by AJ Rose
Reaping Havoc
AJ Rose
The Grim Writer Press
Contents
Reaping Havoc
Publisher’s Note
Special Thanks To:
Dedication
Author’s Note
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
12. Chapter 12
13. Chapter 13
14. Chapter 14
15. Chapter 15
16. Chapter 16
17. Chapter 17
18. Chapter 18
19. Chapter 19
20. Chapter 20
21. Chapter 21
22. Chapter 22
23. Chapter 23
24. Chapter 24
25. Epilogue
Deacon the Reaper
About the Author
Reaping Havoc
Copyright 2015 AJ Rose
The Grim Writer Press
Publisher’s Note
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without prior written permission from The Grim Writer Press. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/) Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.
Editor: Theo Fenraven
Cover Artist: Elizabeth Mackey Graphic Designs
[email protected] general inquiries
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The laws and medical procedures in this book are products of online research and are not inclusive of all laws and practices in the locales depicted in this e-book, which are subject to the author’s creative license. Any mistakes are purely mine.
The trademarked products mentioned in this e-book are the property of their respective owners and are recognized as such.
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language, and may be considered offensive to some readers. Grim Writer Press’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by underage readers.
DISCLAIMER: Please do not try any new sexual practices, especially those that might be found in BDSM/fetish titles, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither The Grim Writer Press nor its author(s) will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in any of its titles.
Special Thanks To:
The Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse, without whom this book wouldn’t exist. Jennifer Phyfe, for all the long phone calls and the genius brainstorming sessions, and cackling with me over the potentially disturbing humor on which I was about to embark. Friends like these are rare and cherished. I love you all.
My wife, without whom I wouldn’t be living the dream.
Dedication
To my parents, who showed me the meaning of unconditional love.
Author’s Note
The events in this novel take place in a small town in Colorado, one I’ve named Caperville. It is entirely a product of my imagination. I didn’t want the location of the novel, other than the landscape of nearby mountains and a booming ski season tourist industry, to have much impact on the story. To populate Caperville with as many realistic details as I could, I was inspired by many ski resorts, but any resemblance to actual locations is unintended.
Chapter 1
Lightning Strikes Twice
Mitchell Seeker never expected to be struck dumb while running a simple errand on a random Tuesday. He planned to stop at the ritzy grocery store on Pine Street to meet someone, pop in for a heat-n-serve dinner from the deli counter, and spend a quiet evening with his dog, Sadie, and some Netflix.
Instead, he stood frozen by his car, watching the man of his dreams saunter through the automatic doors and disappear inside. Mitch’s mouth hung open. It was astonishing. It was life-changing. It was completely unexpected.
The lightning bolt that struck and killed Marianne Carelli, however, Mitch had expected.
Snapping his jaw shut, he shook himself. Drool over someone later. You have work to do.
The swollen October clouds that had built all afternoon finally erupted like a water balloon filled beyond capacity, sending people scurrying for cover in their cars or the store. That’s when Mitch saw Marianne, a middle-aged woman with pretty dark hair quickly plastered to her head as she struggled with an uncooperative umbrella. She was the only one not running, though Mitch figured on another twenty seconds before she gave up and was lost to him inside the store. He had to hurry.
“Can I help you with that?” His smile was at its most disarming as he reached for her umbrella, giving her no chance to protest in case she recognized him. He wasn’t exactly the person the residents of Caperville, Colorado went to for help.
“Thank you, but I—” she protested.
Mitch gave the umbrella a shake and rammed the pointy end straight down on the asphalt, jarring loose the jam in its mechanism. He flipped it upright and opened it with a flourish, the catch taking hold with an obedient click.
“Here you go.”
Marianne didn’t immediately take the umbrella, so he smiled again, grabbed her hand, and wrapped it around the handle. As he did so, the part of him there to meet Marianne engaged, and his fingers warmed where her skin touched his, the tips glowing a brief red only he saw.
“Thank you,” she said, her surprise at having a perfectly normal encounter with one of the Seeker family plain. Or so she probably thought.
“Stay dry now,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat and turning toward the doors. He hurried away, though not to escape the rain; he was already soaked to the skin. No, he didn’t want to be standing too close to Marianne now that his job was complete. He had to remain inconspicuous.
He made it to the roof overhang and stopped, facing the parking lot to wring out the bottom of his shirt. There were no other bystanders when lightning forked from the sky and straight into the tip of Marianne’s umbrella. The flash was too bright for him to see her at the moment of death, but sparks cascaded to the ground as she fell, like glitter rain celebrating her spectacular end.
