by D. C. Gomez
“Easy now, Isis. Breathe. Breathe, sweetie.”
I felt arms wrapping me in a hug. Tears were running down my face. Had I doomed Texarkana? The hands kept soothing my back and whispering to breathe. Slowly my heart slowed down and I looked up at the person holding me. For a moment, I thought it was my mother.
“Death, what are you doing here?” My voice was trembling and sounded distant. Now I was embarrassed; my boss had seen me fail.
“Making sure you don’t give yourself a heart attack.” She was smiling at me. She took a handkerchief from somewhere in her suit.
“I failed. I had her and I failed. I couldn’t shoot her. We’re running out of time and I couldn’t take her out.” I was crying again and this time I didn’t care.
“Isis, dear, your job is not to kill people. That’s not why I picked you.” I tried to breathe in between sobs. “Do you know why I picked you?” She asked me in the softest voice I have ever heard.
“’Cause I killed Teck,” I replied feeling so useless and guilty.
“No, silly. That made you take the job. I picked you because you love people. You care about those around you with a passion that goes beyond nature.”
I was pretty sure I was in shock because I wasn’t following Death’s words. I was a loner. What was she talking about?
“Isis, the reason you don’t let people in is that you are afraid to lose them.” OK, was Death reading my mind? “Isis, I picked you because you believe in the goodness of humanity. If I wanted a killer, I’d have plenty of options. Now stop beating yourself up. You’ll see her again and a solution will appear. Killing her is not the way.” Death hugged me tight and kissed my forehead. “Now you better get back to those boys before they hurt themselves. You’re the glue that holds them together.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but Death dragged me up to my feet. Before I could speak, she wiped away my tears and turned me around. She gave me a little push, probably because I wasn’t moving and sent me down the path again. I looked back to thank her and she was gone. I took a few calming breaths and started jogging back. This time at a more leisurely pace. I wasn’t sure what I was going to tell Eugene and Bob.
By the time I got back, I didn’t have time to wonder what to say. Eugene was on the ground, freaking out. He was wailing and twitching like he was having an epileptic seizure. I ran over and dropped next to him. Bob looked at me in panic.
“What happened?” I asked Bob, who looked distressed.
Eugene grabbed my hand in pure horror. “Isis, I’m dying. She forced me to eat pies. I’m not going to make it. She gave me a triple dose of her regular formula.”
Eugene was back at twitching. I looked over at Bob, and he was holding a picnic basket. He mouthed back to me, “Pies.”
“Eugene, aren’t you immune to all plagues?” I asked him.
He stopped moving, his eyes rolled back, and I was afraid he had died. Then he sat up and looked straight at me. I was ready to bolt if he turned super zombie.
“Oh yeah.” He slapped his forehead with his hand. “I forgot. It was probably the stress of being pushed off the cliff.” Eugene gave me a huge smile. Bob slapped him over the head—gently, just to make a point. “Ouch. What was that for?”
“For all the theatrics.” Bob had a point. Eugene did an excellent imitation of the dying cockroach act.
“It could happen to the best of us,” Eugene said with a gorgeous smile. Bob shook his head and I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I could handle being the glue to all these dysfunctional souls. My heart was not strong enough.
“On a positive note, you got plenty of samples now.” I pointed to the basket Bob was holding.
“That is true. By the way, I understand why people are going crazy over those things. They are delicious. She really could have a career in catering.”
Eugene had lost his mind. I got up from the ground and pulled him with me.
“We’re running out of time and you have a plague to kill. Let’s go.” I brushed off some all the grass and leaves Eugene had managed to cover himself in. He was not getting in one of our vehicles that dirty.
“Yes, can I drive?” Eugene asked.
“Nope.” Bob and I said simultaneously.
“Can I have back my keys?” Eugene looked like he was pouting when he handed me my keys, but it didn’t last long. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll take the weapons; you take Eugene,” Bob told me. I handed him my M16 and he handed Eugene the basket. “Now that we know they won’t kill you, don’t eat the plague, Eugene. I’m heading to check on Shorty and the cleanup of the apartment.”
