A Tale Of Two Reapers

by Jack Wallen

  X slipped into a pair of shorts and a tee. I kicked off my shirt and pants and got into bed. Within seconds, it seemed, my heartbeat broke and I drifted away, into a spiraling slumberland of dreams.

  Silence.

  Stillborn, maddening silence. The kind of noiselessness you’d associate with straightjackets and sedatives. Gone was the sound of the city, X’s soft breathing, the noise of life. In their place was nothing.

  Absolutely, fear-inducing nothing.

  I opened my mouth to draw in breath…but my lungs refused to give quarter. No matter how I struggled with the act, I failed. There would be no precious oxygen for my system now. Suffocation was nigh.

  X was somewhere nearby, but I couldn’t conjure up the means to contact her. All I could do was expire. The process began from within, my lungs burning with the flames of regret. I beat my chest, hoping to douse the fire with one last gasp of air.

  A blaze erupted from between my lips and baked the flesh of my face to a hardened crisp. The burn doubled down and roasted my neck and chest, torso and hips. This was it…I was about to expire.

  As the last dregs of life slowly seeped away, a flowing black form coalesced before me…a specter of the night, a Gaussian ghost of warning.

  A Scythe.

  The roiling sea of smoke took on the shape of a traditional Grim Reaper, a damning finger of insubstance pointing my way. It mocked me and my station, dared I bargain for life and breath. From under a shadowed hood, a crimson slit formed an open mouth and the beast’s song roared inside my head.

  The image and the sound kicked me out of my slumber. I sat up in the bed, coated in the sweat of night terror.

  My head continued to ring.

  “Son of a bitch,” I said under my breath before nudging X. “Wake up.”

  “Fuck me.”

  “Not now…it’s near.”

  “What are you talking about?” X shot up into a seated position, the sheet clinging to her sweaty flesh. “Shit, you mean the Scythe? How do you—” X grabbed her head and winced. “Oh, God. I thought you said it would be uncomfortable? This is a damn migraine on meth. Make it stop.”

  “It’ll fade.” I slipped out of bed and pulled my pants back on. “In the meantime, let’s go.”

  “Are you kidding me? If I don’t get seven hours of sleep, you’ll be dealing with a royal bitch in the morning.”

  After pulling my shirt over my head, I turned to X. “We may not get another chance like this, X. The thing is close. We have to act…otherwise—”

  “Fine!” X shot a hand in the air. “Give me a moment to get dressed.”

  “I’ll give you half a moment. Hurry.”

  “Do you really want to rush me right now?”

  It was a trap, I knew it. There was no other option but to fall on this subtle grenade. “Yes, actually, I do. This is your life now, X. Normally I wouldn’t make such a demand, but these are extenuating circumstances and we have to go!” I opened the door. “Please.”

  X stumbled around with her clothes, but dressed without further complaint. We hit the elevator and rode it down to the first floor. Once in the open air, the song reached critical mass inside my brain. I’d suffered through enough Scythes that the pain was quite bearable. The synaptic disruption, however, brought X to her knees. Without missing a beat, I hooked my arms under X’s and righted her ship.

  “This way,” I pointed.

  X nodded. “Yeah, I figured.”

  We sped off, on foot, after the Scythe. With each step, the song grew infinitesimally louder and more present.

  “It’s close.”

  X dropped again. “Goddamn it, Grim.” She cried out in agony.

  I chanced a look upward to see the Scythe hovering over us, tendrils of black smoke snaking from its form. I knelt beside X and whispered, “It’s above us. Can you do this?”

  “Do what?” X asked, her voice riddled with fear.

  “Let the Scythe possess you,” I said with what little calm I could muster.

  “Why does it have to be me?”

  “Because you’re weak.”

  “You’ll regret saying that tomorrow,” X humored me.

  “I’m sure I will, darling.”

  “I like that.”

  “What?”

  “You called me darling,” she said dreamily.

  I helped X to her feet. She wobbled and asked, “What do I do?”

  “Be open to receiving it,” I answered.

