by Boone Brux
I glanced at the clock on my phone. I had a good forty-five minutes before Nate would be expecting me. The thought of a little more time calmed me slightly. As I got out of the van and walked toward the coffee shop, shivers skittered up my spin. Somebody was watching me. My eyes darted back toward the van, but the rest of the lot was empty. I did a sweep of the GRS building. Unless somebody stared at me from behind the mirrored windows, I couldn’t locate anybody. Then I looked up and noticed a fat raven siting on the edge of the roof. My steps slowed. I’m no raven expert, but I swear it was the same bird that had perched on my porch railing a few days before. The raven gurgled at me, as if to confirm my unanswered question.
I stopped, waiting for the bird to do something other than make noises. To my surprise, it pecked once at something on the ledge and then took flight. It dove and I ducked to avoid being hit. With a downward pull of its wings, the raven soared upward. As it did, something fell from its beak.
The object landed with a metal clank and slid along the sidewalk to bump against the toe of my boot. I glanced at the raven, but the bird continued its course toward downtown. I picked up the metal charm and examined it. A cold chill raced through me. It was a raven sitting on the handle of a scythe, the blade curling above its head.
The charm burned against the palm of my hand but I didn’t think it was from the cold. It grew hotter. I pinched the clasp by my thumb and index finger and held it up to the light. Yep, it was definitely glowing.
When I got up this morning I’d been so confident I’d be able to put all this reaper craziness behind me. I guess that wasn’t going to happen.
A knot formed in my stomach. Coffee suddenly sounded unappetizing. It was probably best to face my fears and get this over with. I took a deep breath, pocketed the charm, and walked back to my van.
There was no simple way to get across the street to the GRS building, so I drove to the nearest stop light, executed another U-turn and headed back. This time I turned into the parking lot. Not giving myself a chance to chicken out, I grabbed my purse and strode to the front door.
The building was exactly as I remembered. Large glass doors led to a utilitarian foyer, which was empty at the moment. A wide hall lined with dark wood doors branched to the left. I’d taken a few steps toward the hall with the intention of examining the offices when the elevator door to the right dinged open.
I jumped and spun to see Nate leaning against the back wall. “I wasn’t sure you were going to show up.”
“Neither was I.” I shrugged, pretending all this wasn’t completely freaking me out. “I think I’m early.”
He exited the elevator with a knowing smile and his gorgeous blue eyes leveled on me. Maybe I was easier to read than I thought. Damn him for being even better looking today. Though loathe to admit I cared, I was happy I’d gotten my hair cut and attempted the minimal amount of makeup. However, I should have taken Bronte’s harsh suggestion and changed my shirt.
Nate held his hand out. “Do you have your pass?”
“Oh, yeah.” I fumbled in my pocket and pulled out the card. The raven charm hooked on the edge and dropped on the floor. Before I could grab it, Nate bent and retrieved the charm. I held out my hand, not wanting him to examine it too closely. It was tough to rationalize the raven and its gift being a coincidence. “That’s just something I found.”
His eyebrows lifted and he dangled in front of me. “A little bird didn’t happen to give this to you, did it?”
“Maybe.” I snatched it from his fingers and shoved it back in my pocket. “It’s nothing.”
The grunt he issued spoke volumes, letting me know I couldn’t be farther from the truth. I shoved the temporary pass at him.
He took it and smiled again, a little dimple appearing in his cheek. I had the overwhelming urge to slap the cuteness off his face for no better reason than the feeling inept every time I was around him.
“Come on.” He walked toward the elevator. When I didn’t move, he stopped and looked at me. “I promise it’s just an elevator. Nothing more.”
“Right.” After what I’d seen in the Holiday bathroom, elevators had become my least favorite place. I followed him into the car, praising myself for my courage or colossal stupidity. That was still to be determined. “So what happens now?”
Instead of answering, Nate slid my pass along the top of the panel and punched the fourth floor. He leaned against the bar. The doors slid shut, sealing us inside. My stomach lurched when the elevator rose. Not wanting to look at Nate, I stared at the circles, on the panel, following their lighted path, waiting for his answer. Muffled music wafted from the hidden speakers in the ceiling.
Finally he said, “That depends on you.”
I figured he’d say something like that. It was a goading statement that forced me to engage in the conversation. I did the same thing with Bronte. I’d bite. “How so?”
“Are you here because you’re taking the fact that you’re a grim reaper seriously or is this about assuaging your guilt over Jeff?”
I stiffened. “I don’t have any guilt over Jeff.” Nate cocked his brow in a wordless retort. “Fine.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “I might have thought he was cheating on me, and I might be slightly curious about the whole reaper gig, but that doesn’t mean I believe everything you told me.”
“Fair enough.” The elevator slowed and gave a little hiccup when it came to a stop. “After your orientation, I think you’ll be sufficiently convinced.”
I bit back we’ll just see about that.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal a long, black reception desk with a formidable looking woman sitting behind it. Her hair had impressive height and reminded me of my aunt Jean, who refused to give up sixties hairstyle. When I was little I used to watch my aunt slick purple gel on a single curl at each side of her head and secure them to her cheeks with pink tape. Then she would wrap her entire head in toilet paper. In the morning she’d exit the bedroom with a perfectly coiffured hairdo that stood up to any windstorm.
