A Tale Of Two Reapers

by Jack Wallen

  “She’s not wrong,” X chimed in. “We could use a third pair of eyes to spot auras. And Darth can—”

  “What? Are you trying to say your dear friend Darth has no viable skill to aid in your quest?” Darthaniel cut in. “Ask yourself this…can Darth drive the hell out of a car?”

  Silence was the answer to that confounding question.

  “You’re damn straight I can drive the hell out of a car. Plus, I know the streets of this city better than anyone. That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. Besides, I have connections you very well might need.”

  “Like what?” I dared ask.

  Darthaniel leaned in and whispered, “You name it, I can get it. I am in good with both the dark and the light side of the force, if you know what I mean.”

  A much needed round of laughter released us from the cloud of surrounding tension. Ammy raised her cup once again. “What do you say, Grim…are we in this together or not?”

  My cup joined Ammy’s. “How can I say no?”

  “You can’t,” X answered. “That’s how.”

  “Shit,” Ammy deflated the celebration with a single word—not so much the word, as the intention of the word. “Not again!” She pointed toward the door and then to the man behind the counter spinning pizza crust high into the air. A cone of darkness formed above him as the entry to the Shack opened and a heroin-skinny male in a stained gray sweatshirt entered—hood up and hands in pockets. The second the punk was inside the building, he ripped his right hand out and extended a gun toward the pizza maker. The outstretched arm danced in the air—a nervous shake for a first-time thug.

  “All you got, old man,” the idiot barked.

  To my surprise, the pizza maker didn’t so much as flinch. He spun the round of dough for another ride and caught it with the skill of a juggler.

  How many times a week did this joint get held up, anyway? I wondered.

  “Did you hear me, motherfucker?” the kid screamed, pointed the pistol to the ceiling, and pulled off a round. Dust and debris rained down from above, bringing an overwrought scream from the kid making threats.

  The man behind the counter placed the dough on a pie pan with a beautiful reverence, folded his arms across his barrel chest, and shook his head. “I’m not scared of you, shit-bag.” The cook’s voice was the very archetype of New York, overly rough with an undercurrent of furious joy.

  The punk’s shivering arm came to a perfect stop, putting an end to the obvious fear that had racked his frame. The cook’s bravado was misplaced. From my special vantage point, this scenario was destined to go down only one way…with no favors for the cook.

  “Then you die, old man,” the armed kid screeched.

  “Not on my watch,” X mumbled before standing.

  I scrambled to stop her from making a grievous error, but she was too fast. Instead of reaping the old man’s soul, she dove into and out of the punk…his weapon in her hand. Oh, Grim, I could just imagine Fate grousing, you’ve taught her all the wrong lessons.

  “How the fuck—” the twitchy kid shouted as he glanced from his empty hand to X and back.

  “Magic is illusion, my friend,” X said with a wicked grin. She pointed the pistol at the kid and released the smile from her lips. “Get out of here before I decide your existence is a detriment to society and put a hole through your meth-addled brain.”

  Without so much as a single complaint, the kid sped from the Pizza Shack. X turned and handed the weapon to the dough-slinger before returning to the table.

  Darth raised a high-five hand. “That was badass.”

  X ignored the proffered bro salute and focused her attention on me. “I get the distinct impression that you don’t approve?”

  “You’re really going to make me play bad cop, aren’t you, X?”

  Every piercing gaze at the table turned to me.

  “Fine,” I caved. “First and foremost, just because you saw me pull off that same stupid stunt, doesn’t give you license to try it on your own.”

  “But where’s the danger, Grim? We can’t die!”

  “It’s not about life and death at this point. Fate is accustomed to me pulling that level of bullshit. I’ve spent centuries earning the right to be a smart-ass to the one being who could end my existence with a single word. You haven’t. Fate could see what you just did as an affront on nature itself and wipe you away. I’m not ready for that. Not now…probably not ever. Besides, it’s not our place to decide humanity’s fate. When you see the black shroud, you act to the letter of our law. We aren’t judge and jury and cannot, in any way, decide who wins and who loses. You start down that road and you won’t last long enough to make a difference.”