  “What kind of new age bullshit is that?”

  I stared deep into the depths of X’s eyes. “God, you’re beautiful,” I whispered before brushing our lips together softly.

  X smiled. Tears dripped to her cheeks. “That’s the sweetest thing—”

  Before X could finish the sentence, the Scythe took advantage of her open, emotional state and did its thing. X stumbled away and convulsed; her head snapping back and forth, arms flailing in every direction. Dark foam bubbled from her lips and her gorgeous eyes rolled up far enough to glance into her gray matter. With a scream like metal on metal, the Scythe vanished and X dropped like a string-cut marionette. I fell to my knees and rolled X to her back. Her body was limp. I’d never witnessed a Scythe possession from this side of the coin. I had always been the only player in the game, so possession was nine tenths of my law. The Scythe would enter me and, at some indeterminate point, I’d awake. Whatever happened between points A and Z…was beyond my scope of knowledge.

  “X,” I said softly with a slap to the cheek. “Are you there?”

  A deep, very un-X-like moan rose to meet my ears. After another short round of friendly slaps, X’s eyes fluttered and her lips quivered. “There’s my girl.”

  Her lids snapped open. In place of the heart-melting brown eyes were two oil-black orbs. She moved her lips and released a drawn-out, choking hiss. In that moment, I realized one crucial error had been made…I’d neglected to tell X how to get her exorcism on and, with the power of the reap, compel the Scythe from her.

  “Fuck!” I shouted, loud enough to draw some very unwanted attention.

  A pair of hipsters stepped in close enough that I could smell their authentic Old Spice cologne. The skinnier of the two pointed down at X and accused, “What did you do to her? Fucking misogynist. Did you rape her?”

  I scooped X up into my arms and stood, facing the pair of skinny-jean-wearing shits. “Back the fuck off or you’ll never live to wear out the next trend.”

  Both young men ran off in a cloud of wretched old man cologne. Another moan rose from X’s mouth; this time the sound was all too familiar.

  The Scythe.

  In all my years of dealing with these bastards, I’d never cracked the code of their language. It didn’t help that they only ever appeared one at a time, so there was never an opportunity for me to hear them communicating with one another. Besides, I’ve never laid claim to being as cunning as a linguist.

  The weight in my arms was going to be a problem. X couldn’t walk, and I was about as far from in shape as an immortal man could be. “Goddamn it,” I shouted, once again drawing all of the wrong attention. I made my way to an intersection and did my best to flag down a cab. As the taxi pulled up, I questioned the fundage contained within the confines of my wallet. There was no time to pick a pocket, so I waved the cab on.

  “Darthaniel,” I whispered, and took off, as quickly as my belabored legs would take me.

  Chapter 13

  “Oh, my God!” Amnesia squealed the second she spotted me barely hefting X through the door. “You better be carrying her in because you got married.”

  I gently laid X on the couch and faced Ammy, who had been giving Darth a manicure.

  “If you hurt her, Grim, I promise you my wrath will be mighty.”

  “Of that there is no doubt, Amnesia,” I responded.

  “What’s the skinny, brother?” Darthaniel asked, his voice smooth and creamy.

  I leaned against the back of the couch and took them in, one at a time,
debating on how much information their minds could handle at the moment. I’d only ever let one other mortal in on my little secret, and that hadn’t gone so well. I could just imagine how an emotionally underdeveloped millennial and a stoner would process knowing what X and I were. In the end I decided there wasn’t time to babysit snapping minds, so I lied.

  “X bought some shit on the street. I think it might have been laced with something, and I need to get back to the dealer and find out. Can one of you give me a lift?”

  There was no way they’d buy it. Anyone in their right mind, thinking someone had ingested tainted stash, would insist the only logical place to be was a hospital.

  “Hell yeah, man,” Darthaniel nodded. “Grab the girl and let’s go!”

  I wanted to be shocked; but given the half-lidded state of Darthaniel, and knowing Amnesia was always a score away from dragging the wagon down a dark and lonely path, it made sense they’d buy my line.

