Reaping Havoc

by AJ Rose

  And what if Nate was on Uncle Thomas’s list? Mitch wasn’t sure what he’d do. Would Katherine allow him to bargain for Nate’s soul? He’d never considered if Divinity ever granted reprieves or made mistakes. When he’d first learned he would become a reaper at twenty-four, he’d asked his dad what would happen if he refused. Charles’s answer hadn’t been reassuring at all.

  Those souls will drift, because their appointed time will come with or without you, and you don’t want to be responsible for their limbo, Mitch. Purgatory’s not just a ski resort.

  “You’re in luck,” Charles said, reentering the kitchen and pouring four mugs of coffee, ferrying them carefully to the table. “Thomas doesn’t have his name either. If it’s just us four reapers, and from the emails it sounds like it, then Nate’s not on the list.”

  Mitch let his head thunk to the table, nearly upsetting his mug. The fear clogging his throat receded, leaving a bad aftertaste, as if Mitch had vomited. Honestly, his gut churned as if he had.

  Apparently Morgan couldn’t stand it anymore. “Who is Nate and why do we care that he’s not on the list?”

  “Nate is the guy Mitch is in love with but won’t let himself admit it,” Sylvia answered, setting a miniature pitcher of cream on the table beside the little sugar bowl Mitch had always thought looked like one of the mushroom houses in The Smurfs.

  “Mom!” he exclaimed, his face growing hot as he sat up. But she was right. I’m in love with him. Holy shit.

  “It’s true,” she said simply, sipping her coffee after doctoring it to her taste.

  Morgan resumed his seat as well, stirring sugar into the black depths of his cup. “Why are we worried about him being on the mountain?”

  “Because he’s Mitch’s ski instructor,” Charles piped up.

  “He’s not my ski instructor,” Mitch grumped.

  “He could be, if you’d just let him.” His dad smiled.

  “You’re right,” Mitch agreed, giving up the pretense, the resistance, the self-flagellation of the last several weeks. His family’s love for each other was proof that it mattered if he spent his life alone. Just coming home for dinner from his lonely apartment on a stormy night gave him a deep contentment he’d never be able to recapture alone. Sure, he could be happy in his own company and with his dog, but it seemed so empty. No shared laughs over dumb TV shows, no one to tell about his day, no one to share a pizza with or hear about their day.

  In the span of a few minutes, thanks to his fear that Nate’s name had shown up on a reaper’s email, Mitch caved. Caved to his feelings for Nate, to everything his dad had been trying to convince him to let happen, to admitting he couldn’t do it by himself no matter how much he’d hurt in the long run. The possibility of losing Nate permanently, before they had a chance to build memories or repair what he’d broken, slammed into him, shattering all resistance.

  First, Mitch needed to find Nate and warn him off the mountain for the coming Saturday. Second, he had to see if there was still a chance for them or if he’d wrecked everything completely.

  Charles stared at him. “We’re right?”

  “Yeah. You’re right. I was wrong. I’m a big fat sap, and no amount of lying to you or myself will change it.”

  “Huh,” Sylvia said, looking at Charles in amusement. “That was much easier than I expected. Glad I didn’t take you up on that fifty bucks.”

  His dad laughed. “I told you not to underestimate me.”

  “Hey,” Mitch said, glaring. “I’m right here.”

  “How else does gloating work if I can’t do it in front of the person I proved wrong?” Charles asked, his face a mask of innocence.

  Morgan laughed. “Did he beat my record?”

  Mitch eyed his brother in confusion.

  “Oh yeah,” Charles said. “You were convinced you’d never fall in love for about four months. Mitch has been telling me for the last three years he’d never give in, never put himself through the pain, never force someone to bear his burden with him. It was all very melodramatic.”

  A pang of hurt stabbed Mitch in the chest. “Are you kidding me with this right now? I’ve just had an epiphany, and you’re all talking about how you were placing bets and tracking my progress? Also, melodrama?” He glared. “What happened to all those ‘concerned father’ conversations, where you couldn’t stand to see me denying myself happiness, Dad?”