  “Then what good are we?” X asked.

  “We are the greater good,” I said with finality. “And you need to rise well above my example…before I lose you.” Before I lost my momentum, I added, “Do as I say…not as I do.”

  My statement was met with rapt silence. Slowly, one by one, the three heads nodded in understanding.

  “I’m sorry, Grim,” X offered softly.

  “There’s no need to apologize. In fact, I’ve pulled the same stunt…many times. When you bear witness to the aura shifting to death’s shroud, you want to intervene…do what you believe is right; especially when you know, to your core, that Fate has dealt someone a truly shitty hand. Trust me, X, I know that feeling all too well. I’ve watched good people die shitty, senseless deaths and bad people live full and unjust lives. If it were up to me, that course would get corrected every damn time. I’d reap every rapist, take their organs on the way out, and fulfill the prayers of every single human on a transplant list. Unfortunately, it’s not up to me. Those decisions are not our call. The sooner you learn that, the easier this will be.”

  It was time she learned the truth.

  I sucked down the remainder of my soda. “We need to get back to the house.”

  Darth and Ammy groaned.

  “I’d like to think saving the world is more important than you two…doing whatever—or whoever—it is you want to do at this hour.”

  Ammy chuckled. “Old much? It’s New-York-thirty, Grim. There are parties to attend, delights to ingest, and clothes to be removed.”

  X grabbed Ammy’s right arm and squeezed it tight to her breast. “Which is exactly why you, my darling girl, are coming home with me.”

  “Now that’s what I’m—” Darth started.

  “Shut up,” X and Ammy called out in unison.

  Another round of tension-snapping laughter erupted from the table before we stood and made our way toward the door.

  The pizza maker caught us before we could exit and cried out, “I don’t know how you pulled that stunt off, young lady, but you earned yourself free pizza for life.”

  X approached the counter, leaned into the man, and kissed him on the cheek. “Your pie is worth paying for.”

  The man with the dough blushed and nodded. “Seriously, thank you.”

  We made our exit back onto the streets.

  “I love this city,” Darthaniel shouted and pumped his fists into the air.

  “Fuck off,” a disembodied voice replied.

  “Hell yeah,” Darth answered in kind.

  We opted to leave the hearse parked, in lieu of walking. The weather was perfect, we had stomachs full of carbs, and were alive to enjoy a respite from the madness of reaping—a perfect storm for a night of walking.

  Life, even near the fringes of death, was good.

  X spun on her heels to say, “I’m calling a moratorium on Central Park—and anywhere else that might be conducive to reaping—tonight.

  We all happily agreed to X’s proclamation and sauntered toward our destination.

  We were all dragging ass by the time we arrived at the house. Inside the fortress of bourgeoisie, we each went our separate ways…heading directly for bedrooms to call it a night. Before I could retire to one of the spares, X had me by the hand to lead me into the boudoir. Even as t
he door closed, she had my shirt over my head and was mining the depths of my mouth with her tongue. I returned the gesture in kind to find her mouth candy-sweet.

  X pulled me onto the bed as she fumbled at my pants. Before long I was naked and vulnerable, and she was still clad in her nightgown. Not that I was complaining. X looked glorious in a way I probably wouldn’t have found on any other woman. It was a strange mélange of depravity and innocence that tugged me deep into her well of desire.

  “Is this one of those situations where you need the lights out before you’ll…”

  She covered my mouth with her palm; the scent of her sweet flesh filled my nostrils.

  “Shhhhh,” X hushed. “Don’t speak, you’ll ruin the moment.” With a wink, X leaned up and pulled the nightgown over her head. We paused to take in the perfect beauty of one another. A smile crept across X’s lips before she said, “Reap me.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” I replied before gently entering X.

