Chapter 5: Chapter 5

S A V A N N A H

“TO BE HONEST, I thought you would be an ancient skeleton guy in a black robe lugging around a two-ton weapon of mass harvesting,” I said as we walked through the woods. We had already shifted across a majority of the distance, but Søren wanted me to learn the route from a certain point. It did bother me that he lived all the way in Manhattan —if it were not for the ability to shift, it would be a long trek home in Fulton.

I had been struggling with a one-sided conversation with the Trainer up until then, but I was desperate to keep the atmosphere light, not dreary. To bring a slither of normalcy to the unfamiliar that was now raging around me. The sound of talking calmed my nerves and distracted me from the darkness of the once inviting, but now unsettling woods around us.

“Of course, you did,” Søren sighed in response to my remark, “—it’s a rather common belief. I believed it myself until I died.”

I then perked up, glad to receive somewhat of a reaction. “Does Death himself look like that?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met him. All he seems to do is sit on his ass all day in his Fortress of Solitude,” he muttered. “The only form of contact we have with him is through letters; daily reports of who we reaped, so he can compare them with his copy of the list. If you miss a certain amount of the quota, you will be reaped —and you will die. Again.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

This boss was surpassing everything I had expected for someone who was in charge of something as important as people’s souls —that was if he felt the need to kill his employees for unfortunate mistakes.

“Seriously,” Søren said flatly.

I coughed and hugged my leather jacket tightly against me.

Some of the buds of flowers were beginning to turn their predisposed colours as they grew closer to blossoming. I puzzled over how noticeable this was to me in the darkness of a new moon night, before figuring that it probably had something to do with my new powers —or something to that effect.

We then walked on for a few minutes in silence, before emerging on the other side of the woods into the gloriously urban, Downtown Manhattan.

“Sweet civilisation!” I gasped, walking with an increased amount of vigour. Søren turned to me to give me a confused look.

“I thought that you liked the woods and suburbs.”

I frowned and returned the expression. He was not entirely wrong. Yes, I liked the woods; keyword being ‘liked’. It was a past tense form of affection. Just like the affection of my father that lingered, even after he had left.

“…How would you know that?” I asked suspiciously.

Søren paused and for a second I could have sworn that something along the lines of shame passed across his face. “…Long story.”

I snorted, not in the mood to egg him on about a clear answer, and instead embraced the nightly noise of the city. I had not been to New York often, but I had certainly loved it on the occasion. It was comforting to hear something so ordinary. A few cars and taxis thundered past us; and the sound of screeching tyres mingled with the early morning sounds of clubs and partygoing. My mood instantly dampened further as I thought of how I easily I had gotten swept up in all of the excitement.

“Hey —you’re slowing down,” Søren’s voice brought me out of my thoughts. I sighed and picked up the pace again.

He had said that we were heading to his apartment —in a building with other Grim Reapers that existed in the shadows of a regular one, rendering them undetectable to mortals.

We walked down endless streets and I recognised a few of them from my previous Spring Break escapades; but my feet were beginning to tire from all of it. I had hardly walked so far in my life —especially not in the cold and darkness of the night. That trip back home was not helping.

“Uh, how come I can get tired?” I spoke up, “…I’m dead, right? So…”

“Reapers exist in between the state of living and the state of death,” Søren answered, lazily swinging his crossbow from side to side. “Your heart doesn’t beat, and you don’t need to breathe. But since you Turned just a few hours ago, you’ll still feel rather human for a while.”

I grumbled at this information and decided to refrain from asking any more questions; in case I did not really want to hear the answer. But the whole still feeling human phenomenon was beginning to seep in deeper, and frustration started to overlap with my impatience.

“…Seriously, how much further?” I finally huffed.

He chuckled softly and assured me that it was not that long to go. I failed to see how walking this much of the route was really that beneficial to me, but he was the Trainer after all. I tried not to argue.

We had then been walking for half an hour or so when we stopped outside of a normal brick block of flats, that rose up high into the low laying clouds.

“How inviting,” I said sarcastically, rocking back on my heels.

“That’s not where I live,” Søren smirked. He went around to the side of the building and pressed a small silver button. A little blue screen popped up on the wall and asked for a face scan, before approving.

“Stand back,” he then warned, waving his hand in a shooing gesture. I took a few steps backwards and then gasped as each brick on the wall took its turn to turn over and transform into white slates. The entire exterior of the building changed in one rapid movement. What I was looking at now, was the exterior of a luxury five-star hotel.

“This is where I live —along with the others who also reap in the city,” Søren said smugly, slinging his crossbow back over his shoulder. He then made his way to the entrance, prompting me to follow; still in awe of what had just occurred. The very extravagant marble lobby was fairly empty; contrary to what I had anticipated. A few people dressed in all shades of colour and yet still with copious amounts of dark leather milled around, weaving in and out of the flow of light foot traffic.

They all had intimidating, glinting black weapons and little to no friendly expressions, making me uneasy.

I took a shaky breath and tried to stay close to Søren.

