I
It comes to them in the day. It comes to them at night. Time holds no bearing to death; and Reapers suffer not time. Death doesn’t care if it is a holiday, one’s birthday, or if it’s just and estranged sunny Tuesday in the middle of April just after a spotted shower. There is no sure way to ward off Death, nor the Reapers it sets upon those whose sands have stopped running in the glass. Just as a theatre performance, all must end. But at the end one must be there to pull the curtain.
Reapers are not allotted any information on their targets. They appear when and where they are needed. Their task is to pull the soul from the body at the moment of death. They may actually be the ones responsible for death, but it’s impossible to truly tell; nor do the Reapers care. That’s not to say they are mindless killing machines. Each Reaper has its own personality. The art of their work is as one to their personality as it would be to any living person. As each are one of a kind, they bear individual names. These names are bestowed upon them when they become Reapers.
Thanatos; Death. That is what he brought at least, death. At any given point of time in the Void, he wore a dark black cloak; as did all Reapers. Faces were pale and placid. Thin noses and soft, rounded cheeks bore over thin mirthless lips. Eyes, mostly sunken, were dark and predominantly dilated pupils. His hair was long and white; contrasting that of Dabria, with her near-bobbed hair cut evenly just above her shoulders. Both looked on as their kin, Kalarja, seemed to dematerialize before them. Duty had called and it was Kalarja’s time to answer. Within moments; seconds, mayhap hours there was no way to tell for time was stretched in the Void and time matters not to a Reaper; Kalarja had returned.
Reverting back into his mind, Thanatos began to recall a past reaping. The walls of the small mid century modern home began to form in his mind as he was transported to a memory. Cheap plastic panelling lined the walls, it was supposed to look like wood but you get what you pay for. The carpets were a nauseating vomit pea green. ’The seventies were weird’ he had thought.
He dreaded this memory but always seemed to come back to it. It was the hardest task he had ever had. In the time, he was called early enough to witness the cause of death. A young girl just over six, her birthday was just four days prior, lay limp but breathing suspended just above the foul colored carpet. Blood was beginning to pool beneath her turning the pea green vomit colored carpet into dark and damp stain. The poor child’s face was swollen and bruised, no doubt she had suffered this type of abuse before in her young miserable life. Her father held her above the floor by the color of her blue stripped, blood stained white shirt. His hand was balled into a fist and cocked behind his head. The girl’s mother stood in the kitchen pouring herself another glass of wine. No doubt she knew what was happening, she stood in the open archway connecting the kitchen to the living room.
A child. He thought. And their own flesh and blood. Their child. Disgustingly vile humans. He could never understand how someone could do this to a child. He had no idea if he had at one point had children. No Reaper had any memory of their lives before they became Reapers. Yet, Thanatos knew, if he had had children he would never impose this horrendous act upon them.
An uncaring mother and an abusive father; the fates were cruel indeed. Thanatos moved toward the girl. He wished he could help her, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t take her from this house and get her the help she needed. He couldn’t take her poor excuse for a father by his throat and slowly squeeze his throat off from air while digging sharp nails into his neck. He couldn’t even will the girls drunk mother to intervene on her behalf. He was a Reaper; and Reapers aren’t allowed to interfere. They suffered the burden of true neutrality. Thanatos cupped the back of her head in his left palm and touched her cheek. He did the only thing he could. He pulled her soul out before the moment of death, sparing her the pain of death. Her father’s fist fell home against her face. The bones in her nose splintered into her brain.
The girl stood facing Thanatos, her lifeless body lay behind her ethereal form. “Papa?” she nearly whimpered. He extended a now wrinkled and sun dried hand to her. Anytime a Reaper is called for reaping they take on a different appearance. Many times taking on the form of someone closest to them. On a few rare occurrences he appeared as he does in the Void. On these occasions, his reap was far from willing to let go of their physical world. These were difficult reaps but none compared to his current reap. Now he was an older chap with thin gray hair and a thick mustache that still had spots of his former brown hair; he grandpa. He could surmise from the girls expression that he must have been dead. Her face was written with confusion and happiness. Happy to see her grandpa, yet confused as to how a dead man stood before her.
Sudden realization fell on the girls father. Shock befell him. Not because he lashed out and let his anger get the better of him. No, not that at all. He had become accustomed to beating young Rachael. If she left her toys sitting out in front of the door; WHAM! His palm struck the back of her head. She didn’t finish her vegetables at dinner; SMACK! The wooden spoon used to distribute mashed potatoes collided with her cheek. Sometimes she needn’t do anything at all. If his boss was coming down his throat about the Jameson’s account being late, he took it out on her. He knew full well what he was doing but never once had it crossed his mind that he could actually kill her.