  I’d had my fair share of lovers throughout the decades. Some had been forgettable, while others somewhat remarkable. Never before had I felt so utterly consumed by another being…so absolute in my longing. In the act, we not only coupled sexually, we simultaneously reaped one another. I was X and X was Grim and our souls enmeshed as a single, glorious entity. It would have been impossible to know where I ended and X began.

  This was so far beyond a sexual act. We were grace made flesh.

  When the congress completed, and our heated flesh parted, I could still feel the connection between us…filaments of binding energy tugging at flesh and heart to return, recouple.

  X’s breathing took on the familiar pattern of drifting into the cradle of sleep. I pulled the linen sheet over her bare breasts and tucked myself inside the warm cocoon of the bed. I flicked the light off, and X released the sweetest, softest moan.

  Before lying back to drift away, I placed a single kiss on X’s forehead and whispered, “Sweet dreams, my sweet.”

  I swam in darkness. The soft rise and fall of X’s breathing morphed into a deep, thunderous roar.

  A pinprick of perfect white light flashed before me. The light pulsed in a too-familiar waltzing rhythm.

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  “Too soon,” I cried out.

  “Grim.” The voice was familiar. I struggled against the knowing, preferring to exist in a shroud of ignorance for once.

  “Grim,” the voice returned; this time in concert with the flashing white light.

  “Wake up, dude.”

  I started, jerking into a seated position to see Darthaniel beside the bed, flashlight in hand. “What is it, Darth?”

  “Something’s not right. I can’t describe it, but…I don’t know…maybe it’s best if you take a look.”

  I glanced over to check that X was still sound asleep. I slipped out of the bed with barely a shift to the mattress and silently padded across the bedroom floor.

  Darth led me out to the living room and gestured toward the wall of glass that opened to the New York City skyline. “I was standing right here and I felt this presence, something vibrating the air around the window.”

  I instantly spotted what had piqued Darth’s concern.

  A pulse of purple-black light blinked in and out in threes.

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  Winding about the pulsing, dark beacon was a writhing cloud of shadows. Judging from the size of the swirling mass, the entire city of New York had died. Either that, or a legion of Scythes had been set free.

  “Son of a bitch,” I whispered.

  “What is it, Grim?”

  “Armageddon.”

  Darth and I stood in the center of the darkened room and watched as the pinprick light continued pulsing out its rhythm.

  Blink. Blink. Blink.

  “I don’t see anything,” Darth whispered.

  “Trust me…it’s there.”

  I felt yet another rising tide of fear in my gut. I had to start training X as soon as the sun rose and the population came out to play…and die. She had to get up to speed on the subtleties and minutia of reaping before it was too late and I was tasked to save the world on my own.

  Without saying another word, I shuffled back to the bedroom and snuggled in tight with X. My mind and heart were bent out of shape, but there was not a damn thing I could do at the moment. The time for waging war could wait until tomorrow.

  Or so I hoped.

  Chapter 19

  Alarms didn’t suck so much these days. Routine wasn’t so bad, either. When you rolled over in bed to see your soul mate—a literal truth most certainly not wasted on the likes of me—life was pretty damn good.

  Even life as I knew it…the life of a Reaper.

  For whatever reason, the second my eyes greeted the light of day, my mind drifted back to Jonesy. I hadn’t called him for our regular meeting. The idea of slighting the guy made me sick to my stomach. The guy made me laugh, and I knew I was his primary connection to the living world. If that wasn’t fifty shades of irony, it was time for me to take a page from the Alanis Morissette school of words and meaning. Once the catastrophic wound was healed between the firmament and the realms, I’d have to make sure to give Jonesy a ring and schedule our usual…which wouldn’t exactly be the usual, considering I’d most likely be dragging a third party along for the ride…one with a figure that would send Jonesy into a pop-eyed spiral. He’d get over it and would stand forever impressed that a guy like me could get a girl like her.

