Chapter 4: Chapter 4

S A V A N N A H

“UNBELIEVABLE,” HE BREATHED, his eyes wide and glinting in the moonlight, “I’m late. Your soul has already separated.” He looked me up and down, as stunned as I was.

His gaze then lingered on mine.

“Can you tell me what is going on here?” I spoke. “Who are you. Why are you stalking me. And why am I here as well as there?” I gestured downwards to myself and to my body in the car.

He paused and pressed his lips into a tight line, pondering something. “…That is a lot of questions,” was the next thing to come out of his mouth that did not

aid the situation.

“That you don’t seem to want to answer,” I retorted.

He swung his crossbow over his shoulder and let it balance there. His sharp silver eyes studied my form again, before narrowing curiously at my torso.

“What?” I asked defensively; insecurity gnawing at my muscles as I felt them tense in self-consciousness.

He pointed at my upper arms. “The badges on your sleeves,” he sighed, prompting me to look. “That’s why your soul is detached,” he said all of this more to himself, like an audible observation. And for a moment, my presence was forgotten. “You’re one of us.”

One of…us? One of what?

The red badges to which he was referring were sewn-on embroidered patches like the ones from NASA. The logo was a small silver Grim Reaper scythe in front of a pair of golden angel wings.

I frowned and looked closer, before realising the wings looked identical to the pendant on my necklace, albeit they were different colours.

My hand flew to my chest out of habit but now mostly panic, before the familiar feel of my necklace allowed me to relax and breathe out in relief. I was not sure what I would do if I ever lost it.

The silver-eyed Stalker suddenly walked past me and headed for the car crash. “Hey,” I called after him, marching there.

He lowered down onto his haunches before looking inside Aaron’s car.

“…He’s not dead,” he declared.

“What?”

He ignored me again and wandered around to the other car. “…Not dead either. Critical,” he said in an offhand manner, “but still alive.”

He then walked around again, dragging his feet as though he were disappointed, before jumping as he suddenly came face to face with me.

“Do you mind explaining to me what is going on?” I growled. “Nothing makes sense. This entire day has been one disappointment after the next —the only thing I had to look forward to a few minutes ago was getting laid.”

“Once upon a time, you and me both,” he scoffed.

“What?”

He coldly offered no explanation. “…You know, you’re acting strangely calm,” I pressed. “Do you come to crime scenes often?”

The male clenched his jaw, swinging the crossbow again and making the effort to ignore me. As though I bored him. “…What were you doing in my favourite diner?” I sceptically demanded instead.

This time, he did not even hesitate. “Watching you.”

That was very straightforward. I had expected a more evasive answer.

I blinked rapidly, before a frown settled on my face. “Uh…why? You creep. Were you planning on killing me?” I then gasped. “I bet you were. But then the car crash must have stopped you.” I smacked my fist into my palm. “Well, ha! I’m still alive,” I smirked, folding my arms triumphantly.

His expression did not change.

“If I had planned to kill you,” he said carefully, “I wouldn’t have been so obvious and careless enough for you to see me.”

I frowned again. Wait —he had definitely just implied that he had experience in assassination. Though I then shook my head, deciding to focus on the present problem. “Okay. So, why then?”

“You were on my list for today,” he shrugged. “And it was also your birthday. So, I was wondering what could possibly go wrong for this girl.”

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, which annoyed me more than I thought it would. “Surprisingly, a lot.”

“List for what?” I asked.

“List for the souls that I have to collect,” he answered. My eyes widened and I gawked at him, speechless.

A list of souls…

Slowly, it began to seep in. The fact that I was still somewhat alive; the fact that I could not touch Aaron or the roof of the car; the fact that I was laying unconscious in the wreckage, and simultaneously walking around in the cold early hours of the morning. I glanced down at the badges on my sleeves —and found an identical set on the upper arms of his jacket. My eyes darted from his crossbow to his face; to the arrows and to the smoking car; before I grabbed my head and shook it, overwhelmed by all of the thoughts that were running through my mind.