  Charles’s expression sobered. “Those were a 100 percent heartfelt, son. All we’re saying is you’re not the only one to have gone through that whole painful process. We all did, and I warned Sylvia about it when we had sons, because I knew it was coming. You’re quite stubborn, kid, but you’re in similar company. Now, if it’s okay with you, perhaps we should discuss what’s about to happen this weekend. Or maybe you’d like to run after Nate so you’ll be able to focus on the task at hand Saturday, because I’m telling you boys, we’ll all have to bring our A-game.”

  Chagrined, Mitch sat back with a huff. A very powerful part of him did want to go throw on his winter gear and find Nate, bust down his door, and beg forgiveness in the hope he hadn’t waited too long. But a stronger sense of urgency overtook him about the magnitude of the coming disaster and how these were people’s souls with which they were dealing.

  “Okay, Dad. What do we do for a multi-fatality reap? I’ve got four people on my list.”

  Charles and Morgan leaned forward while Sylvia made another pot of coffee and left them to it.

  Chapter 16

  Déjà Nope

  The psychic’s storefront wasn’t flashy, full of blinking neon, or draped in crazy-colored scarves, though Nate had half expected that. The blinds were pulled down, guarding the interior from prying eyes on the street in Durango, and a simple sign hanging in the window declared the storefront belonged to Cato Figueroa, personal consultant and life coach. It was as unobtrusive as a lawyer’s or dentist’s office, which raised Nate’s confidence in the encounter.

  “We’re calling it life coaching now?” he murmured as he opened the door and stepped into the softly lit space. When he entered, the low-hanging clouds turned the interior cozy.

  A woman sporting glasses and a long mane of brown hair with a blonde streak sitting at a glass desk in front glanced up. “Can I help you?”

  “I have an appointment with Cato. I mean, Mr. Figueroa. Nate Koehn?”

  She turned to the computer and clicked her mouse a few times, calling up the information. “Of course. Cato will be right with you.” She gestured to a couple of padded chairs beside the window. “Can I get you anything? Coffee or tea?”

  “A bottle of water would be great.”

  She smiled and disappeared, returning a moment later with his drink. She was dressed in a pencil skirt and button-down shirt that reminded him of vintage clothing stores, but she was not at all what he’d expected. There weren’t large hoop earrings or hands wearing rings on every finger. He could have been in a real estate agent’s office rather than a psychic medium’s.

  A man appeared in a doorway behind the receptionist. “Mr. Koehn?” He was average in almost every way—height, weight, clothing, appearance. He could have been anybody.

  So much for all the stereotypes.

  Nate stood and approached the man cautiously. “Mr. Figueroa?”

  “Please call me Cato. Come on in.”

  Cato’s office was a little more typical, containing not a desk but a handful of armchairs arranged around a low circular coffee table upon which sat a cluster of burning candles. There were plaques on the walls, mostly recognition from various cities thanking the psychic for services rendered, pictures of Figueroa with a few C-list celebrities, and a couple of watercolor landscapes.

  “Make yourself comfortable,” Cato said, choosing the biggest of the armchairs and swiping a small remote control from the coffee table. He clicked on music, and Nate had to fight to keep a straight face. Granted, it wasn’t Gregorian chanting or something equally mystical, more something one would hear at
a spa, but it still made Nate snicker internally. “Do you mind the music? I can turn it off, but I find people often come to their appointments with certain expectations, and I don’t want to disappoint.”

  “The music is fine.” Huh. Nate hadn’t expected such a forthcoming explanation.

  “On the phone you expressed interest in learning about the death process, namely what happens to us after we’re called to the Great Beyond, so to speak.”

  This guy sounds so normal, Nate thought. In fact, the fairly skeptical tone Cato spoke with matched Nate’s own reservations. Shouldn’t the guy believe in his own talents? Maybe he’s the real deal and doesn’t need to play them up, so he’s matching my detachment to put me at ease. If that was the case, the guy was good. Nate couldn’t help wondering what Tate thought.

