by D. C. Gomez
There was a knock at my door. It was almost eleven, and I had no friends. All the people I knew, I left at Abuelita’s. Texarkana was a relative safe city by my standards, and I wasn’t too excited to get killed there. When it comes to crime rates, most people have a hard time looking at the big picture. For the natives, Texarkana was becoming too big and dangerous. They wanted to keep the small-town feel. When people know your name at the restaurant you frequent, you live in a small town. No matter what the natives believe. With that in mind, I grabbed my bat and walked to the door.
“Who is it?” I tried to make my voice sound mean and menacing. Instead I sounded as if I had swallowed a frog. Just my luck.
“I have a message from Brooklyn. Could we talk?” a female voice said. The voice had a slight accent, maybe European. She sounded friendly, but the Brooklyn part didn’t make me feel better. I had left Brooklyn in a hurry. Besides my godmother, nobody from that life knew where I was.
“Isis, we can talk in private, or we can do it this way. It’s up to you.”
How did she know my name? I slowly opened the door with my left hand, keeping my right on the bat. I peered through the crack, trying to look mean.
I had heard stories that when Death comes from you, your life flashes before your eyes. Well, that was a lie. My life didn’t flash. Instead, everything froze. As I stared at the woman on my threshold, I knew I was seeing Death. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not talking about someone who was there to kill me. I was actually staring at Death herself, the Grim Reaper. Why Death was wearing a very expensive designer suit and four-inch heels was beyond me. For that matter, why was Death beautiful, with a curvaceous body and long, silky brown hair?
“Can I come in now, or do you just plan to stare at me?” There was mischief in her voice, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit sheepish.
“Sure, why not?” If Death was at my door, there was no point in hiding.
“Do you know who I am?” She strolled into the apartment and did a quick scan. She was wearing a light jacket over her suit. I guess Death doesn’t feel heat or cold, because it was still too warm for all those layers even in September.
“Death.” The word came out harsh, even for me. That was all I was able to say. I was feeling nauseous.
“Not bad. May I?” She pointed at the futon. I nodded. She slowly took a seat with a grace I had seem only in Miss America pageants. I had a couple of folding chairs by a wall, but I was too shocked to move.
“Are you here to kill me?” I found the courage to ask.
Death raised an eyebrow and analyzed me. “Sorry, dear, I’m not in the killing business. I’m more in the delivery one. So no, I’m here because we have some business to attend.”
I was totally lost. What did “delivery business” mean, and why did I have business with Death?
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’m not following you.” Nobody could accuse me of not being polite. I was feeling pretty brave. I had spoken a whole sentence to Death.
“Do you remember Brooklyn, March ninth?”
Was she serious? I was so dead. This was getting worse by the minute.
“Unfortunately, I can’t forget it.” There was no need to lie to this woman—or being, or whatever she was. I had had an ongoing countdown in my head starting on that day. It had been six months and six days exactly.
“Good. Tell me what happened.” She leaned back and waited. I wasn’t sure she was breathing.
“Excuse me? What?” The horror on my face was probably showing, because Death smiled very gently at me.
“Relax, dear. I want to hear your side of the story. So start from the moment you got to the party. And try not to leave anything out, OK?” The voice was soothing but firm. She was leaving no room for interpretation. She wanted the truth, and she wanted it now. I took a breath and then exhaled.
“My friend Tamara invited me to a party at one of her friend’s. I was planning to leave the following week. I wasn’t adjusting and couldn’t find work. I was planning a road trip. Tamara was one of the few friends I had made up there, and she actually wanted me to stay. I been out of the military for almost two months at the time, and I was already miserable. We made it to the party around ten p.m., and the place was packed. It was on the seventh floor of an apartment building in Brooklyn. The residents had moved out but hadn’t turned in the keys.
