Chapter 9: Chapter 9

S A V A N N A H

IT TURNED OUT that Grim Reapers who reap in the same area live in a fairly get-along community —because if someone missed out on a few souls, another Reaper could complete the district’s greater quota for them. The chances of letting a person live over their carefully measured out days were slim to none; and as a Trainer, Søren was partly exempted from collecting his usual daily amount of souls if he had a trainee at the time.

Which meant that part of his souls were mine to reap.

Not so lucky for me.

Terrence Centre seemed to be the hub of night life even in the afternoon, which made me wonder how Martin Smith could have possibly dealt with all of the noise and traffic for all of that time. Perhaps he had lived here since he had been in college and had gradually grown accustomed to it.

Søren stayed quiet for a long time after reaping Louise Hansen. I was not sure if I should say anything, so I left the subject alone. He flaunted his apparent apathy, but deep down, I think that it affected him —especially in this specific case. I did not really want to bring it up since it looked like it had been quite the ordeal —but it got me curious. What was it about Louise’s situation that had resonated with him? It scared me a little to think that maybe his parents had been like them; like Tucker and Louise.

That was when it occurred to me that I knew almost nothing about Søren —I only knew his name. The more I tried to understand about him, the less I really got. And whenever his walls showed any signs of lowering down, his mouth then shut as some kind of a secondary defence mechanism.

I glanced up at Søren and for a moment, it was as though I was noticing him for the first time. His tousled dark tangled hair and the dark circles beneath his eyes made his skin look snowy white. The only colour came from the light pink of his thin lips and the deep blue of his sweater. The silver of his irises only added to the frigidity of his haunted demeanour. His legs were stiff in his drainpipe trousers and he walked like an old-fashioned sailor; he trudged more than walked. But he was a fast trudger.

Even with that speed, his gait reflected a certain brooding undertone. He was always thinking; always calculating. About what, I was unable to tell. His clothes matched his personality —depressing. It was nearly all black, and I knew that most of it was not a fashion choice, but he seemed to have used the dress code to his advantage. If it was a pitch black and moonless night, one might have mistaken him for a dead tree.

I on the other hand had my brown leather jacket to contrast against the black. I did not mind the lack of colour all that much —but there was so much of that darkness that it looked like one solid mass.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and sighed, before realising that I had not even noticed I had not been breathing all this time. It surprised me because after living eighteen years and having had breathing as second nature, I was now fully accustomed to no longer needing my lungs. The strenuous walk though, would not let me forget about fatigue just yet.

Søren seemed to be handling it just fine, so I did not want to complain. He still remained withdrawn, and I did not know how I was going to get around that. He was so unlike the friends I had had before, and it made me wonder if we even could be friends after my training was complete.

After a while, a question that had been biting me then desperately needed an answer, so I just decided to come out with it.

“Søren, what does MXCIX mean?” I asked.

The Reaper started at the sound of my voice but would not look in my direction. “…One thousand and ninety-nine.”

So, the numbers that appeared after reaping were indeed in Roman numerals. That would mean I would need to do some research when we got back to the apartment if I was ever going to understand them.

My eyes then widened as the realisation of the meaning of the number dawned on me. “You’ve reaped one thousand and ninety-nine souls?” I gasped.

He took a deep and shaky breath before exhaling, the air whistling out of his lungs. “…It’s my job.”

The way he said that —so flatly and devoid of feeling —it sent an ice cold chill down my spine. I nodded, before glancing away at the street.

Duty, above all, was the saying. “And nothing is allowed to stop you,” I recalled Søren saying. I figured that it would have to become something I that needed to adopt. It would not be easy. I was more a pacifist when it came to resolving conflict, though I was not afraid to swing a punch. As a Grim Reaper, the notion of avoiding violence would have to be put to an end.

I then wondered how long it had taken Søren to become so unfeeling. I glanced up at him. Even without looking into his eyes I would have been able to tell that he was dead inside.

Was that what this job was going to do to me?

I did not want to think about it anymore. I folded my arms and walked on determinedly, decidedly pushing away the thoughts which scared me.

✠

I gulped as I stood in front of 65 Walter place —a run-down apartment building that was a little smaller than the one Søren pretended to live in. The sun was now dipping its way below the horizon, giving the sky a husky orange and fuchsia glow.

“…First floor, right?” I whispered.

My Trainer nodded.

I swung my clasped my hands and rocked on my heels, intent on stalling for as long as possible. “So, I just…march right in there, huh?”

“Yes,” Søren answered, with an annoyed edge to his voice. I bit my lip and nodded slowly, but did not move, even when he nudged me forward.

Could I really do this? Could I really reap an old man’s soul? My mind reasoned that he was old, so it was not such a big deal —but my heart screamed that it was practically murder.

“…I told you that apathy was a necessary skill,” Søren sighed, folding his arms. I whipped around to face him and frowned; I was so not in the mood for that conversation right now.

Sunset was upon us, and here I was, dithering about needlessly. I needed to put my morality aside for the sake of my job. I took a deep head-clearing breath and exhaled, composing myself.

“Well,” I sighed, shrugging. “It’s now or never.” I huffed and marched purposefully towards the back entrance.

“That’s the spirit,” Søren mocked, following after me.

I took lead and climbed in through the open window of a bedroom. It was plain and well kept, but little strong-smelling lavender fragrance candles burned in corners, inclining me to think it was likely Nancy King’s room.