“Morning, Madge.” I followed Nate to the desk. He rested an arm along the counter. “You’re looking particularly lovely this morning.”
Madge’s smile was taut and didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Aren’t you the charmer?” Her gaze slid to me. “Lisa Carron?”
I nodded and inched forward.
Her eyes lingered on me a few seconds before she released a sigh heavily laced with forced acceptance. “Fill these out.” She slapped a stack of papers on the counter. “Don’t forget to initial the bottom of each page or you won’t be allowed into orientation.”
I shoved the papers back to her. “I have no intention of attending orientation.”
“That’s what they all say, Sweetie.” The woman smiled again, which looked more like a grimace, her eyes squinting behind glasses nearly as big as her head. “Humor me.” She pointed her pen toward a row of chairs against the wall. “Clipboards and pens are on the table.”
With that, she spun her chair toward her computer, dismissing us. I picked up the papers and looked at Nate. “Are these a binding contract?”
“No.” His hand slid around my arm and he led me to the chairs. Tiny spindles of heat burrowed into my arm where he touched me. I ignored it. “But you can’t get past Madge until you sign the privacy agreement.” We sat and he handed me a pen from the neat arrangement in a cup. “Mainly, these say you’re entering GRS of your own free will, without coercion, and you agree not to speak of what you see and learn today if you do not accept the position.”
“Who would believe me?”
For the most part the papers said exactly what Nate had told me. Except for a few paragraphs of legal nerd talk, the agreement was straight forward and something I could live with. Once I left GRS today, I’d have no problem never mentioning the entire incident.
Ten minutes later, I’d finished filling out the forms and returned them to Madge. After a quick perusal, she tapped them into a neat pile and slammed a staple i
nto the corner. “Welcome to GRS, Mrs. Carron.”
I considered reiterating that I wouldn’t be staying, but from her bored look, I could see she didn’t give a crap. “Thank you.”
“Come on.” Nate stopped at a glass door and slid my pass along the key panel again. The locked released with a little click and he pushed the door open. Keyboard tapping and low conversations I couldn’t make out hummed inside. “After you.”
I stepped around him into what looked like a normal office setting. Cubicles filled the center of the room and long, glassed-in conference rooms lined each end of the work area. The place looked identical to the offices on the first two floors where I thought Jeff had worked.
“Morning, Mr. Cramer.” A chubby guy in a tight white shirt and a Harry Potter tie popped his head over the top of his wall. “New recruit?”
“Morning, Harold. This is Lisa.” I started to say hello, but Nate placed his hand on my waist and guided me toward one of the conference rooms at the end of the cubicles. “She’s undecided whether she wants to work for us, but I think I can persuade her.”
Harold chuckled. “If anybody can, it’s you, Mr. Cramer.”
When we were out of earshot I said, “You and Harold got a bromance going?”
Nate scowled at me. “He’s just a colleague.”
“Seems more like a groupie.” With a gentle shove, he pushed me into the room and shut the door. “Are you some kind of reaper rock star?”
He turned to face me. “Hardly and Harold is not a groupie. He’s a Wannabe.”
“A what?”
“He wants to be a reaper but he’s not endowed with the grim.” Nate walked to a flat panel television and picked up the remote. “If you decide to come to the dark side, you’ll be working with several Wannabes.”
“Huh, that’s interesting.” I glanced at Harold’s cubicle. He stared at me with the same longing I stare at bikinis with every spring. I want to wear one so badly but it was never going to happen.
“Have a seat.” Nate pointed to a chair with the remote. “This film is a little dated but it gives all the pertinent information you’ll need to make a decision.” He slid the clicker to me. “If you have any questions, pause the DVD and ask.” Next he pushed a pad of paper and a generic black pen at me. “You might want to take notes.”
“All right.” I retrieved the remote and settled back into the chair. “This should be interesting.”
I didn’t know what to expect but a 1950’s style infomercial was not it. The women in the film wore torturous shoes and bras that could repel a missile attack. Their hairstyles reminded me of Madge’s at the front desk, and I noticed all the women were stationed at the Wannabe cubicles.
I pointed to the television. “So—what—no women were reapers in the fifties?”
“There have been women reapers all through history. I told you the film was a little dated.”
“A little? Since this video was made entire empires have fallen. We’ve walked on the moon, and wised up about smoking in the work place.” A thin smoky veil filled the cubicle area where the women were happily typing and smoking. My lungs hurt just watching them.
“Focus on what they’re saying, not the actors.” Nate sat in the chair directly opposite me.
I concentrated on the message and buried my feminist outrage. After a minute, I found myself absorbed in the narrator’s explanation of GRS.
“Every reaper is a descendant of Charon, the Ferryman.”
I paused the video and looked at Nate. “A descendant of Charon? The same Ferryman on the River Styx?”
Nate nodded. “Every few hundred years, Charon comes to the surface for a vacation. This usually results in one or two pregnancies.”
“So, let me get this straight, Charon takes shore leave, knocks up a few women, and then goes back to his ferry?”