There was a crashing sound as the wine glass in Mrs. Roberts hand fell to the checkerboard tile. The wine inside spilled out over the floor and carrying small shards of glass along with it; like a bag of fast food restaurant trash tossed from a car window flowing down a ditch. She had seen Mr. Roberts beat Rachael before and, once, tried to interject. Her action was met with a black eye, busted lip, and bruised rib. She didn’t go to the hospital and she never took Rachael to the hospital after her beatings. Sometimes they kept her home from school if the beatings were too severe. But they never went to the hospital. Mrs. Roberts never tried to stop the beatings again. Though now she wished she would have. Gods how she wished she would have. Her only child lay limp on the floor as her awestruck husband stood above her, knuckles dripping blood that was not his.
“It’ll be okay dear,” his voice was not his own, “I’m going to take you somewhere much better than this place.”
“Will Gamgam be there?” she asked.
Thanatos smiled to the girl, “She’s waiting for us on the other side. Do you want to go see her?” She nodded to him, “Then take my hand, and I’ll take you to her. He didn’t know if what he said was true or not. He could hope at least. Hesitantly, she took his hand and they walked out the front door.
He found out later from another Reaper; Libitina was her name; the fate of Rachael’s parents. A week later; forty years in the Void, or was it forty minutes; Mrs. Roberts, in her grief, had taken the 45 Smith & Wesson from the drawer of the nightstand on Mr. Roberts side of the bed and shot him between the eyes as he slept. She turned the gun on herself, placing the barrel between her chin and neck, and pulled the trigger. This was Mrs. Roberts last act of redemption. Redemption may have come to her soul or it may not have. There was no way for a Reaper to tell. Reap the soul, ferry it to the other side. Reap the soul, ferry it to the other side.
When he left his memory he noticed that Dabria was now gone. Another day, another reap. Keep on reapin’ on, he thought. When Dabria returned she was queerily perplexed. Reapers were emotionless in the Void. Their expressions blank. But not Dabria, not now anyway. She passed toward Thanatos and Kalarja. Conversations between Reapers weren’t common, but they did occur. “I saw a demon.” The two stared at her questioningly. “No, no he wasn’t a demon. He was more than that… a Prince maybe. He was talking to her… to my reap.”
Kalarja scoffed, if the noise he emitted could be called such. “Demons don’t talk to humans. And when’s the last time you heard about an actual sighting of one of Lucifer’s sons? Your head has always been filled with hot air.”
Thanatos didn’t acknowledge Kalarja and instead spoke to Dabria, “What did they say? Tell us more Dab.”
“They were already talking when I appeared. From what I could piece together they spoke of something that happened years ago, maybe when they met. He said something about things to come… but he said he like it already happened. Like he lived it and came back to tell her.” she paused, still trying to comprehend what had happened. When she found her words, she continued. “When she saw me she was startled and tried reaching for at her side. There was nothing there of course except the hospital gown she was wearing. I-I thought maybe just saw me like this but when I looked down, I wasn’t… well I wasn’t me. I wasn’t human or anything else that i know of. I was this gangly otherworldly thing.”
Kalarja was actually growing intrigued by her story now. His mouth was shut, but in another life he would have gaped at her. He watch her intently, waiting for her to continue.
“The Prince waved his hand over me and I was me again. The woman eased, looking at him and said ‘So it really is my time?’ He looked down for a second and said it was. He took her hand and look at me and said ‘Keep on reapin’ on.’ So I did.”
“What did this prince look like?” Kalarja asked genuinely.
“His hair was dark and long. He was young… maybe twenty-eight by human years. His eyes were blue, really blue. And he had this sword, I could feel the heat coming from it. He wore a…”
She went on but Kalarja had stopped listening. He was in deep thought now. If what he was thinking was true, then his associate may have stumbled upon the Lost One. He was the eldest Reaper in this section of the Void. Kalarja had even had the distinct pleasure of meeting Lord Death itself on more than one occasion; Thanatos was with him one of the times, but only the once. It was no stretch to say that Kalarja was the most knowledgeable on the inner workings of the worlds. He was aware of events of the past and at times he was privy to some of the plans concocted by Angels and Demons alike. In all of his time in the Void he had never heard of a confirmed sighting of Amon the Lost One. Yet now, this young Reaper may have just seen who most other beings believe may never return. And here he was, only hearing about it, not having experienced for himself the glory of the Lost. Damn his luck. Maybe in time. Keep on reapin’ on.
Thanatos wasn’t really concerned with the returns of Lost Ones and Princes of Hell. He was mostly just enjoying the conversation. It was a little remembrance of a life he could no longer recall. He wished he could remember his life before. Perhaps all Reapers did, no one would know for sure because that has never been a topic of conversation. He thought of Lord Death. He didn’t know how the topic was brought up, he only remembered Lord Death’s voice, “All Reapers are rewarded in time. Until then, just keep on reapin’ on.”
He felt a tingle where a stomach would have been years before. A thousand years ago? Two thousand? On Earth seventy years may have gone by but he had no way of knowing that. Time was different in the Void. The tingle began to stretch through the rest of his body. That feeling was a telltale sign that it was time for a reap. Dabria was still speaking and Kalarja was absently listening along when Thanatos disappeared. The two barely noticed.
