“I’ve contemplated suicide.”
I was taken aback. Never, not even in my most grief-stricken moment, had I thought about killing myself. I had the kids. They needed me. No didn’t seem strong enough. “Never.”
He made his mark and then smiled at me. “Last question.” I saw he was just as happy to be finished with this test as I was. “I have a normal level of interest in death.”
Even though he waited for a yes or no, a lot of other answers came to my mind. “I’m a grim reaper, so already my level of interest is higher than non-reapers. So who are we gauging this by? Overall humankind or just GRS workers?” He opened his mouth to give me what I was sure would be a bland retort, but I cut him off. “On the other hand, you would think being a grim reaper would amp up my interest, but honestly, if I never ever saw another dead person, I’d be perfectly content.” I stood and picked up my purse. “So you decide, Dr. Crock. Do I have a normal level of interest in death?”
I walked to the door, but stopped. When I looked back, the good doc was jotting more than a quick note in my chart. Deciding silence was golden, even though that realization had probably come too late, I walked out. The questions he’d asked had been weird, revealing, and on the rare occasion, thought provoking. I’d never contemplated whether dirt frightened me, or if my hands and feet were normally warm. Now that he’d asked, I found myself thinking about just how unenlightened I was about myself.
The reality was, I’d lost interest in the little things I once found fascinating. As a kid I spent hours watching the worms that surfaced after a rain. Now I didn’t even notice them. My head was filled with to-do lists and the needs of others. Somewhere along the line I ceased being Lisa and turned into somebody’s mom and wife.
In general, I thought the personality profile I’d just suffered through was crap, but I couldn’t deny some of the question sparked a desire to know myself again. Did I prefer mango over guava juice? Had I ever tried guava juice? Being a grim reaper may not have been my first choice of employment, but the fact I was one of the few on Earth, gave me a shot of self-respect I hadn’t felt in a long time.
Maybe I’d pick up a mechanics magazine on the way home.
Chapter 10
The gymnasium spread out before me with an obstacle course that ranged from reasonable to bizarre. I assumed I was supposed to traverse this bad boy. The track I could handle. It was some of the other areas I wasn’t quite sure about.
Nate stood beside me with a clipboard and a huge stopwatch. “You have ten minutes to make it through the entire course.”
I nodded as if that wouldn’t be a problem. “Gotcha.”
“Let’s walk the course first.” He started down the track, not waiting for me. “You’ll do one lap, then you’ll veer to this area.”
A pommel horse blocked our path, but luckily a springboard sat in front of it. I remember vaulting over one when I was in grade school. Of course I was seventy pounds lighter, but I think I could manage this. “I have to spring over?”
“Yes.” Stepping around me, Nate moved to the next obstacle. “Here you need to climb the rope ladder.”
Ladder? It was more like a spider web of knots and rope spreading across one wall. Still, not impossible. I pointed upward. “What’s that?”
“Once at the top, you’ll climb onto that ledge, crawl to the end, and slide down the rope.”
Resting in a deep hole in the floor sat a small trampoline. The rope’s end knot dangled several feet above it. Obviously, Nate expected me to drop onto the stretchy black surface. My aim would have to be good, or I’d end up sprawled on one of the mats surrounding the trampoline. At this point my biggest fear was breaking a leg or pulling muscles I hadn’t used in years. “So drop onto that?”
“Drop, bounce a few times, and transfer to the next trampoline.”
No problem—if I were an Olympic gymnast. The next trampoline was half the size of the other. I craned my neck to make sure there wasn’t yet another, smaller apparatus I’d be expected to rebound onto. Relief washed through me when I saw a balance beam. “Got it.” Boy I was being cooperative. Last night I’d decided not to whine if I could help it. “Next?”
“Climb onto the wide balance beam. Jump down.” He strode ahead of me, patting each wooden beam as he passed them. “Onto the next bar.” I noticed it was a bit narrower, only about three inches wide. “Down, and finally to the last balance beam.”
Was he serious? The piece was no more than a half-inch across. “You expect me to walk on this?”
