Chapter 10: Chapter 10

S A V A N N A H

SØREN KEPT QUIET as we made our way back to the apartments.

I suppose that he had been thankful for my silence after he had reaped earlier, and so he decided to return the favour.

It felt like I was filled to the brim with tears —but I was too traumatised to cry them. I felt a little numb, but mostly cold, and I shivered in my thin clothes. I wanted to brood in the apartment too, sitting cross-legged on the sofa and fingering my necklace thoughtfully.

It had begun to glow gold like my sword after we had left Martin’s apartment, and I had no idea what it meant, or if it was meant to do that.

At least the dilemma of me proving the sword was mine was now solved. I hoped that the people who had written to us were satisfied now.

Unfortunately, I could not dwell on my necklace when we got back, because apparently Phee-Phee had opted to overstay his welcome.

“He’s still…here?” I said excitedly, opening the computer room door.

My Trainer’s anger flared, having festered since that afternoon. “That’s it,” he growled and pushed past me into the doorway, “I’m shooting it.”

“Søren!” I gasped —and I was too preoccupied to realise that it was first time that I had said his name correctly —as I stumbled in after him. “Don’t you dare do anything to that innocent creature!”

I caught up and pulled his crossbow away from him, before moving to defend Phee-Phee. Søren huffed and folded his spindly arms.

“Move out of the way, Savannah,” he ordered firmly.

“No,” I defied somewhat haughtily. “You’re not getting rid of him. And I’ll keep my promise. I’ll clean up after him when he decides to leave. Until then, he’s staying right here.”

“Excuse me? Here, as in, here here? In my office?”

“No,” I frowned, “—he can be wherever I go. In the living room, I guess.”

Søren tugged a hand through his hair and exhaled, expelling some stress.

“…Look, that cat of yours doesn’t really count as experience, because Phoebe usually took care of him. I know —I saw. And don’t even try to deny it,” he added before I could argue that I had taken care of him once upon a time. “…Taking care of a magical creature is not the same as an average dog or cat. Phoenixes have special needs and dietary requirements of their own. And I just don’t have the patience to let it settle here long enough for you to find out,” he ended, folding his arms.

He reminded me of a father in that moment —and upon realising that, I shuddered and took a step backwards.

“I want to take care of Phee-Phee,” I insisted.

“Naming it leads to emotional attachment.”

“Well, at least then he would have felt some sort of attachment in his life,” I snapped, frowning up at him. “It disappoints me that you treat him as vermin when all you should do is show him that maybe he’s not what people think of him. That maybe he deserves a chance.”

I glanced behind me at Phee-Phee and smiled. Phee-Phee stared back at me and cooed, hopping around on the windowsill.

“…You really want to do this?” Søren whispered, dropping the Dad Act and softening his expression.

“Yes,” I said, turning back around. “I promise he won’t be a nuisance. Right, Phee-Phee?” I asked him, nodding vigorously. He squawked enthusiastically, flapping his gorgeous wings.

Søren sighed and shook his head. “I hope that was Phoenix for ‘sir, yes, sir’. And, he better not be.” He glared at the Phoenix, before glancing back at me and his crossbow. “…Can I have that back now?”

I tossed it to him and sidestepped him, heading for the living room. “Come on Phee-Phee —let’s go to the other room and leave Mr Grumpy alone with his precious Angelina,” I drawled, rolling my eyes.

Søren suddenly moved to block my path. I blinked, wondering what had gotten into him. His silver eyes were ablaze with rage. It was the first time that I had seen any kind of raw emotion from him. “Don’t you dare call her that,” he said in a careful, low voice. “She is Computer to you, and you are not to say that name —in my presence or otherwise.”

My eyes widened but I nodded, taking a step backwards.

“Okay,” I said carefully, moving to the side. The Reaper breathed heavily for a moment, as he dragged a hand over his face. He did not offer me an explanation or even another word —simply anguish.

He needed time to himself. So, I turned away.

“…Come, Phee-Phee,” I beckoned. The Phoenix jumped down and stalked its way after me, taking note to strut proudly. On my way out I noticed a list of names on one of the desks. I scanned them and did not find one that I recognised. I believed that it was a good thing.

I sank down on the sofa and reached for a letter as Phee-Phee settled down on the side table beside me, curling his tail and wrapping it around him. I smiled and wished that I could stroke his feathers like I used to stroke Ron’s fur, but I did not need to add burns to my list of injuries.

My nose was slightly tender, but it would be all right. Grim Reapers had a knack for healing speedily —another gift from Death.

I ripped open the envelope and took out the letter, ready to read when the sound of a ting distracted me. It sounded just like my cellphone. I frowned, trying to figure out where it had come from. The sound then repeated, and I crawled over to my discarded backpack. The inside was empty, albeit for a few letters nestled inside. So, I checked the pockets.

My cellphone fell out onto the floor, and I let out a surprised, “Oh.”

