by Jack Wallen
I was. Instead of confessing my Samson-esque pon’, I opted to dive into the massaging of X’s feet. “At least these aren’t grocery store feet.”
“What?” X asked, her voice glissando-ing from middle C to glass-shattering in a single beat. “Please explain.”
“I have no idea. It was the first thing that came out of my mouth.”
X moaned as I rubbed. “I’d love to dig into the etymology of that phrase, but…” Another moan. “Oh, dear God, that’s good stuff.”
We continued on like that until it was clear the dreamscape beckoned. X roused herself and stumbled from the couch. I was about to ask the question of questions, when she pointed toward a door I hadn’t yet noticed. “Guest room is all yours, pumpkin.”
Awkwardness avoided.
X zombie stomped out of entertainment central to leave me and the television alone. Instead of vanishing into what would certainly be the most comfortable bed I’d ever had the pleasure of sleeping in, I flopped onto the couch and flailed my arm about until I found something worth watching.
M*A*S*H.
I sang along to the theme tune, remembering the lyrics from the original film. Yeah, me and irony were tight. The episode was “Trick Or Treatment”. The gang was sporting their best Halloween costumes, while the good father saves a man’s life who’d been presumed dead. As the all-too-familiar plot unfolded, my eyelids grew heavy and I spiraled into a deep chasm of sleep.
“Doctor!” A voice called from the surrounding blackness.
“We need your help, now!” Again, the cry from the unknown.
My eyes snapped open to reveal an Army-issue surgical tent. When I stood, my rise was hampered by an oversized black robe.
A woman approached. A nurse. She was dressed like a burlesque performer, but sported a surgical mask and gloves. “What are you waiting for? Scrub up and get into surgery.”
I raised my arm to protest. The thick, black fabric of my costume fell away to reveal nothing but bone.
“What the hell is going on?” I whispered.
“That patient is going to die if you don’t get your ass in there and save them,” the scantily clad nurse barked.
I complied. As I marched across the tent, a mirror caught my attention. I made a pass by the reflective surface and stole a glance. What peered back was an empty void surrounded by a black hood.
“I’m death…” I said under my breath.
“No, you’re the Grim Reaper.” The nurse pointed toward the door and shouted. “Now get in there and save a life!”
“But I don’t—”
“Now!”
I raised my arms, turned my back, and crashed through the door. Inside the room, a collection of people stood around a surgical table that looked very much like a cot. When the crowd spotted me, they each applauded…only the out-of-place ovation was bereft of sound. The surgical room may as well have been the vacuum of space, where no one could actually hear you scream.
The onlookers parted to make room for the main event. Me. I navigated my way to the table to see X lying naked, her dark aura swirling about to hide away her breasts and other delicious bits. She looked up at me with her smokey eyes and burgundy lips. “Save me, Grim,” X whispered.
“Scalpel,” I said with far too much certainty. I had to stop myself, couldn’t allow this charade to play out. Walk away, I thought to myself, but my feet refused to budge.
The burlesque nurse slapped a surgical knife into my awaiting palm. I tipped the blade downward and pricked the flesh at the base of X’s neck until a scarlet drop of blood appeared. Out of nowhere, the single red dollop defied gravity and rose from X’s body. As the physics-defying microcosm floated at eye level, it replicated itself over and over, rose to the ceiling and then decided to finally adhere to the law of gravity and splash down. Spattered with X’s blood, the chorus of nurses and doctors removed their masks and sang in unison, “But my dear, I’ll die in your rain.”
As the simple refrain died down, X’s body melted into the table, vanishing from my sight and memory.
The chorus turned to me and chanted my name.
“Grim. Grim. Grim. Grim.”
“Grim!” The voice of X jarred me awake.
I sprang up to sitting. “What? What’s going on?” My heart thumped and thudded in its bony cage.
“You were moaning really loudly. And then you sang some random melody that was—well, almost on key.” X sat on the edge of the couch. “You okay?”
A quick check of the flesh at the base of X’s throat took the edge off my nerves. “I’m fine. Really. Just a bad dream.”
X shook her head. “Let me guess…it comes with the territory?”
“What can I say? Reaping takes its toll in many ways.”
X’s head dropped back. “Just what I needed. It’s not like I don’t already have enough darkness running through my mind. Now it’ll get to enjoy an extended stay. When night turns into day and vice versa. Oh, joy.” X stood and offered me a hand. “Why don’t you sleep in the bedroom? The mattress is incredible.”
I took her hand and rose to standing. X guided me to the door, opened it, and gestured for me to enter.
The house design scheme flowed perfectly into the room. It was equally spartan and elegant. At the heart of the room was the bed. The beast stood easily four feet off the ground and was the size of my crusty shack of an apartment.
When I turned to take in the rest of the room, my breath caught and my heart sank.
“Son of a bitch,” I whispered.
On the wall hung a collection of pictures. It was safe to assume the photos were of family—father, mother, and daughter. It was the picture of the mother that threatened to undo my wits.
“What is it, Grim?” X asked, clearly aware of my shift in mood.
“That was your mother, right?” I asked, my voice overcome with nervous tremors.