He stopped and at looked me. “Actually I don’t think you’ll make it over the vault.”
Walked right into that one. I smiled. “So encouraging.”
He shrugged. “You asked.”
Note to self: Nate thinks you’re a doofus. Don’t give him ammunition.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Fine, what’s next?”
“Another lap around the track. The time will stop when you cross the finish line.”
“Perfect.” I screwed my determination into place. I might not vault over the horse like a gazelle, or gracefully scramble up the rope, but I sure as heck was going to finish this course in less than ten minutes. I yanked on the bottom of my sweatshirt. “Let’s do this.”
“Toes to the line.” Nate pointed to the yellow stripe running the width of the track.
I placed one foot against the starting line and then hunkered down into a runner’s stance, bouncing a couple of times like I’d seen the athletes do.
He cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
“Getting ready to run? What does it look like?”
“You don’t want me to answer that.”
I twisted my head around to glare at him. “You got that right.” Setting up again, I leveled my gaze on the track in front of me. “I’m ready.”
“All righty, then.”
I heard the laughter in his voice. Eat my dust, Nate Cramer.
“On your mark.”
My body tensed.
“Get set.”
I lifted my butt in the air and ignored how much it hurt my fingertips to hold my weight forward. I—would—not—fail.
“Go.”
Though my intention had been to blaze down the track, leaving a fiery trail behind me, that idea quickly fizzled. Good God, when was the last time I’d actually run? I couldn’t remember. A better tactic was to set a quick jog. Weird things happened as I made my way around the track. Over the years my body had morphed into something I didn’t know. Areas of me jiggled that hadn’t ever before. After the second bend in the track my muscles burned. Air fought its way into my lungs. The whole experience was pathetic.
With each step more of the bravado I’d felt at the starting line evaporated. I veered off the track and jogged toward the horse. The thing seemed taller. Not sure I’d make it over, I gave an extra bounce on the springboard. I realized my mistake too late. Pitching forward, I smashed into the horse. Luckily I gained enough height to roll over the top in a tangle of arms and legs. As I dropped onto the opposite side, my hand snagged under one of the handgrips.
“Sweet mother!” I stumbled to my feet, twisting my ankle, and yanked my hand free. A steady throb took root at the base of my palm. Rubbing the spot did nothing to physically soothe the injury, but it kept my cursing contained.
“You okay?” Nate walked toward me, but I stopped him.
“Fine.” I limped toward the rope ladder. Pain continued to ripple through my wrist and ankle, but I tried my best to ignore it.
You can do this. You can do this.
Surprisingly, the ladder didn’t pose much of a problem. My legs felt like they were on fire, taking a lot of my weight as I climbed, but at least I didn’t flop around like a salmon in a net. With relative ease I scaled the web. The next phase was a different story.
Once at the top, I flailed for the wooden platform. Even by twisting my body, I just brushed the scaffolding with my fingertips. The only answer was to climb as hi
gh as possible and get above it. Medical bills started piling up in my mind. Broken wrist, sprained ankles, maybe even a broken back if I fell.
I glanced down. Nate stared at me, a hint of a smirk playing at his mouth. That was the motivation I needed.
I gripped the top rope and climbed until my feet were level with the plank. Extending my leg, I eased my left foot onto the ledge. From below I’m sure my position looked ridiculous, but at this point I didn’t care. I’d finish this damn course or die trying. Okay, that was a little drastic, but the realization of how out of shape I was pissed me off. Just another thing that had fallen apart after Jeff’s death.
Overhead, I grabbed the handle protruding from the scaffolding and pulled myself onto the ledge. The ground twenty feet below wavered, and I clung to the handle for dear life. I closed my eyes and waited for the world to stop spinning.
Note to self: Avoid heights if possible.
The ledge hadn’t looked so narrow from below. Reluctantly I released my death grip and crouched. A belly crawl seemed like the best idea. Safe, low to the board, and less chance of falling. Inch by inch I made my way to the end of the ledge. The rope dangled in front and I latched onto it like a shark on a tuna. White knuckled, I stood.