I picked it up and unlocked the screen. The notifications came in —all two hundred and forty-three of them.

My SIM card was still inside and had picked up on the network. I opened the app and found that a majority of the notifications had come from an old group chat. I opened the conversation and scrolled through outdated messages, before coming to ones dating back to Sunday morning.

It was long comforting texts from my friends to each other; telling them that they were not alone, and they were all there for each other. It was so sweet —and saddening. It sounded as though Sam was not getting enough sleep due to non-stop crying. I could not help but to feel a little guilty about that. I did not want her to deteriorate because of me. I was glad that my friends were missing me but if something awful was happening to them because of it, I would rather they did not miss me at all.

I scrolled through the rest of the messages as my guilt grew and the ache in my chest harshened —until I reached a part where Francesca Minetti began to talk, which happened to be a few hours ago.

My eyes widened as I read her messages —some stupid half-assed excuse for why she had been so quiet. My thankfully smart friends did not seem to buy it. But when I saw a certain reply, I froze.

Aaron had agreed to go out to a night club with her —to ‘take the edge off’. He was supposed to be bedridden. I frowned and checked the time. It was now just after seven. I jumped up off the sofa and slid the cellphone into my back pocket. I did not like where this was going.

“Søren!” I called, straightening my jacket. “We’ve got some stalking to do.”

✠

Francesca Minetti was not going to die today.

Her name was not on the list, as far as I could tell from the glimpse I had stolen earlier. But I had never wished for someone to be on that list as much as I did until now. With my obsidian sword in hand, I stomped out of Søren’s apartment and into the cool night. There was a slight breeze, and the air smelled of something stale; it felt like the perfect reaping atmosphere.

With the great distance between Saratoga Springs and Manhattan, Søren had to shift us to the location of the accident. From there, I marched off purposefully to the nightclub with the guidance of street signs.

Francesca was obliviously living it up at Saucy Red —and as the rumours would go, she had probably already passed out and carted off by some sweet stranger. But this time as I watched her stumble out of the foggy club in precariously high silver heels, it was different.

This time, the sweet stranger was not a stranger.

Francesca’s make up was running and she had a lit cigarette between her lips. Her usually styled charcoal black hair hung limply in wet strands beside her face, and her clothes stuck to her skin, making her underwear visible underneath her thin clothing. It was as if she had been dunked in a tank of water.

I growled in what I decided I would call annoyance as she whimpered and feebly tried to cover herself up.

“Do you hate her or something?” Søren interrupted my train of thought. I was watching from a fire escape, hanging onto the railing.

I turned to glare at him.

“Hate is an understatement,” I grumbled, and refocused my attention on Francesca. I then gasped as the person with her took off their jacket and wrapped it around Francesca’s shoulders.

“Remind me why we’re spying on her again?” Søren hissed.

“Shut up,” I hissed back, “I never told you, and I don’t need to.”

He actually seemed a little offended, but I was too busy glaring at the unfolding scene before me to retaliate.

“I was invited to the funeral too!” Francesca gasped, nudging her sweet stranger —Aaron Carter. He was limping slightly and holding one arm against his front. So much for being fine, as he had texted.

“…I didn’t even bother going, though —she was such a freaking spoilt brat anyway,” Francesca continued. “…Sorry that you killed her though. That must suck balls,” she clicked her tongue, exhaling smoke.

I frowned. Why had she been invited?

“…I didn’t mean for her to throw herself over me like that,” Aaron sighed, “But she was kind of doing me a favour. I couldn’t bring myself to break up with her before. Three years started to feel too…real.”

I flinched, and then felt Søren’s gaze flicker to me. I shook my head, and every little sound around me amplified. I heard the piercing screech of police car sirens; the deep roll of far-off thunder; and the struggling gasps of my own rapid breathing. I covered my ears, wincing. It felt like I could not breathe; even with the lack of needing to.

How could Aaron say something like that?

“Why the hell did you date her in the first place?” Francesca’s poisonous voice then tore through all of the noise.

She wobbled a little and stumbled into her companion.

“Status, I guess,” Aaron answered, “She was the school’s most hidden potential, and I knew that dating her would get me noticed. She wasn’t all that bad though. We did share some good times —”

“Oh my God, you are so pathetic,” Francesca cut him off with the witch-like shrieking she referred to as laughing. “You didn’t actually fall in love with her —did you?”

“…No,” he chuckled lightly. “I just…feel kind of sad that she’s gone, you know. She was kind of gullible —but she didn’t deserve to die.”

Francesca did not say anything to that and took a long drag. I stared, and a single tear escaped my eye and slid down my cheek, instantly growing cold in the breeze of the night. It was obvious: Aaron was confessing that he had never loved me; no matter how many times he had said it before. No matter how many times I had believed it. And Francesca was eating it right out of his hand, storing it in her gossip vault for future use. She might have been a witch, but she was not that insensitive to a grieving person. She would not dare to spread the truth when my death was still a fresh wound.

