A Tale Of Two Reapers

by Jack Wallen

  “That thing you couldn’t see at the window last night? Yeah…it’s still…” I sighed. “Fuck.”

  X shook her head and stepped forward.

  “It looks as though,” X replied softly, “every human being is about to die. How is this—”

  I interrupted X for the briefest pause. “Ours is not to question why.”

  “Like hell it isn’t, Tennyson,” X snapped. “If we’re to win this war, we need information.”

  A man in a pinstriped power suit, surrounded by a black aura as thick as Chinese smog, crashed through our party without so much as an “excuse me”. I huffed, and he shot an arm into the air to fly a one finger salute…just for me. I pointed, glanced toward X, and said, “Reap him.”

  Without hesitation, X sprinted off toward the stranger and dove for his center. X vanished and the reap began.

  Ammy pointed a finger toward nine o’clock. A woman, either strung out on some narcotic, or completely oblivious to her surroundings, struggled to put one foot in front of the other. I gave chase and slipped within the woman’s flesh cocoon with ease. The woman’s aura tasted of bleach, battery acid, and menthol cigarettes. I drained her dry, stepped out of the flesh, and released her spirit back into the wild.

  Amnesia was there to point out another.

  And another.

  And another.

  And another.

  I realized then what was happening. The Universe was being fed a great many souls so that it could churn them out into another being to give the cycle a fresh start.

  To Kill A Reaper Book 2 Available Now!

  ONE

  Hello. My name is Grim, and I’m a Reaper.

  No matter how many times I’ve said it, the phrase seems odd with the “a”. I was so used to being the one and only. Grim, the Reaper. For centuries, I was special—like an only child to a set of parents who’d struggled for years to conceive and finally managed to nail that task at the eleventh hour.

  Honestly, I’m okay with it. The consequences of my happenstantial accident brought to me something I never thought I’d know.

  True love.

  Yeah, I know, barf.

  Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those stories. Not that there’s anything wrong with those stories—if you happen to be mortal. This is so much more than that. In fact, this is the continuation of a story I feel I’ve already told. Remember? No.

  Are you high?

  The last time, I began with some fairly serious vagueness. To save you the effort and strain of tossing your memory meat back that far, let me give you the Previously On Reapers. Popcorn and soda pop ready?

  I accidentally reaped a woman who wasn’t on her deathbed. Said woman became a Reaper. The Reaper in training unleashed a Scythe.

  Scythes are bad, m’kay?

  I discovered Fate wasn’t the only all-powerful entity in the universe and there was, very likely, a battle being waged between—for lack of a better term—Gods.

  While trying to save X—my new Reaper soul mate—we may have set off Armageddon.

  May being the operative word.

  Don’t get me wrong, if Armageddon is my fault, I’ll own that mistake. I’m just not willing to say, for certain, that what we did was open a metaphorical wormhole to suck dry the collective soul of the human race. Fortunately, after all hell quite literally broke loose over the skyline of New York, it quickly retreated.

  I couldn’t help but think it was the calm before a very deadly storm.

  That respite from the shit sandwich gave me time to do the one thing Fate insisted I do—train X.

  And that’s what my life had come to lately. Training a puppy.

  Albeit a dead sexy puppy.

  That came out wrong.

  “Grim.”

  Before I could respond, X pressed the soles of her frigid feet against my lower back. The shock to my system sent me rocketing out of bed and scrambling for a robe, a towel, or a space heater.

  “Why?” I cried out. “What did I do to deserve—”

  “You were doing that thing again,” X whined. I wasn’t certain how the woman could still be adorable while pissing and moaning…and yet, there it was.

  “What thing?”

  “That third person inner monologue thing.”

  How in the hell could she….

  “Son of a bitch,” I mumbled. I suppose it was from having lived for so many years, but she was right, I did tend to go full-on narrator a lot.

  What’s a Reaper to do?

  “And on the docket for today?” X asked as she wrapped the sheet around her upper body.

