His Name Was Death (Dead Man's Tale Book 1) (6 page)

All because of Chris.

A name may seem inconsequential in the grand scheme, but it signified so much more.

It was all I had left.

I made every effort to calm my voice, and almost succeeded. “How do I pick a new name?”

Elliott cocked his head to one side; I assumed he heard the tremor in my words, but was good enough not to mention it. “You may select any name that catches your interest.”

I stopped in the middle of the room, turning to face him.

“I choose Henry Michael Richards.”

Elliott’s lips spread in his disturbing smile. “Any name but that.”

I shook my head stubbornly, angry. “I’m not choosing anything else.”

“Listen, Reaper…”

A knock at the door, loud and insistent, interrupted Elliott mid-thought.

We both froze in surprise, staring at the door.

“No one knows we are here,” Elliott whispered softly.

My tension rose another notch.

I wasn’t ready for any more surprises.

The knock came again. While it was still echoing ominously through the small apartment, there was a third knock.

In a halting voice, I called out, “Who’s there?”

“Dammit, son.” Joshua’s voice was unmistakable, even muffled by the door. “Let me in.”

My heart began to race.

The last time I’d seen the man, he hadn’t been a man at all. I’d been running from a monster, in a frenzied panic.

That panic began to return.

Only now, I had nowhere to run.

VI

A Reaper by Any Other Name

I stood still, in shock and fear.

After several seconds, the door unlocked itself and swung inward.

Joshua filled the doorway, but he was just a stooped old man again, using his cane for balance.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

He stepped in briskly, and the door swung shut and locked itself behind him.

Elliott nodded to Joshua as he entered. “Joshua.”

With a strained smile, he nodded to the cat in return. “Good morning, Elliott.” He then turned toward me, scowling. “Dying is no excuse for forgetting your manners, son.”

I smiled uneasily. “It’s good to see you too, Joshua.”

He grunted, shuffling past me to the couch, where he settled down heavily. “It’s been a long damn night, and I’m tired.”

Elliott spread out over Joshua’s lap, and Joshua began to scratch absentmindedly behind the cat’s ears. The purr was as big as the cat himself; I could feel the vibrations through the floor halfway across the room.

When Elliott spoke, the words were deep and gravelly, laden with the sound of his pleasure. “This is quite the unusual situation.”

Joshua nodded. “Yes, it is. That’s why I went to see Atropos.”

The purring ceased abruptly, the sudden silence almost deafening. Elliott slowly withdrew from Joshua’s lap to stand beside him, eyes wide. “You found her?”

Joshua nodded again. “For once, yes.” He hesitated briefly before adding, “I think she wanted to be found.”

“Wait,” I said, confused. “Who’s this Atropos?”

Joshua stared at me long and hard, before finally sighing. “She’s
my
boss.”

I stepped forward excitedly. “What did she say?”

He shook his head. “She said I’m an old damn fool.” His voice was harsh and bitter. “She said I should mind my own damn business.” He stood angrily. “She said, ‘Henry Richards is a Reaper, like any damn other—treat him like any damn other.’”

My momentary excitement popped like a bubble, leaving a giant void. Anger and frustration washed in like a flood to fill the sudden empty space.

“So,” Joshua continued, “I’m here to teach you how to be a damn Reaper.”

A terrifying image filled my mind’s eye—Joshua not as he stood before me now, but as a robed, skeletal specter of death. That might be him, but it was not me.

It would never be me.

“No,” I responded, soft but firm.

Joshua crossed the space between us slowly, like a lithe animal stalking prey, moving now much differently than the stooped old man that had shuffled into the apartment. He cocked his head to one side, raising his ear to me, as if he hadn’t heard clearly.

“What was that?” The voice sounded very dangerous.

My own response sounded no less so. “Elliott told me the rules. I’ll keep it in my pants, and I’ll keep your secrets. But I
will not
be reaping any souls.”

Joshua snorted, shaking his head. He turned toward the couch, where Elliott cringed under his stare. “Has this Reaper chosen his name yet?”

Elliott mewed, shaking his head. “No, he refused.”

The stare turned to me. “What’s your name, Reaper?”

I growled menacingly, looking down at him. “Henry Michael Richards.”

Joshua pushed me hard in the chest, and I stumbled back several steps.

“What’s your name, Reaper?” His voice was tense and tight.

My anger boiled just below the surface, barely contained. I strode quickly back to Joshua, until we stood toe to toe. My words were barely a whisper, short and clipped. “Henry…Michael…Richards.”

Joshua pushed me again, his strength surprising for a man of his age. I slammed up against the wall. I looked up, ready to lunge at him, but Joshua had already crossed the gap, his face in mine.

“What is your name, Reaper?”

The dam burst.

Every emotion, every frustration, every loss, it all came rushing forth in an uncontrollable torrent. I was dead. I’d lost Michelle. I’d lost Steve.

I’d lost everything.

My scream was inhuman.

I reached out for Joshua, grabbing him by the lapels. My new body was strong like I’d never known before; in a single smooth motion I spun and rammed him into the wall, pinning him over a foot off the floor.

