose tie stormed into the restaurant. He carried a half empty bottle of beer. His face was red and his beard patchy. I instantly recognized him as Max. He struggled to stay upright on his feet, balancing himself on the back of one of the chairs.

  I pushed back my seat, ready to get his soul extraction over with as soon as possible.

  He grabbed the arm of a nearby waitress and mumbled, “I need to speak to my wife, is she working?”

  The woman yanked her arm away and Max stumbled, falling against the wall. “She isn’t your wife anymore. Why do you have to come around here and harass her? She deserves better.”

  He shook the bottle at her. “What do you know? Just go get her, it’s important.”

  The waitress sighed. “Whatever. She can tell you herself.”

  A couple of the other diners were drawn to the argument and a hum of whispers echoed throughout the restaurant.

  Max raised his beer and shouted, “Go back to your meals everyone, nothing to see here.”

  I watched Sheryl emerge from the back and wipe her hands with a dishtowel.

  She sighed, looking Max up and down as she reached up to adjust his tie. “Max, what have you done to yourself?”

  “I need you to come home. I don’t care about the baby—I’ll raise it. We can be the family you wanted. I can’t cope without you anymore. I need you,’ he said.

  “You know I can’t do that,” Sheryl said. “My home is with Greg now. I’m happy there. The baby is his. It’s been a year. You were coping just fine up to this point. What’s changed?”

  Max reached for her hand but she stepped back. “I realized nothing matters without you. You were the only good thing I had in my life. I’m lonely, Sheryl. You always took care of me. You didn’t let me make stupid mistakes.”

  Sheryl rubbed her temple. “You need to stop getting drunk and I need you to stop coming here. We don’t belong together anymore. Nothing you say is going to change that.”

  Max rubbed his eyes.

  “Did you drive here?” Sheryl asked.

  Max nodded. “Can I get a ride back home?”

  Sheryl looked back towards the kitchen. “Only because I don’t want you driving home drunk, but this is the last time. I don’t want to see you in here again.”

  Max stumbled after her towards his car. I left my money on the table and followed them outside. Sheryl helped Max into the back of his car and slammed the door. She climbed into the front seat. I watched them pull away.

  Tracking Max down hadn’t been difficult but getting him to come out of his house was another story. After Sheryl had dropped him off at home last night, he hadn’t made any attempt to leave his house. It was already day two and my three day deadline was ticking away fast. If he didn’t come out soon, I was going to have to go in after him.

  Clarissa had been right: I didn’t feel attached to Max. I was indifferent to whether or not he died. He didn’t seem like a nice person or have a lot of reasons to keep on living. The outside of his house reminded me of the unkempt man I had met last night. The lawn was overgrown, forgotten trash bags lined his driveway and a box full of empty bottles overflowed onto his porch. If he had lived in my mother’s neighborhood, he would have been evicted by the homeowner’s society.

  An old man hobbled from the house next door and up Max’s driveway. A plastic bag bounced against his thigh as he maneuvered around the trash in the yard. His shoulders slumped when he reached the box of bottles.

  He pounded on the front door shouting, “Davidson, I know you’re in there.”

  Max stood behind a screen door scratching his beard. His hair pointed in all directions like he had just woken up. He paused for a moment, tying his robe tighter before opening the door. “What is it now, Fred? I was asleep.”

  Fred placed his hand on his hip. “It’s three in the afternoon. No healthy person should still be sleeping that late.”

  Max held his head and leaned into the door. “What are you, my father?”

  “Smart aleck.”

  “Anyway, I’m nursing a hangover, so tell me what you want or get off my property.”

  “Gladly,” Fred said, shoving the plastic bag at Max. “I assume these cans belong to you. I found them in my roses again.”

  Max dropped the bag down next to the box of bottles. “You woke me up for this? Just drop them in the trash.”

  “Why can’t you?” Fred looked around the yard. “You need to get off your lazy rear and clean this place up. I have people coming tomorrow to view my roses and they don’t need to see the eyesore you live in. Maybe you’re proud to be bringing down property prices around here, but I’m not going to clean up your mess.”

  “Thanks for the advice, old man, but unlike you I have better things to do with my time.”

  “Well then, I’ll be talking to my old buddy down at the station. I hear the fine for littering just went up again.” Fred stomped back towards his own house.

  Max huffed, tightening his robe again. He picked up two of the trash bags and walked barefoot up his driveway.