  “Did you just—”

  “Read your mind?” X guffawed. “As if. Although that superpower would come in handy as a Reaper; don’t you think?”

  “No. We already see enough of humanity’s inner workings as it is. I don’t want to dive that deep into the psyche of humankind.”

  “Okay, Professor Grim. Teach much?”

  Every so often, conversations with X felt like I’d been tossed into some random Joss Whedon film. Under normal circumstances, that would grate on my last nerve; but I did love me some Whedon. It was one of the many endearing aspects of the woman.

  I hopped back onto the bed, snatched the sheet off X, dodged a right hook, and planted a kiss on her pale cheek. “I have something special planned.”

  “Me likee when you talk special.”

  I couldn’t stop the sigh from escaping my lips. “So young; so very, very young.”

  X pulled me down and flipped over so that she straddled my body. A smile born of purest sin traced itself across her lips. “Dost thou protest my youth?”

  “Shakespeare much?” I winked.

  X rolled off and practically bounced to the walk-in closet. From behind the door she called, “So what is this special event taking place today?”

  “You’ll know when it’s happening.”

  “That’s not fair.” X spun out of the closet, cocooned in the thickest terrycloth robe I’d ever spied.

  “Christ, you’re other-worldly.”

  A slight blush rose on X’s alabaster flesh, just enough to further highlight her transcendent beauty. She came to a complete stop, motion and pretense locked in time. Seconds ticked by, enough such that I began to expect a bolt of Fate’s lightning to crash through the room and yank me into the NetherRealm. Instead, X and I exchanged a moment of joy and grace. Ever so slowly, that sinister grin was swapped out with absolute innocence.

  Somewhere along the way, I’d fallen hard for this woman.

  “I love you, Grim.”

  That I wasn’t expecting. I should have expected it, but I didn’t. She’d spoken the holy trinity of words before, but at the time, it seemed like nothing more than the thing to say. Now it was real…and honest.

  “I love you, Christine.”

  A peal of laughter escaped X’s lips. “No way are we becoming that couple. I don’t do douche.”

  Ugh.

  X unleashed an impish smile. “I need coffee.”

  Awkwardness abated.

  X padded out of the posh bedroom. I hopped out of bed, pulled on the nearest pair of pants I could find, and gave chase. By the time I reached the kitchen, I was out of breath.

  “Your house—”

  “Our house,” X interrupted.

  My silent reply took her aback.

  “What? I mean…that was just…”

  I shook my head lazily. “Should I bring all of my belongings from the old place or…”

  The smile returned. “Oh, hell no. We’re going shopping, my dear.”

  “Should I be offended by that? I feel like I should.”

  For the first time since I’d known her, X was dumbfounded. Her eyes expanded until I was certain the glorious orbs would drop out of their sockets by the simple means of gravity.

  I couldn’t hold the ruse any longer. “I’m teasing, X. Besides, I have absolutely no emotional attachment to things. I’m way too old for such superficial frivol
ity.” I did a quick inventory of the surroundings and instantly regretted my statement. My stomach audibly growled to save the day. “I could, however, develop a serious attachment to some bacon and waffles.”

  “It just so happens…” Darthaniel peeked out from the kitchen. “Your breakfast requirements have become rather predictable, my friend. I’ve already whipped up enough of your favorites to feed an army of Reapers.”

  Amnesia stepped out of Darthaniel’s shadow, munching on a dry waffle. “Some of them are special.”

  X pounced, snatching the round of delight from Ammy’s grasp. “Oh, no you don’t, young lady. You’ve been clean for nearly nine months now.”

  Ammy bounced on the balls of her feet, giggling like a schoolgirl. “You are so gullible, X.”

  “One never wastes weed in waffles,” Darthaniel chimed in, his Jamaican accent thicker than usual.

  We gathered at the substantial iron and glass dining room table and dove into the meal, the clink of silverware a perfect counterpoint to the laughter and chatter that made me realize how long it had been since family was a part of my equation. And in the thinking, I understood how fragile was the human condition. To love and to hope was to invite pain into the mix. With every glance, every smile, every laugh, I knew it was worth the risk.

