by Jack Wallen
Without hesitation, the server approached the woman and insisted she leave. The woman reached into her purse and produced a Bible. With loud proclamation, she took great pains to insist her Lord and savior would have his say in the end. It was then I noticed the black aura. It was also then I chose to ignore said darkness and turn my attention back to the date at hand.
“How did you…” I started.
X rolled her eyes. “Did I forget to mention I own this place?” Before I could answer, X stood and held out her hand to me. “Come on, there’s another little establishment of mine I want to show off.”
We made a hasty exit from the restaurant. As we made our leave, I turned back to get another glimpse. Christine was certainly full of surprises. And money.
“Ten-percenter?” I dared ask. “Are you sure you don’t want to strike that trailing zero?”
Out on the street, X ignored my question, grabbed my hand, and insisted we walk north. She spoke with an ease that settled my rushing heart. “I saw you constantly averting your eyes in there. You were afraid you’d see black and have to go to work?”
I nodded.
X sighed. “I have to confess there was a black aura or two in there. I didn’t tell you because, well, I was feeling selfish and wanted your attention on me.”
Fortunately, thanks to the heavy nighttime traffic, X couldn’t hear my audible gulp. It wasn’t like I could hide my negligence from Fate. It would know…and it would seek justice for my wandering fealty. My brain couldn’t handle that level of fear at the moment, so I opted for the all too obvious. “Where are we going?”
“A club. Well, not just any club. It’s the place for the gloomier denizens of New York to hang out.”
“You mean a goth club?” I took a stab in the dark.
“Bingo. I figured you’d be surrounded by black auras like mine and wouldn’t have to worry about reaping.” X gave my hand a squeeze. “A little gift from me to you.”
“That’s…” Actually really smart. I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before. The last decade or so had me avoiding all forms of social activity, just so I wouldn’t have to spend every minute of every damn day reaping souls. My only break from sucking the black fog of death came in the comforting embrace of sleep. Getting my groove on with a beautiful woman was the stuff of dreams.
I stopped suddenly and gazed deep into X’s eyes.
“What’s up, freakzilla?” X asked.
“There’s something I have to tell you.” The words escaped my mouth before I could stop them.
“You’re scaring me a bit, Grim…and that’s not easy. If you’re going to say I love you, please don’t. The last time someone said that, I had to kill them.”
My mouth hung open, unable to speak a word or inhale a single breath.
X folded over in a fit of laughter. “I’m just fucking with you, Grim. I seem a bit morbid on the outside, but inside…I’m all kittens and rainbows.” X grabbed me by the lapel. “And if you tell anyone at the club that I’m a closet perky goth, I’ll find a way to end you.”
It was time for confession, and X was my priest.
“I made a deal with Fate.”
X stiffened and pulled her hand from mine. “What kind of deal?”
Guts and guilt spilled. X took the news better than I thought she would. There was no punching, kicking, screaming, or crying involved. In fact, my only concern was her lack of concern. Instead of making any sort of demand that I back out of the deal, she insisted we continue on to the club.
The Abbey.
The facade of the building could have easily passed for the entrance to an ancient Romanian castle. Milling about was every flavor of attire one might attribute to the goth subculture. Vinyl, leather, rubber, capes, fishnets, platform boots, wigs…every possible variation on every imaginable shade of none more black was present and accounted for.
“This is incredible,” I mumbled, taking in the scene. “Their auras are all so beautifully dark.”
“Fantastic, right? Each of these glorious creatures celebrates death like it was a federal holiday. There’s no way for you to know which aura is ripe for your picking and which is just an externalization of a deep-seated lust for a nihilistic void,” X replied with absolute confidence.
As we approached, the crowd parted like a blood-red sea and everyone in attendance applauded their royal highness as she strode past. I felt like a shoe-gazing ghost in the glamorous shadow of X. My wallflower to her prom queen. Just as we were about to set foot into the darkling wonderland, X turned and stared daggers at me. “Tomorrow morning, you and I will talk about the deal with Fate. Until then…we dance.” She turned back around, approached the bouncers—both clad in vinyl gimp suits—and waved. Both men nodded and opened the double doors with a flourish. A wave of throbbing music spilled from within, a beat so transcendent I was certain I’d be whisked away into some otherworldly dimension where time didn’t give half a fuck where you stood on any given continuum.
