by Jack Wallen
“Oh, my God,” X said through coughs and gags.
“Not as easy as you thought,” I answered.
“You knew I would choke, didn’t you?”
I refused to answer. Yet.
“You should have told me reaping was harder than it looks,” X continued. “Why didn’t you warn me that man’s life would pass through my eyes? I saw everything; his first kiss in high school, getting hazed in college, his first job, marriage, children, a goddamn affair with some tramp at work, the loss of his parents…every single thing.” X’s voice cracked under the tonnage of emotional strain.
I nodded. “I did. I said, and I quote, ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’” I shrugged. “Yeah…that part does suck.”
X slapped her open palm into my chest. “You downplayed how bad it is on purpose. Why?”
“Because you were so certain of yourself. I get it…you wanted to impress me, you want…”
X slapped the air with her palm. “Hold the damn phone just one nuclear minute. You held back information because you thought I was confident? Even though there was no way in hell I could have ever experienced something so…so…transcendentally awful? Did you want to watch me suffer?”
“Not one bit.” I lost my temper…slightly. “Why do you think I was there? The second things went tits up, I willingly sucked face with you, something I wouldn’t have done for any other reaper. I saved your ass, Christine.”
“Any other reaper? I thought you and I were the only ones? Check your frame of reference, Grim.” X huffed and turned away. A second or two passed and I heard her mumble something.
“What was that?” I dared ask.
X looked over her shoulder at me. “I said, thank you for saving me.”
With that, my resolve to be fire-vomiting angry subsided. I reached out and took X’s hand in mine. “You’ll get this, X. It took me a long time to move beyond the shock of dining on soul day in and day out.”
She turned to me, her eyes and nose bright red from weeping. “It wasn’t the soul that got to me…it was the visions. Even the happier moments were laced with such sorrow. I felt him recall the first time he kissed his wife while he thought he’d never feel her lips again. He remembered the birth of his daughter and realized he’d not get to be there for the birth of his grandchild. With every step forward he took in life, he took two back in death.” X hung her head; tears peppered the ground between her feet. “How have you managed to do this for so long, Grim?”
I tugged on X until we were walking toward Central Park. She laced her fingers in mine and squeezed so tight I was certain my fingers would go gangrenous and drop off. “After a while the visions all blur together. I reap countless people every day.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “Have you ever watched a John Hughes film?”
“Who hasn’t? Pretty In Pink was my Gone With the Wind for years.”
“I’ll preface this by saying I love the entire Hughes canon of films. However, once you’ve seen half of them, they start to blend in. You’re not sure where The Breakfast Club ends and Weird Science begins. Yes, each story is unique, but they all hold a few very universal truths. An angsty outcast comes of age among the masses of popularity and wins over every clique in the school to become some über mensch, unfazed by the hand of social injustice.”
X glanced my way. “In other words, you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all?”
“Exactly. I’ll bet you dinner at your restaurant of choice that your next reap’s story will unfold in a similar fashion.”
X laughed. “Grim, you couldn’t afford my restaurant of choice.”
Before I could reply, I spotted the next soul to be reaped. The sight smeared the inside of my mouth with a bad, bitter taste.
“What is it, Grim?”
I pointed toward the young man who swayed on the sidewalk, reaching in vain for something to hold him steady. He was rail-thin, with tousled hair and tattered clothes. “We have our next mark.”
X sighed. “Meth,” she said with far too much assurance.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“Us ten-percenters know a lot about drug usage. It runs in our veins…metaphorically speaking. Plus, meth is really popular in some of the circles I used to hang with. That tweaker’s on the edge of something serious.”
“You mean death,” I added.
“Is this one mine?” X hesitantly asked.
“Oh, hell no. You’re not ready to experience the memories that come with drug addiction. But there is something new to learn here. You asked me how I’d be able to afford to take you to your restaurant of choice? This is how. Watch carefully and tell me if you notice anything out of the ordinary.”