  “So…” X batted her makeup-less eyes. “What’s this surprise you have in store for me today? Does it involve a ring?”

  The question caught me off-guard. Amnesia sang a fragment of a clichéd pop song about putting a ring on X’s finger; her voice just off-key enough to make it a challenge to not wince.

  “It does not involve a ring.”

  Ammy huffed. “You’re so…grim.”

  “Today begins the next step in your education as a Reaper.”

  X rolled her eyes. “Wooohooo…school. I just peed my panties out of excitement.”

  Darth smiled. “You’re not wearing any panties.”

  “How do you know that?” X pointed across the table. “My muffin is off-limits.”

  An explosion of laughter erupted from the table.

  “Your muffin?” I did my best to refrain from mocking X.

  “To be sure, I did not get a look at your precious”—Darth snickered—“muffin. I did, however, catch sight of the red satin numbers lying on your bedroom floor.” Darthaniel turned his gaze to me. “Unless you fancy the women’s underpants. Not judging.”

  “Stop changing the subject,” X barked, and turned back to me. “I don’t like secrets, so tell me now.”

  “Sorry, Princess, no can do. If you know what’s in store, you might all of a sudden remember you have a dentist or podiatry appointment.”

  “Are you saying I have ugly feet?” X nearly imploded.

  “No. Wait, where did you get that idea?”

  “Because you said podiatry…insinuating I have issues with my feet.”

  “It was a joke, X. You’re feet are to die for.”

  “Another joke?”

  Okay, that time…maybe. I’d never tell, though. I found X always worked best when something threatened to tip her off-balance. Not that she would ever know I was guilty of working an angle

  Ammy leaned into the table. “Are we invited to this special event?”

  To be honest, I hadn’t even considered inviting the wonder twins along. Upon further consideration, however….

  “Your presence has been requested, my fair lady.”

  Ammy offered her hand for me to kiss. I complied, and she chuckled awkwardly. “You are so kind, good sir.”

  I inhaled the last bite of bacon, wiped my mouth off, and stood to address my audience. “Gather your wits and your pants; in ten minutes we ride.”

  “Ten minutes?” X cried out. “I can’t be ready in ten minutes.”

  “How much time do you need? The reap waits for no one.”

  X instantly deflated. “That’s your surprise? A reaping?”

  “Just get ready so we can go,” I nudged. “Darth and I will clean up while you girls put on your…”

  Ammy pointed a bony finger my way. “Don’t you dare drop that misogynistic f-bomb here.”

  “Clothes?” I completed my thought.

  “Oh.” Ammy instantly retracted her rage. “In that case, we’ll be ready as quickly as possible.”

  I nodded and turned to the kitchen, my gaze immediately falling onto a disapproving Darthaniel.

  “How do you know I don’t need time to apply my face?”

  “Because you’re already almost too beautiful for the average human to gaze upon?”

  “Nice try, Grim. I’ll give you a pass on that one.”

  I waved Darthaniel off. “You can’t fool me, Darthaniel; you just want to fire one up.”

  “You know me well, Grim.”

  “Go. I give you leave…go.”

  Darth clapped his hands together and bowed before slipping from the kitchen. I turned to the table and shook my head. “How can four people make such a mess?” I scooped up a plate just in time for the all-too-familiar crack of lightning to crash down from the ceiling. The porcelain plate slipped from between my fingers and hovered in the air, as if time had stroked out and was waiting for a pair of defibrillator paddles to shock it back into motion.

  The luxurious apartment vanished and, in a flash of strobing light, was replaced by none other than….

  “The NetherRealm.” My whisper immediately rose to a full-blown, raging roar when I shouted, “Fate!”

  The shimmering image of Fate appeared before me. “Why would I chose to bring you to me at this point in the game, Grim? Have you done something wrong? Maybe you’ve finally managed to pull off something right?”