  I opened my car door and hoped he hadn’t noticed how long I had been parked across the street with my window open. “Excuse me,” I called, waving a map. “Can you help me? I think I’m lost.”

  He sat the bags down next to an already full bin and watched me cross the street. Max scratched at his beard again as his eyes lingered over my body. “Well, hello there, beautiful. Where are you trying to go?”

  “I’m trying to fin
d my cousin’s place. He lives around here somewhere.” I pointed to a random location on the map. “London Street, I think.”

  He chewed his bottom lip. “Yeah, let me see.” He stepped close and reached an arm over my shoulder. “If you go to the end of the road and then turn left, it should be a couple of blocks to the north.”

  I pulled away. “Not that far away then.” How was I supposed to touch this guy without him deciding I was making a pass at him?

  He leaned across the trash can lid. “Nah. Are you going to be visiting this cousin often? Cause I’d be more then happy to help you get to know the neighborhood better. We’ve… I’ve lived here for about eight years.”

  I grimaced. “That’s okay. I’m from out of state. I won’t be stopping by often.”

  “What a shame, I was looking forward to seeing your smiling face around the neighborhood.”

  I gagged a little. “I better get a move on,” I told him, reaching for my map.

  I pictured water as he brushed his fingers against mine while handing me back the map. My body jolted forwards and I had to grab the trash can for support.

  I saw Max asking Sheryl to their senior prom. Him waiting for her at the end of the aisle on their wedding day. Her throwing him a party when he started his own business. A fight, where Max told her they were never having children. Max sitting in his car, drunk, as he stared at a picture of Sheryl.

  I shook my head to bring myself back to reality. Sheryl really had been his life.

  “Are you okay?” Max raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you come inside? I could get you a drink or make you something to eat.”

  I backed away. “It’s fine, just low blood sugar. I’ll be okay. I have some cookies in my car.”

  “Alright then.” Max’s shoulders slumped. I walked back to my car. I had learned my lesson the first time; I wasn’t waiting around to see what happened.

  Chapter 10

  I rolled out of bed in the middle of the night frustrated and drained. Every time I closed my eyes, I was greeted with Elizabeth’s bruised skull and possible death scenarios for Max.

  I tiptoed past Aaron’s closed door, thankful to have avoided him for the second day in a row. I was hoping for some leftover cake from Sunday brunch when I saw a body lying across the sofa. I stepped closer to find Aaron squeezed onto the piece of furniture. His left arm hung slack, still gripping a game controller that rested on the floor. The screen’s game menu cast a warm yellow glow across his face. A slight smirk wound across his lips and I couldn’t help myself from smiling back. I picked up the remote from the table and turned off the TV. I removed the blanket from the back of the sofa and placed it over him. A small part of me wanted him to wake up and pull me down on top of him to build on the impossibly close moment we’d had a few days ago and give into the tension building between us.

  I pulled the controller gently from his fingers and lifted his limp arm onto his chest. I leaned down and removed a stray hair from his eye. My eyes lingered on his lips. A strange feeling of longing came over me. I backed away, scolding myself. I shuffled back to my room, giving up on my cake as I glanced over my shoulder once more, hoping he knew.

  The next morning, I didn’t avoid him. I strolled right to the kitchen.

  I rubbed my eyes as he greeted me. “Morning, stranger. I feel like I haven’t seen you in days.”

  “Good morning. Yeah, I’ve been so busy with my class and errands for my mom,” I said, my cheeks turning pink.

  He tapped on the side of the bowl with his spoon. “We’re okay, right?”

  I paused, lifting one shoulder. “Yeah, of course, we made up, everything is fine.”

  He nodded his head but didn’t lift his eyes.

  I rubbed my elbow before I reached for the abandoned newspaper lying next to his bowl. “Can I borrow this?”

  A dribble of cereal escaped his mouth as he said, “Yeah, I guess. When did you start reading the paper?”

  I ignored him and opened the newspaper to the obituaries section.

  He leaned forwards, glancing at what I was reading. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone turn right to the obituaries first. That’s a little morbid.”

  I shifted the paper away from his eyeline. “A friend of my mom’s died.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Really, who?”

  I waved away his question. “It’s just some guy she went to high school with.”

  “Well, is he in there?”

  I scanned down the page until I came to a picture that looked vaguely like Max without a beard and about fifty pounds lighter.