“The music was loud, and you couldn’t walk without brushing against people. Couples were making out everywhere. The smell of weed was thick in the air, and everyone looked drunk. I found myself getting sweaty hands. My heart rate increased, and I knew I was having a panic attack. I was feeling claustrophobic, and my senses were in overdrive. I had lost Tamara as soon as we walked in. I tried to head toward the door, but people kept grabbing and pulling on my clothes.
“I eventually made my way to the back and found a fire escape. I just wanted to get some fresh air before I broke down in the middle of the crowd. I swear I never meant to hurt anyone.” I had never told that story to anyone. My palms were sweating again, and tears were rolling down my cheeks.
“What happened next?” Death was so still, it was overwhelming. I wasn’t sure why she asked; by the look on her face, she already knew the answer.
“The window was open, so I climbed out. Unfortunately, when I was trying to get up, I accidentally knocked someone down. It all happened so fast. At the time I had no idea what I pushed. I tried to catch it. It was followed by a loud scream. By the time I made it to the ledge, there was a body on the ground. Please believe me; it was an accident. I went back inside and rushed back down. I wasn’t sure how safe the fire escape was. The apartment was even more crowded. It took me longer than I expected to get down. When I got to the street, the body was gone.” I was nervous. I knew I was rambling, but I couldn’t stop talking or crying. I was trying to calm down while Death continued analyzing me. “Is he dead?”
“Unfortunately, dear, yes he is. No human can survive a fall like that. And he is the reason I’m here.” Death shifted her body. I had the full weight of her stare on me. “The young man you killed was my intern.”
“You’re what?” I was grateful I was standing, because I was getting ready to bolt for the door.
“Relax, Isis, and please sit down before you faint.” The statement was more of an order than a suggestion. Her demeanor was strong, and I felt as if I were in Death’s house instead of mine. I pulled up one of the folding chairs and dropped myself down. This was so bad it was hurting my head.
“So are you here to take revenge for your intern?” That was all I was able to say very softly.
“I told you already, I’m not here to kill you.” Death was getting annoyed. I could tell, but I wasn’t sure what to say.
“There are things worse than death.” I had heard stories of pure damnation.
“That is very true, dear. Hopefully, my proposal won’t sound that bad.” Death took a breath, not because she needed it but more for emphasis. “With the loss of my intern, I’m in need of a new one. Since you killed him, the job is now yours.”
“Say what? What job? Wait. What are you talking about?”
Death actually smiled at me. She probably was thinking I was mentally challenged. “The rules are simple, dear. You kill my intern, and in turn you take his place. That is, if I find you an acceptable candidate. You passed.”
I was starting to feel like Tim Allen in The Santa Clause. Granted, I was sure Tim had a much better deal than mine.
“Rules? Who makes these rules? This is nuts.” I was yelling and pacing in front of Death. I wasn’t sure when I got up from my chair, but this was madness.
“You can call it cosmic law—an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Or just karma. Whatever you prefer. Unfortunately, that’s the rule.” I was getting ready to interrupt her when Death raised her index finger, and I stopped moving—even breathing. “I do believe in free will, dear. I don’t want people working for me who don’t want the job. But before you decide, I want you
to meet a few friends of mine.”
I had a very incredulous look on my face. Death smiled gently at me. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to say anything.
Death continued. “You might actually enjoy the fringe benefits of the job. Even more, you might find purpose again.”
“With all due respect, Death, please don’t act like you know me. You know nothing about what I want or need.” I hated when my elders tried to put me in their boxes. I didn’t care that it was Death making the assumptions.
She just kept giving me that infuriating smile. “Whatever you say, Isis. Please have a seat.” Death’s voice was even gentler, but it left no room for argument. I felt myself drawn to the chair again. “You will meet with my friends tonight, and you will have three days to decide whether you will take the job. The boys will fill you in on all the details.”
“What makes you so sure I’ll take this job?” Why was I arguing with Death? Oh, yeah. It was that horrible streak in me that hated being controlled.
Death got up from the futon and smoothed down her suit. She looked around my apartment, taking inventory. I felt offended.
