So Shall I Reap
Authors: Kathy-Lynn Cross
By Kathy-Lynn Cross
THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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So Shall I Reap
Copyright ©2015 Kathy-Lynn Cross
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63422-079-8
Cover Design by: Marya Heiman
Typography by: Courtney Nuckels
Editing by: Kathy Lapeyre
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Because our time together was not enough.
Written for my mom, Linda,
and my mother-in-law, Katherine.
Missing you both has taught my fingers how to fly. Both of you will always be the drive behind Tevin’s determination and the emotional complexity of Alexcia’s heart.
Lost physically but always with us:
Katherine 09/2010 & Linda 03/2011
The year was 2006 - before all Hell broke loose
The night sky across the valley in Las Vegas, Nevada was overladen with stormy, ominous clouds. Now and then, Zeus struck the sky and Lucifer replied with boisterous, rolling laughter. A constant dispute between the Houses of Light, Space, and Time weighed on the clouds, causing cold tears to fall and covering the earth with a bitter blanket of sadness.
We materialized by the emergency room doors as the shroud blended both of us into the shadows. Even though the cloak was never vocal, its energy gave me a sense of silent companionship. Our creator had bonded each Grim Reaper with a minion to provide additional power or assistance when needed. Normally for protection, mine took on the form of a cloak, but it had the inquisitiveness of a child-like Vessel.
Our kind refers to humans as Vessels with disconnect because they are merely temporary containers for a soul’s existence.
Breathing in the promise of cleansing air from the storm, I exhaled heavily while retrieving a cigarette from inside the folds of the cloak. Once lit, I watched the smoke swirl around, becoming lost in thought about this lonely, cursed life. For Ashens, or Grim Reapers as humans named us, the only purpose for our existence has always been to deal with the last finality of a Vessel’s death. At least the importance of this drudgery kept me, my clan, and other Unseen entities from falling apart. Since the options were limited for a being with an immortal existence, we did our job, no matter how grave.
I guess, in a way, it has always given us meaning to an otherwise dull and mundane eternity.
From a distance, I sensed the targets approaching, but something was off. The soul’s flicker of power faltered, and then it dawned on me.
Where was the second soul?
With my focus clouded, I searched in haste for the parchment containing the names of the soon-to-be departed. While exploring its misty folds, I completely forgot to mentally prepare myself for the entity coming to collect and transport the souls, the Bridge Crosser.
In the beginning, the House of Light had created Angels to be guardians, but some became consumed by greed and desire, corrupting their minds. With clear blatancy, many turned against their House and chose to fall. Known as the Fallen, these angel-like entities were treated as unwanted vagrants in the Unseen until they struck a bargain with the House of Space. Because of the pact, they were damned to remain half-breeds, or simply glorified soul escorts, now deemed Bridge Crossers.
Vessels who have escaped death’s reach have mistaken Bridge Crossers as true angels for centuries. Filling every branch of literature, they have been described with features of golden, sandy hair, and wings swirled with colors of caramel and ivory. Unfortunately, Vessels who have
seen these creatures
never noticed the slick membrane permanently impairing the Bridge Crosser’s eyesight, an indication of something more sinister.
Reapers recognize the dark creatures’ glazed look for what it is… a telltale sign of their payment to remain in the world of the Unseen.
Somehow, through negotiations I never understood, the House of Space forced our kind and the Bridge Crossers to coexist as a team to collect the dearly departed. When a soul’s power had reached its expiration date, we were sent to recycle it. Reapers harvested energy from the body and then handed it over to the awaiting Bridge Crosser, no questions asked. After the soul harvesting process has been completed, we are paid with a small portion of the remaining energy to keep us recharged. The Bridge Crosser’s job had always been to escort the empty soul back to the waters to be refilled with the power of Creation.
That is how we have always replenished the River Styx, our creator, by helping recycle its purpose to create.
My cloak slapped me to redirect our focus to the ambulance as it skidded around the corner on slick pavement. The emergency vehicle high beams cut through the shadows, making my minion shudder from the possibility of the living detecting us in our corporeal state. I gave up searching for the parchment with the names of our next targets and took a quick drag from the burnt filter. Lifting a chalk-colored hand, I put out the fire in the middle of my palm, flicking the butt onto the wet sidewalk.