  ‘Max Davidson, 46, died Tuesday afternoon after being allegedly struck by a shovel in a disagreement with his neighbor. Mr. Davison’s ex-wife survives him. Funeral services will be held on Sunday at 4 p.m. at the Park View Cemetery. ‘

  “Fred killed him with a shovel?” I whispered to myself, wondering what this death had to do with the water I had pictured. Had I messed up?

  “A shovel?”

  “Umm… that guy my mom knows was killed with a shovel.”

  Aaron shivered. “Very horror movie-esque. Great, now I’m going to think of that every time I shovel snow.”

  I frowned. Why hadn’t my influence worked? I had thought of peaceful water when he died. Where had murder come from? Shouldn’t he have drowned? I looked down at the funeral arrangements again. I had to know what had really happened.

  I sat across from my mother in the mall food court and unwrapped my hamburger.

  My mother’s eyes narrowed at my lunch. “I thought you were going to try something healthy for once?”

  “This is kind of healthy.”

  Her eyes continued to linger on me.

  “Come on, it’s not so bad. There’s a burger with four patties, three kinds of cheese and bacon over there.” I took a bite so big my jaw ached afterwards.

  She removing the lid from her salad and applied a light coating of dressing. “How is your reaping going?”

  I kicked her under the table. “What are you doing? We can’t talk about that here. What if someone hears us?”

  She smoothed her napkin across her lap. “I understand your uneasiness but there is no need for physical violence. I can promise you, no one will hear us. Your grandmother and I talk about the business all the time in public and it’s never been a problem.”

  “No way, I’m not taking the risk. I don’t want to get burnt at the stake.”

  “That’s for witches, dear,” my mother corrected me.

  “Do you honestly think an angry mob will know the difference?”

  “Grim reapers have never been burnt at the stake. Drowned, but never burnt,” my mother said.

  “Okay, that settles it then.” I made a zipping motion across my lips.

  My mother sighed. “Now you’re just being silly.”

  “Fine, but we avoid the R and D words altogether. We can we use code words or something, like ‘popping balloons.’” I wiped some stray ketchup from my chin.

  “If we must,” my mother said, looking down at her salad. “How many balloons have you popped so far?”

  “Two,” I said, pushing back my bangs. “I’m a little confused about the second one. Things didn’t go the way I imagined.”

  My mother looked up, tapping her chin. “There must have been something you missed, some other factor in the popping.”

  I looked around the food court before continuing. “The balloon got popped with a shovel but I pictured water. It makes no sense.”

  “We have to accept that sometimes the popping isn’t done in the most obvious way or the bigger possibility that you made a mistake.”

  I glared at her before picking up a fry. “I think I want to go to his funer— I mean, birthday party, so I can get a chance to find out what really happened.”

  She poked at her salad. “I have to advise against that. What’s done is done. There’s no need for you to do anything further for that client. You should move on.”

  I leaned f
orwards in my chair. “Really, so you’re telling me in all the years you’ve been a doing this, you’ve never gone to a birthday party?”

  “Maybe one,” she said, fiddling with her pearl necklace. “I can’t stop you from making mistakes, but as you know the handbook warns against any interactions with the client’s family. Although, as long as you are respectful and don’t interfere no one will stop you.”

  “Good. I guess. I should be able to make a decision like that myself without some rule makers breathing down my neck.” We sat in silence for a few moments before I asked, “Why that party? What made it special? Was it your first?”

  “No, nothing like that.” She paused. “I felt like it was the place I needed to be that day, so I went along. I don’t regret it.”

  “Did you get caught?”

  “No, but if you do attend this one, it has to be your only one. You can’t just attend every client’s birthday party. People will pick up on it and start to ask questions. You have to protect yourself.”

  “Fine, I will.” I pushed away my burger. I’d lost my appetite.

  “Maybe your sister or I should accompany you to the service, just in case,” she said, pointing her fork at me.

  “No way, I can handle it,” I said. “I’ll find out what really happened and be in and out of there in a flash.”

  “At least wear something tasteful,” my mother said, rummaging through her shopping bag. “I bought the cutest sweater set today. I’m sure you could squeeze into it.”

  “It’s alright, I still have that dress I borrowed last time.”

  Chapter 11

  I arrived at Park View Cemetery five minutes before Max’s funeral was due to start. It seemed like a nice resting place; the grass was dotted with wild flowers and the headstones seemed to sparkle. It probably cost a pretty penny to be buried here. Max must have had more money than I thought. I was surprised to see all of the seats on the grass were taken and a few stragglers were standing behind them. He hadn’t done badly for someone that had come off as unlikable on our first and only meeting.