“Sounds like a plan.” We started walking back toward our vehicles. I was keeping a close eye on Eugene. Bob was right. He did look like he wanted to eat the pies.
“Give me that basket.” I took the temptation away.
Eugene smiled sheepishly and I shook my head.
CHAPTER 30
By the time we made it back to Reapers, I was drained. The adrenaline from the morning wore off and I was dragging. Eugene wasn’t looking any better. His near-death experience had him dragging too, not to mention he was covered in dirt and leaves. I apparently did a horrible job of wiping him down. It wasn’t my fault; a person can collect a lot of dirt when they flop around like a dead fish in the soil. My legs were sore going up the stairs. I needed a long bath and probably a shake if I wanted to be functioning again.
“Wow, you look like hell,” yelled Constantine as we walked in.
“Nice to see you too, Constantine,” Eugene said from behind me.
“Wow, you look even worse,” Constantine told Eugene. I turned around and laughed at him. Eugene stuck out his tongue at me. Oh yeah, he was officially family.
I walked straight to the couch and dropped down. Eugene decided to stay near the kitchen area, trying to avoid dragging dirt everywhere. Bartholomew was on his computer, typing away. He finally looked my way and then he looked Eugene over.
“Don’t believe Constantine. You don’t look that bad. Eugene, on the other hand, looks like roadkill.” Bartholomew looked at Eugene one more time and shook his head. “I ordered pizzas from Dominos. In the oven, grab some food. Do you need me to get you some?” he asked me softly.
“No, thank you, honey. I got it.” I hauled myself out of the couch. I couldn’t let him know how tired I was. We all couldn’t look hopelessly defeated.
Eugene looked so lost, I felt bad. I hadn’t realized he didn’t know his way around our kitchen. I walked around him and pulled a couple of plates from the cupboard. I grabbed the pizzas from the oven and removed drinks from the fridge. Bartholomew wasn’t kidding; he had ordered eight pizzas. Granted they were gluten-free, which meant they were all small. Still, that meant we had at least a pie per person and leftovers.
“Bart, are we expecting visitors?” I asked him as I pointed to the food.
“Not really. I was hungry and everything sounded delicious, so I ordered one of everything. We got chicken wings in the microwave as well.” I had to laugh. That was the reason Bartholomew and Constantine were not in charge of cooking or groceries. Between the two of them, we got pounds of meat but no side dishes to go with them.
“Fair enough.” I smiled back at Bartholomew who was blushing. “Eugene, you got plenty of options. Here’s a plate. Grab as much as you like.” I placed a Dr. Pepper in front of him and Eugene looked like he was in heaven.
I grabbed a couple of slices of the veggie pizza and a shake and headed back to the couch. Eugene took a chair at the table next to Constantine. Constantine was looking around the room, a little concerned.
“Isis, where did you leave Bob?” he finally asked.
“He went to check on Shorty and the cleanup of the apartment. At least that’s what he told me.” I answered him in between mouthfuls.
“You don’t sound too convinced,” Constantine said very suspiciously.
“I’m just saying. You know Bob. He’ll start in one location and end
up all the way across town. So who knows where he’ll go?” I also did not want to share the fact I was sure Bob was checking on the teenagers in the other apartment. Bob believed he was given a second chance at life and he was all about paying it forward. Even if the people were not ready for it.
“That’s a good point,” Constantine replied. “So please tell me you at least found something besides dirt and leaves.” He walked over to Eugene and swatted a leaf from his hair. Eugene tried to duck, but Constantine was quicker.
“We got pies,” I told him as cheerfully as possible.
“On purpose?” Bartholomew asked.
“Not for us, Bart. We got fried pies from the accountant,” I explained quickly.
“OK. I was wondering when were pies that exciting.”
I laughed at Bartholomew. Since Bob started cooking, nobody in the house missed gluten. So pies were no longer a big deal for Bartholomew. Bob made a gluten-free version of everything.
