A Tale Of Two Reapers

by Jack Wallen

  “Excuse me,” X interrupted my moment of mental seclusion. “You were talking about raping me and I was about to rip off your testicles and shove them down your throat.”

  “Reap,” I immediately clarified. “I reaped you.”

  “Explain.”

  The hayride was about to hit one hundred miles an hour.

  “I inhaled your soul and expelled it into the universe. You are now, because of my tragic mistake, soulless. That means…” I paused, not wanting to even utter the words.

  “It means what?” X asked slowly and pointedly.

  For the first time in my existence, I hoped Fate’s bolt would crash down from the sky and suck me back to the NetherRealm. I even glanced upward.

  “Fucker,” X punched me.

  “Ow,” I cried out. “You don’t hit like a girl.”

  She slugged me again.

  “What was that for?” I asked.

  “For being a sexist. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I can’t end you.”

  I tapped a finger into the space between us. “Actually, the reason you can’t end me has nothing to do with your gender.”

  X drew her fist back. “Finish what you were about to say or I’ll crush that moderately handsome face of yours.”

  “Wait, you think I’m…”

  X shook her fist, which had the immediate effect of shutting me up.

  “Explain yourself…now!” X growled.

  I pointed toward the hipsters. “First, tell me what you see about those kids that is absolutely out of the ordinary.”

  X turned back to face the small gathering and stared. “Besides their attempts at individuality colliding into a singularity of sameness, their auras are all so present…and different colors. I see green, orange, pink, yellow…”

  “But no black,” I added.

  “Nope. The closest thing I see to black is blue…cerulean, really. What does it all mean, Grim?”

  I took in a heavy breath and held the air in my lungs until it had tired of captivity. As I exhaled, I mumbled, “You’re a reaper.”

  X stood up a bit straighter, her neck extending to an almost impossibly long length. “I’m a what?”

  “You’re a reaper, X. By taking your soul before its time, I unwittingly made you…like me.”

  X switched her gaze from me, to the hipsters, and back to me. She repeated this gesture three or four times, until her eyes finally bore holes through my head. “Why did you do this to me?”

  “It was an accident.”

  “No, Grim, pissing yourself is an accident. Spilling soda down the front of the only non-black blouse you own is an accident. Wearing your sexiest panties on the day you start your period is an accident. Butt-dialing your ex is an accident. What you did was a masterful fuck job.” X’s face twisted into a note of despair. “You killed me?”

  “I never said that. What I did say was that I reaped you.”

  Christine chewed her bottom lip for a moment. “You stole my soul. So I’m still alive, only without the one thing that sets humans apart from animals?”

  “Animals have souls,” I said matter-of-factly. “The only thing that sets us apart from that kingdom is ego.”

  “That’s an entertaining thought,” X remarked, and then leaned back into the bench. “I should be freaking out about this. Strangely enough, I’m actually okay with it. Why?” X turned my way again. “Why am I okay with this, Grim?” X tossed her head back and shot her hands skyward. “Grim Reaper!” She shouted. “I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to piece that together. Grim. Fucking. Reaper. How cliché can the universe be?”

  My jaw threatened to slam into the ground beneath my feet. X spotted my shock and continued on.

  “Considering I’ve already tried to end my miserable existence, why not reboot it instead? And what better way to reboot a human life than by giving it some fucked-up superpower that is of little practical use? It shouldn’t surprise me that my afterlife would wind up some metaphor for a Kafka-esque existence. I was born a nihilist, I’ll die a nihilist.”

  “You’re not dead,” I reminded X.

  “Then what am I?” X shouted.

  “Immortal.”

  Three syllables brought the woman at my side to absolute silence. X’s mouth stood agape and her eyes focused on some unseen elsewhere. Cautiously, I placed my hand on top of hers. X’s body vibrated at a disturbing, unnatural rhythm…as if she would come completely undone any moment and the sparkly dust of her remains scatter into the wind.

  “X?” I whispered. “You okay?”

