Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross

by B. L. Newport

  “Has anyone ever not survived the injury?” Brigit pressed further. John pursed his lips in thought. He wouldn’t lie to her. She had to have answers to her questions if she was to evolve.

  “There have been a few that have met their final demise without knowing their true fates. The incidences are far and few between, however.”

  “Where did their souls go?”

  John shrugged as he sipped from his tea. He had only heard the tales from the Reapers that had been present. The souls that had met their ends without passing through a door had merely disappeared on the winds of Limbo, carried away to that place where there was no beginning and no end for all eternity. The shrug seemed to satisfy Brigit’s curiosity for the moment.

  “So, tell me about the assignments,” Brigit said as she finally picked up her own coffee and blew across the surface. It was a habit as well, of course.

  “Right now, everything is a bloody mess,” John said. Brigit heard the note of frustration in his voice. “Nothing is as organized as it used to be and they keep adding up everyday. Especially with the wars that have been going on. It’s senseless, all this fighting, if you ask me; but, I’m not here to offer opinions – am I?”

  It was rhetorical question, Brigit knew. She kept her silence and waited for the rest of the explanation.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “it’s not as if we’re on a time schedule to accomplish the work. We have all of eternity. It’s always been a matter of kind consideration that we work in a timely manner. It is a principle I’ve always supported. It’s just that, right now, I’m so back logged…”

  “The Sarah McDowell’s of the world happen too often,” Brigit interrupted.

  “Exactly,”

  “So, what is the plan to fix this?” Her mind was beginning to work, searching for the plan to clean up the mess. Being adept at organization was one of her many fortes, after all. It was what had made her such a successful assistant to her employers when she was alive.

  “I think, logically speaking, it would be wise to organize the files currently waiting.”

  “What about the ones coming in daily? I assume they do come daily…”

  “They do. One of the problems to that particular issue is The Bailey,” John sighed.

  “What is The Bailey?” Brigit asked. She remembered John mentioning the name before.

  “The Bailey is the actual entity that delivers the mortal to the moment of their passing, separating the soul from the body, if you will. He was present the day you died,” John explained. “Right now, he is on the loose and burdening my work load even more. He is unaware that the firm has restructured, and he is continuing on with his duties without instruction. I was trying to collar him the day we met because I really need for him to start reporting in for daily briefings. He’s part of the reason I didn’t cross you that day. I didn’t have your file. I didn’t know your fate. I only knew your name because I heard him chanting it like some kind of mantra until he completed his task. I’d been chasing him for days at that point,” John explained. The frustration seemed to mount in his voice as he spoke. “If it weren’t for the Bailey, people would go on living forever. At the rate some people continue to produce offspring, there would eventually be no room left on Earth if it weren’t for the Bailey. He ensures the continuous cycles of life and death.”

  Brigit searched her memory of the day she had died. She had remembered looking up to the top of the building and seeing the pale, bald man in black robes peering down at her. She had thought that he was seeing a sight so horrendous that his soul might be damned forever. She now realized that he was only making sure he had completed his unassigned assignment. Brigit shook the image from her head and refocused her attention on John Blackwick.

  "Beyond that, what are our options?”

  “Well,” John began, setting his teacup in its place on the saucer. “We have two options. We can go and reap immediately the files that come in, or we can put them to the bottom of the pile and make them wait until we can get to them. Considering the pace that they are delivered to my desk, we would be constantly be reaping the fresh souls. We’d never get to the over due.”

  “Who delivers the files?”

  “Unseen hands. All I know so far is that they are placed on my desk every morning whether I’m present or not. I just look up and they’re there. I suspect it is the Bailey, but I’m not completely sure.”

  “How many reapings can we do in a day’s time?” Brigit asked, wondering how many she could fit into the hours that Maggie was awake. Today had been a training day, she knew. By her internal clock, they had only been out for a few hours. John simply shrugged his shoulders in reply to her answer.

