by Scott Colby
Kevin blushed. “To start with, yeah.”
“Ain’t love grand? She’s got the Buddy Gregson seal o’ approval, for whatever that’s worth to ya. Nella never gave ol’ Rexy the time o’ day, no sir. Tried chattin’ her up in Donovan’s one night. She straight up told the little sumbitch to kiss her smooth blue ass!”
Laughing now, Kevin’s vision cleared and he relaxed his grip on the wheel. He wasn’t blind to what Buddy was trying to do for him, and he certainly appreciated the way he was going about it. Sometimes just being fun to talk to was the best assistance someone could offer.
“Nella’s a major upgrade over that last one,” Buddy continued. “What the hell was her name?”
“Kylie.”
He’d brought her home for Thanksgiving a few years ago. In hindsight, he didn’t know what he’d been thinking. Kylie and Abelia got along about as well as Godzilla and Mothra. Dinner was a tense, terse, uncomfortable affair during which the two headstrong women traded passive aggressive salvos like two battleships taking potshots at each other. According to Kylie, Mrs. Felton had no ambition, no vision, and no worth to civilized society on the whole. Abelia countered with punches at Kylie’s greed, her complete lack of substance, and her future career as a very successful dirty whore. Kylie barely touched her meal and was back on the road to Chicago about an hour after arriving. At the time, Kevin chalked the drama up to a clash of two individuals with wildly different experiences, priorities, and philosophies. It was natural, he thought, an insignificant con made moot by the numerous pros of dating a woman like Kylie. One side of the fight let him play with her boobs, the other side was just his mother. Now he knew better. Like so many things about his youth, he couldn’t figure out what the hell had kept him from properly understanding the situation sooner.
“Saw her walking to the car that Thanksgiving,” Buddy said. “Wanted to ask her if she needed a hand pullin’ that stick out of her ass.”
Kevin laughed maniacally, almost swerving into the other lane. They still hadn’t seen another driver. “That wasn’t a stick. That was a great big wad of money.”
“Hmmph. Well, to each his own, I guess. Sometimes I swear none of us can think straight when it comes to women on account of our dicks stealin’ all the blood from our brains when they come ’round.”
“Sounds like Rotreego had a similar problem.”
“Pretty sure that jerk’s a few bricks short of a load anyway. Strange business, that. Rex didn’t bring me to the transfer. No clue where he came from.”
“Think he’ll give you any trouble?” They’d left the elf in the upstairs bathroom, primarily because Kevin was sick of dealing with his crap. There was a chance he’d still be in the house when Buddy returned, and interrogating Thisolanipusintarex’s former skin might be his logical next move.
“If he does, I’m goin’ straight for the fucker’s nose!”
Buddy’s joke about how he might use his new reaper powers brought Kevin back to the issue at hand. Sure, Mr. Gregson had offered to do the deed, but their unexpectedly positive interactions since forced Kevin to reevaluate whether he could actually allow his neighbor to take the fall for him. “Buddy…are you sure you want to go through with this?”
Mr. Gregson didn’t hesitate. “I most certainly do, Felton, and don’t you dare question it! I did a lot of bad things under Rex’s control. I know it wasn’t really me, but I still feel responsible. I made the decision to let him use me as a skin in the first place, ya know? So, everything that happened after because of that is on me. Think of it as a community service term.” He paused, as if considering whether to continue. “Plus, those reapers live forever ’less someone kills ’em. I’d be lyin’ if I said addin’ a few healthy years to what I got left isn’t attractive. I lost a lotta time to that fuckin’ pixie. I want it back.”
Kevin couldn’t argue with that logic. With his sunny disposition, there was a chance Buddy Gregson wouldn’t immediately spiral into a Billy-esque depression. “How’d Rex talk you into…all that…in the first place?”
Buddy’s cadence slowed and became more precise. “I came back from Vietnam in a wheelchair. The bullets and bombs didn’t get me, but the shrapnel did. My girl left me, I couldn’t get my old factory job back on account of my condition, I ran out of money quick…and then here’s this little magic asshole says he’ll fix my legs in exchange for five years of my life. Seemed like a fair trade at the time.”