  The tiniest smile crept slowly across X’s lips as she whispered, “I’m immortal?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “And I can reap souls?”

  I nodded.

  “I want to reap. Now.” X’s voice filled with far too much excitement at the prospect of huffing her first soul. She stood and pointed. “That hipster, the one with the skinny shorts and skinnier legs.”

  I caught sight of the man in question. “Sorry, darling. That man has a green aura. You can’t touch him.”

  X stomped her foot. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because his aura isn’t black. Unless you want to make the same ridiculous mistake that I made…I highly recommend…”

  X turned on me and snarled. “What does the Grim Reaper highly recommend?”

  I stood and matched her glare for glare. “It’s just Grim. I don’t call you X…what did you do for a living?”

  “You mean while I was alive?”

  I hesitantly nodded.

  X crossed one arm over another and chewed on the inside of her right cheek, clearly not wanting to answer the question.

  “I have all day, Xtine. In fact, I have all the days. Take your time.”

  “I had a YouTube channel,” X mumbled. “Let me guess, you have no idea what…”

  “Of course I know what YouTube is. Just because I was around when the Declaration of Independence was signed, doesn’t mean I’m a luddite. Believe it or not, some of us old codgers actually use technology.” It was my turn to mumble. “I even have a Facebook page.”

  “The Grim—” X stopped herself short, produced her cell phone, and said, “Will you accept my friend request?”

  Chapter 6

  For over one hundred years since I first arrived in New York, I’d walked the streets alone. So having X by my side, actually conversing with me, was a bit of a distraction. There were times I only just caught a glimpse of a blackened soul out of the corner of my eye as it passed. It didn’t help that X seemed to be a never-ending font of interrogation.

  “Who taught you how to reap?”

  The question caught me off guard. I did my best to dig through the trenches of memory, but struck no gold. “To be honest, it’s been so long I can’t remember. It seems I was pretty much left on my own to figure this whole thing out. I certainly don’t recall Fate having anything to do with my education. That bastard is way too hands-off for such a thing.”

  “Wait…fate? Are you saying that’s an actual thing? I always assumed fate was nothing more than a tool of religious zealotry to keep the masses in line.”

  “Fate’s not only a thing, but a who…or maybe a what. I’ve yet to discern if Fate is a living creature or nothing more than a sentient mass of intimidating, gelatinous goo.”

  “Like smart Jell-O?”

  “Something like that.”

  X stopped me in my tracks. “So you’ve actually seen Fate?”

  I tilted my head to the side and grimaced. “Eh…not really.”

  “Then how can you say it’s a mass of goo?”

  “Point taken. What I guess I can say is that Fate is that which guides me.”

  “Couldn’t everyone say that very same thing?”

  “Not really. Okay, in a sense…yes. But unlike the living, Fate doesn’t guide me in a mystical, Yoda-using-the-force kinda way. Fate dictates my rules and enforces a certain narrative and structure to the ebb and flow
of souls.” Before I could continue my discourse on Fate, I was stopped in my tracks by duty. Across the street was an aura of purest black. The man was out for a run, covered in sweat to the point his clothes were soaked and clinging awkwardly to his skin like wet tissue. He was jogging in place, waiting for a cross walk signal. It wasn’t until I saw the words Jesus Freak emblazoned across his shirt that I realized the caution that must be taken.

  “What’s up, Grim?”

  I pointed. “See that runner?”

  “You mean the guy with the pitch black aura and douchey man bun?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Then yes, I see it. What are you going to do? And what should I do with that information?”

  “It’s time to show you how to properly reap…and you’re going to pay close attention. This guy is special.”

  “Why?” X asked with the curiosity of a kitten.

  “Religious fanatics are tricky.”

  X walked over to a man selling second-rate crap and filched an umbrella like a high-level magician. She immediately opened the thing and placed it over her head.

  “It’s not raining.”