A squeal rang out from the shadows. X replied with an equally shrill call. A waif of a woman peeled out of the darkness, clad in a strange amalgamation of pure Japanese hentai and vampiric fetishwear. A pair of leather bat wings protruded from her back, and in the grip of her right hand was a Sailor Moon lunch pail.
Needless to say, I was confused. Intrigued, but baffled.
“Where has her highness been?” High School Vampira said with a curtsy to X. She then turned to me and squeaked. “Who’s the hunkie-chan?”
“Amnesia—” X gestured toward me— “this is Grim. Grim, this is my princess, Amnesia.”
I opted to go the traditional route and bow. Amnesia giggled and crept in for a hug. She purred in my ear, “We reserve the formality for the Queen.”
“I assume you mean Christine?” I whispered in return.
Amnesia pulled away and offered an adorable nod-wink combo, followed by a clichéd two-finger homage to selfie couture. “Can I get you two anything?”
X glanced my way and raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Drink?”
“It’s my night off, right? Why the fuck not!” I shouted over the rising tide of sound from the dance floor.
X leaned into Amnesia and whispered something. The strange angel flitted away, bat wings bouncing, with a promise to return shortly.
“I hope you know you’re going to dance. With me. Tonight.” X twisted her hips in time with the discordant music. We both caught me staring. I started to apologize, but X waved me off.
The last time I had danced, Adam Ant was clad in Captain Hook cosplay and was singing about goodie two shoes. The thought brought about a round of deep-throated laughs.
“What’s so funny?” X demanded.
“I was trying to decide if I had moves that would work with this rhythm and realized my skills were better suited to decades past.”
X drew in close, wrapped her arms around my lower back, and led me in a serpentine undulation. “I think we can manage.”
“Here’re your drinks.” Amnesia broke the seductive spell. As she handed the neon-green cups over, she looked to X and said, “You won’t believe who’s here tonight. Fate must be working overtime.”
“No,” X groaned. “I thought he was banned from The Abbey?”
Amnesia couldn’t help but sway to the wall of sound. “Everyone had that same assumption. I don’t know who he blew to get back in, but he’s here tonight and I’m fairly certain the man’s lit and triggered.”
“Son of a bitch,” X huffed. “Where is he?”
Amnesia turned out and pointed across the crowd. “In your old spot.” The bat girl leaned into X to dive into the depths of her eyes. “Don’t,” she said curtly.
“Don’t what?” X responded quickly.
“Don’t even think about approaching that bastard. He doesn’t deserve to be on the same planet as you.”
“May I ask what’s going on?”
Before X had a chance to answer for herself, Amnesia took the floor. “Durin
g a momentary lapse of reason, X thought it would be a good idea to hook up with Johnny Dark.” Amnesia turned to X. “You want to finish the story?”
X shook her head. “It’s all yours, Ammy.”
“At first everything was great. After a week or so, Dark got a bit handsy. When X had enough, he tried to rape her.”
“Tried to?” I asked, feeling sick.
X responded with a humorless smile. “I stabbed him in the face with a hatpin and got away.”
Ammy wrapped up: “There wasn’t enough proof for a conviction…so the prick walked.”
“Which one is Dark?” I asked, my voice colder than I’d intended.
Amnesia turned and pointed. “See the douche in the Bauhaus tee shirt and leather pants? He’s leaning against the bar creeping on the steampunk girl.”
Bingo. “Yeah, I see him.” I stepped away from the girls, my sights locked on Dark.