Vietnam. That meant Buddy had been in thrall to Rex for decades. What must that sort of life have been like? How many times had he been forced to watch, helpless, as his body did things his mind didn’t condone? How was it possible he hadn’t turned into a raving lunatic? Kevin asked him as much.
“You know what kept me goin’ all those years? Two things. First was the fuckin’ absurdity of it all. There was a tiny Charles Manson with wings livin’ in a fishbowl in my chest. How fuckin’ stupid is that? Number two: I wanted a shot at redemption. I seen and done some bad things under Rex’s control. Participated in the kidnapping and murder of at least a dozen people, most of ’em kids. Paid down-on-their luck women to do disgusting things. Ate all kinds of shit I don’t wanna think about. Still, I always knew someday I’d get a chance to make good. I can’t undo any o’ what I done, but I can be better the rest of the way. Ain’t no one movin’ on to the great unknown without a great big smile on their face, I promise ya that!”
“You,” Kevin declared, “are going to make one hell of a reaper.” He unequivocally believed it.
“Yer damn skippy I am!”
They arrived at Lordly Estates a few moments later, the time and distance having been absorbed by their conversation. The development’s gate stood wide open, inviting them to rush inside and confront the reaper. Kevin drove past and pulled over a few hundred yards down the road where a stand of thick trees blocked the view of anyone watching from the hill.
Killing the engine, Kevin leaned around the side of the driver’s seat to face Buddy. “Ready?”
“One last thing. I always liked you an’ your mother, Felton. You’re good people. Or good enough, at least, given the general state of things. I know it ain’t much, but I apologize for the hardships I caused you an’ yours over the years.”
Kevin’s insides twisted into the shape of a pretzel. He turned his attention back to the windshield so Buddy couldn’t see the stricken look on his face. “That means a lot, actually,” he muttered softly.
After a few moments of awkward silence, Buddy slammed his fist down into the arm rest of his chair. “Enough with the mushy stuff, Felton! Get me out o’ this piece o’ crap so I can go give that reaper his pink slip!”
— CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE —
As Kevin helped Buddy out of the back of the van, once again using the planks as a makeshift ramp, the two developed a hasty plan of action. The wild card in this situation, they agreed, was Billy’s assistant, Mr. Pemberton. Neither fully understood the reaper keeper’s role. Was he obligated to protect Billy, or did his duties dictate that he get out of the way and let things play out as they may? Regardless, it would be best to remove him from the equation. Mr. Gregson would enter Lordly Estates first—it would take him a little while to negotiate the hill, but he assured Kevin the incline wouldn’t be a problem—and then he would roll right up to the front door of lot 22 and get Mr. Pemberton’s attention. Kevin’s job, meanwhile, would be to sneak around to the back of the mansion and find a way inside. Once there, he’d find Billy, chloroform him, and drag him out to Mr. Gregson, who’d be waiting with a switchblade they’d found in the glove box.
“I’ve never broken into anything in my life,” Kevin said, concerned. “How the heck am I supposed to get into this place?”
“This dude is begging you to murder him,” Buddy said. “Remember that open gate? I bet the back door’s unlocked, too. He’s going to make this as easy on you as he can.”
“This is ridiculous,” Kevin moaned.
“Welcome to real life,
kid,” Buddy replied with a smirk. “If there’s one thing these magic fuckers enjoy, it’s being giant pains in the ass.”
Kevin laughed. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who came to that conclusion.”
Their plan set, they traded a salute and then Mr. Gregson rolled away down the road. Kevin was supposed to wait fifteen minutes before following, then stick to the shadows around the other buildings in the development as he made his own approach. The only active lights in all of Lordly Estates belonged to lot 22, his ultimate destination, which would make it relatively easy to remain concealed.
He sat down on the van’s bumper to wait, his thoughts drifting to the souls trapped in his mother’s Chicago Blackhawks travel mug. If shit went south, freeing them would become his main priority. He didn’t like the idea of leaving Abelia, Ren, and even Driff separated from their bodies any longer than necessary. Nella was another matter altogether, but he doubted she was in any real danger in that bucket. She seemed perfectly comfortable in her liquid form, though he had no clue how long she could stay that way. Probably a lot longer than a soul could function without its body, he guessed.