  We did just that. With X in my arms, I followed Darth and Ammy out the door and down to the parking garage.

  And into Darthaniel’s hearse.

  “Where to, my man?” Darth glanced at me by way of the rear view.

  My stomach dropped at the thought of being chauffeured around New York by a man who could have shot the sheriff and taken down the deputy as well. The irony of rolling in a hearse did not escape me.

  Amnesia snapped her seatbelt and exploded with a barking command, “Go!”

  I instructed Darth to head back to Mr. Creep’s domicile. We were fortunate the traffic had taken a bit of a rest for the evening. This was a long shot, but I was banking on the police failing to bring in the man who’d imprisoned and tortured an innocent woman. Even if the police had caught him, this was the best place to start. We had to be one hundred percent certain the owner of my current Scythe was dead before releasing the aura.

  Which was yet another issue…one I would deal with when the time came.

  The drive was uneventful. X leaned to the left, her head resting against the window, her breathing erratic. She’d randomly sit up and gasp, only to fall back to her reclined, sedate state. Fortunately, Amnesia busied herself with the radio, so we traveled in relative silence—relative in that the only sound was a wash of bad pop music from the tinny hearse speakers.

  Darthaniel pulled up to the curb opposite the house. “That it?” he asked.

  “It is.”

  Even from my vantage point, I could see the door was sealed with caution tape—the kind I’d seen on every clichéd detective show on television. I was honestly surprised at how accurate the shows had been.

  “What are we gonna do?” Amnesia asked. “Should one of us go in and pretend to be looking for a score?”

  “Good idea, Ammy. I’ll take point on this.”

  Amnesia had given me just the out I needed. Neither she nor Darth had any business getting too involved in this level of danger. They were, relatively speaking to my point of reference, innocent kids, and I had gone against my better judgment dragging them along for the ride. Mistakes be damned.

  I’d sneak up to the house, do my best to get in, look for signs of struggle—and hopefully death—and, should the conditions be right, help X release the aura.

  The night air had chilled slightly since last I was out…or maybe it was an army of metaphorical ants crawling up the flesh of my back. The idea I could be creeped out brought about a burst of laughter. I’d been exposed to nearly every form and flavor of human debauchery—even participated in quite a bit. But nothing was ever so disturbing as seeing someone stripped of the most basic needs, robbed of their innocence, and tortured beyond human capacity of tolerance. When you’ve been on my side of the gig, you quickly realize how precious life truly is.

  And how utterly repulsive the human creature can be.

  With that fire igniting my heart, I made my way across the street and cautiously approached the house. Beyond the dingy glass window panes, the building was dark as pitch. Not a glimmer of light or life shone through.

  I took in a deep breath and made my way onto the porch; the creak of old wood under my feet greeted the otherwise silent night.

  The door was, in fact, shut tight. A line of barrier tape sealed the entryway—and begged to be sliced open. I snatched up a broken beer bottle from the porch and used it to cut downward through the tape until the door was free to open.

  Inside, a hollow silence greeted me…same as the first time I’d entered this den of iniquity. The moonlight struggled to pierce the veil of dirty window panes, so I had to call upon my phone to light the way. As soon as the LED beam cut through the thick of night, a figure scrambled from the shadows, raced at and bull-rushed me.

  Still prone, I heard the door to the house slam shut. I scrambled to my feet and gave chase. In the dim moonlight, it was impossible to discern if I was chasing the man of the hour or some frightened derelict.

  “Darth!” I shouted with every ounce of breath my cramping system could muster. I was lucky to manage that one syllable. Fortunately, it was enough. Within seconds, he’d caught up and was trotting alongside me, without showing the slightest sign of exertion.

  I pointed at the shadow running ahead and gasped, “Catch him.”

  Darthaniel sprinted off. My legs gave up the ghost and brought me to a standstill—elbows on knees and lungs threatening to launch from my chest. I so badly wanted to be the one to haul the bastard in for his very own reckoning, but a severe lack of stamina had other plans for my muscles…namely, collapse.