  “I have some questions about life after death and how that whole thing works.”

  “May I inquire as to the reason?” Cato asked, sipping from a china cup from a small table beside his chair.

  Nate was prepared for this question. “My twin sister passed seven months ago, and I’m looking for some peace of mind. I’m not big on religion, so I honestly don’t believe that Heaven and Hell business. I thought I’d talk to someone who might know, and frankly, you seem more legitimate than most of the people I found online.”

  Cato humbly lowered his head. “My deepest sympathies for the loss of your sister. What was her name?” He didn’t acknowledge the compliment in words.

  “Tatum. Tate for short.”

  “I’m going to ask you some questions to be able to pinpoint her essence, but I’m going to tell you right now, I can’t guarantee she’s going to speak to me.”

  I can, Nate thought. Out loud, he said, “Okay.”

  “How old was she when she expired?”

  Expired? Nate fought an eye roll. “Twenty-two.”

  “Was it sudden or the product of a prolonged illness?”

  “She had a skiing accident,” Nate answered, giving more detail to speed this up.

  “I’m very sorry. When a person is violently yanked into the spirit world, it upsets the veil between this world and the next, so while it’s a terrible thing for her and your family to experience, it might actually help me make contact.”

  Something like a finger poked him in the back, and he knew Tate was probably laughing. It helped him relax, knowing she was as amused as he was, especially since communicating with her wasn’t truly the reason he was in Cato Figueroa’s office.

  “Let me see if I can feel her presence.” Cato closed his eyes and went very still, breathing steadily through his nose in even intervals. As the moment stretched, his breathing became deeper, and Nate began to wonder if perhaps the man had fallen asleep. Then he spoke, and his voice was nothing like it had been during their conversation. It was much deeper, so filled with bass it practically rattled Nate’s bones.

  “Tate, if you’re with us, I’m open to you. Can you tell me something about your current state of being, please? Are you aware?” Silence reigned for a moment, then Cato spoke again. “Have you been in contact with your brother?” More seconds ticked by. “Would you like to tell him something now?”

  Another poke, this time on the back of his neck, made Nate gust out a chuckle he had to turn into a cough to cover how not-seriously he was taking this. He gave the room at large a glare, knowing he wouldn’t get anything out of this if he didn’t keep it together and Tate didn’t behave.

  Cato opened his eyes and spoke normally again. “Tate was quite the prankster, wasn’t she?”

  “She could be, yes,” Nate admitted fondly.

  “She wants you to know she’s okay where she is, that she’s happy, and she misses you. She says she’s tried to contact you, but it’s been difficult.”

  Nate wasn’t sure how to interpret that. Did that mean it drained her energy to type messages to him on the computer, or she’d tried to contact him more than he’d seen? Or was the guy a total nutjob, making shit up?

  “That’s a relief, that she’s okay.” It was the best he could come up with.

  “She’s peaceful where she is, and she would like you to know she thinks you did the right thing coming here.”

  “Coming here… to Colorado or here to see you?”

  “She didn’t specify,” Cato answered, eyes wide with sincerity. He crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and held on with both hands, looking for all the world like the Zen psychic he proclaimed to be.

  “I’m honestly more interested in what she’s been through since her death,” Nate said, leaning forward. “I’ve had some… things happen around my apartment, and I sometimes get the impression she’s upset.”

  “You can feel her presence?” Cato asked.

  “I think so. I mean, I’m not positive it’s her, which is another reason I’m here. I just moved, so maybe the new place was already… occupied. If it’s not Tate, who is it?” He played dumb, both as a test to see if this guy was the real deal and to find out if he really knew what happened to a person when they died. If he was a fraud, it didn’t matter what he said about reapers; Nate wouldn’t be able to trust his answers.

  Cato smiled reassuringly. “I’m pretty sure it’s only your sister, but without an on-site visit, I couldn’t say for certain.”