“Yeah, he’s the ultimate sailor.” He glanced at his watch. “As a matter of fact, it’s about time for his next holiday.”
I shook my head. “Remind me to stay as far away from him as possible.”
I pressed play and settled back in my chair. I admit the reapers had a good system. They were divided into different groups—illness, children, war, natural causes, violent crimes. I wondered what group I’d be in if I’d accepted the job.
Once you make the commitment to join the GRS team you will be given a bevy of tests, both physical and psychological.
I refrained from asking what kind of tests. I didn’t think I wanted to know and the less knowledge the easier it would be to forget this crazy mess.
With support from your area’s command central, you will embark on a career that is not only monetarily rewarding, but a service to all mankind. Welcome to GRS.
The video ended. Nate walked to the television and shut off. “What do you think?”
“What did he mean by monetarily rewarding?” This had piqued my interest. I’d never considered getting paid to reap souls, but Jeff got his paycheck from somewhere. His life insurance had barely carried us a year and my savings was nearly depleted. I’d been putting off getting a job so I could be there for the kids, but I couldn’t ignore the need for employment any longer. “Do we get paid for being grim reapers?”
“Yes.” Nate folded his hands on the table. “Plus, you get bonuses for quota.”
I eased forward in my chair, mimicking his posture. “What are we talking here—barista pay or would I actually be able to support my family?”
The corners of Nate’s mouth quirked up in a gottcha kind of way. And as much as it irritated me to admit it, he had my interest. When I got pregnant with Bronte, I dropped out of college and never went back. At this point in my life the best I qualified for was an entry level position in retail or a receptionist.
“You would definitely be able to support your family.” He paused. “Jeff did.”
I couldn’t argue. We’d always had everything we needed—not everything we wanted, but who did nowadays? “How dangerous is it?”
Nate shrugged. “Not very dangerous for us. Mainly we deal with the weather or inconvenient locations. You won’t be assigned to War. That’s the most dangerous post.”
His statement brought my reeling mind to a halt. The image of hundreds, sometimes thousands, of people killed in a single attack and only a few reapers to dispatch their souls popped into my mind. “What happens if a soul isn’t reaped?”
“Purgatory, ghosts, limbo—it depends on the life they lived and what they believed.”
A knot formed in my stomach, obligation pressing on me. If I didn’t reap, then who would? Even if I’d been chosen by some ancient accidental pregnancy, the task had fallen to me. What if it later fell to one or all of my kids? If I took the position I’d be able to help them adjust. Not to mention the money. Thoughts of a bright Christmas and fixing my dollar-sucking pit of a house pulled me toward the decision I so vehemently resisted. I planned on leaving GRS today and never looking back. How quickly plans changed.
I gave a heavy sigh, praying I wouldn’t regret this. “All right, I’m in.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The expression on Nate’s face was a cross between relief and disappointment. I knew he didn’t think I’d make a good reaper. He’d made that perfectly clear at the Holiday station, but he’d done his job by recruiting me.
“Great.” His tone and words were in direct opposition with each other. “Let’s get the paperwork started.”
I followed him out the door. All the Wannabes looked up when we exited. “Everybody, Lisa Carron will be taking Jeff Carron’s place.”
A few of the workers smiled and waved. There were even welcomes from a woman sitting in the front row and Harold, but I also noticed raised eyebrows at Nate’s announcement. Obviously he wasn’t the only one who questioned my abilities, which made me even more determined to succeed.
I gave a little wave, but didn’t know what else to say. Nate headed toward a door I hadn’t noticed at the other end of the room. We stepped through, se
aling out the Wannabes’ intense attention. Dark doors similar to those on the ground floor stretched down a wide hallway.
He stopped at the first office. “Morning, Nigel.”
A crisp looking man in an argyle sweater vest and slicked back hair sat at an impeccably organized desk. “Good morning, Nate.” His eyes drifted to me and back to Nate. “Mrs. Carron has accepted the position?”
“Yes, she has.” I answered, irritated that Nigel talked as if I wasn’t in the room.
His lips pinched together, his gaze cutting to me and back to his desk. Either this guy was a complete ass or was in girl-panic mode. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a neatly compiled folder of papers.
“Lisa, this is Nigel Bottomzumpt. He will take care of your personnel paperwork. Worker’s Comp, leave requests, and your orientation packet.”
“Nigel Bottomsup?” I asked, not sure I’d heard correctly.
“Bottomzumpt, Mrs. Carron. With a z-u-m-p-t.”
Touchy. “Gottcha,” I said.
“She’ll need to fill out the usual forms, W-4, retirement package, life and medical benefits forms.” He placed a black pen on top of the packet and slid it across the desk. “You do have a beneficiary in case you die in the line of duty don’t you?”
“To be honest, Nigel, since my husband died I’ve tried not to think about the what-ifs of something happening to me.” I called it my coping strategy. Vella called it burying my head in the sand. From the way he stared at me it looked like my avoidance issues needed to be faced. “My kids will receive any money I have.” Which, if I died tomorrow would keep them in mac and cheese for a month. “I’d like Vella Anderson to be the executor of whatever benefits I’d get from GRS.”