Honestly, Mitch thought it was beautiful, though he’d have never said so aloud. People in this medium-sized town sheltered by mountains thought he was creepy enough despite his innocuous looks. He wouldn’t add to that.
Marianne’s soul stood at his side, ethereal and stupefied.
“Hi again,” he said softly. “Let’s go inside before it gets chaotic out here.”
A shout sounded from the nearest row of cars, and he didn’t wait around for them to see him darting into the store. His charge followed obediently, like he knew she would. For however b
rief a time, she was bound to him.
He scurried into the organic and gluten-free aisle before anyone placed him near the scene of another death. There were enough rumors about him and his family. Some made him laugh. Most made him sad while reinforcing what he already knew: he was better off keeping to himself as much as he could. Alone was safest.
Marianne followed like a helium balloon on a string while he picked up fried chicken and mashed potatoes from the deli for his dinner. For reasons he didn’t understand, souls couldn’t speak, though they could hear and understand perfectly fine. That suited Mitch, who was always patient answering questions for the newly dead, instinctively understanding what they’d want to know most without having to listen to baseless accusations that he’d caused their deaths.
He hadn’t. He was merely the grim reaper who harvested their souls and led them to their next stop.
He didn’t know how long he had with Marianne before she had to go, but the idea of speaking to her while browsing the soda aisle didn’t appeal. To others, it’d look like he was talking to himself, so he stayed mute. Quickly grabbing a twelve-pack of Diet Coke, he shuffled to the checkouts. Six lanes were open for the after-work rush, but only two were busy, so he picked an empty one and waited calmly for the checker assigned to this lane to return from the small crowd gathered at the front windows.
“Sorry,” the young guy said. He looked like a high school kid and his eyes danced with excitement. “An ambulance just showed up. Do you know what happened?”
Mitch shook his head. “No, sorry.” He was curious if the kid recognized him or was just making small talk.
“I wonder if someone got hit by a car.”
“Hopefully it’s not that serious,” Mitch said pointedly.
The kid had the decency to look abashed for his enthusiasm, and Mitch smiled to let him know he hadn’t been offended… much. After all, it was human nature to be interested in the hardships of others, if only to reassure themselves tragedy hadn’t happened to them, that they were still safe.
Behind him, standing half in and half out of the candy display, Marianne looked stricken, silver tears tracking down her cheeks. Mitch’s heart went out to her. It didn’t feel good to be judged as the one on the wrong end of a catastrophe.
Transaction concluded, Mitch carried the bags to his car, a silver Mazda 3. Marianne was still tethered to him. It seemed callous to be looking around for that hot guy, so he kept his head down, going the long way around to his car to avoid the ambulance activity.
The tether between him and Marianne’s soul pulled at his psychic edges as she was drawn to her body. A person’s essence didn’t give up that connection easily, and he wanted to reassure her. Out here, it wouldn’t be obvious if he seemingly talked to himself.
“It’ll be okay, Mrs. Carelli. I won’t let you get lost.” Out of courtesy, Mitch put his groceries on the floorboard of the backseat so she could sit up front with him. Not that she could crush his purchases, but she was still a person, and he wasn’t rude.
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
Mitch startled and looked over the top of his car and past Marianne. The owner of the burnt orange Jeep parked beside him was eyeing him expectantly.
It was him. Mr. Perfect.
Okay, he wasn’t exactly perfect. His smile was wide and his teeth were straight, save one incisor, angled as if to hug its neighbor. His scruff was too long to be calculated and a couple shades darker than his almost blond hair, and his ears stuck out a mite too far, exacerbated by a very short haircut.
Mitch hadn’t seen him in town before, and while he didn’t exactly know all 18,000 plus people in Caperville, he wondered if the guy was new to town or one of the tourists who would start to pour in during the next few weeks for ski season.
Mitch realized he had yet to answer the question, and his cheeks heated. Luckily the rain, which had slowed to a gentle patter, cooled his skin.
“Nothing,” he said, breaking eye contact. “I was just mumbling about getting lost on my way home.”
“Are you new in town, too?”
Well, that answers that question. “No,” Mitch replied without thinking, then winced when Jeep Guy lifted an amused brow. Ah, well, the only reason he’s talking to me is because the rumors haven’t scared him off. At least if the guy thought him strange, it would be his own doing. He cleared his throat. “I normally don’t shop at this store. It’s pricier than I like.” Great, now he’s going to think I’m weird and poor.