I approached the young man and leaned against the wall so that I was within a few short feet of his reach. “Nooch,” I said with a nod. The man was so far gone he failed to catch my brilliant repartee. My Jay to his Silent Bob. I may be centuries old, but I always tried to stay as current as possible. Not that the Kevin Smith oeuvre held much sway in the greater scheme of things, but it was something I took great pride in knowing.
Speaking of which…the knowing hadn’t occurred, so there was time to kill. “Sooooo…can I get a score, or what?” I asked, knowing the kid wouldn’t pick up on my mocking tone.
The guy stumbled and fell into me. “Dude, that was a righteous catch.” He turned to me and spoke with a too-breathy voice. The stink of his rotting teeth and gums was nauseating. It took every ounce of control I could muster to not hurl down the man’s trench coat.
I nodded. “Where can I score?”
“You don’t want what I got. I think it’s been laced—the kick is too hard, too…I don’t know…brown?” The man paused, his eyes rolling inward. When he spoke, there was a hint of embarrassment in his voice. “I think I just shit my pants. My name’s Randy. Who are you?”
Randy’s head lolled forward and he fell backward, into the brick wall. “The comedown is what sucks. I see demons who want to take away my soul. My goddamn soul, Riker. Fuck, where’d Riker go? I…” A stream of drool spilled from Randy’s mouth, and his tongue flapped from between his lips. I wasn’t sure if it was the look on his face or Fate…but the knowing made itself abundantly present.
Go time.
I sidestepped until my body passed into Randy and took up temporary residence within the realm of meth-induced horrors. For whatever reason, I wanted to be better able to aid X in her journey, so I opened my eyes to the film of Randy’s life.
Big mistake.
It all began with an abusive father. Randy being punched in the face by dear ol’ Dad at the age of five. Randy watching papa rape his mother. Randy being force-fed oxy so that he’d sleep through the night. Randy finding Dad’s stash of meth and then being beaten to near death for the act.
Randy running away. Randy prostituting himself to survive.
Randy turning to harder and harder drugs.
Randy overdosing once, twice…third time’s the charm.
My lungs filled with the charred soul. I pulled out and, as I did, felt through Randy’s pocket and came up with a wad of bills. I turned back to the wall and leaned, my lips sealed to prevent the darkness from escaping.
Randy tasted of infection, hunger, and weed.
Without ceremony, Randy dropped…dead before his skull was split by the sidewalk. I opened the right side of my mouth and released the soul in a thin, steady stream. Watching the blackness fade to innocence was about the only fulfilling aspect of this reap.
And the cash. Always the cash.
With my wits returned, I made my way to X. Back at her side, I leaned in close enough to smell her clove perfume and asked, “What did you see?”
“I did spy, with my gothy eye…” X’s voice faded to silence. She eventually turned to me, arms folded across her chest. “Nothing. I saw you pull off a reap and then the mark died. Textbook stuff. Although I will say your Jason Mewes was spot on.”
“You saw nothing out of the ordinar
y?” I gave her a glaring hint by holding up the wad of cash.
X shook her head. “Sorry, Grim, I got nothin’.” Her gaze made a quick dash to the cash. “Hold the phone. Where’d you…did that…noooo.”
“Catch as catch can,” I sang. “My guess is that Randy wasn’t only a user of the dope.” I put my arm around X. “Tonight, my dear, we feast.”
Chapter 9
X benefited from my sympathy. She lost the bet, but I allowed her to pick dinner. I’m a sucker. Her dinner of choice was some Michelin-starred joint that would require I do something I hadn’t in a very, very long time.
Wear a suit.
Not my style.
Even so, a bet’s a bet.
We returned to the chateau for a quick refresh and change into appropriate attire. X chose to blow the full load and shower. I, on the other hand, opted to numb my mind with a bit of television.