I jumped over the windowsill and landed on my haunches —to my absolute relief —and Søren landed after me, before straightening his jacket and quickly checking his reflection in the gilt mirror on the wall.

“Oi —what are you doing? This is no time to preen yourself,” I snapped as I grabbed his arm and dragged him to the door, “We’re here to focus.”

“Sorry. I just…wanted to see how I had looked earlier in front of…” he trailed off, his expression becoming even more downtrodden.

After a brief pause, I understood what he meant. “You can worry about that later,” I said gently. “Right now, we have a job to do.”

“Okay,” Søren breathed out and held his hands up in mock surrender. He then stepped aside and gestured for me to be his guest. I nervously held my own breath and walked down the hallway.

Martin Smith was not a shaky leaf of an old man. He looked solid and sturdy; more rugged than fragile and brittle. He was sitting in an armchair and staring at the television but watching nothing. As soon as I set foot in the small living room his gaze found mine and fear struck every muscle in his body. He froze, flexed and almost looked like a hunter who had suddenly become the hunted. But he held my gaze and did not look away, before a knowing frown wrinkled in his features.

He was not afraid to look death in the eyes.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Nancy King decided to waltz in with a tray of what appeared to be dinner. She smiled cheerfully and was blissfully unaware of the staring contest behind her.

“Mashed potatoes and roast chicken just as you like it, Mr Smith,” she beamed in a heavy Southern accent, before moving aside to go back to the kitchen. He stayed still and careful, and barely registered Nancy’s presence. “…Yes…yes. Thank you, Nancy.”

Nancy raised an eyebrow and paused, something evidently bothering her. “You all right, Mr Smith? You usually correct me and tell me to call you Martin every chance you get.”

Martin did not respond, so Nancy followed his gaze and met mine. I stiffened at the prospect of flunking this assignment before I had even really started, but her eyes shifted slightly as though searching for something.

She looked straight through me.

After a moment, I remembered that I was invisible to her. “…All right, Mr Smith,” Nancy said nervously and edged her way to the kitchen doorway, “I’ll, uh…I’ll go check if you took your medicine this afternoon.”

She disappeared into the kitchen and left me a window of opportunity. Martin was still frowning at me; but it was probably now out of confusion as to why I was taking so long.

“What are you waiting for, an invitation?” Søren hissed behind me.

“Be quiet —I know what I’m doing,” I hissed back, reaching for my sword. I unsheathed it, displaying its sleek shine to Martin Smith, whose eyes then widened. I walked right in, and Martin’s gaze followed me until I was right in front of him. He opened his mouth, but just like speechless Louise, he did not seem like he could say anything. My gaze flickered down to his plate and back to his dark eyes, before an idea popped into my head.

Death by choking.

It seemed fitting given his smoking background.

I hesitated as Martin slowly reached out as though to check if I was a part of his imagination, but what I really needed him to do was bite into that chicken. I took a step backwards and held my sword in a neutral position, with its blade faced downward. Martin paused before looking as though he got the idea, and shakily reached out for the drumstick. I waited like the evil queen in Snow White when she had given the princess the poisoned apple.

Martin’s teeth sunk into the meat, before tearing it off the bone and beginning to chew. Then he spluttered, as though the air was suddenly not coming into his lungs fast enough. That was my cue.

I raised my sword, and in one smooth movement I swung it down, so the tip just touched his knitted sweater.

“…Mr Smith?” Nancy called, having heard something irregular. “Mr Smith, are you all right?”

I then heard her footsteps quicken.

Martin started, unprepared for the briskness of the situation.

He still gasped for air. I winced.

I want to make this as fast and pain free as I can for the both of us.

Nancy came in and gasped as she saw Martin choking. She rushed over and began to help by leaning him forward, then gently clapping him on the back.

I glanced back at Søren nervously and he gave me an encouraging nod. I looked down at Martin with his hands around his neck. I looked into his eyes and found a warmth in them, and for a flicker of a moment, I saw something of my late grandfather in him.

So, I froze. “I…can’t do this,” I whispered, my hands beginning to shake. “…I can’t reap this soul.”

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Søren spoke up. “…Sunset, Savannah,” he reminded me, pointing towards the window.

I gulped as the sun appeared to be teasingly peeking over the horizon. But it only offered me a few minutes. I looked back at Martin. He looked up at me, and something forlorn shone in his eyes.

I pursed my lips and gripped my sword more securely. “…I’m sorry,” I whispered, before I pierced his chest and swung in an upward motion.

I gasped as Martin’s soul was cleaved with the motion my sword and floated on top of his body; now slumped over and lifeless. Nancy cried out and shook him, promising to call an ambulance.

I looked up at Martin and offered a sad smile. My sword then glowed, and I looked to find a lone I appear where the zero had been before it.

“…Rest in peace, Martin Smith,” I said softly, and it was a relief to see him nod slightly, before his form dissipated into the air as Louise’s had done.

I let out a shaky breath and turned around. Søren gave me a thumbs up and beckoned me over, signalling that it was time to leave. I followed after him but paused at the doorway and looked back at the scene before me.

My heart wrenched for Nancy, but it was nothing which I could help.

I turned away, and felt as though I understood why Søren had been so removed earlier. I had done it. I now had a reaping track record.