by Boone Brux
“No, but they take human form when they need to.” He flicked his head toward a table to my right. “See the large man at the end?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s about to—”
Before Nate finished his sentence, chaos erupted at the table. The big guy clutched his throat, his face turning red. I jumped to my feet. “He’s choking.”
The other people at the table stood. Chairs scooted across the tile, a few banging when they hit the floor in the panicked rush to help their friend. The two guardian angels and I started toward the table, but Nate gripped my arm. “Wait.”
I yanked my arm free. “He needs the Heimlich.”
“It won’t matter.”
My feet froze, unable to take another step. “Will the angels help him?”
“They’ll try—but it won’t help.”
“Why not?”
“William has been slated for a long time.” Nate stepped around me but didn’t go any further. “Heart attack, diabetes, the man has been on borrowed time thanks to the guardians.” A look of satisfaction stretched across him mouth. “I’ll throw the boys a bone and let them give it their best try.”
“You sound pretty confident.”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “I am.”
I blew out a long breath. “So that man is going to die? No matter what?”
Nate gave a single nod, continuing to smile.
It didn’t matter how many years I’d reaped, I’d never become as callus as him. Just knowing there was nothing I could do for William made my stomach turn.
The big guy’s face darkened to purple. He collapsed to the floor, hands still at his throat. It was awful to watch. The wait staff and diners crowded around him, turning William on his side and pummeling his back, trying to dislodge whatever was stuck in his throat.
“Call 911,” Nate said before striding toward the crowd.
It took a few seconds for his order to sink in. “Right, 911.” I dug in my coat pocket and hauled out my phone. My hands shook and I kept tapping the wrong number. “Frickin’ hell!” Finally I got the number dialed and in a quivering voice, gave the operator all the info. She assured me the ambulance was on the way and that somebody had already called. I clicked off and backed up until my legs hit the chair. I dropped heavily into it. “Holy crap.”
Nate wound his way through the crowd and knelt beside the man. I saw the bottoms of his hiking boots peeking through the throng of legs. The breath froze in my chest when he stood and wove his way out of the mob with the fat guy’s spirit firmly in hand.
He stopped at the table. “I need to take care of this.”
“What’s going on?” William’s spirit looked from me to Nate. “Do I know you?”
No doubt the guy was confused—and rightly so. I knew what was going on and it was almost too much to take in. “I’m Lisa.” Realizing my introduction did nothing to clarify the situation, I added. “There’s been a little accident.”
A woman’s cry emanated from somewhere in the middle of the crowd and the man turned toward the table he’d been sitting at. “What’s going on?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer him. “Well, William.” I glanced at Nate, widening my eyes in a silent jump in anytime. “Somebody in your lunch party choked to death.”
“Oh no.” He spun, trying to get a better look. “Was it Charlie? It had to be Charlie. The man shovels food in like a conveyor belt.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Charlie is fine.”
“It’s you, William.” Nate could really use a lesson in tactfulness. “You’re dead.”
William glanced from Nate to me and then started laughing, the white aura round his translucent form growing. “How can I be dead when I’m standing here talking to you?”
“Yeah, that’s a tricky one.” My gaze leveled on Nate. He seemed impatient to get the job done. Maybe this was some kind of on-the-job training. I pinned him with my best glare before turning back to William. I let my ire morph into the same type of smile I used when comforting my kids. “Nate will be escorting you to your final destination.” The explanation made me sound like a paranormal travel agent. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I can tell your journey is going to be a very enjoyable.” By the bright white of his aura I assumed he’d be going to Heaven. Hopefully I wasn’t making a rookie mistake. My smile widened. “If you just go with Nate, he’ll see you on your way.”
William didn’t move. “I’d like to see for myself.”
I assumed William meant he wanted to see his body. Unsure if this followed procedure; I looked at Nate for confirmation. He nodded. Not letting go of the big man’s spirit, they edged toward the crowd. A lump grew inside of my throat and my nose tingled. I’m usually not a crier, but the forlorn look on William’s face pushed all my buttons. He seemed so lost. After a few seconds his wide shoulders slumped. From what I noticed Nate did nothing to comfort him. No arm around his shoulder. No pat on the back.
Mental note to self: Be interactive with clients.
Another minute passed before they headed back to where I waited. I took a deep breath and smiled again, certain this time I looked more sad than encouraging. “Are you okay?”
That was probably a really stupid question, but nothing more profound came to mind.
He shrugged. “Yeah, I think I am. I mean, it’s not every day a man witnesses his own death, right?”
Heck if I knew. Maybe they did. This whole afterlife thing was almost as new to me as it was William. But I knew he didn’t need my uncertainty. “Just think, you now have the answer to one of the great mysteries. There really is life after death.”
That made him smile. “I guess you’re right.” He turned to Nate, who still held onto William’s shoulder with one hand. Rambo Reaper must have surmised William wasn’t a flight risk. “I’m ready.”
“Come with me.” Nate took a step to the side, but didn’t let go. “We’ll need a little privacy for this.”
In a busy restaurant there was really only one place that was private. “The bathroom again?” Nate ignored me and guided William forward. Feeling like I should say something, I quietly called, “Safe journey.”