“Things have been arranged, dear. Trust me, it will be your choice if you come work for me, but I’m sure it’s a much better offer than what you have right now.” Death walked around the table and stood next to my chair. She smiled down at me and then went over and kissed my forehead. Before I could complain, I felt my body shutting down, and I was slowly falling. In a blink of an eye, I blacked out.
CHAPTER 3
I heard voices, but I couldn’t make them out. Was I dead? My eyelids were heavy, and there was a heavy weight on my chest. Death said she didn’t kill people; maybe she had made an exemption.
“Constantine, get off her. You’re killing her,” I heard a man say. Or was it a boy?
“No way, dude. I don’t weight that much,” another male said—the one who was sitting on me. I tried to move but couldn’t.
“You’re at least fifteen pounds of solid fur, with pressure points directly on her chest.” What was the boy talking about? Why was a man in a fur coat sitting on me? How does a grown man only weight fifteen pounds?
I was finally able to open my eyes.
“Ahhhhh.” I couldn’t help it. I was staring at a pair of feline eyes inches from my face.
“See? I told you. She’s not dead.” It talked. The cat on my chest was talking. I was dead. There was no other explanation.
“Fine. You’re right. Not dead. Can you get off her now? She might like to breathe properly now.” The boy was sitting in front of three computer monitors to my left.
I was lying on a black leather couch. The cat jumped up and sat on the back of the couch glaring down on me. Directly in front of the couch was a fifty-inch flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Above the computer stations, at least a dozen security monitors were mounted to the wall, each with a different image that changed every fifteen seconds. Instead of a wall on the right-hand side, they had wall-to-wall glass. The bottom half of the glass was darker. From my location I noticed we were on a second floor of a building. I guessed the boy and the cat were staring at me.
“Hi, I’m Bartholomew.” The boy walked over to me and extended his hand. He looked to be around eleven, maybe five feet and less than a hundred pounds. He had wavy brown hair and hazel eyes.
After several long moments, I shook his hand. “Hi, I’m Isis.” What was going on here?
“Isis? Like—”
“Not like the terrorist group.”
“I was going to say like the Egyptian goddess,” he said with a smile on his face. “You’re a little too old to be named after that group.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Yes, you’re right. Nobody ever guesses that.” First person who had gotten it right, and I sounded like a royal jerk.
“I’m impressed. She’s willing to apologize,” the cat said.
I stared at him. My head was going to explode if I took any more of this. He was a handsome cat, a tabby with gorgeous stripes, but he was huge.
“Please tell me what’s going on.” My voice cracked, but I was too stunned to care.
“Like I said, I’m Bartholomew, and this is Constantine. Death brought you over.” Bartholomew sounded way too cheery to be talking about Death.
“Am I dead? Or are you part of my three spirits that are here to tell me how to change my life?” Because my life had turned into a horrible Lifetime movie.
“Kid, you’ve been watching way too much TV. Death told you the deal. You kill her intern, you take his place. We’re here to guide you,” Constantine said very matter-of-factly. I was never going to get used to a talking cat.
“Constantine is the guardian. He’s your walking resource guide to the supernatural world. Trust me, when it comes to that stuff, he’s better than Google,” Bartholomew said as he went back to his computer area.
“And what is your job here?” I needed to work on my people skills, but I had a talking cat on my left. At this point, I was too stunned to care.
“Your supply guy. Anything you want, I can get,” Bartholomew said.
“He’s also a hacker and a genius. If Death weren’t his legal guardian and kept him off the grid, he would be on every watch list in the world,” Constantine said, sounding very proud of the boy’s skills.
I ran my hands over my face and hair. This was too much. I got off the couch to get my blood flowing. I could see the rest of the room. It was at least forty-five feet long, with a kitchen area on the far side and a dining place in the middle. A door on the right side led to what I assumed were bedrooms. A door on the left led to the staircase down. The building had a balcony that ran the whole perimeter of the building on the inside. It was about four feet wide. The first floor didn’t have any windows; there were a few on the second floor above the balcony. The first floor was open space, and it looked like a house with a mechanic’s workshop one of side and an impressive gym on the other. The greenish-yellow mustang was parked inside as well.
