Reaper - Chapter One
#1 of Reaper
© All characters and storylines involving said characters belong to me: Eben Black.
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Blood. There was so much blood. I never ceased to amaze me how much blood could be spilled from a human. Then again, the wound was a fatal one that involved a small blade piercing his heart. The human in question was the son of a judge based in Los Angeles. He'd had a bright future ahead of him, as he studied law and hoped to become a member of the prosecution team that worked at the firm where his father had started out. He was seventeen. He'd been headed home from late night studies and had been mugged. In the middle of the skirmish the mugger had revealed a blade and stabbed the young athlete without hesitation. He'd been abandoned there in an alley. In time he'd bled out and had died. His body paled while he sat there, slumped behind a dumpster, eyes staring down at the ground as blood pooled out beneath him. He'd been found and now police had quardened the alley off. It had become something of a media frenzy seeing how famous the student's father was. No doubt the Judge would indeed be responsible for sentencing his son's killer to life imprisonment.
I sat there on the rooftop overlooking the quardened off alley while men in white hazmat-like suits moved around the scene and took what evidence they could find. It was noon and the sun was beaming down from a bright blue sky. I took a deep breath and could smell the distant fumes of fast food restaurants and rolling traffic. I was sat over the edge of the building, legs draped over the edge while I leaned back on my palms. I'd been here for a good ten minutes now. Believe it or not but I'd been informed of the young law student's demise and the location of when it would happen too. I was here for a very good reason, and that reason was floating horizontal over where his body was slumped below.
His name had been Liam Penber and he'd been a prodical law student who had a bright future ahead of him and had it cut short sadly. He looked like a mirror-image of his corporeal form below with one difference. It looked like Penber's colour had been drained from him so that his clothes were purest white and his skin tone was a pale complexion like paper. His dark brown hair in life had lightened to a paler brown in death. It had been a traumatic and unexpected death. His ghost should have been tormented and lost and desperate in the afterlife, but it seemed this particular student had accepted death a long time ago. That was the only answer I could find for him being such a calm and cool-headed spectre that floated before me. I'd arrived and waited. He wasn't screaming or lashing out like most ghosts in this situation would've done, instead he'd floated, a quiet, calm smile across his face, while the student stared down below at the bloodied crime scene. I would remain there until he was all set to crossover. Its one of the duties that Reapers had in this world.
Yep, you heard me. I'm a Reaper. Perhaps nothing you'd expect to see in the modern world. Most people hear the word Reaper and instantly imagine a skeletal ghoul, shrouded in a black, hooded cloak and wielding a sickle, while haunting those near-death or those who had been cursed. But in reality, Reapers are a lot more human than you'd think. Reapers are humans that are "blessed" to watch over the newly dead and make sure they crossover without too much trouble. Reapers were also responsible for most matters that involved the dead and even the undead. I'd been a Reaper now for almost three hundred years, and in that time I'd seen my share of vampires and zombies. It was a good, honest job, if not a sad one from time to time, but over the decades I'd gotten used to the phenomenon that is death. Its natural and a part of life, whether that death be natural, suicidal, even murder.
Death is predictable, thanks to the higher-ups of the Reaper ranks and as a result Reapers were able to be there at the time of death and witness what happens. I'd witnessed the mugger emptying Liam's pockets and then headed off without looking back at his latest victim. The old me would've found it hard to not interfere, but like I said, over time you hardened and grew accustomed to what is preordained and meant to happen. Interference and refusal to take the life of a "Fated" one was punishable with death among the Reapers. "Fated" being the term we use to refer to those who are destined to die in our presence and even by our hand.
But enough about the boring details. It was summer. Los Angeles was a buzz with the latest murder. And the ghost of the murdered student seemed to have accepted that he was dead. He suddenly disappeared and reappeared on the rooftop behind me. He was sat down, indian-fashion and leaned back on his palms as he stared up at the blue skies overhead. I wheeled round, one leg raised while the other remained draped over the edge of the rooftop. Liam looked down and seemed to give me the usual up-and-down inspection that I seemed to endure alot from ghosts these days. "So your a Reaper?" he asked in a calm tone, one eyebrow raised. I nodded and added, "I don't look like one do I?" Liam shook his head slowly and then said, "You look more like a student." A bark of laughter escaped me. I got this alot. Like I said, most people think Reapers are ghouls that wander around the hospitals and loom over the near-dead. I looked nothing like that. I stood at around five-seven. Hair as black as night, and pale blue eyes staring from behind bangs that needed a desperate trim soon. I was sat there dressed in denim three-quarter-lengths, a pair of white running shoes, a white t-shirt and a black, leather shoulder holster. I was a Reaper but I was also prepared for the worst possible scenario. Bullets wouldn't take down a ghost, but I'd learned that the newly dead ghosts don't realise that when you brandish a weapon if they become unruly. But even the sight of a high-powered customised 9mm handgun didn't seem to phase the dead student sat before me. I leaned on one palm and traced a finger and thumb over a silver chain strung around one hip, that chain had several small trinkets along it. Each one held symbolised a religion. The chain worked the same as the gun, except this one was designed to befriend the heavily religious. If a Christian passes on, a Reaper with a small cross decorating his hip will have a better chance of crossing that ghost over than a Reaper without that trinket. "I