  “There are too many facets to consider that makes it hard to calculate an average. Until six months ago, there were thousands of Reapers in the firm. Work loads were not measured and we had no quotas to meet, no deadlines. Today, there are only the two of us to do the work of thousands,” John pointed out. Brigit detected the note of bitterness in his voice but decided not to dig to the source of it. “Besides, I’m not a mathematician. It would take me years to provide you with even a decent estimate.”

  “So, maybe,” Brigit’s fingers began to drum on the counter top as her mind began to churn quickly. “Our first step is to organize the files by priority.”

  “And the second step?” John asked as Giuseppe stepped up and whisked away the Grim Reaper’s empty teacup.

  “The second step would be to recruit some help.” John shook his head against the idea.

  “We don’t have the time to interview for every position,” he pointed out.

  “How did you come to the decision to offer me a position?”

  “Three reasons, really,” John sighed as Giuseppe returned the teacup with a fresh brew steaming from within. “First of all, I knew there was something special about you when I met you. Once I read your file, I discovered that you are an accomplished assistant. You’re highly organized, logical in thought and process. Thirdly, there was the fact that you had not fulfilled your oath to Maggie. You had not completed your reason for living before you died. The Bailey took you before you had fulfilled your vow. I believe in love, Brigit, and I could tell that you were determined to fulfill your purpose even in death. I’d rather have you working by my side than spending my time in a stalemate with you until Maggie’s time comes.”

  Brigit stifled a smile as she listened to his explanation. He was right. She was determined to fulfill her promise to Maggie. His efforts to pass her would have ended in a long running stalemate until Maggie was ready to go as well.

  “I have an idea,” Brigit finally said. “As we organize the files, we should peruse them as we would resumes. If we find the right candidates, we can offer them the opportunity to join the firm,” she suggested.

  “That’s bloody brilliant,” John said. He looked pleased by her suggestion. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that myself.”

  “You’ve got a lot on your plate,” Brigit offered as an excuse.

  “You’re right,” John agreed. “If you’re ready, let’s go back to the office and see what headway we can make on the files.”

  “Sounds good. Can I take my coffee?”

  Giuseppe the smiling waiter moved from his place and immediately set to preparing her a fresh beverage in a paper cup. The sight of his actions made her wonder momentarily whether paper cups could actually exist in the spirit world or if this, like everything else she had encountered so far, was just a twist on what she used to know as reality. There was so much she was still getting used to, still attempting to take in as a form of the new reality she now faced. As she took some new facet of the spirit world, there was something of her mortal life she had to morph into fitting or totally let go as no longer relevant. It had only been two weeks since her passing. She could only imagine what her reality would be like as time continued to pass.

  Brigit hoped that, one day, she would be as knowledgeable as John appeared
to be. She hoped that she would gain his patience but not his sense of humor. From what she had observed of him, he seemed to lack a sense of humor. She had loved to be able to laugh about things – especially with Maggie. Laughter healed her soul. She couldn’t lose that, especially since she only lived within her soul now.

  Brigit nodded her thanks to Giuseppe and slid from her seat at the counter to follow John. A silent smile was all she received aside from the coffee to-go. The paper cup containing the coffee was warm in the palm of her hand as she walked to the door. It was a feeling that caused her to think of Maggie momentarily and she smiled. Her sight settled briefly on the old man with the sad blue eyes as she passed toward the door. Somewhere, Brigit guessed, he had lost his reason to laugh and heal his soul.

  9: Organizing the Organization

  Brigit followed John back to the office in silence. She waited patiently as he unlocked the main door and opened it, wondering why he would even need to lock the door to begin with. The address was a phantom address. She was sure there was no chance of someone entering the building by accident. As they entered the main entrance, she said as much.