  “I’m not using it for the rain, Grim. Can’t you see I’m a delicate flower that withers under the sun? Besides, doesn’t it go perfectly with my Victorian ensemble? If you’re going to be giving me a masterclass on reaping, I want to block the glare of the sun from my eyes and my alabaster skin, all the while displaying for the world a true goth. Edward Gorey, eat your heart out.” X squealed. “Oh, my goth, the Gashlycrumb Tinies is so apropos now!” X immediately returned to her subdued self. “Besides, I have a reputation to uphold with any number of subcultures.”

  I couldn’t stop the smile from crawling across my lips.

  “What?” X said with the slightest bit of embarrassment creeping onto her cheeks.

  There was no way I’d share the thought dancing over the folds of my brain. “Nothing, nothing. Shall we proceed?”

  “You have my absolute and undivided attention, Professor Grim.”

  This would be interesting. I’d never instructed another on the ways of reaping. Hell, I’d never taught anyone anything. Although I understood the value of education, it was simply not my thing.

  Irony, you fickle bitch.

  “Okay.” I faced X. “The first thing you must do is locate a black aura. That should be obvious.”

  X nodded. “We’re already past that part of the process, Grim.”

  I let that last comment slip through the cracks. “Once you spot a target, you must respond immediately. It’s imperative that you not lose a soul. Remember, if those people die with their souls intact, the soul in question will be forever trapped, and the likelihood of malicious intent will grow exponentially. So…”

  “Wait a second,” X stopped me short.

  “What?”

  “If it’s so imperative that you reap every soul, how do manage to do reap every soul on the planet? You’re one person…it’s not physically possible.”

  “Santa does it.”

  X laughed out loud…literally.

  “Why are you laughing at me?”

  “Santa’s an urban legend to control the moral compass of children.”

  “Suit yourself.” I shrugged.

  “Are you saying that Santa—”

  It was my turn to interrupt. “What I’m saying is that quantum mechanics is very much on my side.”

  X perked up. “Are you saying you can be in two places at one time?”

  “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not, dear Schrodinger.” I shook the professorial state from my mind. “What’s important here is that we must…” I led X on with the statement.

  “Reap immediately?”

  “Bingo!” I responded.

  “Over there!” X shouted.

  I followed X’s point to see a homeless man digging through a trash can…kohl black aura ready for the reaping.

  “Go figure,” I sighed. “The first target you spot and it’s one of the souls I most hate to reap—after children, of course.” Runner guy got his light and jogged off. “On top of which, our first aura is on the move. Come on.”

  X pointed toward the homeless man. “You want me to…”

  “Oh, no. You’re staying by my side the whole time. Homey won’t get far. Besides, Jesus Freak belongs to a very special niche of souls to reap. They’ve spent their entire lives assuming their holy acts would ensure them a place in Heaven. Problem is, when they die, their souls don’t want to leave their bodies. If you don’t reap them at exactly the right time, you run the risk of losing the soul. We’ll circle back around for him once we take care of Insane Bolt getting farther away with every syllable I utter. Come on.”

  Without bothering to wait for a reply, I took off after the runner. I knew how this sort of reap went down. At some point, running man was going to meet his demise by way of a speeding car or a heart attack. That meant one thing—time was very much of the essence.

  Go figure I was out of shape, chasing an Olympic wannabe, and dragging a goth in platform boots behind me.

  “Hurry,” I shouted over the din of the converging crowd.

  X didn’t reply, but I couldn’t chance a glance over my shoulder. Runner boy was getting away. This was the last thing I needed. I’d already fucked up beyond reproach in Fate’s eyes. Losing a soul at this point would damn me straight to a metaphorical hell.

  I dug deep to find an extra gear I knew didn’t exist. Sadly enough, my legs weren’t up for the task and Forrest ran fast enough to widen the gap.

  Even so, I refused to give up. I pressured every muscle in my body to quit complaining and suck it up. I was absolutely astonished when my persistence paid off. The char-black aura had been stopped by another light.