The big man gave me a little wave and then turned the corner, leaving me standing alone. How long would the reaping process take? The memory of my own experience was convoluted. To me it felt like hours. In reality it had probably only been a few minutes and that included Nate’s pitch to become a reaper.
I sat on the wooden chair and waited. The faint wail of sirens grew but this time the sound didn’t make me nervous. Ever since my husband died, the screech would send a wave of anxiety through me. I always wondered if somebody was hurt or dead. Morbid I know, but I couldn’t help it. At least this time I knew. In an odd way that knowledge gave me a little comfort.
The waitress stopped at the table and set a Diet Coke next to me. “Can you believe this?”
That was a loaded question. I shook my head. “No.” I picked up my soda and took a long drink.
“Second one this year. Weird.”
“Yeah.” It wasn’t the most intelligent response, but she really didn’t seem to be talking with me as much as at me.
She continued to stare at the crowd. “Your salads will be out in a minute.” Then she walked away.
My appetite evaporated, which was a miracle in itself. I leaned back in the chair and crossed my arms. The notion that life went on even after one departed this Earth made me contemplative. William was dead but in a few minutes I’d be served the salad I’d ordered before he’d hitched a ride on the express train to Heaven. It made life’s problems seem a little less urgent.
I glanced back at the table and noticed the two guardian angels. They both stared at me, not smiling, but not really angry. Unsure what to do I lifted my glass. “Better luck next time guys.”
They tipped their heads toward me and turned to leave. I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe for them to wink out in a sparkle of white light. I took a sip of soda. Th
is death gig was nothing like I’d imagined it would be.
Nate returned and slid into the chair across from me. He picked up his water and drank. I watched him. There was an edge to him even though he looked composed.
“You all right?” I had to ask. It was in my nature.
His gaze followed the EMTs wheeling a gurney toward William’s body. “I’m always all right.”
I highly doubted that. Nobody is always all right. At the best of times I’m sixty-five percent all right. “Okay, just asking.”
The salads arrived and we each picked at the field of greens. It seemed wrong to eat while the crew worked on William—even though we knew he was in a better place. The fork stopped halfway to my mouth. “He went to Heaven, right?”
Nate nodded, pushing a small slice of orange that had snuck in on his salad to the side of his plate.
More questions popped into my head. “What kind of souls do you reap?”
He slowly chewed, his gaze leveled on me. After he swallowed, he said, “Violent deaths.”
Yikes, no wonder he was so distant. Facing that much ugliness all the time would darken anybody’s day. “Did Jeff reap violent deaths?”
“No.” He took another large bite of salad, waiting to answer until he swallowed again. “His were more…random—deaths that didn’t fall so neatly into a category.”
I wasn’t sure I understood completely. “Do choking victims have their own reapers?” I slid a generous pile of salad into my mouth.
He glanced down at his plate. “That reap would have been yours, but since you haven’t been trained, I took it.”
A black bean lodged in my throat and I choked. Coughs seized me. I hacked and wheezed—very unladylike. I sucked in a big gulp of air. “You knew William was going to die?”
“Yeah, I got word when you were having your medical exam.” He shoveled a chunk of chicken and lettuce into his mouth.
Water, I needed water. The reaper business had just gotten real. It was one thing to be guided through the process and quite another to know I’d be responsible for getting a soul to its appropriate destination. I grabbed Nate’s glass and took a big gulp. He continued to chew and stare at me. “So just what kind of deaths do I reap? Accidental deaths?”
Looking at his plate again, he jabbed at his salad. “Not exactly.”
When he didn’t expound on his explanation I rapped my knuckles on the table. “What’s my assignment, Nate?” From the way he avoided my eyes I knew I wasn’t going to like it. At that moment my agreement to be a reaper for the sake of a paycheck seemed a tad impulsive. “I’m not responsible for plague or something gross, am I?”
“No.” He set down his fork. “You’ll be reaping people who died in a less than intelligent manner.”
I processed what he was saying. “You mean I’ll be reaping stupid people?”
“The people aren’t stupid, just the way they die.”
Still not sure I completely understood—hoping that what I thought wasn’t what he meant—I pressed on. “You mean like frat boys who jump into a shallow pool or a drunk who lights his farts and burns to death?”
“Yeah, kind of like that.”
The urge to laugh rivaled my inability to speak. It just frickin’ figured my assignment would be peppered with the idiotic. I sat back in my chair and stared at the dispersing crowd. The EMTs wheeled William out and things were calming. “Why William?”
Nate wrinkled his forehead. “Why William what?”
“Why would I have reaped William? He choked, that’s accidental, not really stupid.”
“Choking falls under you because it’s kind of a miscellaneous death. It’s not really violent and it’s not suicide.”
Miscellaneous seemed like a very vague description to me. If what Nate said was true, I was going to be a busy reaper. “What other…” I made air quotes on either side of my head. “Miscellaneous deaths fall under my watch?”