“Oh. Good to know. I thought it was just me.” The guy laughed, then sobered. “Do you know what happened?” Jeep Guy hooked his thumb at the ambulance.
“Sorry, no.”
“Hope they’re okay.”
Marianne drifted farther away, toward her body. That psychic tug intensified and Mitch’s stomach gave a slow roll in reaction.
“Me, too.” He moved to get into his car and leave, not only so he could tend to his companion, but also to refrain from saying something stupid. Again.
“Where is a better place to shop?” The guy apparently didn’t care he was getting wetter. Mitch had to focus to keep his mind from drifting to skin-hugging clothes, see-through fabric, water dripping off plump lips….
“I’m, uh, sorry, but I have to go.” He glanced uneasily at Marianne, giving her tether a mental pull. She floated backward to his car. Jeep Guy nodded, looking disappointed. “I bought ice cream,” Mitch finished lamely. “Try Albertson’s on Center Street.”
“Thanks.”
If the guy said any more, Mitch didn’t hear it. He reeled Marianne into the passenger seat and splashed out of the parking lot as quickly as he dared.
“Did he really seem disappointed I couldn’t stay and talk?” he asked Marianne, his voice full of wonder.
Her tearstained cheeks brought him back to reality, and he felt like an ass.
“Sorry, that was tacky. Okay. You probably realize by now you’re dead.” She stared, then nodded, so he went on. “I didn’t kill you. You were struck by lightning.” As if to punctuate the point, a low rumble broke across the sky, chasing a skeletal hand of lightning splitting the clouds. “You’re in my care until it’s time for you to move on. I’ll help you. I promise, you’re not alone.”
Marianne looked away and pointed down a cross street as Mitch drove through a green light. He knew what she wanted.
“Your family won’t be home, sweetheart. They’ll probably go to the hospital when someone calls them about your accident.” Inwardly, he wished he had waited to get his dinner so he could do what he had to with her without needing to swing home first.
Well, he was still new at this. His duties hadn’t begun until his twenty-fourth birthday three months before.
Marianne gave him a pleading look.
“I want to drop by my apartment real quick, okay?” She glared. “I need to take my dog out, and then I promise I’ll take you to the hospital. That will give your family time to get there, too. If I take you home, they’ll wonder why I’m there, and if they get upset, I won’t be able to follow them. You’ll get even less time.”
It was a calculated risk, taking her anywhere near her body, but he would try. The stronger he got, the less difficult it would be for him to stay connected to future souls. The echo of life could strain his tether, and if he lost control of it, she could break free to become what mortals thought of as a ghost. That had only happened to him once, when in the aftermath of a car accident, he couldn’t get his charge away from the body quickly enough. He’d learned right then it was best not to be near a death scene too long.
Besides, if he was around too many accidents, people would get suspicious. His father had warned him repeatedly of that during his “training” phase. He’d heard the rumors his whole life, anyway. The town already thought the Seekers were serial killers. His grandfather had found it hilarious to mess with the townsfolk, but Mitch had no such urges.
Marianne must’ve realized she didn’t have much choice,
because she settled in for the fifteen-minute drive to his side of town. On the way, he explained what he knew.
“Once you see your family and say goodbye, usually a door opens, assuming you don’t have any other unfinished business.” He hoped she didn’t. “Once you go through the door, you’re on to the next phase.” He held up a hand as if she were about to interrupt him. “I wish I could tell you what that is, but it’s different for everyone. It could be Heaven if you believe in that, or reincarnation, or a different life on another plane we haven’t discovered yet. I’ve never seen it, but I do know someone meets you at the door to move you along. You won’t get lost, okay?”
She nodded again, then stared out the passenger window. She’d had enough, it seemed. Just as well. He didn’t have much more information. Except the required warning.
“Marianne, I need you to promise you’ll stay close to me until your door opens.” She eyed him up and down, skeptical. “I know people don’t trust me because I’m strange. I get it. I’m the guy people cross the street to avoid. But it’s because I do this thing for the dead. Now you know why I’m strange. I’m here to help you, but I can’t if I can’t see you or keep you close. Promise you won’t leave my side. You won’t break the connection. Okay?”
After a long moment, she tilted her head in resigned agreement.
They’d reached his apartment by then, and he hurried up to the third floor to shove his food in the fridge and leash Sadie, his golden retriever, for a quick walk. Ten minutes later, after assuring Sadie he’d be home shortly and she could hang out on his bed in the meantime, Mitch was motoring Marianne to her final moments with her family.