From behind, a hand grabbed my arm and spun me around. Christine stood, one finger raised. “Please don’t, Grim. Dark’s danger—” A rush of laughter stopped X from completing the word. “Oh, my God,” she cried out. “I can’t believe I was about to warn a reaper about a narcissistic douche-bag who might be packing a gun. As if he could do anything to you.” X stopped herself short. “He can’t, can he?” Before I could pull away, X continued. “You know what, it’s not worth you risking anything. I’ll just have the bouncer remove the bastard.”
I answered by way of the slightest smile, one that brought a light to X’s eyes I’d yet to behold. The glimmer in her pupils was all the green light I needed to approach the man who had stolen an innocence that could never be returned. “Trust me on this, X, let me have a moment with him, and the prick will be incapable of harming another woman.”
X gestured toward Dark. “Just don’t get tossed out wrecking that prick; he’s not worth it. Oh, wait—I own the joint; do what thou wilt.”
“I will remain the perfect gentleman,” I bowed. “Until the moment warrants otherwise.”
With a wink, I slipped away toward the bar.
Johnny Dark was doing his best to impress the mistress of time. She offered a quaint, yet forced, laugh at his pathetic “humorous” anecdotes. She wore a gorgeous leather corset with a puff-sleeved top, a skirt with just the right amount of kick, and a pair of cog-tastic goggles perfectly teasing her hairline. Around her elegant neck was a golden chain which held fast to a clock face pendant. Every so often she’d punctuate a giggle with a fingertip to his chest. I wanted to will the digit through his sternum and into the meat of his bastard-beating heart.
Somehow I had to get a good glimpse at Dark’s aura. Between the clouds of angst and the dim lighting, it was almost impossible to discern if Dark even had a telling cloud. That, of course, was an absolute fallacy—everyone had an aura.
Even politicians.
I had one fitting trick up my sleeve. The miracle of modern technology would save my waning day. I pulled out my cell phone and switched on the flashlight app. The full-white display had the instant effect of sending anyone nearby into a pique of vampiric anger. Before the first punch could be thrown, I waved the light across Dark’s path.
“Fuck,” I hissed. Unfortunately, Dark’s aura was scarlet. He had a few years before his soul was ready to be plucked from the firmament.
He tossed a glare my way, one which I brushed aside with a nod of the head. I turned my attention to steampunk girl, leaned into her, and whispered, “Did the man tell you he was a convicted sex offender?”
Without a word, the woman grabbed her drink, tossed the entire contents into Dark’s face, and stormed off.
“What the fuck did you tell her, prick?”
I laughed before saying, “The truth.”
“About what?”
“Why, you…of course.”
Dark stepped in dangerously close. I could smell the foul stench of delusion emanating from his pores. Under his right eye lived the tell-tale scar of X’s encounter. I met the man, glare for glare.
Dark went full-on frat boy. “Step off, bruh.”
Step off, I did not. In fact, I leaned into Mr. Brohaus until the tips of our noses touched. “Does the name Xtine mean anything to you?”
Dark’s right eye twitched as I felt the barrel of a gun press into my abdomen. “How’s about I do us all a favor and send you to the grave a bit early?”
I grabbed the gun and pressed it deeper into the flesh of my gut. Without flinching, I said, “Go ahead. Let’s see where that particular path leads.”
Dark flinched slightly. “Are you a tough guy, or do you have a suicide complex? I’m okay either way, I just need to know who I’ll be ending.”
What I was about to do would get me in so much trouble with Fate. I wanted to kid myself into thinking Fate would never find out. I knew better. Fate was as near an omniscient being as I’d ever known. If it exists or occurs, Fate knows. In this moment, I didn’t give a shit. My mind was fixated on avenging X, no matter the cost.
Besides, it wasn’t like I was about to create yet another reaper.
Without warning, I placed my hand on top of Dark’s head and pressed my fingers through his skull. His eyes went mad with a lunatic’s hollow gaze and his jaw fell agape. Ever so slightly I spread my fingers apart, feeling the resistance of his gray matter as my digits shifted.
“With a flick of the finger, I could strip away what little personality you have,” I whispered.
Tears sprang from the corners of Dark’s eyes.