“Yeah, why?”
I fought hard to not answer X’s question. In the end, I felt it my duty to remain up front with the woman. Transparency was my only route to truth and trust. I swallowed hard and said calmly, “I reaped her.”
“Shut up,” X said with misplaced excitement. “You did not.”
I stepped in close to the portrait. The mother was exactly as I remembered; the polar opposite of X—bright and angst-free, wearing white and just the slightest hint of bourgeoisie. “Yep, that’s her.”
“Do you remember every reap?”
“No. But her, I do.”
“Why? What was so special about it?”
I turned back to X. The look on her face was more curious than concern. “How old were you when she died?”
“Thirteen. After Mom and Dad’s untimely demise, I was sent off to live with my aunt until I was of age to take over the estate. My parents had planned everything in their will to make sure I was set for life upon their deaths.”
“Did no-one ever explain to you what happened to your parents?”
X pulled down the linen sheets and snuggled into the bed. “I didn’t want to know then and I don’t want to know now,” X insisted. “I wasn’t close enough to my parents to really warrant that level of intimacy. In fact, they made it clear I was more of a tax write-off than a daughter. That sounds cold, but the lifestyle they gave me more than made up for it.”
X patted the bed as an invitation to join her. I tossed every bit of caution I had to the wind and crawled in with her. “I thought you said you weren’t a one-percenter?”
“We weren’t. Ten-percenter, on the other hand…”
“What was it like?”
“To lose my parents and not really care? Or to live a life of privilege?”
“Both.”
X let her head sink into an excessively fluffy pillow. “Freeing.”
With that single word unleashed, we fell into a shared, transcendent silence. For the first time in a very long while, my mind went blank…like a television shut off for the day. My eyes were transfixed on the photos hanging on
the wall, but that moment was broken up by the sound of X inhaling and exhaling the breath of sleep. I looked down at her peace-filled face and gave in to a weakness anyone could see coming.
I kissed her forehead.
My mouth wanted so badly to connect with X’s lips, but my mind insisted the move would have been too intrusive. It had been so long since I’d felt the warmth of another pair of lips. There was a reason for my self-induced seclusion from affection.
Fate.
Not the kind of fate that brought two lovers together, but the entity…the cold, unfeeling lord of my universe. There were rules even a reaper must follow.
So instead I placed myself in the friend zone and offered up an exchange of sweetness in lieu of lust. The softest moan escaped X’s mouth.
I had to somehow pull myself out of this downward spiral of infatuation—otherwise, bad things would happen. Having the ability to fall for another reaper—one that shouldn’t even exist—was unprecedented on levels even I couldn’t fathom. Should this blow up in my face, Fate would unravel me, molecule by molecule.
X turned onto her side and snaked an arm around me. The touch of her fingertips on bare flesh lit my nerves on fire.
To sleep, perchance to dream, I thought with a soft chuckle. My eyes blinked slowly as I struggled to feel nothing in the moment.
To that end, I failed.
Chapter 8
“Waffles or omelets?” X asked, standing behind the massive kitchen island. The smell and sizzle of bacon had teased me from a near-coma slumber. I hadn’t smelled greasy pork this up close and personal in years.
I approached the pajama-clad X. “You have bacon in front of you and you’re offering me the lesser of two breakfasts? What kind of host are you?”
“I’ve made a habit of never assuming a guest is carnivorous.” X rolled her eyes upon spying my imploring facade. “I should have known. Here.” She slid a plate of crispy-looking pig strips my way. “Enjoy.”
“Aren’t you having some?”
X winced. “Fuck no. I’ve been a vegetarian since middle school.”
“Respect,” I said through a mouthful. “Son of a bitch, this is like chewing the sweet flesh of Christ.”
X’s eyes went wide. “Please don’t tell me…”
“What? That Jesus was real or that I dined on his flesh with a good Chianti and fava beans?”
“You’re sick, Grim.” A smile eased itself across X’s lips. “That may well be why I like you.”
I feigned a blush. “Oh, gee whiz, you like me? Should I pass you a note before recess that says Do you like me, check yes or no?”
“You don’t have to be an ass about everything, do you?” X huffed.
“I don’t have to be. Whether I choose to be, that is another question.”
“To be—” X started.
“Or not to be,” I finished.
We ate.
I shoved strip after delicious strip into my mouth, while X dined on a delicately plated waffle.
X swallowed down a large hunk of mixed-berry compote. “So, what’s on the docket for today?”
I hesitated. Why? Effect…always for effect.
“Today is the day you attempt your first reap.”
“Shut the front door,” X squealed. “Are you serious? I figured you’d sensei me for another month or two before allowing me to do my thing.”
“If you’d rather, I could certainly…”
“Forget I said anything.”
“Duly noted,” I said, and shoved the last bit of bacon into my mouth.