  “Very funny, Fate.” The second the words left my mouth, I remembered the divine entity rarely joked, so I backpedaled. “Sounds like you might have a story to tell; and here I am, all ears.”

  “X.” Fate’s voice returned to its original configuration; an odd mixture of James Earl Jones and TV’s Geordi La Forge. It seemed every time I turned around, Fate was trying out some new persona or voice on me. Little did it know I was partial to this particular incarnation. Why? There was something eerily soothing in hearing Darth Vader’s own Reading Rainbow.

  “‘Fess up, Fate. Why am I here?”

  “Judgment has gone missing.”

  “And your inability to make good choices is my problem…why?”

  Fate seethed. “Judgment is one of the Eternals, you…” Before it could unleash a flood of raging insults, Fate calmed itself. “While you were fighting against the Scythe, you visited the AntiRealm.”

  I nodded. “In all fairness, it was more like I was dragged, kicking and screaming; so I wouldn’t exactly call it a visit.”

  “In doing so, you did precisely as I asked.”

  “Banish Jons from the Firmament. We’ve already been through this, Fate. Why are you wasting my time recapping what I already know?”

  Fate sighed deeply enough to cause the NetherRealm to shudder. A tectonic shift tilted the ground beneath my feet. “Unfortunately, our plan seems to have backfired.”

  “You mean the flood of blackened souls hovering over the nighttime sky of New York?”

  “No.”

  The response caught me off-guard. Since sending Jons into the dark goodnight, I’d assumed my next mission, upon acceptance, would be vanquishing the Scythes that would certainly threaten the fabric of reality, should they attack. It never dawned on me there’d be any other task until humankind was saved from certain doom.

  “Care to explain yourself, Fate?”

  “Throughout the universe, there has always been one constant rule of law…that of balance. For every molecule of light, its dark equal can be found. This rule also applies to the reigning entities of Chaos and Order.”

  I couldn’t help but interrupt. “Should I assume you are the universal representative of Order?”

  Fate answered in a basso profundo that rattled the windows in my mind. “That would be a wise as
sumption.”

  The roiling, mercurial image of Fate coalesced into a humanoid form—a gender-fluid, Swinton-esque, oddly Southern creature.

  Shit was about to get serious.

  “There are numerous realms; and each realm has a ruler. Prior to Jons’ takeover of the AntiRealm, Judgment ruled the EtheRealm. We served as a form of checks and balances to keep the Universe in that necessary state of equilibrium.”

  Fate’s last word drifted into a haunting silence. I did not like where this was going. The bi-pedal form drew up close enough that I could see patterns swirling just under the surface of its thought-made-flesh; equations and glyphs, images and words.

  “What does all of this have to do with me? I did exactly what you required and removed Jons from play. It wasn’t my fault he wound up—”

  “Silence!” All pretense of gender-neutrality washed away with a single, bellowed word. I complied without hesitation. Fate gathered its grace and continued. “You are to locate Judgment and return it to the EtheRealm. Be prepared, Grim; for the return of Judgment will not go peacefully…not if Jons has anything to say in the matter.”

  As if anything Fate could ask would be easy.

  “If I find Judgment…”

  “Do or do not—” Fate started.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Star Wars?”

  Fate shook its head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You just quoted Yoda from Star Wars,” I responded with a roar of a laugh.

  “You have that backwards, Grim. Yoda quoted me.”

  Maybe I was wrong about Fate’s sense of humor. I refused to believe that George Lucas had been riffing on Fate’s words when he penned the script for Empire Strikes Back. But then…Fate did work in mysterious ways. Nothing was beyond the realm of the possible with this cat.

  “When I find Judgment,” I corrected my earlier misstep, “what am I to do with it?”

  Fate nodded. “As I already said…return it to the EtheRealm.”

  “You’re forgetting one very simple problem, Fate.”

  “I forget nothing,” Fate warned.

  “Au contraire, mon ami.”

  “Ne me jouez pas pour un imbécile,” Fate upped the French ante well beyond my pay grade. I shot my hands in the air to tap out.