  Which was a crock of shit, Nate knew. This guy advertised phone readings for people across the country. How could a man know anything about a person he spoke to on the phone, and not be able to tell things about the person sitting directly in front of him? One or the other was a lie.

  “How much is an on-site visit?” Nate asked, keeping up the pretense. Disappointment flowered in his gut like badly folded origami.

  “I can have my assistant provide you with literature when we’re finished here. I’d like to focus on this visit in the hopes that I can answer all your questions if possible.”

  The guy was smooth, Nate would give him that. “So is she upset? Was her death difficult? I mean the part after she died. I’m pretty sure the injury part of it all was less than pleasant, and I’d like to avoid reliving those days, if it’s okay with you.”

  “Of course.” Cato returned to his semi-trance state, lowering his voice to ask Nate’s specific questions. When he returned his attention to the here and now, his voice was soothing once more. “At first, she was very upset, having been separated from you, but she’s since come to terms with her current existence.”

  “What about moving on?” Nate pushed. “Isn’t she supposed to, I don’t know, rest in peace? If she’s still around, how did that even happen?”

  “There’s not a lot known about the process the dead must go through or the rules of the world of spirits. What I can tell you is they’re given a choice upon finding themselves detached from their bodies. Your sister appears to have chosen to stay with you.”

  “So, there aren’t, like, people responsible for helping them out on the other side?”

  “People to help them?” Cato asked, a slight frown creasing his brow. “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, like reapers or something. You know, people to help them find their way after death? So they know where to go.”

  Cato gave him a placid smile. “Oh yes, there are all manner of creatures tasked with overseeing the dead.”

  “So what happened to Tate’s… creatures?” He didn’t want to jump on the reaper thing since Cato hadn’t confirmed it, but he felt a vague guilt about referring to Mitch’s kind as a creature.

  “She chose you,” Cato said simply.

  “But are they coming back for her? Is she safe with me?” He hadn’t meant to voice aloud questions to which he desperately wanted answers, and though he would grudgingly admit Cato wasn’t confirming much, what he did confirm fit what Tate had told him.

  “Honestly, Nathan, I don’t know. Perhaps she has unfinished business and is being allowed to stay. Perhaps someone will come for her at another time. There are no guarantees. Perhaps her choice has removed the optio
n to move on. Until, that is, your appointed time arrives, and she can accompany you on your afterlife journey.”

  Nate hadn’t thought of that. Could she be with him the rest of his life? Could he be her ticket into her death door? He couldn’t even ask Tate. She was as unsure of her future as he was. Nate’s mind reeled, and he dropped the pretense of his visit.

  “What do you know about reapers?”

  Cate smiled. “Not much. They walk among us but can’t be seen, so we never know when our time is up.”

  Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He’d seen Mitch plenty. All of Mitch. Repeatedly. Focus, perv, Nate admonished himself.

  “They steal through our minds in dreams and imprint themselves on our psyches so when death occurs, they know where to find us and ferry us along to our personal afterlife.”

  “Dreams?” Nate asked, unable to contain his disbelief. He was pretty sure Mitch didn’t have control over anyone’s dreams. Not that Mitch had talked to him about what he was. But the guy slept as soundly as anyone Nate had known.

  “Most people experience déjà vu once or twice in their lives. Sometimes it’s due to something they dreamed but don’t remember, and that dream detail threatens to come true. Those are times when a reaper has left a fingerprint in the dreamer’s brain and the veil between worlds is at its lowest. A moment of déjà vu is either your reaper keeping track of you, or your life is at a crossroads. One way leads to the end of your life while others do not. Your fate depends entirely on your choices. If you make the ultimate choice, your reaper will be there to collect you and send you on. Free will does come into play, and we often have brushes with death we aren’t even aware have occurred.”

  Is this guy for real? Fingerprints on our brains? Dreams and crossroads and déjà vu?

  “So reapers aren’t disguised as people walking among us?”

  “Oh no,” Cato said with surety. “They’d be far too much for a human being to have contact with.”