  “Here we go,” I gasped, and prepared for the finishing move. With a clean line of sight, I hit the man at full speed, crashing through him and sucking every molecule of his black fog deep into the depths of my lungs. The salty taste of sweat permeated my entire system. I slowed to a stop, desperate—but unable—to take a breath, and watched as the health nut took off across the street without looking both ways.

  The taxi slammed into the man so hard, the skin sack holding his organs in place lost all cohesion and sent blood and viscera flying in every possible direction. Those nearest the incident were splattered with gore, sending them shrieking away or fainting in place.

  As for me…I’d seen it all. Every measure of death had unfolded before me, so the sight of a man unmade by a two-ton machine had absolutely no effect on my sensibilities…other than indicating it was safe to release his soul into the universe.

  “Did I miss…” X wasted no time before projectile vomiting into the street. “Jesus Christ,” she cried out, and chucked another blast of pea soup. “The smell. How do you…” Another round.

  For the first time in years, I felt sympathy. Not pity or empathy, but kinship with another person going through what I experienced pretty much daily. X was folding inside out with grief or horror…or both. Either way, the sight of what should be neatly tucked away in a human flesh bag scattered across the street did the woman no favors. I led her to the sidewalk and helped her to a seated position.

  “Does m’lady need her smelling salts?” I teased.

  “Fuck off,” X hissed and raised her umbrella to hide away from the horrific scene.

  I flopped down beside her.

  “Please don’t tell me it’s always like this,” Christine said, her voice a shell.

  “I’m not going to lie, X…death is ugly. Even when someone dies peacefully in a hospital bed, the aftermath can be heartbreaking. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve found myself stuck in a room with a wailing family. Or worse, the second the departed has left the building, the claws come out of the surviving family. People can be right bastards to one another…vicious even. And we get to see it all.”

  Soft sobs spilled from underneath X’s umbrella. I placed a gentle hand on her lower back
and gave it a rub. “In all honesty, I’d rather see something like this, than have to sit through another pair of siblings tearing one another apart over a few thousand dollars and a box of trinkets with no value beyond the sentimental. At least with this, it’s over and done. We see the human machine for what it really is—a collection of organs and a skeletal system designed to hold it all together. There’s truth and beauty in that.”

  “It’s disgusting,” X whispered.

  “I thought goths were into death.” My words were only partially a dig at the social construct that was X’s way of life.

  “Only when its elegant.”

  I laughed. Couldn’t help it. “My dear, there is no elegance in death. It’s shit and piss, vomit and blood, people wailing and weeping…it’s grotesque, and that’s the way it has to be. If death were beautiful, people wouldn’t fear it.” I stood and offered X my hand. “Come on.”

  X took my proffered hand and lifted herself to standing. “Where are we going now?”

  “We have a homeless man to reap before he’s mowed down by…”

  X punched me square in the chest. “That smelly fucker better die of natural causes, or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

  As we left the scene, a pair of police cars entered the area, lights and sirens doing their best to piss the whole neighborhood off.

  “Where did he go?” X asked the second we reached the original location. The homeless man was no longer hovering over the trash can. The smallest part of me counted his absence as a win.

  I honestly had nothing against the homeless. Their plight was always heartbreaking and their struggle so very real. But inhaling the soul of a man who probably hadn’t bathed in years was a challenge I’d rather not meet. Ever. Unfortunately, the homeless died…in droves. There were long stretches where it seemed the only souls I reaped were those sad, unemployed, disenfranchised men and women. Any given tent city was rife with blackness.

  “How does it work?” X asked calmly, catching me off guard.

  “What?”

  “The reaping. How do you actually take their souls?”

  At that moment, I realized I hadn’t bothered to explain the mechanics of the act. It was possible I was holding back to prevent X from learning my craft and usurping my title. And then it dawned on me…what if this was Fate’s doing? Maybe Fate had grown tired of my rampant whining and complaining about the gig and had finally decided to replace me with a younger, prettier model.