Time for this Ashen to get to work.
The Bridge Crosser would show itself in due time.
Little did I know that choosing life over death would forever turn my existence into chaos…
as if being a Grim Reaper was not hard enough?
In Sin City, the weather from January to March was typically dry, so when a rare storm peeked over the western mountain range, I decided to take on a few extra jobs. Flashes of light illuminated the parking lot while I stayed in the shadows and watched. On nights like this, the extra electricity in the air brought a special zing to a daemon’s existence. I assumed the emotion called
pleasure
felt like this to the Vessels.
Over the past six hundred years, I watched how useless, emotional fluff-stuff infected my prey. As a spectator, it was difficult to understand these walking human containers and their abilities to make clear, conscious decisions without getting wrapped up in their emotions. I never understood the need for an emotion that could cause weakness. Feeling other sentiments such as
happiness, compassion, and caring
made my stomach pitch. These distasteful, positive emotions could cloud our judgment and cause us to hesitate, damaging the Vessel’s reusable power source. As Ashens, the River had forbidden us from experiencing positive emotions. If we botched a job, the Vessel might end up a cast-off or ghost. A misdirected entity added to the Unseen population had always been a strict violation of the first rule set down by our creator, the River Styx. A soul must be severed from the flesh to replenish its maker by returning creation’s power so the waters can continue to flow.
Some Vessels welcomed death’s presence, ready to embrace their end, which made the task of collection a lot easier. However, most of them fought, clinging to souls that no longer had enough power for them to function. It was always a futile effort on their part in an attempt to change the outcome of their mortality. Watching this process over many centuries had piqued my interest. Occasionally, I wondered what might be waiting beyond the blade of my scythe. Nonetheless, the River only granted such knowledge to specialized entities of the Unseen. All others were not allowed to know.
I fought to discard those random thoughts as I crept in through the shadows of the buildings. Raindrops sparkled in the dim glow of the parking lot, and the sizzle on the previously hot pavement indicated the end of their brief life. Pulling down my hood allowed me to snake in and out of the welcoming lights at the ER’s entrance without being seen. Abruptly, I snapped my fingers to keep the dark mist within my cloak still. A slight sigh escaped my lips as the rain slowed to a drizzle. I figured there was time for a smoke before completing the last job for the night and returning home by the time the morning star rose.
Fully corporeal, I leaned up against the windows by the automatic sliding doors, searching for a reason to kill time before working. An evil snicker slipped out at the trade reference as I lifted a finger and whispered before raising the cigarette to my dry lips.
“Spark… burn… fire… thrive.”
The words crackled in my mouth with a minuscule amount of power, and the tip of my fingers became hot as I placed the cigarette between two of them and took a drag. Smoke, heat, and then glow. I watched my reflection in the window. The radiance of the ember made my facial features slightly more menacing as it accented the dark indigo marbling in my eyes. Dim parking lot lights mixed with illumination from the exterior ER sign and also highlighted the symbol resting against my chest. I brought my free hand up to trace a platinum polygon with two even triangular points aimed upward toward the House of Space, where I belonged. All entities in the Unseen wore their House symbol. Essentially, we were collared pets with tags showing others who owned us. The chains were bound to us and could never be removed.
I frowned.
Taking another deep drag, I let the smoke dance inside my mouth for a while. It flowed in and out, nice and slow, with the smell of nicotine lingering like a presence.
An ambulance screamed as it came closer, its sirens blaring in a shrill panic. Medical Vessels beyond the doors scrambled, getting ready for the new arrival. Their timing could not have been more perfect as I waited for the dual soul package to be delivered. This feeling of anticipation reminded me of when I observed the Vessels exhibiting anxiety waiting for a shipment from UPS.
Sometimes, our work requires us on site when everything is about to happen, other times, the jobs find us.
Tonight’s pick up and bag should be a basic harvesting… two souls, both requiring a clean sever. According to the schedule, the interval between the two was less than ten minutes. I could recharge, collect, find their escort, and still have time to swing by In-N-Out Burger for a burger and fries before dawn.