Big fat raindrops began falling from the overcast night sky. Appropriate weather for a final showdown, Kevin thought. He zipped up his jacket, wishing he had worn a hat. Just one more small entry to add to his list of recent regrets and things he should’ve thought of. The more he considered his situation, though, the more he suspected there wasn’t much of anything he could’ve done to change the ultimate outcome. Could he have handled Oscar’s little sermon on the town common a bit better? Certainly. Doing so likely would’ve kept Driff from dusting his mother, which would’ve ended her sexual renaissance before it even began, which meant she never would’ve picked up Billy at the Burg and inadvertently revealed the true identity of the fiancée thief known only as Poofy. But how long could Kevin realistically have kept up his charade? What were the chances, really, that he would’ve been able to hook Billy up with someone new anytime soon? Would Tallisker have intervened and thrown Kevin to the wolves if things took too long? He had no way of answering any of those questions, and so he decided none of them were worth worrying about. What was done was done and there was no changing any of it.
Fifteen minutes after Buddy Gregson departed, Kevin stashed a chloroformed rag into his back pocket and started down the road toward Lordly Estates. He considered cutting through the woods, but a tall fence of unscalable metal rods put an end to that idea. He’d be better off taking a more familiar route through the darkness anyway. Pausing outside the front gate, he quickly scanned the fence and the surrounding area for cameras. None jumped out at him, but he wasn’t really sure he knew what to look for. He hunched down and darted through the open gate, sticking close to the left post. Once through, he stepped onto the grass and broke into a light jog, placing his feet carefully on the wet grass. His footfalls would make more noise on the asphalt, but a twisted ankle would put a quick end to this little caper. In the distance, lot 22 glowed brightly atop the otherwise dark and gloomy hill.
Not once in his life had Kevin ever seriously thought he’d end up participating in a first-degree murder. Make no mistake: although he was acting purely to defend himself, his loved ones, and Driff, there was no more accurate way of describing his intentions. Given the events in Mr. Gregson’s basement, he supposed he was actually working on his second murder. Although he didn’t doubt for a second that Rex had gotten what was coming to him, the situation with Billy felt murkier. Billy deserved to die, but he also kind of didn’t. He was just a kid, wounded by the world, who’d struck back with powers far too dangerous for someone in his mental state. It was a combination that required action. Rabid dogs didn’t deserve to die, but the job had to be done regardless.
Handing Billy over to Mr. Gregson still felt like taking the easy way out. Could the reaper be reasoned with? Would an apology and a long heart-to-heart negate the need for violence? Rotreego and Buddy certainly didn’t think so, but Rotreego was an idiot and Buddy wanted Billy’s job. The real problem was that any attempt at discussion would eliminate the element of surprise Kevin needed to knock the reaper out, which might lead to a more prolonged battle that forced Kevin to end things himself. He couldn’t risk that.
“The fucker’s got my mother, my best friend, and my favorite girl,” he muttered angrily, trying to psyche himself up. It didn’t really work.
He slowed as he neared the first tier of homes, searching for signs that Buddy had made it up the hill. Things would’ve been a lot easier if they’d had a means of either communicating or synchronizing their actions, but they’d had neither the time nor the know-how to figure out that sort of spy shit. Their amateurish best would have to be good enough.
An odd thought temporarily froze Kevin as he reached the corner of the first house: had it been like this for Billy? After all, the only means of becoming a reaper was to kill a reaper. Had Billy run afoul of his predecessor and been forced to act? Had he been tricked into the deed somehow? Had he known that murdering a reaper meant taking his or her place? Oddly, Kevin really, really wanted to know; the story would likely provide valuable insight into his target’s character. Despite Billy’s obvious capacity for cruelty, Kevin couldn’t imagine the kid getting involved in that sort of physical violence. His nasty side felt raw and new, born from overwhelming emotion and years of depression rather than inherent instability or malice. So how had he offed the previous reaper? To a certain extent, Kevin regretted that his smash-and-grab plan wouldn’t give him the chance to find out.