“I will start on those as soon as I’m done eating and take a shower. I’m afraid I’ll get dirt in my samples,” Eugene said in between bites. “Besides, I have never been so dirty in all my life. I’m even itchy.”
“Let me go shower before I go crazy. I’m taking more pizza with me.” He piled more slices on his plate.
“We got more than we need, so take more. Just remember, don’t eat the evidence.”
“Not a problem.” Eugene grabbed his plate, the basket, and his Dr. Pepper and headed out the door. I wasn’t sure how he was carrying everything, but he managed not to drop anything.
“I’m going to head downstairs as well. Doing one more drill with my robot before tomorrow.” Bartholomew jumped up from his seat and ran out the door. I watched him go as I chewed my pizza.
“What’s wrong?”
I hadn’t heard Constantine sneak by. He jumped on top of the headrest of the couch and was staring down at me. This was probably how those poor patients at the shrink’s offices felt—very small and scrutinized.
“Nothing, why?” I replied, without meeting his eyes.
“Right. I know your ‘nothing’ look, Isis, and this isn’t it. Spill it before I jump on you and make you talk.”
That sounded painful. Constantine was fifteen pounds of pure muscle. If he jumped on me, those tiny paws of his would feel like steel columns landing on your chest. I took a deep breath before talking and jumped on the couch.
“I had her, Constantine. I had the accountant in my sight and I couldn’t shoot her,” I told him without looking at him.
“Isis, since when do you go around shooting people?” Constantine asked me. He was still staring at me and I was afraid to hold his gaze for too long.
“Constantine, maybe if I had shot her, all of this would be over. Ana wouldn’t be dying downstairs, kids wouldn’t be fighting one another, and Father Francis could have his church back.” I knew I was rambling, but the words were pouring out.
“Isis, please. Just listen to yourself for a minute. This woman has been planning this for months. The damage is done. Now she is just assessing her work. You shooting her was not going to make Ana or Joe better.” Constantine was glaring at me.
“Constantine, what would happen if I freeze when it matters?” I didn’t want to start crying again, but I was close.
“We were not looking for an assassin for this job. Anybody can pull the trigger of a gun. That doesn’t take skill. Saving a life, helping a soul, caring for people—that is a rare gift.” Constantine was still looking at me, but a least he wasn’t glaring.
“Death said something similar,” I said, almost in a whisper.
“You talked to the big boss, yet you still don’t believe?” Constantine was shaking his head as he spoke.
“I just feel like I’ll let everyone down.” My eyes were misty. Constantine jumped down and sat on my lap. We were almost at eye level with each other.
“Isis, let me explain something to you. We have thousands of killers in this world, hundreds of suicide bombers, and a plethora of angry people. Today you saved Eugene, got evidence back that we needed, found the missing boyfriend, and to top things off, you gave Bartholomew a family. You can’t compare those things.” Constantine made sure that I was looking at him and listening. “Every other horsemen’s job is to kill humanity. You saw what Eugene and his peeps could do. Our job is simple. Take care of souls. You give them hope and respect when they most need it. Don’t dismiss that.”
I had tears running down my cheeks.
“Constantine, sometimes I feel like I’m not good enough for this.” I was feeling overwhelmed. “I’m not a very good Intern.”
“We’re in luck. You don’t have to be good, just be you. That is plenty. Follow your instincts and trust in your family. They trust you, Isis, and they won’t let you down.” We sat in silence for a moment. “When it becomes too easy to pull the trigger is the day you should panic. That’s when you’ve lost your moral compass. You don’t want to go down that path, regardless of how bad humanity becomes.” Constantine looked lost in thought. Like he remembered some horrible past.
“Constantine, what happens to Interns that lose their moral compass?” I wasn’t sure why that was important to me now.
“They fall asleep in the River Styx.” I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded horrible.
“Good to know.” That was all I could think to say.
“I recommend you take a bath and try to rest. We have a long day ahead of us.”
Constantine was right; tomorrow was going to be a long day.