  The burn in my legs subsided enough so that I could return to a standing position. My pulse slowed and breathing returned to some semblance of normalcy…just in time for Darthaniel to return. He forced the man down to his knees and said with pride, “Mission accomplished.”

  “Fuck!” I shouted.

  “I thought—” Darth started.

  “It’s not the guy,” I cut him off.

  The man on his knees was actually a young male, dressed in oddly similar attire as the owner of the Scythe…down to the seventies porn glasses.

  “What were you doing in that house?” I dropped my voice to depths even I didn’t know my vocal cords could produce.

  Creep Junior glared up at me in defiance. There was something telling about his stare, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Darthaniel gave the young punk a shove. “You heard the man, fess your handle.”

  The kid spat.

  I snapped.

  “Go back to the car,” I said to Darth without looking up.

  “But—”

  “Now!” I growled.

  “Dude,” was all the man said before huffing off.

  There were certain rules and regulations, all of which had been handed down by Fate. I was about to break a few of them. I didn’t care; these were desperate times demanding desperate measures.

  “I’ll ask you once more. If you don’t answer me, you will not enjoy the consequences.”

  “Fuck off,” the kid muttered.

  This better pay off, I thought before dropping into the punk ass punk.

  Inside the kid, flashes of memory shocked my system. Hiding in the walls of the house…learning. Stalking the murderous malcontent, taking in the minutia of his every move. The front door opened to a squad of uniforms looking, searching…finding nothing but evidence of a heinous crime. Darkness. Sound. A man…the creep returned. He ventured into the basement and unleashed a torrent of rage upon seeing his missing toy. He left. I entered.

  When I ejected myself from the young man, a fountain of vomit erupted from his mouth and a deluge of tears streamed down his cheeks.

  “What did you do to me?” the punk screamed.

  “The thing you don’t want me to do again,” I said with a measure of control. “Tell me where he went, or the next time I do what I do, you’ll be puking blood.”

  He wouldn’t. I lied.

  Punky Pukester wiped his mouth and eyes before looking up to me. “He’s looking for a ne
w subject.”

  That was all I needed. I grabbed the kid by the arm and stood him up. “Get the fuck out of here and never come back. Stop wasting your life before you wind up someone’s girlfriend in prison.”

  With a swift push, the kid was racing into the darkness of night. The smallest part of me considered chasing him down again and putting him out of humanity’s misery. That wasn’t, however, my call.

  “Would that it were,” I whispered.

  I returned to the hearse, leaned against the front fender, and rapped on the driver’s side window. Darth rolled down the glass and leaned out. “Whatchoo got, Grim?”

  “The man of the hour will be returning to the scene of his most hateful crime,” I answered.

  “Ah, hell no,” Darth responded. “Please don’t tell me—”

  “We’re staying.”

  Darth groaned. “Come on, Grim. We still need to get X checked out.”

  I offered up a slow blink, one you’d give an angry cat to calm it down. “She doesn’t need a hospital right now.”

  “How do you know?” Ammy shouted. “She could die!”

  “Trust me, I know. This is one time you do not need to fear the Reaper.”

  Amnesia leaned over from the passenger side. “All right, all right. But why do we have to stay with you?”

  “Because, friendo, backup just might come in handy tonight. That prick is going to return at some point and we have to take him down; otherwise, X won’t make it.”

  “Well, fuck that,” Amnesia proclaimed with a slap to Darth’s shoulder. “We’re doing this, D.”

  “In that case,” Darth reached into a pocket and withdrew a plastic baggie. “I’ll be needing a little visit from my Aunt Mary. My nerves can’t handle this level of stress without a bit of chemical romance. Much more of this drama, and I’ll be dancing to a special tune at the fetal ball.”

  Amnesia leaned her head back, closed here eyes, and sighed. “You have no idea how good that sounds.” Her eyes popped open. “Don’t worry about lil’ addict girl…she’s staying clean.”

  “Do what you guys gotta do, so long as it doesn’t interfere with your ability to protect X. You fail that and I promise you will not like the end result. Capisce?”