Again, it had been my intention to ease onto the rope and lower myself to the trampoline. The second my full weight cleared the platform, my grip slipped. Fire race along the palms of my hands as I plummeted toward the trampoline. For somebody watching, I’m sure I looked like I knew what I was doing. My resonating scream however, quickly extinguished that notion.
My feet hit the knot at the end of the rope, cramming my knees into their sockets. Certain my hands were a bloody mess, I released my grip and dropped on all fours onto the trampoline. I bounced several times, biting my tongue. God, I hated this job. What was I thinking when I said I’d be a reaper?
After the momentum slowed, I struggled to my feet. Every part of my body hurt. If it hadn’t been for Nate watching me, I would have lay there curled in a ball, whimpering. Testing my balance, I gave a couple of shallow bounces.
The smaller surface I was supposed to leap onto seemed a lot farther away than when we walked the course. Who designed this damn thing? Satan himself? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I was almost finished. I could do this. My lids slid open and my gaze focused on the projected landing spot.
With cat-eyed concentration, I bounced and launched. It felt like I lifted ten feet off the ground. The truth was probably more like I just cleared the trampoline. But I made it. Like a real gymnast, I stuck my landing.
Nate’s brows lifted with surprise. Suck it, reaper.
Now pretty full of myself, I leapt off the trampoline, landing with a solid thud on the mat, and jogged to the balance beams. No problem. Hefting myself up, I skittered along the widest beam. I moved a little slower on the next one, but didn’t fall. Though lower to the ground, the last and narrowest beam required my undivided attention and best balancing skills. My ankles shook from the effort it took to remain upright. What happened if I fell? God forbid I’d have to start again.
At the end of the beam I gave myself a mental high-five and jumped down. It would have been impressive if I’d sprinted the final lap of the track. Would have been, but I didn’t. As a matter-of-fact, I’m not sure I could have called it a jog at all. My quick walk was interspersed with a few sluggish running steps, but then I’d have to slow again. My lungs burned and blood pounded in my head. Sweat poured off me as if I’d been doing an hour of heavy cardio. It was embarrassing and even more humiliating.
With the finish line a mere ten feet away, I found the last of my energy and sprinted past Nate. I heard the click of his stopwatch.
“Not bad,” he said.
I bent, bracing my hands on my knees and sucked in air. I’d never been super athletic, but I was wheezing like a two-pack-a-day chain smoker. “What’s—” Cough. Pant. I could barely form words. “My time?”
“Seven minutes, ten seconds.” Nate stopped in front of me. “You okay?”
I nodded, still unable to speak coherently. After another minute, I straightened. “Yeah, I’m great.” Sweat dripped into my eyes and I wiped it away with the bottom of my sweatshirt. “So I passed?”
“Yep.” He walked away. “The first round, anyway.”
“What?” Surely I hadn’t heard him correctly. I inhaled and blew out a long breath. “The first round?”
He stopped near a trunk and opened it. “That was just the first run. If you hadn’t finished we wouldn’t bother with the second heat.”
The urge to wrap my fingers around his neck and squeeze intensified. I knew this testing wasn’t his fault but he seemed to be enjoying it way too much. “But I already did it with over two minutes to spare.”
Nate reached into the trunk and pulled out a bright orange, mesh jumpsuit. He gave it a couple of shakes, and then held it up for me to see.
“What the hell is that?”
“You’ll wear this on your next run. It’s meant to simulate transporting a soul.” He indicated the sleeve for me to see. “There’s Velcro at the cuffs and chest.”
I stared at him, still not understanding. “How does Velcro simulate reaping?”
“Because…” Nate dropped the jumpsuit on the ground and dug in the trunk again. This time he extracted what looked like a life-sized pillow doll. “This will be attached to you.”
If I understood him correctly he expected me to run the course I’d barely gotten through, with a gigantic pillow stuck to me. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Maybe, but it will give you a sense of what you’ll be dealing with if you encounter a resistant spirit or difficult terrain.”