“I’m going to make more paintballs before calling it a day. I have a feeling we’re going to need a lot of ammo.”
“Good plan. I got to call Eric. Make sure to drink your shake.”
Constantine jumped off me and headed toward the computer area. I slowly got up and smiled. Sometimes Constantine had a way of surprising me. His demeanor never changed, but his words were profound.
CHAPTER 31
It wasn’t even five by the time I woke up. I was on edge and stressed out. Everyone had worked until at least eleven last night. Eugene was busy making more knock-out formula for the paint guns and working on his plague-killing concoction. My eyeballs were boiling by the time we were done. Bartholomew, Bob, and I left Eugene to his work. We needed sleep. Constantine kept him company. Not sure if that was good or bad for Eugene.
I didn’t get any rest; I had nightmares all night. Fortunately, these were not my usual nightmares. I suffered from nightmares, which ranged from my parents’ deaths to my comrades’ death in Iraq to the day I accidentally killed Teck. My nightmares progressively worsened to the point that the dead were talking to me in my sleep. Sometimes the conversations were good, other times they were screaming for help. The blessing of Reapers was having those dreams stop. Constantine believed the wards on the building were blocking them. Bartholomew, on the other hand, thought it was Death herself who ended them.
Honestly, I didn’t care who had stopped them or how. I was grateful I could sleep. Constantine was also pretty sure somebody or something was making the souls torment me. That was another piece of information I was not concerned about. After meeting the devil, I was not interested in asking him or giving him any personal questions that could be used against me. So I enjoyed the lack of nightmares. My nightmare last night was strange. I was chased by the gingerbread man from Shrek all over Texarkana. According to him, he was bringing the pie man to destroy us.
Not the most terrifying dream, so it was easy to dismiss it once I woke up. But the lack of sleep had me tense. I considered going for a run or working out downstairs, but I did not want to wake anybody. If I was stressed, I knew everyone was ready to blow. I compromised. I did a quick workout circuit in my room with deafening music. By the time I was done, I felt better. I was thoroughly awake and focused. I needed to be functioning, and the workout did the trick. Unlike the accountant, my first priority was not the job, but my family. I needed to give them structure so we could make
it through the day.
By the time I made it to the loft, it was six-thirty in the morning, but the boys were ready and dressed. Bob was working his magic on the stove while Bartholomew played with some controllers nervously. I made my way to Bob so that I could see what he was making. We had a big breakfast by the looks of it—eggs, bacon, pancakes, and fresh fruit. We discovered that when Bob was agitated, he cooked. It was a better habit than cleaning guns. He did that for the first month and had all of us on high alert. I grabbed a piece of melon and kept on walking.
“You’re going to ruin your breakfast,” Bob told me without looking away from his pancakes.
“I’m so hungry, I doubt it. It smells amazing in here.” I replied with a smile. Bob was a typical cook; he loved to know what we thought of his food.
“I got banana pancakes and they’ll be done in two minutes,” Bob said with a smile on his face.
“Morning,” I told Bartholomew and Constantine, who were already sitting at the table. Everyone had been busy. The table was set and ready.
“Top of the morning to you.” I wasn’t sure if Bartholomew was watching too many military or Irish movies, but he was picking up their phrases. He put his controller away and faced me. “What’s the plan?”
“Let’s keep it simple. Search and destroy,” I told them. Bob stopped in mid-flip and Constantine finished cleaning his face with his paw.
“My kind of plan,” Constantine said with an evil smile.
“You got my attention, explain.” Bartholomew was watching me with a smile.
“Simple. If the accountant has been feeding college students pies for the last couple of weeks, we’re going to have a zombie-galore. Step one, we need to contain the situation until Eugene gets his plague-killer done. We need to buy him time, so shoot and move out.” I waited for everyone to nod to show they were following me. “Step two, we need to shut down her pie stand and destroy all the pies. We don’t need any new zombies joining the party. Third, we need to make sure we capture the accountant. The last thing we need is for her to start all of this somewhere else. Everyone with me?”