The news, of course, was overripe with death. One segment showed both Randy and Clive. The headline read The Grim Reaper Invades Manhattan. Why this was news was beyond me. New York was rife with death. Maybe one of those I’d reaped had connections. You never know these days. Thanks to social media, six degrees of Kevin Bacon had been whittled down to three. For the briefest of seconds, it crossed my mind that someone knew about me, about everything. And then it occurred to me I was viewing little more than sensationalism.
Death always drew in the viewers. I was a sure bet for the Nielsen ratings.
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” I waved my hand in front of the TV to change the channel, and the ceiling opened up to unleash a bolt of crackling hell. The energy wrapped itself around my wrist, folded me inside out, and sucked me into the NetherRealm.
“Grim!” Fate’s voice roared from every possible direction and dimension.
“I’m right here. There’s no reason to yell.”
The surrounding blackness undulated, screwing with my perception until a wash of bile teased my taste buds.
“What have you done, reaper?”
“I don’t suppose you could be a bit more specific? I’ve pulled quite a number of shenanigans over the last several hundred years. I’ve caught a fish, bowled naked, danced a tarantella whilst high on Byron’s laudanum. Dare I go on?”
A crash of thunder rudely interrupted my brag.
“Silence, feckless ingrate.”
Fate was having none of my charm. I’d gone against its wishes and would be lucky to come out of this meeting with my wits intact. I swallowed hard and decided to dive headfirst into this merciless fray.
“I’m taking care of the problem in the only way I know how. I don’t have either the power or the authority to kill, so I cannot solve the issue by way of a heavy-handed death. What I can do is teach X to reap, thereby doubling productivity. I took a chance in assuming you’d be pro anything that could improve my output. Besides, you did not specify how I was to fix it. If you recall, that choice was left in my very capable hands. And said hands are working on the issue!” The last syllable of my rant bounced off the walls, like too much delay in a prog metal anthem. I immediately realized I’d overstepped a vast chasm of boundaries by unleashing on Fate, so I pulled it back a few notches. “I promise you, Fate, by the end of the week, I’ll have X reaping like a pro. You’ll gain the benefit of having two little helpers, ensuring nary a single soul is wasted. This is a win-win situation. Can’t you see that?”
Silence.
Fate hated admitting defeat.
“If that girl isn’t reaping solo by week’s end, you will be sent to the Null.”
The word stretched out into the void and back again. I had no desire to exist, aware of my predicament yet able to do nothing but float in the space between the NetherRealm and the firmament. That was a spirit’s Hell, our one true existential dilemma.
“Done. If I don’t have X reaping by your tyrannically-enforced deadline, you can render me null and void. If, on the other hand, I can pull it off, what’s in it for reaper numero uno?”
A bolt of lightning crashed down before me. When the blinding white light faded, a contract appeared on a marble podium.
“What’s this?”
“Read it,” Fate boomed.
I hesitantly approached the parchment and quickly skimmed through the contents.
“Fuck no.” Without thinking, I shredded the paper into a hundred tiny pieces. “I’m not training a replacement for me. If I do this, she and I remain together and you cannot, in any way, interfere with that…whatever it becomes.”
I almost used the “R” word. Fate would have blown its top at hearing such human-centric fiction as romance.
Shudder.
The bits of parchment went up in flames. Another bolt of lightning, and the contract was replaced. I snatched up the second iteration and read.
And read.
And read.
“Okay, this is something I can willingly agree to. If after a week, X is reaping like a pro, you will leave the two of us to become whatever it is…fate would have us be.” I laughed at using Fate’s name in vain. “If, on the other hand, I fail…you get to Null me.”
“And the girl,” Fate added.
On the podium, a three-inch-long straight pin appeared. I placed Mr. Stabby between my thumb and forefinger and pricked the pad of the first digit on my right hand. As soon as the initial drop of scarlet appeared, I signed my stamp of approval onto the paper. I couldn’t help but think I’d just sold my soul to the devil.
Only this devil was far more powerful and vengeful than Ol’ Scratch.