While pondering a decision about adding dessert to the menu list, I stiffened. Something was off with the approaching ambulance. A lone survivor from a car accident hung onto life with a small, erratic pulse. I began to mull over the job description because I could have sworn my orders were to collect two souls, not just one. Needing confirmation, I commanded my cloak to hold its shape. Searching feverishly through it for the parchment with the names of the soon-to-be-departed, I checked every inch… to no avail. Tightness built in my chest, but I tried to dismiss the foreign feeling.
The emergency vehicle braked, and two uniformed Vessels exited the cab to pull out a lifeless body. Keeping my eyes on the prize, I followed the pack of annoying savior personnel into the ER as they moved past the doors marked Triage. With the power of my cloak, I willed it to shift my body back to its grim existence. The black, clammy mist from it reached out to touch everything as it slithered around my feet. My minion explored every crack and crevice while I floated forward toward the action.
Once inside, the ER was filled with the commands and demands of the living to save the young, dying Vessel before them. Anticipation was all I could taste as I inched closer to the gurney because time was almost up. In preparation, I swung my arm out in an arc, reaching behind my head to retrieve the reason for my existence. A hollow metal sound resonated as I released the harvesting weapon from its resting place.
A dark-haired Vessel in a white coat barked, “Adrenaline in a 5cc syringe, charge the paddles and hang the IV.” Another one in light blue scrubs tilted my subject’s head back to begin CPR, and I knew the final moments were at hand. I shifted toward the unconscious form when, suddenly, a voice in the darkness behind me broke my concentration.
“So, Tevin, I didn’t know you were working tonight.”
Without even a glance, I knew who waited with me for this unfortunate soul. “Thought I smelled roadkill nearby.” Moving closer to the hissing whisper, I continued, “I did not think a Bridge Crosser would be here so soon. Running low on your quota of souls, Razor? Why are you here anyway? I thought you only escorted the damned? Probably the worst thing this little one has ever done was refuse to eat vegetables.”
“This
little one’s
spirit is needed to keep the balance between our worlds. I was specifically given this task by the House of Light. The River Styx requested me to escort her psyche across the bridge, which also gives me the right to make sure the severing is a clean one. I heard you had received the name of this futile creature from the River’s Cauldron and figured you wouldn’t mind if I observed. Wouldn’t want any mishaps. I know the River finds favor with you and your clan’s reputation, so I came early to… well… watch you work, so to speak.” Razor perched his gargoyle physique on a chair, staying hidden within the corner shadows.
I cocked my head to get a better look at the Bridge Crosser relaxing behind the curtain. In the Unseen, Razor was considered an elite, and he portrayed it well. Even the air surrounding him seemed petrified, making the taste of his presence stale. He was a superior fighter among the Bridge Crossers. If the River assigned him to work with you, it was wise to grim, reap, and then leave.
My skepticism caused an eyebrow to arch. “So to speak? You came here to watch me? That is interesting. Was it not you, about six weeks ago, sitting on top of a red Ford F-150, yelling at me to sharpen my blade with my ass?” Remembering Razor on top of the truck, his face twisted in anger, made the moment of reliving it more gratifying. The daemon within me snarled at the same time I responded. “I do believe you have seen my work, time and time again.” Rolling my shoulders back to show defiance, I added, “Now, tell me why you are really here?”
He readjusted the chain with the emblem of his House as if it were pulling on his neck. “You seem to have mistaken me for an entity who cares about your questions. I don’t have time to ponder your petty thoughts.” Razor pointed, “You need to get your job done and hand me this soul… pristine and intact.” At the end of the sentence, his ivory finger aimed at their mark in a mocking gesture. “Please tell me you have had time to sharpen your blade since then, old friend?” He shoved past me, hitting my chin with part of his left wing while he headed for the gurney where the young one desperately fought to keep its heart beating. Razor opened his wings with a sharp cracking sound, similar to a bone breaking.