I heard something snap at the impact.

Elliott yowled behind me.

Yelling, I spit the words into his face. “
Henry!  Michael!  Richards!”

Joshua gasped, wincing; pain was plainly etched across his face.

My anger evaporated in an instant. I released him and stumbled back.

He landed heavily, leaning forward over his cane, and this time there was no doubt he’d fall over without it. Joshua took several shaky, shallow breaths, before calmly addressing Elliott as if nothing had happened.

“Michael, his middle name, will work for now. It doesn’t exactly break the rules.” He looked at me. “Michael Reaper, I think…it’s as close as we can get to ‘John Doe.’” He smiled weakly.

“Yes, sir,” the cat responded softly.

“Joshua, I…” I tentatively stepped forward.

He shook his head, waving his hand dismissively. “Listen, son, you’re going through a hell of a lot, and I know you want answers. Hell,
I
want answers.” He sighed. “Neither of us is getting them.”

He took a long, deep, shaky breath before continuing. “Like it or not, you’re a Reaper now. I honestly don’t know what will happen if you ignore your assignments. This is all new territory. I doubt it’ll be as easy as you think.”

Joshua shuffled forward with his cane, wincing at every step. He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder; it was oppressively heavy. “Good luck…I mean it. You know where to find me, if you need anything—anything at all.”

I stood in shock as he turned slowly and departed.

I’d never been that angry before. It left me feeling drained and empty. I’m not sure how long I stood frozen like that.

A burning need to apologize overwhelmed me suddenly. I darted out into the hallway to find Joshua.

Of course, he wasn’t there.

But I wasn’t alone.

A sultry female voice from across the hall caught me off guard. “Well, my new neighbor is a Reaper. What will
that
do to the property values?”

In my haste, I’d failed to notice the woman. As I looked now, my new
Sight
presented a slightly disorienting double image.

To the naked eye, a woman in her late twenties stood at the door across from mine, withdrawing her key from the deadbolt. She didn’t quite reach my shoulder, standing maybe five foot two. Long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and bright blue eyes mirrored the easy smile on her lips.

Her features were clearly Caucasian, but tinged with the barest hint of Asia: someone generations back had dipped their toe in another gene pool, at a time when such things must still have been very taboo. It gave her a comfortably familiar look that also managed to suggest a touch of the exotic. Her clothing was simple and casual: jeans, light pink blouse, and sandals.

There was nothing overtly sexual about her, and yet she exuded a strong, undeniable allure.

The
Sight
revealed…more.

Superimposed over her clothing was a skimpy negligee; had she worn nothing else, it would leave little to the imagination. Two small white horns protruded from the woman’s head. A long, slender phantom of a tail swished lazily behind her.

The sight was so unexpected, it took a moment for my mind to process it all.

Panic then flared.

“Hi,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’m Emma, your cute and friendly next door neighbor.”

She extended her hand.

I took a nervous step back.

Emma frowned slightly, sensing my apprehension. “See, this is typically the part where you shake my hand and tell me
your
name. I could just call you Reaper, I suppose; do you have any other name?”

I fled back into my apartment, Joshua forgotten, and slammed the door. I slid to the floor, my back barring the entry…just in case.

Elliott approached tentatively. “Is everything all right?”

“The woman across the hall,” I stammered, “she’s a…a…a…”

“A demoness,” Elliott offered helpfully.

“Yes.” I desperately wanted to swallow, but my mouth was far too dry.

He settled on his haunches and nodded. “A succubus, I believe, to be completely accurate—a seductress, a jezebel—a female demon that uses sexuality to tempt men into sin. Filthy job for an Agent.”

I jerked. Right, of course…just an Agent, like me, only…

Only a freaking demon.

I shivered. “Elliott, how often would you find two Agents in the same building?”

Elliott dipped his head in another of his shrugs. “Fairly often; to be honest, I would be surprised if you are the only two here. The landlord is an old, blind Chinese man who likes rent paid in cash and asks very few questions. It is an ideal location for your kind.”

So, just a horrendously unfortunate coincidence.

Or, maybe, it was something else entirely.

“Do you think it’s safe?”

Elliott looked at me, confused. “Safe?”

“Living across the hall from…her?”

“Well,” Elliott said, pondering, “she is just an Agent, like yourself. Unlike you, though, she
is
an Agent of Evil. I would advise strong caution, but if she has no reason to be your enemy I cannot imagine there is any need to worry.”

If she has no reason…that was just perfect.

Chris had warned me the full might of Hell was already on the hunt.

And that they would find me.

But I doubt he realized a part of Hell’s “full might” lived right across the hall.

VII

Red and Black

Michelle sits slumped forward on the corner of the bed. Her jeans and t-shirt lie crumpled on the floor; her bra, unclasped, hangs loosely from her arms. She has the look of a broken doll, dropped by a distracted child.

Normally beautiful eyes, wide in shock, sit sunken in a face drained of color. Michelle’s dark, rich brown skin is unnaturally pale. Both hands are pressed to her abdomen, just below the bare left breast; blood, thick and red, spills over them.

