Chapter 6: Chapter 6

S A V A N N A H

“YOU,” I BREATHED, “are a sadistic psychopath.”

I had caught sight of the gleaming weapons that decorated the walls. It screamed assassin and made me stiffen. Otherwise, it resembled like a regular high-rise office. One wall was lined with computer screens of various sizes, with a sleek modern computer monitor glowing an alarming electric blue sitting on the floor beside them. A cold breeze blew through the room, causing me to shudder beneath my layers.

Søren glared at me, offended. “No I’m not.”

I nodded a little mockingly before I asked, “…So, what do you have all of these weapons for, then?” I started properly looking around. “Don’t you just use the crossbow?”

“They’re backups,” he explained, “I rarely use them since my crossbow is my chosen reaping tool.”

“So, does everyone have a stash of murder weapons, or…?” I muttered under my breath.

“Only Trainers,” Søren answered smugly, folding his arms, evidently having heard me. “I was promoted ten years ago, entitling me to a bigger arsenal. The Boss sent all of them through the mail.”

“Okay. So,” I then continued, “this orientation. What’s on the list?”

Søren smiled slightly, before taking off his leather jacket and rolling up the sleeves of his royal blue turtleneck sweater. “First, we need to get you a Reaper weapon. Then you can be registered.”

I shrugged. “And how does that work?”

“Like this.”

He beckoned me over to what seemed to be the main computer screen and sat down in the chair in front of it. I stood beside him and watched with half-hearted interest; minimally curious about what he was going to do.

“Computer service online. Welcome to Obsidian Carrier Corp Online Shipping Service. How may I help you today, Søren?” an automated female voice unexpectedly announced, in a very bad Eastern European accent. I stifled a laugh and covered my mouth with my hand. Søren still turned and glared at me, before clearing his throat.

“Computer, I would like to order a Reaper weapon for my newest trainee,” he answered.

“Certainly sir,” the computer responded. “Please upload their credentials into the spaces provided.”

He then proceeded to type in my birth date; full name; height; weight; and overall personality —without even asking me. And he did not look remotely guilty when I hit his arm and glared at him accusingly.

I was all set to lecture him. “How —”

“We have backgrounds on every single human being on the planet; young and old; dead or alive; past, present or future. We know everything,” he cut me off. “You will understand when you’re fully fledged.”

I cringed and shivered, still very put off. “You mean that you’re all trained stalkers. And I’ll have to join you,” I hissed.

He did not respond, and pressed enter on the keyboard.

“Processing…” said the computer. She repeated the word for a few moments, before a bell sounded. “Complete. Order sent for: a one-meter double-edged obsidian plated iron core longsword with a gilt diamond handle. Strength Quotient: nine point three out of ten. Obsidian Reaping Efficiency Status: instant.”

“Wow,” I whispered, suddenly impressed.

I had not imagined that I would end up with a sword. I thought maybe a dagger —or even an old-fashioned scythe, would suit me.

“Wait, Computer,” Søren said, frowning as though something were wrong. “Are you absolutely certain that that’s a match? That combination sounds like…too much to handle. Even for a Grim Reaper with years of experience. State all possible matches.”

“The match is at…exactly one hundred percent. There are no other possible matches detected.”

“For a trainee?” The Trainer swivelled to another computer screen. “Unlikely. Display all stats for the order.”

A list of statistics then popped up on that screen. Søren jumped as his eyes skimmed over the figures.

I was not as quick, so I did not know what the issue was.

“Holy…” he whistled, running a hand through his hair. He leaned back in the chair, looking distraught.

“Overall Weapon Efficiency Status is averaged at…ninety-eight point three five percent,” the computer summed up.

“Holy shit,” Søren breathed, shaking his head. “These numbers are off the charts —I have never seen an OWES that high. Or an ORES. Jesus!” he exclaimed, before whipping around to face me. “Are you even human?”

Something within me flinched at that question. “Last time I checked, yes,” I frowned. “Look. I don’t understand what any of this means. I didn’t ask for a sword; efficient or not. So, if there’s any way I could switch —”

“Did you not hear what Angelina said?” he interrupted me again and pointed at the main screen.

I raised an eyebrow. “Angelina?”

His eyes widened slightly before a dusty pink tainted his cheeks. “The Computer,” he clarified sternly. “…Your match is at one hundred percent. That means there’s nothing for you to switch to. You’re not getting out of this one.” He then leaned back and sighed, putting his hands behind his head.

I snarled. He could not be serious. I pondered the idea of carrying a sword with me everywhere I went —and it did not seem like a good one.