“You’re dead,” the Stalker summed up bluntly.

I screwed my face up and tried to block him out. I had not wanted to hear him say it —to have him confirm a suspicion. “No,” I hissed, “No way.” I shook my head harder, wondering why I had not yet woken up from this nightmare. “…No, no —wake up, wake up, wake up.”

I heard him sigh wearily, which caused me to lash out. I grabbed him by the collar —which was not easy due to him being almost a head and a half taller than me —and glared into his set eyes. “Tell me that I’m dreaming,” I ordered. He reluctantly fulfilled my request. “No —be serious!” I demanded, roughly pushing him away from me by thumping his chest and shoulder.

“Hey,” he protested, nursing the hurt. “Fine. You want me to be serious? Savannah Ivy Green; you no longer exist. You’ve passed on; ascended to a higher plane; or whatever bullshit that you want to believe. But you’re not going to Purgatory or the Underworld —you’re dead, not dying. Because of your new form and uniform, you have been selected to help carry out Death’s mission and take up arms to —”

I glared at him in disbelief the entire time. “Do you have like, an entire speech planned?” I snappily interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

“Let me finish,” he growled as though it really was rehearsed, “—take up arms to reap the souls that pass on every day. It is now your solemn duty, to carry on, with the task…of being a Grim Reaper.”

He then had the nerve to smirk self-righteously as he concluded his verbal propaganda. I clenched my fists as anger bubbled up inside of me.

“That’s it,” I sneered, turning sharply on my heel, “I’m out.” And I started marching in the direction of my house.

“Where are you going?” he called after me.

“Home,” I hissed, quickly increasing my pace, “and as far away from you as possible —you psychopath.”

After a few metres I paused and glanced backwards. He was not there anymore. I frowned in confusion and looked around, before turning to my left and meeting his gaze again. I jumped.

“Would you stop doing that?” I snapped, before groaning loudly in annoyance. “Appearing out of nowhere is considered creepy, and has been a proven factor in leading to murder,” I said haughtily.

He was not amused by my attempt at sarcastic humour.

“…How do you do that by the way? Disappearing?” I then asked.

“I don’t disappear,” he answered. “You just stop wanting to see me —it’s a subconscious thing. I just happen to use that to my advantage.”

Not wanting to appear sheepish, I glared at him and turned to carry on walking, before realising that he had fallen in step with me. “Would you stop following me?” I growled, whipping around before I skidded to a halt.

“But I have to,” he flatly insisted, “I am your superior now.”

I started. “Excuse me?”

“You’re just a Turned Reaper and it’s my job now as a Reaper with experience, to train and guide you until you can handle your own part of a district,” he explained.

“Oh, really…?” I commented, nodding as though I believed every word. “Look, your prank might have been really entertaining at first, but now you’re trying too hard,” I then abruptly cut in. “So, give it up and let me go back to my normal life —the one I led before that stupid party.”

He grabbed my arm as soon as I tried to leave. His grip was more of a vice than I would have liked to admit. I opened my mouth to say something as he slid out an arrow from his quiver and held the pointed head in front of my face.

I wondered what on Earth he was doing, until I saw my reflection in the glinting black tip.

I started violently and jerked out of his grasp; my eyes wide as I gasped for air that would not be breathed. After a few moments of calming down, I looked again, but nothing had changed. There, my formerly dark brown eyes stared back at me —my irises now glowing bright gold. I turned sharply to the side, to see if it was just a trick of the light. Yet no matter from which angle I looked, my eyes remained pure gold.

“Jesus Christ —what the hell?” I blurted, holding my face in my hands. “Did you put contact lenses on me while I was unconscious or something?”

“Why would I do that?” he asked, frowning. “This is a divine occurrence. All Reapers’ eye colours change when they Turn. They can be the colour of any precious stones or metals.”

I blinked. It did not feel as though I had contacts in my eyes. It felt normal, as though they had been that way since birth. So, I wondered if that was it —if the mystery had been solved. Was I really meant to believe this stranger so completely and blindly? I hated to consider the consequence.