“My Dad is going bankrupt,” Francesca then sighed, flicking ash off the end of the cigarette. “We’ve only got so much income from my Mom’s business, so they both suggested that I get my fucking act together and start working part time.”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. “The high and mighty finally crumble? What’s this world coming to?” he laughed, turning it into a joke. I ground my teeth together, feeling a low growl rise from my throat.

“It’s not funny —I’m being serious,” Francesca, for once, spoke what was on my mind. “I’m going to sell my car, maybe half my wardrobe, and then help out at home. It’s like a bloody Cinderella story,” she whined, wiping her face and smudging her ruined mascara even more.

“It’s not that bad, Francesca,” Aaron sighed, putting an arm around her. “I think your Mom just wanted you to take more responsibility for yourself. I don’t think she was being serious about the working part. I mean, didn’t you tell me that your Mom earns twice as much as my family’s income?”

Francesca pouted. “…I guess.”

The blood in my veins began to boil, and when the rage surfaced, I was completely prepared to drive my sword into a chest.

The only question was, whose?

Søren turned to me and his eyes widened with worry. “Savannah —”

I turned away and closed out all background noise.

All that I wanted was vengeance.

I jumped up and off of the edge of the railing, down to the tarred road.

“Savannah, wait!” Søren called after me. I ignored him and focused on what my heart was screaming for me to do. The ground cracked from the force of my landing, but I scrambled up and swung my sword, before breaking into a run.

“Savannah!” Søren yelled more urgently.

I screamed at the top of my lungs, holding my sword up above my head. Aaron turned around in surprise and started. I looked into his eyes, knowing that he could see me, and charged for him.

“Aaron Finnick Carter. You backstabbing sad-carcass excuse for a human being!” I screamed, swinging at him drunkenly. I missed him, even though he was frozen to the spot. “How could you!” I cried, burning tears like liquid fire pouring down my face. “How could you do this to me?”

“What…?” he rasped in confusion.

Francesca, who was unusually the more awake and sober of the two, screamed and grabbed Aaron’s shoulder, trying to pull him away. I had forgotten that she would be able to see me too.

“Get away from us, you psycho!”

“Savannah don’t you dare —!” Søren yelled.

He had jumped off after me and was now running to catch up. I continued to ignore him, burning with rage in every fibre of my being.

Instead of aiding in their escape, Francesca managed to make them stumble backwards and fall in front of me, laying out a perfect opportunity on a silver platter. I stepped up to them, my limbs shaking uncontrollably from either raw anger or devastation. Kill him.

He deserves it, I assured myself. He deserves to die.

All of those years —had they really meant nothing to him? How had he lived with himself, watching me fall deeper and deeper in love with him yet knowing that he would one day break my heart? It was as though he possessed no heart —like a mindless popularity obsessed machine.

That guilt which I had carried —he was nullifying it now. Suddenly, I realised something very important. I no longer had to carry that burden. I no longer had to worry about leaving him behind. He had done it to me already. There was relief there, somewhere. I did not have to feel anymore.

I had felt so much that I had blinded myself to reality. Maybe I could have seen this coming. Life was not like a fairytale, and I was not the princess to get swept off of her feet. I could feel real life slapping me in the face. Mostly, I felt stupid. I felt so stupid and blind for having loved him.

For believing him when he had said it to me.

Die die die. I now wanted him gone.

I wanted to wipe him off of the face of the Earth —to erase every trace of him, just as he had planned to do with my feelings.

“…Go to Hell,” I told Aaron as I held up my sword, “and rest in pieces.” I lunged forward and stabbed him repeatedly, before slicing his soul out of his body. He writhed in pain, and Francesca started screaming for help.

Aaron’s soul shrieked as it was separated, and it oddly shone a bright red instead of wispy white. I started and was about to open my mouth to say the phrase to dismiss him, but the entity shrieked again before flashing into nothingness in a horrific burst of red dust.

I blinked, and a shiver ran down my spine. That was different. Perhaps the colour of the soul reflected the person’s personality; their level of goodness and morality —which would not surprise me in the slightest. I shrugged, and glanced down at my sword, watching as it glowed with the symbol of II. It glowed crimson, like Aaron’s soul. I frowned, but ultimately thought nothing of it, and turned on my heel to strut away triumphantly.

“Why would you do this?” Francesca cried.

I sighed and chose to ignore her, walking faster. But I then bumped into Søren. He glared at me, with his nostrils flaring as though he might start breathing fire. I marvelled for a moment at the expression, noting how uncharacteristic it was. And then I stared him down, refusing to believe there was possibly something I had done outrageously wrong.

“…You disobedient little shit,” he started, his veins stark and visible underneath his semi translucent skin. “You just reaped a soul that wasn’t supposed to die yet!”