I opened my mouth to say something more, when Angelina then decided to announce, “You have mail.”

“Ah,” Søren breathed as he snapped his fingers, “that would be your already infamous sword.”

I blinked stupidly. “It’s here already? That was fast. Just how efficient is this shipping service —?”

“—Hold that thought.”

Søren raised a finger in front of my face and swivelled over to another tube identical to the one in the other room. Fire shot up through it, and within the flames, a large object wrapped in brown paper materialised. Søren took hold of it, unscathed. He then turned around and unwrapped it carefully, as if it were the Crown Jewels. A gold glowing black sword sat on the paper packaging; its gold handle gleaming. I flinched at the sight of an engraved ‘S’ where the blade met the hilt, and I wondered if it was coincidence of shape or if it meant that it was actually marked as mine. My eyes then widened as I glanced up to see Søren gesture for me to take it.

“Oh, no way,” I backed up quickly, thoroughly overwhelmed, “there is no way that I can accept that.”

The Trainer sighed and stood up, still holding the sword. “Well fortunately for you, it’s not a gift. It’s actually your possession now, and you have to take it. There are no alternatives.”

I gulped and reached out for the handle with a shaky hand. The first feeling I had…was freezing. The handle was colder than the meat locker in which I had accidentally found myself stuck once when I was thirteen —and the sensation made me flinch as soon as my fingers made contact with it. I glanced up at Søren to see if that was normal, and he nodded encouragingly. So, I tried again. I wrapped my hand around it, and winced.

But I slowly relaxed the longer I held my grip there. My skin then tingled, and my eyes narrowed on the steam coming from my hand where it was in contact with the handle.

“Is your hand…smoking?” Søren murmured, raising an eyebrow.

I scoffed, before lifting the sword off the packaging and holding it up. It was heavier than it looked. Suddenly the glowing intensified —I had to turn away and shield my eye as a strong light shone out from the double-edged blade along with a wave of heat; before it dissipated and I squinted back at the sword. I watched on in awe as a misty electric blue 0 was etched into at the base of the blade, before it fulminated in a small plume.

“That’s a count of how many souls it has reaped,” Søren explained. “It will show up every time that you reap.”

I nodded slowly, before swinging the sword experimentally. “What was that bright light?” I asked, surprised by how easily I was able to swing it.

“Claiming,” he huffed. “You have now officially claimed it as your weapon, and it has claimed you. By the way,” he continued as I reached up to touch the blade, “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Why not?” I frowned, but I was past the point of no return. As though I had been electrocuted, my finger instantly flinched back; stinging with pain. I cursed aloud and screamed with my mouth closed; the familiar sensation of burning flesh registering in my nerves.

“…That’s why,” Søren sighed.

“What was that?” I hissed, examining my finger. It was bright red and rapidly blistering. It would seem that I preferred learning the hard way.

“All Reaper weapons are plated in obsidian,” scoffed the Trainer. “Obsidian burns all divine entities. In most cases, it kills too.”

I pouted guiltily. I then thought of the glossy black box underneath Phoebe’s bed. I wondered if it was made of obsidian too. It would explain why my finger had burned that time.

But if so, then why had it burned me while I had still been alive?

“So,” Søren vaguely regained my attention, “Let’s talk about the rules that come with this sword…”

I then stopped listening. I swung the sword back and forth, enjoying how wonderfully it handled, and admiring my reflection in the obsidian. My golden irises would take more time to get used to, but otherwise I looked like my normal self. And seeing the old Savannah in me sparked memories too —all of my friends; all of the shenanigans up to which we had gotten; and, for the first time after the car crash, I thought of Aaron. My chest tightened. Was it out of guilt, or sorrow? I could not believe that my parting thoughts on him were that we would not be able to sleep together. I really did love him. But what did it count for now? The person whom I said that I loved; the person I had considered settling down for, was going to live on without me. Death had done us part.

As I felt myself getting choked up with tears, it hit me that I was not anywhere close to ready to move on.

“Are you…crying?” Søren asked, halting in his instructional discourse and made me look up at him.

It took me a few seconds to figure out that he had asked me a question, and I hurriedly wiped my eyes and frowned. “…No.”

He mirrored my expression and sighed. Maybe he was not as apathetic as he would like to think. “That’s all for now. You…can go sit on the sofa.”

I turned and walked towards the door, deciding to leave the sword leaning against the wall by the doorframe.

✠

I had been staring at the wall for a straight hour, unblinking.