I awkwardly rubbed up and down my arm, lightly reproaching myself. “Listen. If…if what you’re saying is true, then does that mean that everything I know and love…is gone?” I stammered, feeling the prick of tears in the corners of my eyes.

His expression softened a little, and he stopped looking so offended. Instead, he reclaimed his arrow and stood in front of me awkwardly, unsure of exactly what to do. I growled lowly, growing increasingly pissed off.

“Listen Stalker, I’ve just come to the realisation that I am apparently dead, and you’ve got nothing else to say for once —”

“—Søren,” he cut me off.

“What?”

“My name. It’s not Stalker,” he said firmly. “It’s Søren. S; a slashed o; r; e; n. Søren. Nice to meet you.”

I knew that an ‘o’ with a stroke was a vowel not found in the English language —but I had never even heard of his name before.

“It’s Norwegian,” he elaborated when I just gave him a blank stare. He did not have an accent. It must have been a result of being in the United States for however long he had been.

“…I see.” I suddenly felt bad for calling him ‘Stalker’.

I then slowly attempted to say his name, but he ended up bursting out laughing as I stumbled over the unfamiliar vowel. Frustrated, I turned again and proceeded to resume my walk.

“…Hey —now where are you going?” he called after me again.

“Still home,” I answered. “I want to see my Mom.”

“You’re really going to walk all that way? I know a faster way.”

“What do you mean?”

I turned back to face him, but I was then distracted by the emergency vehicles finally showing up before I could say anything more. A little burst of hope ignited inside of me, and before Søren could stop me, I ran over to the crash and stood there patiently as ambulances and fire trucks pulled up in front of me.

I darted forward, waiting for them to come rushing towards me and wrap me up in a shock blanket.

But my smile wavered when all of the paramedics prioritised the cars.

“You don’t believe me?” the sudden sound of Søren’s voice by my ear made me flinch. “Just watch.”

And I did. I watched them strap Aaron’s body onto a stretcher. I watched them do the same with the other driver. I watched them identify everybody using their wallets and IDs.

I watched them check the pulse on Savannah Ivy Green and attempt to revive her. But it was too late.

I watched them declare her to be dead.

I was numb, and at a loss for words as a plastic sheet was placed over my bloody body. I watched it all happen —like a disturbingly realistic horror film from which I could not look away. I was half expecting Søren to say that he had told me so, but he stood beside me and listened to the sirens grow fainter as the Ambulances drove away. I stared blankly at my body on the ground; stripped emotionless.

I was dead. Truly.

The word ‘dead’ tasted bitter in my mouth as I whispered the sentence under my breath. It was a word that I probably should be used to since Phoebe was always insistent on my father being so. But when I said it aloud, there was no trace of assurance. It was doubtful, even with the evidence in front of me. I had always thought that death was for old people —people who had lived enough of their lives and did not regret as much as a younger person would. I had believed that death would not dare to touch me.

“…I hadn’t been ready to die,” I whispered, my lips barely moving.

“People rarely are,” Søren whispered back.

When all the commotion had died down, my feet decided to walk down the road, towards the only place that I felt I needed to go. I wiped my face dry and glared straight ahead, determined not to look soft.

Søren followed me in silence; so carefully and noiselessly it was as if he was not even there. I did not have the energy to tell him to get lost this time, so I let him walk with me. It was still a lot to digest, but I was not completely ready to accept it just yet. I needed Phoebe —and her opinion. I did not care if I was dead or not. She was my mother.

The journey should have taken ten hours on foot. Yet we seemed to bend the distance and turn it into one hour; shifting through air itself as easily as a misted curtain. I gasped when we stepped into town centre, disorientated, but Søren only offered a wink as an explanation. Okay. A perk, then.

Though when we actually stopped in front of my house, I found myself hesitating with my hand reaching for the doorknob, unsure of whether or not I would even be able to touch it.