He rattled off an impressive and oppressive list. “Slipping and falling. This includes public places, homes, and mountain tops.” Before I squeaked out a colorful curse about how the hell I was supposed to reap somebody laying on a ledge eight thousand feet up, he cut me off. “Most electrocutions, alcohol poisoning, sex acts gone wrong.” He paused. “If they were mutual and not a homicide. Otherwise those fall under me.”
My mouth hung open and for a few seconds I couldn’t form an intelligent response. “So, basically any asinine way somebody could die—I get.”
Cocking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest. “That’s not going to be a problem is it?”
I snapped my mouth shut. “Problem? Why would reaping the recipients of the Darwin Award be a problem?” My voice raised an octave. “Who wouldn’t love reaping the butt of life’s joke?”
“Jeff never had a problem with it.”
I narrowed my gaze. “Let’s get one thing straight. I am not Jeff.”
A purely insulting laugh huffed from Nate. “Oh, I’m well aware of that.”
Damn, I’d walked right into that one. Ever since I’d fallen into this reaper gig, Nate had made it quite clear he didn’t think I was up to the task. Determination coursed through me. That happened sometimes—I’d get angry and dig in my heels. Usually I got far more than I bargained for.
That happened with Bronte’s fifth grade science project. What started out with good intentions, ended with a lot of tears and a thirty-pound, pudding-spewing volcano. Not only did I have to transport the monstrosity, I had to clean up its stunning eruption at the show, which covered the table, floor, and several surrounding science projects.
Before I repeated the mistake by making promises I might not be able to keep, I slid from the chair. “I’ve lost my appetite.” I scooped up my purse and slung it over my shoulder. “I assume you got the check?”
When he didn’t reply, I walked out of the restaurant. I’d like to say I felt some satisfaction about snubbing him, but the only thing I felt was humiliated. I reaped stupid people. Great. Like I didn’t get enough of them in my personal life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The kids tumbled through the front door an hour after I got home from lunch with Nate. Pasting on an everything’s wonderful face, I met them at the entrance to the kitchen. “How was your day?”
Bronte slinked past me, earbuds in place. “Lame, like always.”
Breck dropped his backpack at the door and made a beeline for the refrigerator. “Hi, Mom.”
Bryce, always more composed, hung his coat on the hook and then followed his brother to find refreshments. “It was good. A guy came to our class and dissected a cow eye.”
“Yeah.” Breck shoved a cheese stick in his mouth. “I poked my finger in the victorious layer.”
“Vitreous layer,” Bryce corrected.
“Whatever, it was so cool when it squished out.”
I grabbed the back of Brecks’s collar. “Take off your jacket and stay a while.”
He shrugged out of it, switching the cheese to his other hand and extracting his arm. “Come on, Bryce, Tiffany Powers and the Techno Werewolves is on.”
“No TV.” I pointed to their backpacks. “Homework.”
A unanimous groan circled the kitchen. Bronte shoved Bryce out of her way and pulled a bottle of flavored water out of the fridge. “I’m all done.”
I lifted an eyebrow. Over the last year I’d let the kids skate when it came to homework and extra chores. The teachers had done the same thing because of Jeff’s death. I’d convinced myself it was for their own good, at least until they could adjust. But lunch with Nate had changed things. He didn’t think I’d make a good reaper. Whether I would or not I’d be damn if I’d curl up in a ball and prove him right.
With a sense of empowerment and no small dose of I’ll show you, I made the decision it was time for the entire Carron family to get their crap together. “Good. Let me see it.”
Bronte stared at me, slowly twisting the cap off the bottle. I knew this look. She was sizing me
up. Probably trying to figure out if I was serious. Then she attempted a diversion tactic. “I left it at school.”
“Huh.” I gripped the edge of the refrigerator door and closed it. “Okay, then help me make dinner.”
Her eyebrows pinched together and the corner of her lip lifted in a tiny sneer. “I don’t do cooking?”
“You live here too and we all need to pitch in.” I bent and opened the door to the dishwasher. “You can start by unloading the dishes.”
With an incensed huff, she trudged the three feet to the dishwasher. “This is a complete waste of my talent, Mother.”
“Mine too.” I held out a clean plate to her. “If you don’t want to help with dinner, clean your room or…show me your homework.”
She took the plate from me. “What’s with the whole mom gig? You haven’t made us do chores for the last year.”
“It’s time we get back into a routine.” I paused, not knowing how she’d feel about me going back to work. “And…good news… I got a job. I start full-time next week.”
“What kind of job?” Her tone suggested I wasn’t qualified for much beyond scrubbing toilets.
I pulled another plate from the lower rack. “Actually, I got a job at GRS.”
“Like Dad?”
“Same company, different job.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Doing what”
On the way home I’d thought about what I’d tell the kids. It had to be something believable but also gave me an excuse for travel or inconvenient hours. “Human resource assistant. I’ll be helping employees with employment issues.” I set the plate on the counter. “I might even get to do a little village travel.” To my trained ear I sounded like I was trying too hard to convince her, so eased back on the enthusiasm. “GRS has employees all over the state.”
“I find that utterly fascinating.” Which she obviously did not.
“What you should find fascinating is the money. We might even be able to have a descent Christmas.”