Unsettling during the day, Lordly Estates became downright creepy at night. The rows of unlit, unused homes adopted an air of frightening mystery. Were they really empty? Were they uninhabited for some terrible reason? Had anything taken up residence in them in the meantime? Kevin’s exposure to reapers and pixies and demons had only made him warier of the dark. The possibility that something evil lurked in the shadows no longer seemed so far-fetched. He darted from home to home as he climbed the hill, careful to avoid even short glimpses through the bare windows lest he spot or be spotted by anything inside.
After ascending three of the development’s six tiers, he could just hear Buddy Gregson’s deep voice trickling down from the top of the hill. Part one of their ridiculous plan seemed to be working. Although there was no telling how long Buddy could hold Mr. Pemberton’s attention, Kevin was willing to bet the talkative old man could manage a few more minutes at the least.
He made a wide arc around the outskirts of the last few tiers, trying to avoid the light of lot 22. Every room in the sprawling manse was lit brightly as if daring someone to try to sneak in. Kevin came upon the building from its side, keeping as much distance between himself and the front porch as possible. Peering cautiously into the closest window, he found he’d come upon what was likely supposed to be a large, formal dining room, a cavernous space with a twenty-foot ceiling and huge skylights, a glittering hardwood floor, and ornate trim—but it was completely empty. Billy obviously didn’t need a well-furnished space for entertaining. Testing the window and finding it unlocked, Kevin gently raised the lower panel and clambered awkwardly inside.
Gaining access to Billy’s home lifted a heavy weight off Kevin’s shoulders. Finally, he could add breaking and entering to his ever-growing list of transgressions, a résumé item sure to raise his street cred throughout the Harksburg area. Things were going well; if he continued to be careful, that wouldn’t change. He slipped off his wet shoes and left them by the window, thinking his socks would make less noise on the hardwood. He shrugged out of his jacket, too, and left it with his shoes. A trail of water would give away his presence.
He crossed the floor quickly, stopping beside the towering double doors on the opposite side of the room. Doors, he knew, were not likely to be his friend; they squeaked, they squealed, and they blocked his view of the next room. He tested the left’s golden handle gently, slowly applying pressure until the mechanism inside clicked. The
door slid open without a single sound of protest. Kevin peered around the dense wood and into the hallway beyond. Finding it also empty and silent, he eased the door open enough to squeeze through, gently closed it behind him, and moved on.
The floor became black and white tile and the ceiling dropped ten feet. The next pair of double doors stood closed about fifty feet away. Kevin ignored the smaller side doors and hurried forward. He couldn’t help being impressed by how clean everything was. Although the mansion didn’t get much use, Mr. Pemberton still kept it all in tip-top shape. Had Kevin taken over for the reaper keeper as planned, that likely wouldn’t have been the case; he wasn’t one for unnecessary cleaning. He wondered what would become of Lordly Estates when Billy was gone. Would Buddy inherit it somehow? Perhaps more importantly, would Buddy agree to bring Kevin on as his assistant? He should’ve insisted on that condition earlier; that reaper keeper job was his best and probably only guarantee against a future dusting, after all.
Leaning his ear against the door at the end of the hallway, Kevin could barely make out the voices of Mr. Pemberton and Buddy Gregson. The old Brit laughed heartily at something unintelligible—a good sign. If Kevin was where he thought he was, the hallway to Billy’s room would be on the right side of the foyer, opposite the front door. That meant crossing behind Mr. Pemberton. If the reaper keeper had stepped outside onto the porch—which seemed likely, given that Buddy didn’t have a means of ascending the front steps—that wouldn’t be a problem.
However, Kevin suddenly realized that there was a rather large flaw in his plan: silently traversing the floor of Billy’s bedroom, which was covered in garbage, would be downright impossible. He paused for a few moments, considering his options. With stealth out of the question, speed would be his next best bet. He’d have to rush the reaper and apply the chloroform as quickly as possible, a tactic certain to lead to slipping on an empty pizza box and falling flat on his face.