We finished our repast, rushed through our morning ablutions, and hit the mean streets. The morning was already sticky with heat and just enough humidity to make your poor pores pour. New York offered a special kind of suffocating heat. The combination of the temperature, the never-ending stream of cars, and the choking buildings lent an air of oppression the heat wouldn’t otherwise have. X was coming undone with excitement—something which, I had to confess, took me by surprise. Nerves, I’d understand. Thrill…I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around. The first time I reaped was a complete accident. Even so, I was a pile of wet nerves. How X could remain so calm was well beyond the limits of comprehension. What she didn’t know, however, was just how much that first reap would completely fuck with her…from top to bottom. My conscience begged I give her the dirty details about how reaping went down. My never-ending sense of adventure insisted I say nothing and just allow X to experience it all on her own.
“Who’s to be my first victim?” X said with an abundance of energy.
“Your call,” I replied. “Since you’re doing the reaping, you get to choose.”
X spun to me, her eyes wider than usual. “But you’ll help me, right?”
I shook my head. “You already know how to spot a subject. As long as you don’t fuck that up, there’s little you can botch.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Grim. I’ve botched a hell of a lot for one lifetime.”
I wrapped an arm around X’s waist and pulled her to me. “I don’t believe that one bit. You’re a beautiful, privileged young woman with the world ahead of her.”
X interrupted my take on her life. “Privileged being the operative word, right? You think I’m nothing more than a spoiled brat, stomping her feet the second she doesn’t get her way.”
“I never said that,” I jumped to my own defense.
“You didn’t have to. I can see it—”
“Don’t you dare say it’s written on my face,” I barked, knowing full-well I’d been busted.
X quickly changed the subject and pointed. I followed her point to see a group of tourists—all sporting the requisite look of unbridled wonder. The auras in the group were a rainbow of colors…save one. A middle-aged, overweight man in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian shirt was engulfed in purest black.
“Oh, that’s just perfect for you, X,” I said with a nod.
“Are you certain?” X glanced back at me, her eyes rimmed with dread. “What if I—”
“I’ll walk you through it.”
Tears welled in X’s bright eyes. All the cavalier bravado had vanished, to be replaced by fear. Her first reap was quickly starting to parallel mine. And with that thought, sympathy rose within me.
I reached out and grabbed X’s hand. “I’ll be with you the entire time.”
X drew in a deep breath and released it with a stuttering sigh. “You promise?”
“Do I have to pinky swear?” I said with a bit too much disdain.
X nodded. “Yeah. I think that might be necessary.” She reached her free hand up, pinky extended.
With a roll of the eyes, I wrapped my pinky around hers and shook. “We’re besties now, right?”
X ignored my snark. “Tell me how this works again.”
The tourists began walking south toward 42nd Street.
We followed.
I spoke calmly. “You have to reap him before he expires. Eventually that will become second nature—I call it the knowing.”
X squeezed my hand. “What’s that?”
“It’s a feeling you get in your head, like a pulse of energy, right before the mark is about to die. The second you feel that, you step into the target body and inhale as hard and deep as you can. Once you’ve hoovered the entire aura, you step out and hold your breath until death do they part.”
“You make it sound so easy, Grim.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “When you’ve been doing something for as long as I have…it tends to get easy.”
The tourists took a detour into a deli. The second the door closed, the knowing struck.
“Shit, X,” I hissed. “It’s go time.”
“What do you mean?” X asked, overcome with panic.
“The man’s about to die. Get your ass in there and reap.”
X didn’t bother to check for traffic and raced out into the street…alone. A taxi nearly took her down, but stopped within inches of breaking my intern. The driver hung
his head out the window and screamed, “Go to fucking home, funeral girl!”
I raced out into the street and whisked X to the deli entrance. There was no time to fight the un-fightable foe.
Inside, the smell was every New York deli rolled into one, glorious stink. I could sit in this building and huff the juices of life all day.
The mark stood in line, a sheen of sweat covering his face and soaking through his shirt. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief and heaved in a great breath.
X looked to me. I nodded and whispered, “Go.”
She released my hand, exhaled, and stepped in directly behind the man. I could see her lower lip quivering and her back heaving with each breath. Finally she nodded to herself, stepped forward, and vanished inside the man.
I’d never watched a reaping before. The sight of X disappearing was jarring, to say the least. She didn’t fade away completely; there was still the slightest hint of her ghost shading various curves of the man’s shape. As she moved within him, bits of her form appeared, only to immediately vanish and coalesce once again.
Something wasn’t right. It shouldn’t take this long to inhale a soul. The mark grabbed his left arm and stumbled backward.
“Come on, come on, come on,” I whispered, anxious to see X rise from the dying man, whose family was already coming to his aid—cell phones in hand to call in an emergency.
Amid the chaos, X rose until her spectral body took on solid shape. The red of panic colored her face, her eyes bulging with terror. X sealed her lips shut, but I could tell something was wrong—she was about to lose her breath.
I rushed to X’s side, pressed my lips against hers, and drew the aura out of her lungs and into mine. X fell to the ground in a fit of coughing. I locked my lips and lungs to trap the aura until I knew it was safe.
“Clive!” a woman wailed. The rest of the tourists joined in on the song of sorrow. Clive lay lifeless on the dirty linoleum floor, his family losing their minds around him.
I tugged X out of the deli. As soon as we were in open air, I released the aura from my lungs. The black cloud faded into purest white as it rose into the sky to mingle with the other universal forces.