The woman lying alone in the California king sized bed was old. She was at least eighty but the years had been kind to her. The lamp beside her bed illuminated the room with a dull yellow glow. She had lived a full life. She still wore her wedding ring even though her husband had at almost fifteen years prior. Their kids were grown and their kids growing. She noticed him almost immediately as he materialized.
“Daddy?” she asked. He was taken aback. In all the time he had been a Reaper he had been called many things. Hearing this elderly woman call him daddy was odd to his ears. First he thought it was hearing an aged and worn voice reverting to that of child. But that wasn’t entirely the case. There was something more to it than just that. It felt right. It seemed natural, the voice was estranged yet familiar. Maybe he did know it. He looked to the right of the bed. A vanity was angled in the corner. Through the dim yellow light he could see his reflection. It was him, not him from the Void. But it was him.
It was him. The ‘he’ he was before he came a’reapin’. Something dawned on him. A name; Howard. Yes, Howard Johns, that was his name. In his moment of enlightenment he became aware of something else. He knew the woman whose eyes rest upon him. Allison, my baby girl, how can this be?
He moved beside the bed, pulling out the stool that sat in front of the vanity. Resting himself in the stool, he noticed her eyes never left him. She looked to him in wondering bliss. Her lips split into a smile revealing pearly white dentures. “My time must be up… or I’ve finally gone senile.” Allison coughed as she finished speaking. Years of smoking full flavored cigarettes had taken its toll on her throat. “You look just as I remember you. I’m happy I get to see you again Father. Even if you are just here to take me away.”
“Allison,” his head was swirling. He didn’t know where to begin. For a short time he knew even less about what was going on than she did. His eyes welled into tears that streamed quickly down his cheeks. She was ten years old when he passed. He could remember it all now. He remembered her mother, Margarette. How incredible she had been. Always so kind until she was crossed. If anyone were to harm her dear Howard, she would but the wrath of God Almighty in him. God would fear her if anyone harmed Allison. Oh Margarette, if only you could be here with us. “I missed you. It’s been so long, I forgot all about you and your mother. I’m ashamed of myself… how could I forget about my own child?”
Allison let out a small laugh, slowly shaking her head. “You needn’t be. If I’m being honest, I forgot your face. I was so young when we lost you, daddy, eventually I lost a lot of memories of you too. But as soon as I saw you, it all came back to me.” She was crying as well. The tears that fell weren’t of sadness. They were tears of relieve. Relieve, that the one to escort her soul to the great beyond would be the same person that unknowingly taught her about death that fateful Tuesday in April.
“I wish I could stay with you and hear all about your life, but I must do what I came here for.” He sobbed as he spoke. His eyes stared blankly at his open palms in his lap. Just keep on reapin’ on.
She held out a hand to him. He looked to her, then to her outstretched hand resting over the silk blankets, and back to her. He took her hand in his. “Do you know where we’re going?” she asked. He shook his head. “Will Mother be there?”
“I hope so, but I can’t say for certain.”
Her eyes moved to her chest, slowly rising and lowering with each breath. Breathing had become increasingly difficult in the past few months. The cancer had spread from her lungs and was now eating into her heart. Allison squeezed Howard’s hand and looked into his eyes. “Let’s go find out together, Father.”
He reciprocated the squeeze and began to help her out of bed. Nostalgia hit as he thought about teaching Allison to walk. In a way, it was as if he were teaching her again. As she stepped out of the bed, she stepped out of her body. She realized quickly that her spirit was far more limber than her own body.
They walked together, hand in hand, toward the door. They shared a glance, and fear spread in Howard’s mind. What was waiting for them on the other side? Would they see Margarette again? What if there was nothing waiting for them when they crossed over? What if they weren’t together when they crossed? What would he do if he lost her again? Would he even remember any of this?
“I love you, Father.” Allison’s voice brought him out of train of thought. Maybe just seeing her again would be enough.
“I love you too.”
They passed through the door. Waiting on the other side was bright light. It was a sharp contrast to the low dim light of Allison’s deathbed. Allison was the first thing he could see, yet she had changed. She was in the prime of her youth. The once elderly corpse of woman now appeared as she did when she was thirty-five. Howard couldn’t believe how much she looked like Margarette did at that age. He became aware of two figures out of the corner of his eye. When he looked to them, he nearly fell to his knees.
Margarette stood before him. He couldn’t believe his eyes. She was exactly as he remembered, even if it had taken him thousands of years in the Void to remember his previous life. He ran to her and they embraced, ignoring the other figure she had appeared with.
Allison recognized both figures immediately. Her wonderful mother, that raised her to believe she could do anything she puts her mind to. The same mother that helped her find the will to finish medical school and become a surgeon. Martin stood beside her mother. Martin was a very loving and supportive husband. He stood by her decision to leave her dead end job as a secretary and go to medical school, even though she was already in forties. She ran to him and planted a giant kiss on his lips. They held each other tight.
Howard thought back to Lord Death.
All Reapers are rewarded in time.
The long wait was well rewarded indeed. As he looked on he thought he saw a face he recognized. A young girl walked by behind a man and woman holding hands. The girl smiled to him and he at once thought of Rachael.
Until then, just keep on reapin’ on.