“Your form prevents you from getting hurt, not from opening doors,” Søren sighed in an annoyingly sarcastic tone. I huffed and gripped the doorknob, before slowly turning it. Then I paused again, as a thought then occurred to me. “Will she…see me?” I whispered.

“Yeah —kind of.”

I gave him a look. “What’d you mean, kind of?”

“She…won’t exactly know that it’s you,” he explained, “People who you knew when you were alive can still see you. But they can never recognise you. You will look different to them.”

“So, I knew you?” I guessed.

He chuckled softly. “Not necessarily. I am much older than you think. And everyone sees their own death when it approaches.”

I glanced at the window and saw Phoebe sitting on the sofa with Don’s arms around her. It was then that I realised that she was crying, and had probably just been informed that I was dead. Ron was yowling, probably wondering why I was not yet home. I gripped the doorknob tighter. I could not say goodbye. There were so many things left unspoken, and all of my chances had blown away in the wind. Phoebe Green had always been there for me. And now I could not even see her.

I frowned and ran the scenario of opening the door through my head. They would probably think that I was a burglar.

“…Goodbye,” I whispered. “I hope that you don’t count on me being in a better place, ‘cause I’m definitely not.”

I took my hand off of the doorknob. It hurt in a way I never could have imagined. Instead, I walked around to the wall behind the house where my room was. Thankful that it was single storey, I pushed my window open further than I had left it that morning and hoisted myself up to climb inside.

“Why are you breaking and entering into your own house?” Søren asked as he watched me struggle.

“I didn’t…break anything,” I panted, succeeding in getting half of my body through, “and there’s something I need…from my room.”

He did not say anything more. So, I continued to wriggle my way inside, before collapsing onto the floor. “…Hey,” I groaned, sitting up, “am I not indestructible or something?”

“You made that choice to squeeze through a window,” Søren pointed out. “The magic does not compensate for idiocy.”

I stuck my tongue out and turned back around, taking in my bedroom for what would probably the last time. Photographs decorated my walls, and my eyes widened as I remembered my friends. I wondered if they knew that I was dead yet. I felt a sharp stab of guilt —though apparently, I did not have time to dwell on it. I just needed to get what I came for and disappear.

I grabbed a backpack that was draped over my desk chair and started stuffing it with the letters that were still inside my pillowcase.

Once every last one was inside, I zipped it up and slung it over both shoulders. I turned around and paused as I stared at the photographs again. I was never going to see them again. I was never going to be normal again.

“…You have to let go,” Søren broke the silence, sticking his head through the window.

“I’m not really ready to let go,” I admitted. “This…this is all I’ve ever known. I just died —now I’m being forced into some job. Where is the afterlife? Do I not get to rest in peace?”

I felt a sting in my eyes, before I blinked the feeling away. What is the matter with me? I had never been so incessantly teary before.

“No one asks for this,” Søren sighed, “It’s just Death’s way of trying to get out of his job. He does not select at random, though. There is a reason that you were chosen to be a Reaper.” He then paused, letting me digest his words. “…What special skills do you have?”

I frowned. “The ability to punch the living daylights out of you,” I said thickly, glaring at him.

He shrugged, unfazed. “Good start.”

“What about you?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “…Apathy,” was what he settled for.

“I wouldn’t classify that as a skill,” I scoffed.

“But it is a skill —you know how much you need not to feel when you reap a soul?” he shot back. “Do you think that it’s easy to separate souls from bodies? It isn’t. And nothing is allowed to stop you from doing so.”

I softened as I saw a glimmer of something regretful in his eyes. “…Did you have to reap someone close to you?” I asked gently.

He froze —only for a second. That was all the answer that I needed. Then whatever anguish that had been there was then suddenly gone as quickly as it had appeared, and he looked up at me as his expression neutralised. “We should go,” he sighed, “—before your parents find you in here.”

I frowned as I climbed back out through the window. “That man is not my Dad,” I growled. I expected him to retort with something that mocked the statement, or pried, but he did not respond at all. It was as though he understood my feelings of resentment.

Either that, or he just did not care.