My gaze flickered from one pair of eyes to another as we made our way to the elevator on the far side of the room. Some eyes widened at the sight of mine, and some glared. I was a little put off by a few of the eye colours, but the staring unnerved me the most. A sharp pair of garnet eyes belonging to a tall gel-groomed blond male with a black-toothed chainsaw held mine for the longest time, and I had the feeling that they remained that way even after I had turned away. He was visibly inscribed with tattoos on the exposed surface of his arms, as well as on his neck. A sudden shiver ran down my spine, and I cringed at the thought that making eye contact with another Reaper might always rattle me. I barged in ahead of Søren into the elevator and shrunk in one corner. He eyed me with concern as he calmly strode in after me and pressed the button for the second floor.

“Are you okay?” he muttered. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He then smiled lightly at his own joke, and I frowned, righting myself and folding my arms.

“I’m fine,” I grumbled, moving towards the doors as they opened up. “What number do you live in?”

“Eight.”

I marched off purposefully down the hall and stopped at number eight, taking note of the door’s beautiful silver finish as well as a silver number eight.

“Is the door supposed to match your eyes?” I quipped as Søren came up next to me with a key in his hand.

“Is your fiery attitude supposed to match your hair?” he shot back, turning the key in the lock.

I pouted and trudged in after him. He switched on the lights and I blinked at the brightness. My jaw then dropped slightly as I walked in further and was immediately hit with the coldness of what I assumed to be air conditioning. An old dusty rowboat sat up against one corner next to a very inviting sofa. Bookshelves lined every wall and overflowed with classic, mystery and crime investigation titles, and some books were also piled onto side tables. A desk gave the closest wall a break, and scrolls littered it instead, along with an out-of-place vintage computer and printer. There was very little furniture otherwise, but it did not feel particularly empty.

Or maybe that was just a way of trying to distract myself from realising that I felt entirely alone and vacant.

“So, do you have a bedroom? Or a bathroom?”

I glanced around for other doors. There was only one besides the entrance, and my fingers itched to go open it and see what was there.

Søren sighed and put his crossbow on the sofa. “No, I don’t. Reapers don’t need to sleep, nor do they ordinarily require bathing. And, in case of emergencies,” he quipped, reaching over above the sofa and pulling open a white metal box mounted to the wall, “I also own a First Aid Kit.”

I smirked half-heartedly. I sank down onto the sofa, before I shuffled away from the crossbow that I then realised was beside me.

Søren gave me a look and folded his arms. “It doesn’t bite.”

“You nearly shot me with an arrow,” I snapped back, removing my backpack. “You were this close.”

I gestured by putting my forefinger and my thumb together. He simply scoffed and shook his head, before eyeing my bag.

“So, what was so important that you had to go back for it?”

I sighed and slowly unzipped the backpack, before tipping out its contents beside me onto the sofa. “…Letters,” I mumbled. Søren came over and kneeled in front of them, before picking one up and eyeing it closely. His eyes widened when he gasped, obviously figuring something out. “What?” I asked as I sat up attentively, “What is it?”

He looked up at me with a stern expression; but his eyes gleamed with uneasiness. “Where did you get these?” he whispered.

“They were…sent to my house. Why?” I frowned, feeling the need to withhold the fact they were from my father. It was only because Søren did not have any business in it.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and seemed to be thinking deeply about something. “Those stamps…they’re from the Underworld.”

“The what?” I deadpanned.

“The Underworld,” he repeated, like I was simple. “In Greek Mythology? You know, where souls spend eternity?” He looked at me expectantly as I remained quiet. I nodded slowly for his benefit; not having the slightest clue. “…What I don’t understand, is why you have them. When were they mailed to you?” he asked gravely.

I dithered.

“Do you have any idea who sent them?” he pressed.

I paused and narrowed my eyes at him. “Do you?”

He did not seem to have an answer for me then. His motivation dwindled and that far-off brooding look settled back onto his features.

I was about to open my mouth and repeat my question, when a loud piercing alarm rang out and made me wince.

“…You’ll get used that eventually,” Søren sighed as he got up and walked over to a desk. “It’s the signal for us to report back to the ‘Big Boss’.”

He emphasised his obvious distaste by making air quotations as he drawled out the title.

I then observed as he grumbled his way through typing a summary and printing it out, before rolling it up and sealing it. He pressed a button on a clear tube next to the desk, and I started as I watched the letter disintegrate in the burning golden orange flames that ignited within the tube.

“Phoenix fire,” Søren smirked in a way of explanation. “Transports it straight to Purgatory.”

I nodded, then picked up a letter. The black paper still warmed my skin; and this time even more so than it had in my mother’s room.

“Did you write about me?” I asked timidly.

Surely since my name had been on the list, he would have had to report that I was now a Grim Reaper.

“Yes, I did,” Søren answered. “I said that I never managed to reap your soul,” he spat in irritation, and then turned to walk towards the other door.

I was about to inquire what he meant by that, but the curiosity from earlier resurfaced and I jumped at the chance to ask what was behind the door. “…Hey, what’s behind that door?”

He turned around and motioned for me to come over. I gingerly climbed off the sofa and went to stand beside him, an excited shiver now running through me. Søren looked at me and his eyes gleamed with an eerie darkness. He then slowly pressed down on the handle and pushed the door open —though nothing was visible in the darkness of the space. I gulped nervously. His other hand nudged me forward encouragingly, even though my feet now refused to obey. His voice suddenly came out as a whisper next to me.

“It’s time for a little…orientation.”