“Where are we?” I asked Bartholomew. I wasn’t ready to talk to the cat.
“At Nash Business Park,” he said, as if it were a normal thing.
“They let you build a house at the business park?” I obviously had not heard him right.
“She’s a little slow. Maybe we got a damaged intern.” Constantine actually looked concerned.
“From the outside, this looks like all the other warehouses here. Maybe a little bigger. We’re forty-five by a hundred and ten feet, reinforced ballistic steel and concrete. Not to mention we’re a registered business. We’re Reaper’s Incorporated,” Bartholomew said. I was totally lost.
“I’m in shock. I probably hit my head somewhere, and I’m hallucinating.” My head was spinning. This was crazy.
“Oh, please don’t faint.” Bartholomew ran over to me and sat me back down. “Breathe in and out. Slowly.” He was waving his hands trying to air me out. Any other time, I would have laughed.
“Bartholomew, get her the handbook.” Constantine said from the couch.
Bartholomew hurried back to his desk and pulled a thin folder from his drawer. He gave Constantine an odd look. The cat nodded at him. With that blessing, he came over and handed me the folder. The thing looked like a brochure you get at a travel agency, but it read “Intern’s Manual.”
“Are you serious?” I was holding a five-by-eight manual on how to be Death’s intern.
Constantine jumped down from the back of the couch and stared at me. It was impossible, but it really felt as if he were staring down at me.
“You have three days to decide, and you have already wasted five hours. So let’s get to the rules. Rule number one: you cannot tell anyone you work for Death. Rule two: you cannot kill anyone unless it’s in self-defense. Rule three: you cannot contact Death to get you out of trouble unless you are actually dying. At that point, it wouldn’t matter because she would be around the corner. Rule four: this is your primary job. If you decide to have other employmen
t—which I don’t know why you would—those hours cannot conflict with ours. Rule five, any romantic relationship cannot interfere with your job. You’ll find all the rules on page two of the manual.” Constantine was not even taking a breath. Of course, he was a talking cat, so probably normal rules did not apply to him.
“Wait a minute. I haven’t agreed to anything. I don’t even know what Death’s intern does. Why does Death need an intern to begin with?” I needed the insanity to end so I could go home.
“Finally, a reasonable question. We are in the soul business.” Constantine said “soul” very dramatically. If he had fingers, he would have made quotation marks with them. “Death delivers souls from this lifetime to their final destination.”
“Where exactly would that be?” I had to ask. Honestly, that explanation made no sense.
“It depends on the person and how they lived their life. In your case, you would go to purgatory.” Constantine delivered that news with no emotion.
“What? Why?” OK, I was outraged. How did he know that?
“You’re Catholic, right?” Constantine asked, and I nodded yes. “OK, you killed a man.”
“It was an accident.” Did everyone know about that?
“Exactly. If you had actually wanted to murder him, you would be going to hell. Since it was an accident and you’re an OK person, purgatory it is.” Constantine obviously had had practice in delivering horrible news. He wasn’t even blinking.
“But don’t I have a chance to repent or do something?” I was feeling pretty sick now.
“Listen, child, there are no lawyers in the afterlife. This is your dogma, not mine. We’re in the business of helping souls move. What have you done to repent for your sins? When was the last time you went to confession? Those are the questions you should be asking yourself. So, back to business.”
I was speechless. Constantine was right. In the last six months, all I had done was run away. I had never gone to confession, and I been to mass maybe a handful of times. I didn’t have the excuse of not having any churches nearby. For being in the middle of the Baptist Bible Belt, Texarkana had two Catholic churches, one in each state. The churches were less than ten minutes from each other. Catholic churches were very rare in the South. Based on Constantine’s speech, I was feeling like a horrible human being.