was made a Reaper at the age of nineteen, and as a result I haven't aged since then," I explained with a pleasant grin. "Made a Reaper? So you used to be human? I thought you just looked human?" Liam replied with a slightly bemused look. "Reapers are blessed with the duties of death at all ages while being human. I was found in a rehabilitation centre by the liaison that watches over me." I stopped and realised I'd said too much. Why was I revealing this to a ghost like Penber? I shrugged and added, "You don't seem as traumatised as most ghosts would be in this situation." It was Liam's turn to shrug this time before he explained, "At a young age a favourite aunt of mine passed away unexpectedly. Since then I've accepted that death can take us at anytime." "Even so, a murder almost always ends with a traumatised and troublesome ghost." "I must be special." "You must be. So, have you seen the light yet?" I asked. Liam gave me a confused look in response. I explained, "Your a ghost now, and a calm one at that. In a few moments you'll see a bright light. You need to let that take you over to the other side." "The other side?" he repeated. I nodded and added, "The place where a ghost goes when they leave the corporeal world." Liam looked around and took a deep breath. He was looking over my shoulder now, as if there was something there. "You see it?" I asked. He nodded and then asked, "What's on the other side?" I ignored the question and stood in one motion, before dusting myself off and grinning down at the ghost before me. "Do you want the lie or the truth?" I asked. "Truth." "Then I don't know. I've never died remember? I just make sure you crossover. I've never crossed over myself," I explained. Liam considered that for a moment and then stood up. "That makes sense, I suppose. So what do I do? Just accept it?" he asked. I nodded. "The light will take you and you'll crossover without too much trouble." "I understand. Thank you, Mr. Reaper," Liam added as he stepped across the rooftop, toward where he saw the light. "Mr. Reaper?" I repeated with a disgruntled look. "You never told me your name, so its the best I can do." He shrugged as he spoke. "I'm Sasha." "Sasha? Your nothing like the Reaper I'd have expected to encounter in the living world," he chuckled to himself. He suddenly stopped and went as quiet as the dead could be. A moment later he faded and just like that crossed over into the next world. I took a deep breath and exhaled.
I'd been doing the job now for almost three hundred years, and as a result the modern world had taken its toll over how the Reapers ran their business around the world. It was now designed much like a business these days. I had recieved payment in advance for coming down here and making sure that Liam Penber's ghost didn't loose control and go mad. I lived alot like humans did. I had an apartment in the middle of Los Angeles, ate and slept like most humans did. I suppose, the main difference between me and normal humans was the whole immortality thing and the fact I could kill with one touch of my hand. Believe or not Reapers weren't invincible to damage and harm. I'd learned this the hard way in the earlier days of being a Reaper and as a result now had a scar along my right forearm. It was a small cut that had bled and healed a little faster than most humans would have done. It was a reminder that, like vampires, we would live forever but it was possible to kill us. Removal of the head and heart was a sure-fire method of killing us, but problem is most Reapers are never targeted for death themselves. For one reason the Reaper does a job that needs to be done in order to maintain balance in the natural world, and for another reason you have the problem of taking on a Reaper. How do you fight something that can kill you with one touch? I'd not had the pleasure of encountering hostiles much throughout the three hundred years I'd worked.
I reached for the true-blue skies and stretched as a yawn escaped me. It was noon but I hadn't been sleeping well. I was much more of a nocturnal creature than the early-bird varieties. I blamed the fact my body was still in its teens and as a result, a little lazy around the edges. I grinned at the thought and turned, I needed sleep before my Liaison decided to burden me with another assignment. I spoke too soon. I took three steps and then stopped. The world swam in streamers of colour and shattered. I raised my arms and laced my fingers together behind my head while I sighed loudly. The world around me solidified. I was standing now in a reception. Tall windows lined an east-facing wall, while a curved desk sat at one end of the room. Three plush couches lined the wall opposite the windows. A slender woman with a pale complexion, dark red hair bound in a ponytail behind her, and a pair of trim black glasses perched on her small nose. She typed away on a keyboard of a computer, while she glanced at me with pale grey eyes over the top of those glasses. I sighed again and crossed the reception's polished floors and nodded to the receptionist. "Miranda, how are you keeping?" I asked politely. "Fine. Mr. Xander is expecting you, Sasha," she replied as she continued typing away at her keyboard. A white blouse with ruffles at the breast-line brightened that cold disposition of hers. She wasn't rude. That was just Miranda, a stern-faced beauty who'd worked under my Liaison for a good two hundred years now. Even in the earliest stages of her working for my Liaison, she'd been the same, focused and determined where work was concerned. "Thanks, Miranda," I replied as I passed the reception and headed down a corridor off one corner of the enormous room. The corridor sloped down with a crimson carpet lining the floor, before a tall, broad oaken door with dark-bronze trim and a bronze handle spilled from the shadowed corridor.
I took another deep breath and exhaled. I reached down and turned the handle. I heard several locks flick open and then pushed. I hated these moments. Believe it or not, but I didn't get on with Xander, even though he was my Death Liaison, the Reaper who determined what assignments I completed. Chances are, he'd brought me here for another assignment. Problem is, while Miranda is straight to the point and blunt, her employer tends to be more of a theatrical mastermind. I sighed and closed the door behind me, not looking into the room.
A deep chuckle filled the air around me as I turned and faced one of the more annoying Reapers I'd ever encountered: Xander Haynes.