Before the blood could dry, another burst of thunder exploded in my ears and a bolt of lightning temporarily blinded me. When the snow-crash dissipated, I found myself standing in front of X’s TV. On the screen, a muted Xena The Warrior Princess was fighting off bad guys and just generally kicking serious ass.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” X’s voice was a harsh break to the silence. “Our reservation is in thirty minutes.” X handed a suit bag my way. “This should fit.”
“Please don’t tell me it was—”
“Not my father’s,” X cut me off.
“Then—”
“Just put it on, Grim. And if you don’t know how to tie a tie, wrap it around your neck like a noose and call it a day.”
I glared. “That was a joke, right?”
X grinned wide. “Was it?”
I vanished into the bedroom and made short shrift of changing. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I wanted to hate my reflection. Truth be told…
“Wow.” X had entered the room without knocking. “I’m guessing you never thought these words would grace your ears, but you clean up well.”
Now that I wasn’t in a panic about Fate or slipping into a suit, I could take in the sight that was X. She was wearing her usual black lace, but this time around it was a bit less Victorian, a bit more revealing, and absolutely…
“Glorious.” The word slipped out.
“What was that?” X quipped.
“Nothing, nothing…shall we?” I did my best to distract from my complimentary outburst. X let it slide with a knowing wink.
The restaurant was beyond anything I’d ever experienced. Given my age, that’s an impressive feat. Inside, it was a refined mixture of nature and industrial chic. Aged woods and iron, LED light spilling from old-charm wall sconces. Every server was dressed to the nines and the plated dishes were works of art.
I dove into my meal as if I hadn’t eaten for days—something I’d unfortunately experienced on a number of occasions. X gazed at me, in awe of my dining prowess.
“If you slow down a bit, you might actually taste that twenty-five dollar bite of food. We have all the time in the world, Grim. Enjoy.”
X calling me out did the trick. I slowed my frantic chewing, which had the effect of allowing me to taste the full spectrum of flavors offered by the morsel. After a gentle swallow, I ventured a smile and said, “You’re right. This table is ours for as long as we want
.”
So long as work didn’t beg me come play. I’d spent the majority of the evening with my eyes glued on either my meal or my company. I had no desire to be paged to duty…not tonight. For once my mind was lost in a moment of unfettered joy, and no shade of gray would pull me from my date.
Wait.
Date?
“Is this…” I accidentally spoke my mind.
“Is this what?” X questioned.
Now was the winter of my own discontent. My heart—that cold, black bit of carbonized meat that resided in my hollow chest—was beating too fast, too hard, and too deep. This wasn’t the way. I gave up on love so very long ago. Emotional ties to those who would pass well before me…
Wait.
It dawned on me that X would mock the passage of time, exactly as I had.
X waved her hand between us. “Hello? You there?”
I wasn’t ready to go down that road…wasn’t certain I should. “Is this cheese Winnimere or Gorau Glas?”
The smile that crept across X’s lips spoke volumes—some of which were quite randy. “Whoa, what? How do you know about…”
“The cheese of the ten-percenters?” I winked. “Does it make you a bit horny to know I actually speak a fluent affluence?”
X broke out into gales of laughter. The melodic sound was the most glorious thing I’d heard that night. Unfortunately, those around us didn’t share the same emotional connection to her joy. When she spotted a woman glaring, X slammed her hand onto the table and barked, “What the hell are you staring at, ya crone? Can’t a woman and her date enjoy themselves for a New York fucking minute?”
Wait.
Date?
I did it again.
The woman audibly gasped and, in an homage to every stick-in-the-mud stereotype that could be conjured, she put her hand to her gaping mouth. Before speaking a word, she made the sign of the cross and offered a silent prayer to her savior. “Well, I never,” she uttered with as much disdain as she could muster with her head shoved up her ass.
“Maybe you should someday. It’d probably do ya some good,” X snapped, and then turned back to grab the attention of our server. When the tuxedoed man arrived, X nodded to the offended woman and said, “She goes.”