“That’s right, you get it. Your grasp on sanity is growing tenuous; your personality is spiraling down your spine to be shat out onto the floor. But don’t worry, most of the damage will only last a few minutes. Notice, bruh, I said most.”
Dark’s tongue lolled from his mouth.
“Atta boy,” I encouraged. “I’m doing to your intelligence what you did to X’s innocence. Do you understand me?” Dark started to nod. “You might not want to do that right now. One wrong move and that which is Dark will have been erased. That’s right…gone.”
What I didn’t bother to tell the man was he would be forever changed from this point forward—he would still function fine, almost convincingly so. But with every ounce of confidence stripped away, the chances of him ever defiling another human being were slim.
I pulled my fingers from the delicacy in his skull and flicked his juice into his slack-jawed face. I patted Dark on the back and, with some next-level sleight of hand, lifted the wallet from his back pocket.
Never had it been said that Grim, the Reaper wasn’t without his guilty pleasures. I blamed this all on Fate. I had to survive, and without a marketable skill (beyond that of pickpocketing and aura huffing), I was severely limited.
I left the drooling Dark to his own devices at the bar and returned to X and Amnesia.
“Well?” X practically begged. “What happened?”
Amnesia offered me a drink. I drank. “Let’s just say you’ve been avenged and leave it at that.”
“Noooooo,” X whined. “Details.”
I glanced to Amnesia, to X, and back to Amnesia. “Go have a chat with our friend Johnny, won’t ya, Ammy?” My tone was playful, which our resident hentai adored. She kicked up a leg, offered a girlish squeal, and sped off to enjoy a one-sided convo with Darko.
“What’s she going to find with him?” X’s voice undercut the music.
“Not much,” I replied, and decided to add, “What I did to him wasn’t right. Fate will somehow see to it that I pay for my injustice. But every once in a while you have to stand up for what’s…” I couldn’t find the right words. They were there, on the tip of my tongue, but refused to make themselves known. “I couldn’t let that asshole get away with hurting you.” I finally shouted over the music. “So I stripped him of the one thing that mattered most.”
“His dick?” X chided.
“His ego,” I corrected.
X didn’t reply—at least not verbally. A reaction did spread across her fa
ce. I was never good at reading women, so the translation escaped me. In the end, I could only hope whatever change occurred within the woman was worth my pissing on the laws of Fate.
I’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 10
We left The Abbey, Amnesia in tow. The last thing I wanted tonight was a third wheel. It’d been so long since I’d felt any real intimacy with another human, and I was certain something of that very nature might befall me tonight. Having Ammy along for the ride would probably douse my evening with a most frigid waterfall. C’est la vie, as the saying goes. I had all the time in the world to get to know the ins and outs of X.
Should that even be on the table? Honestly, I still didn’t know, and wouldn’t know any time soon. With Amnesia riding in metaphorical shotgun, I’d somehow managed to become the third wheel during my own…date.
I said it.
We decided to take the long way home by foot. The city was as alive at three in the morning as it was in the afternoon, so why not take advantage and experience life—as it was meant to be enjoyed by both the living and the dead—a little?
Or so I wished would have been the case. Unfortunately, as a reaper, I never knew when work would beg me come play. When it did, it was a call I had no choice but to heed.
We were skirting the north edge of Central Park when I spotted him. Standing under an LED retrofit lamp, a man was swaying in place, his head hung in abject defeat. Tucked in his hand was a gun. I knew this drill all too well.
“Son of a bitch,” I hissed. There was no time for covert ops or explaining away the situation to Amnesia. This man was about to send a bullet through his brain, and I owed him the dignity of ensuring his soul was given a new lease on life.
The arm began the slow and steady arc toward his head. I sprinted off, hitting top speed just in time to slam into the man’s body and suck dry his aura. The second I stepped beyond the man’s flesh, the crack of the pistol rang in my ears. I turned to see him fall, lifeless, to the ground. I released the man’s aura in a slow, steady stream. As the contrail wafted upwards, into the glow of the streetlamp, it faded from dark to light and then vanished altogether.