  “What the hell,” I said to myself, grabbing my phone and dialing Jonesy’s number. As usual, he picked up and dove immediately into the fray.

  “Did you call her, playah?”

  For a brief moment I hadn’t the slightest idea what Jonesy was walking about. I dragged my palm across my face, and it hit me. I couldn’t stop from guffawing.

  “You got no game, Grim,” Jonesy teased with a slight wickedness. “You know I’m just goofing.”

  “Compared to you, buddy, my game is lame,” I offered.

  Jonesy cackled…a sound I desperately needed to hear.

  “Sorry I didn’t call you last night. Things kind of—”

  “Bow chicka bow wow,” Jonesy sang and broke down in another fit of laughter.

  “I’ll never tell, brother.”

  “Like hell you won’t, Grim. I want the deets. We meeting tonight?”

  Guilt settled in for a nap in my chest. “I tell ya what…I have something important to take care of first.”

  “Bow chick?”

  “I—”

  “Wow wow?”

  It was my turn to laugh. One of the things I’d always enjoyed the most about Jonesy is that he never allowed his shortcomings to get in the way of joy. The man loved every second of life with ferocity. It didn’t hurt that his sense of humor handily punched Fate in the junk. Nothing would get in the way of Jonesy living life large.

  Fate. One of these days I need to take Fate to task on Jonesy. I thought. Why would such a remarkable spirit be trapped in a withering mind?

  “Grim?” Jonesy’s voice pulled me from my maudlin reverie.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Damn well better not disappear on me again. I’ll send my peeps after you.”

  “Jonesy, my friend, you know I am always here for you. If I manage to finish in time, I’ll give you a ring. If not, I swear on yo mamma’s pot roast I’ll call tomorrow.”

  Jonesy snickered. “You’re the only person I would ever let swear on my mom’s cooking. You know it’s the bomb…bomb…b…b…”

  Every so often, he’d trail off. Without fail, my heart would break the slightest bit. I never pushed him, never grew impatient. This was the time to hold out until the man returned to me. He would…always did. Not once have I ever brought his disassociation up in conversation. The last thing Jonesy needed was to be reminded of his personal hurdles.

  “I’ll hold you to that. If you bail again—”

  “I won’t, Jone
sy. Promise.”

  “Groovy, my friend. I’ll talk to ya later?”

  “Damn straight you will.”

  I disconnected the call in time for a wide grin to spread over my lips.

  Yeah, life was good. I had friends and…something much more.

  Christine.

  It wasn’t just the idea of love—although that was pretty much a slam-dunk on nearly every level. My life had completely turned around, thanks to one simple happy accident.

  Fate, I corrected myself, remembering X had been in the universe’s grand design for me all along. This was my narrative, my story; and this motley crew I’d cobbled together was about to go to war against a legion of Scythes. I had no idea how in the hell we could possibly win this…but my inner Magic 8 Ball said Outlook Good. Was it love, kinship…or just knowing someone would finally have my back that bolstered my confidence and courage?

  On some level, the answer to that question mattered. Maybe not to Fate—all it wanted was to be certain the Universe would continue on, unfazed by the black soul uprising. I had to wonder, however, why Fate would leave such a profound undertaking in the hands of such a ragtag group. In the end, I suppose, the why didn’t matter. We were all Fate had, and I would make damn sure to not let it down. I had no choice. The alternative was doomsday for all.

  The world. Yeah, there was always that. This time around the fight wasn’t just about doing Fate’s bidding. My gang of hellions had been charged with saving the whole population of Earth.

  We would not let it down.

  The streets were ours to take and the lost souls ours to reap.

  Today marked the beginning of a new era.

  “Oh, my God,” Ammy whispered, pulling me from my best inner monologue-fueled reverie. Amnesia stopped and pointed toward Times Square. “There are so many.”

  Standing before us, the souls of nearly every human had shifted to a morbid shade of black.

  “Son of a bitch,” X whispered.

  “What’s going on?” Darthaniel asked.