  “Actually, you’re wrong,” John told her. “There have been a few occasions in the past where a ‘gifted’ mortal has found the place and entered. Araxius considered it a security breach and, after the third ‘incident’, demanded that the main entrance be locked when there were no Reapers present to ensure the safety of the firm’s data.”

  “What do you mean by ‘gifted’?” Brigit asked as John walked a few paces ahead of her and stopped at a door to his left. He searched the key ring still in his hand for the key that fit that particular lock.

  “Clairvoyants, Witches, people who easily and naturally walk between the two realms. Contrary to popular belief, such mortals do exist. Aleister Crowley once entered the offices in Britain and I heard tale that Araxius had a devil of a time getting him to leave. After a week of his lurking on the sidewalk, Araxius had to close the office in London and relocate it to Dublin. That’s where I came on,” John explained. Brigit noted there was a note of amusement in the telling of the story. Perhaps John Blackwick did possess a sense of humor after all.

  “So, you’re Irish?”

  “Aye, lass,” John replied as he fit the last key on the ring into the lock and turned it. He looked at Brigit and smiled. There was a gleam in his eye that Brigit had not yet seen since making his acquaintance. He had relaxed his accent and she could tell without further doubt that he was indeed from the Emerald Isle. “Come; let’s choose your weapon before we start with the paperwork.” John said as he pushed open the door.

  The arsenal room was not much bigger than John’s office. Its walls, however, were covered in every type of weapon Brigit could ever have imagined existing.

  “Which would you recommend?” Brigit asked as she eyed the assortment of clubs, staves, and walking sticks lain out across a wide table to the left of the room. On the wall above that, there were mourning glories, spikes, and some very dangerous looking hammers hanging from hooks affixed to the dark wood. She noticed the collection of knives and swords on a table directly in front of her, and, the large scythe hanging on the wall behind it.

  “Any of these will do,” John replied quietly. “It’s dependent on what you are most comfortable with.”

  Brigit looked to the third table and found an odd assortment of items. They were items she would never have really considered a weapon, but as she eyed them carefully, she imagined that, in a spot, anything could be a weapon if one had the presence of mind to use it as such. There was a black umbrella, a lead ball on a thick chain, a chain by itself and an assortment of hatpins displayed into an ornate fan. John went to the table holding the clubs and walking sticks. He lifted an ebony walking stick very similar to the one he still carried under his arm and eyed it fondly.

  “This is usually my first choice,” he said, holding it gently between his opened hands. His ice blue eyes slowly traveled the length of it, looking for any flaws that might appear along its ebony finish.

  Brigit studied each of the implements on the tables. The clubs looked almost prehistoric, and very uninteresting. It seemed to scream ‘ogre hunting’ at its finest. There was another walking stick, almost identical to the one John favored; but Brigit had never been one to copy the fashion of another. The collection of staves held her eye for a moment. She had done well with the bow staff during her Kung-Fu weapons training, but she had been better with the sword. She glanced over her shoulder with that thought.

  “What about a sword?” she asked quietly as she eyed a samurai sword mounted carefully on a short wooden stand.

  “I would be careful about that choice, love. You could condemn a soul to eternal limbo,” John replied. He was still studying the walking stick. He was sure he had nicked his present one in the last scuffle. It wasn’t enough to warrant replacing it, although he did so love the look of an unblemished walking stick.

  “So, I would become a judge at that point?”

  “Yes, and, no,” John replied evenly.

  “Let’s not be specific, John,” Brigit quipped as she brought her eyes back to the table with the odd assortment of instruments least likely to condemn a soul.

  “Sorry, love,” John snapped from his study of the walking stick. “It can be complicated. It’s best to consult your field guide regarding that question.”

  “I’ve read the field guide. There’s no mention of using a sword,” Brigit pointed out as she picked up the black umbrella and began twirling it by the curved mahogany handle. It was a simple black umbrella, similar to the one she and Maggie used to walk under when it would rain. It was long but lightweight; its presence was familiar in her hand.