Maybe I could get a job as a barista. I liked coffee and Danishes. What was a few scalding milk burns compared to this? Thinking about running the course again made my stomach lurch and my head pound harder. Doing it while lugging the pillow around made me want to cry defeat. Nate’s expression made clear that’s exactly what he expected. Though exhausted and slightly beaten down, I was not willing to except more humiliation. “Will I be timed again?”
The grin he’d barely concealed stretched across his mouth. “No. Take all the time you need.”
What I needed was a long nap and a miracle. “I’ve got to pee.”
He replied by pointing toward the locker room. Doing my best to stand tall and not limp, I brushed past him and headed across the gym. Pushing open the heavy locker room door hurt. Walking hurt. Thinking hurt. How I’d ever get through the course dragging a body pillow was beyond me.
I stopped at my locker and yanked it open. A full icy bottle of water sat in a puddle of condensation. Before taking a long drink, I rubbed the cool container against my forehead. The heartbeat pounding in my head eased a little but my lungs still burned. A piercing stitch set up residence in my right side. After opening the spout of my bottle, I squeezed the cold liquid into my mouth. What I wanted was to gulp down every drop but I knew I’d pay for it with a side-stitch once I started the course again.
After snapping the lid shut, I set the bottle on the top shelf and reached for the towel hanging on one of the hooks inside. A tiny jangle clanked at the bottom of the locker. My raven charm. I picked it up and held it in my palm. The metal warmed against my skin. After shoving it in my pocket the day the bird dropped it at my feet, I’d pretty much forgotten about it.
The edge of the tiny scythed glimmered blue. Maybe there was something to this bond I had with Fletcher. That’s what I’d named him, getting tired of calling him the weirdo bird. At this point I could use all the help I could get, magical or otherwise. I unhooked my snowflake necklace and slid the raven charm onto the gold chain. It could have been my imagination but I swear tiny sparks flickered around the pendants when they touched. The metal was cool against my chest when I rehooked the chain and what felt like spider web threads of electricity rippled across my skin.
I rolled my shoulders and cocke
d my head side to side, suddenly feeling reenergized. If the charm did have magic, maybe it could give me an edge on the stupid obstacle course. Not taking any chances that Nate might call cheating if he saw the charm, I slipped it into the neck of my sweatshirt. Maybe there was hope yet. I slammed the locker closed, squared my shoulders, and strode back into the gym.
He glanced up from his cell phone, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You okay?”
“Great. Why?” Acting natural or the ability to lie weren’t skills I’d been gifted with. Most of the time I over compensated. Usually my eyes were too round and innocent, or my voice raised an octave. “Don’t I look okay?”
I’d totally set myself up for one of his insults, but it was a small sacrifice if he didn’t figure out I wore the charm. For some reason Nate didn’t take the bait. Instead he nodded. “You look good.”
Maybe I was making an ego mountain out of a slip-of-the-tongue molehill, but I was fairly certain he’d just complimented me. Our gazes locked and a zing of sexual tension crackled between us. At least I think it was sexual tension. It had been a long time since I’d experienced it.
Even if he wasn’t feeling the connection, it was nice to hear something flattering come out of his mouth for a change. And the little jitter that rocketed through me let me know I wasn’t completely dead inside. Wow, I really needed to change the batteries in my vibrator if I was thinking about Nate in that way.
Dragging his gaze from me, he turned and busied himself with the jumpsuit. It suddenly felt very warm in the gym. The urge to fan myself was barely overridden by the intense desire to act as if his compliment hadn’t stroked my comatose vanity.
“Put this on.” He turned and shoved the jumpsuit at me. Guess cuddling was out.
My I’m rockin’ this reaper bubble burst. I repressed a groan and lifted the orange abomination from his grasp. “I’m going to look like the Great Pumpkin in this.”
He snorted. “Yeah.”
“You’re loving this.” I glared at him. “Aren’t you?”
“Oh yeah.” His head bobbed up and down. “But we’ve all had to wear it. So don’t think I’m torturing you needlessly.”
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