The Bridge Crosser’s reaction caused a strange burn deep within me, allowing the caged daemon inside to stir. Normally, I did not care. I knew not to interrogate a Bridge Crosser, but the room was swimming in uncertainty.
Why was this Vessel so important that he needed a front row seat? This reaping would not normally be worth my time because the Vessel probably did not even have enough power left to snack on. So why would our Creator specifically request Razor on the job? Come to think of it, he never asked about the missing soul?
I was positive the Cauldron had listed two, but without the parchment, I had no proof. If Razor reported back to the River about my lack of knowledge, then the whole clan could suffer. Still, the need to know gnawed under my skin. The only way I could make it stop was by asking the Bridge Crosser about the second soul.
We turned our attention to the humans as they tended to the unconscious Vessel, even though we knew their efforts were moot. I glided over the spotless linoleum floor, floating through two females to position myself for harvesting. Finally situated by the edge of the bed, I prepared for this tiny, grand finale. Sighing with great exasperation, I began the reaper’s Death Ritual of the Knell’s Toll.
Swinging my tool of trade in one fluid motion from my right side, I held it steadily over the girl’s body. My cloak hummed from summoning the innocent essence. White, sheer ribbons stretched from the body, almost far enough to cut in one swipe.
Razor made impatient noises with his wings by the side of the bed and cracked his knuckles over and over. It broke my concentration long enough to glance down at the small one. The child could not have been more than six or seven life cycles old, with golden-blond hair and red highlights. Long, dark lashes blinked above pleading eyes. I watched the mixture of sky blue and green blend together within the irises.
Startled by the tint in her eyes, I began to lose grip on her soul. Through the warped distortion of the spell, it appeared as if she were trying to speak to me. This was unsettling because no human could actually view the creatures of the Unseen, especially not an Ashen. Yet, here she lay, bloody and broken, trying desperately to get my attention. Not sure of what to do, I decided to lean in closer to hear if she were actually addressing me. Certainly, she was mumbling from the pain and drugs. Using the hilt of my scythe to keep her life force suspended above her body, I pressed my ear against her lips.
“Tevin, I have waited for you and have stayed out of the shadows like you told me to.” The child’s breathless words brushed past my cheek, and I forced myself to face this unfortunate creature. Her gaze stayed fixed on mine while she poured out her heart before it stopped. The girl Vessel broke her stare to look down at her own body. “My soul looks so pretty.” Then the color of it marbled and swirled, a mixed sign of betrayal. “Why… are you… trying to take it… now? I thought… you had come to… protect me.” Both eyes rolled as her small body fell limp against the sheets.
Multiple doctors and nurses ran around the triage room, yelling commands and grabbing tools that resembled torture devices. The lead Vessel, who I assumed was the surgeon, tore the child’s small T-shirt down the middle and swabbed the area over her heart. All at once, the machines in the room sang the same dull tone. The air became potent with smells of frustration and sweat. Dumbfounded, I tried to rationalize what had transpired between us, but logic was stuck somewhere in the back of my throat. My mind could not accept this.
She knows me?
I glanced up and yelled, “Wait.”
Thoughts began to race.
She is not gone yet, she knows me. She knows me. What is happening here?
The pull of her heart was getting weaker, and each breath turned into a low rattle. My mind unhinged.
Was I really meant to save this soul?
I could not shake the feeling of dread. I tried to swallow, but my throat felt like hot sand.
A loud crash from a nearby table seized my attention. A petite Vessel in her early thirties pushed toward the center of attention. She wore no makeup and her nails flashed in a rainbow of sparkles. The female waved them in the air, obviously trying to get the girl’s attention. What followed next were emotional pleas.
“My daughter, my daughter. Alexcia, Alexcia, Mommy’s here. Let me see my daughter.” She screamed hysterically. “Oh my goodness. Where is my husband? I don’t see my husband.”
If her husband was missing, he was probably the second harvest. My cloak froze from her outburst. This new problem made me wonder if I should make a quick appearance at the accident site. Maybe a rogue Ashen had reaped it before, during, or after the crash. Instantly, I cursed under my breath, “Damn the cloak I cast. My clan is going to give me hell if I botch this job over one soul.”