  “Did you read the last page?” John inquired as he watched his protégé handling the umbrella as if it were indeed a sword.

  “The last page is blank,” Brigit said quietly as she tried to decide if perhaps the umbrella wasn’t for her. It seemed almost absurd in her mind – to be a Reaper carrying an umbrella. She wasn’t a flying English nanny, after all. “What do you think of this?”

  “Ask the field guide,” John instructed.

  Brigit ceased twirling the umbrella and fished the field guide from the hip pocket of her long black coat. He was being silly, she thought as she began thumbing through the thin square book.

  “There’s nothing about an umbrella,” she mumbled.

  “Are you sure? Check the last page,” he insisted. Brigit glanced up at him. No smile played near his lips or in his eyes. He was serious, she realized. She looked down as she turned to the last page and froze. In simple black text, she read:

  Take the Umbrella.

  “I guess that settles it,” Brigit said as she slowly closed the field guide and returned it to its new home in her coat pocket. The idea that had come to hear the night before regarding the book and its possible magical energy had just been verified in that instant. It was yet another thing to accept into her new reality…

  “Any time you have a question, consult the last page. Suggestions will appear as you need them.” John revealed as he replaced the walking stick to its place on the table. He would wait until he actually had a good reason to replace his current stick to retrieve this one. A little nick was not yet a good excuse. “Shall we get busy, then?”

  Brigit nodded and followed him from the arsenal room. Together, they walked the remaining stretch of the hall to his office. John sighed heavily at the sight of the boxes of files lining the room and dropped his walking stick back into the bronze umbrella stand that he had taken it from before their field trip. There mere sight of so much work sent his mind into a tailspin.

  “Where should we begin?” he asked quietly as Brigit looked over the wall of boxes.

  “How are they organized so far?” she asked in reply.

  “To my knowledge, they are not organized. The retirement of the world’s Reapers was quite sudden, so the files were simply dumped into the boxes and brough
t here. I’ve made very little headway, as you can tell,” he sighed, waving toward the pile of files on his desk.

  “What do you do with the completed assignments,” Brigit asked, remembering that the contents of the portfolio went blank as soon as the soul had been escorted to their door.

  “I’ve been filing them in the box under my desk,” John revealed. Brigit walked around his desk and pulled the box out. There were a handful of files there. Not much for six months of work. She looked up at John only to see him shrug.

  “I’ve been procrastinating a little,” he admitted. “We’re supposed to log names in the black bound tomes after we’ve completed assignments.” Brigit’s eyes followed his pointed finger to the black leather books filling the bookcases. There were no titles on the spines.

  “Those hold the names of every person who has ever died?” she asked.

  “They do,” John confirmed. “All the way back to 34 A.D.”

  “Okay,” Brigit sighed. “Here’s what we’re going to do first…”

  As Brigit began to explain that it was best to divide the duties of organizing, John removed his suit coat and began to roll up the sleeves of his white shirt. He nodded in agreement as she explained her plan to dump the boxes and start filing assignments due by age. With in that organization system, they would create separate categories for children and adults. With in the adult category, they would separate the good from the bad. Beyond that, they had to remember to look for new candidates for the open positions within the firm.

  As John lifted the lid from the nearest box and dumped its contents on the hard wood floor under his feet, he felt a huge weight lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer alone in this endeavor to continue the natural procession for souls. Even though there were only the two of them at the present, John had the presence of mind to think that eventually, the firm would be back to its utmost operating capacity.

  Brigit watched as John dumped another box on to the floor. She shrugged out of her own coat and began to rifle through the files on his desk. It would most likely take them days to go through the files. Once they had a good start, though, she knew keeping up with the daily influx would be easy. John emptied two more boxes before sitting in the floor, his legs sprawled out as he began his sorting. Brigit thought the sight of him sitting there gave him the appearance of a toddler playing on the floor. She pressed her lips firmly together to keep from laughing at the sight.