I knew that it had been that long because of the silver ticking clock hanging above the door. Every single tick sounded so much louder than it really was —along with the cooing of a pigeon outside and the squeak of the window as it blew back and forth in the wind. I could have ignored the clock; shooed away the pigeon; and closed the window —but those were the noises of the living; the signs that time was progressing, and life was going on.

Without me.

Søren’s apartment was cold. It reminded me of the pebbly English seaside —dismal and grey and lacking. Some people preferred it that way, like faded or washed out jeans. But it only made me feel like that clouded sky —wispy, without a clear sense of direction, and the disappointment of someone’s day. There was no colour in the living room, or the computer room for that matter; and there was no warmth. The speckles of variation were from the books on his shelves, since he had no choice in the colour of them. Yet even with those he had appeared to coordinate their hues, and arrange them in such a way that saturation had no place in his desolate sanctuary. Otherwise, everything was washed in an ice blue.

I wondered if that was how he felt, on the inside —like an abandoned fishing port. And more curiously, why it somewhat resonated with me.

Had I been living a lie for ten years, fooling myself into believing that I was consequential to the lives of people I knew and to the universe; when in reality, my absence for the most part went unnoticed?

“…Savannah?”

I glanced in the direction of where my name had come from to find Søren leaning in the doorway, glaring at me. It was the first time he had said my name aloud. It caused me to feel even more homesick. I continued to sulk and turned back to stare at the wall.

“You can’t sit there forever.”

“Oh, yeah?” I scoffed. “Watch me.”

He murmured something that I could not make out, before walking over and sitting on the other end of the sofa. He was heavier than he looked, and actually caused his half of the sofa to dip and make me slide to the middle.

“…Look,” he started off, “I know that it’s still weird, but I honestly thought that we were making progress here. You seemed to be more excited than you had been a few hours ago. Yes, it’s not easy to move on so quickly —I understand. But you can’t sit here and stare into space. You can’t…give up. You might as well actually be dead then.”

I blinked, feeling rather offended. But I still did not face him. I snorted and folded my arms. “Stop acting like you know what I’m going through. Sure, you died at some point and it sucked, I guess,” I scoffed, throwing my hands up in the air, “but nobody has the same experience. Nobody scars the same way. You certainly seem to be over it.”

Once I had said that out loud a deathly silence fell over us and I stiffened. I slowly glanced in his direction to find him glancing at me at the same time. We held each other’s gaze for a moment, before he stood up and walked back to the computer room. A strange wave of guilt washed over me. If Søren was as apathetic as he believed, then maybe I was just as selfish and emotionally insensitive. I blinked the tears out of my eyes again and groaned aloud, burying my face in my hands. I was not the best at this —basic human relation. Having been surrounded by selfishness and no impulse control, it was no wonder I never thought about anyone else.

Now I was formulating excuses. Aaron had been right. There was something wrong with me. I did not know yet if it could be fixed.

I then thought that apologising to Søren might be a step in the right direction. Maybe someone else had died in the same way as I had. Maybe they had been thrown into a world that they did not think concerned them —and maybe, they felt as hollow and alone as I did.

And…maybe they had healed.

I gingerly climbed off of the sofa and padded to the computer room door. It was ajar, and from what I could see Søren was typing away between keyboards, analysing multiple displays at once. He did not notice me at first. But then he seemed to recognise the presence of someone, and he glanced over his shoulder. I gave a weak smile and hesitantly lifted my hand to give a stiff wave. His expression did not change. My gaze fell and I sighed, clicking my heels together and shoving my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket.

“…So, she lives,” Søren quipped sarcastically, turning his attention back to the screens.

“Hey, listen,” I said as I hesitantly strode in, “…I’m sorry if I stepped on any toes —”

“—If,” he scoffed, typing with an exaggerated vigour.

“Okay, okay,” I relented. “I said some things without thinking about anyone but myself. I’m sorry. I think I might get it from my Mom if I’m honest; because like her, I’ve been selfish all of my life and I’ve never thought about how it effects other people.” I felt myself turning pink as I said all of that, before pausing. “…Not even my own boyfriend.”

Søren stopped what he was doing at that moment. I glanced up at the sound of silence and did not try to hide my hopeful look.

“…I know that people hurt differently,” he said quietly. “And…I think I might have an idea for you. For your homesickness.”

“Really?”

I bit my lip in thought as it occurred to me that I did not have much to offer in return. But I then realised it would probably mean a lot if I gave my cooperation. I looked over to my sword that still leaned by the door. The ominous glow invited me to wield it again. And this time, I obeyed.