Red so dark, it’s almost black.

I go numb, unable to comprehend the scene before me. My body reacts without direction, lurching into the room toward her.

“Michelle!”

Her head turns slowly, through a series of small jerks…driven by reflex more than intent. A blank stare misses me completely, as if I am invisible. She focuses with a lurch, features flooding with concern.

Apparently unable to speak, she emphatically mouths a single word.

Run!

Two pops sound from the dark. Despair registers clearly in Michelle’s eyes; a thick, deep red fluid splashes across her body and stains the bedding.

It looks like blood.

It isn’t hers.

A white hot, blinding flash
inside
my eyes split across the dream, tearing it apart. I lurched into a sitting position, all at once awake, disoriented
—
but thankful to leave my nightmares behind
.

The scene was strange at first…unfamiliar. Blinds were drawn over the room’s only window; the dim light filtering through suggested early morning, or late evening. The bedding wasn’t mine, and neither was the furniture. For a handful of seconds, I couldn’t remember where I was, trapped in the fog of my dreams.

Seeing Elliott jogged my memory. He lay sprawled at the foot of the bed, all four paws splayed in the air, with the back right one twitching irregularly. His tongue stuck partway out of his mouth, and the rasp in his breath sounded suspiciously like snoring.

My distinguished advisor.

I looked slowly around the room. I was a Grim Reaper now—a freaking Angel of Death—living in a crappy Chinatown apartment. My neighbor was a demon who probably wanted to kill me. My job was to steal the souls of people who didn’t want to die.

And, somehow, I was meant to stop the Apocalypse.

And I had to use the bathroom.

Apparently Agents weren’t exempt from normal bodily functions—which was actually kind of comforting, in an odd sort of way.

As I climbed out of bed, heading for the bathroom, the door to the living room burst into flame.

I stumbled backward, raising both hands to shield my face. I expected an army of the damned to burst in at any moment, Emma at its head, ready to tear me into small, bloody pieces. It took several seconds for me to realize there was no army—not even heat or any smoke.

I lowered my hands carefully. The door wasn’t on fire. Instead, it flashed with a bright red light, like some sort of deranged traffic signal.

I turned and kicked the bed, shaking Elliot awake.

He hissed briefly in response. “What is it?”

I pointed at the door. “Why the hell is it flashing?”

His eyes slowly traced the line my finger indicated, hesitating briefly before returning to my face. His voice sounded confused, still laden with sleep. “Flashing?”

I nodded fervently. “Can’t you see it?”

Elliott wiped his eyes with the back of a paw before examining the door. He was still and silent for several seconds. “Oh,” he said abruptly. “It must be your first assignment. Your
Sight
is showing the way.”

I guess the
Sight
isn’t big on subtlety.

“And you didn’t think to mention
that…
” I waved both hands at the crazily flashing door, “
…
last night?”

My companion yawned widely before answering. “You were not particularly interested in details, last night. And, to be fair, you are my first Reaper.”

“Perfect.” I shook my head, bemused. “On top of everything else, they gave me the new guy.”

Elliott growled softly. “Pardon me, but while this may be my first time working directly with a Reaper, I have been doing this work for nearly thirty years.”

“
Thirty
years?” I scoffed. “I thought cats lived like ten?”

The response came with a sniff. “You should stick to your strengths, Reaper, of which
thought
is clearly not one. The average lifespan of an American house cat is fourteen to twenty years.”

I cocked my eyebrow and waited.

“This is my third life.”

That, of course, explained
everything
.

The flashing red light filled the room, and I eyed the door suspiciously.

Elliott asked, “Are we going to follow the beacon?”

I shook my head. “No.”

I strode purposefully through the only other door available, into the bathroom. I relieved myself and took a long, unrushed shower while the sun finished setting, and the door continued to pulse in another room.

I washed myself three times over, examining my new body. I made certain that not only was everything present, but also…in working order. After almost thirty minutes, the hot water ran out on me.

Belatedly, I realized there was no towel in the bathroom.

It turned out not to be a problem.

The robe had shrunk to a small rune-carved stone on a leather thong, both in black, when I entered the shower. Now, as I stepped out, it swirled around me. My body was dried fully in seconds, before my thoughts changed the robe back into jeans, a green t-shirt, and tennis shoes.

I steeled myself with a long, deep breath before stepping out of the bathroom.

Elliott sat on the bed, his back right paw stretched impossibly far forward so he could groom the haunch. The door was, once again, just a door.

I released a breath I’d never intended to hold.

Elliott stopped mid tongue stroke to examine me quizzically.

“The door,” I said. “It’s no longer flashing.”

His response sounded amused. “Of course not, Reaper. How long did you expect it to wait?”

I laughed uneasily, unsure of what else to say.

My stomach tightened painfully, growling.

I was intensely hungry, a fact I was just now finally calm enough to notice. I had no idea how long it’d been since this body had eaten.

I shivered at the thought, speaking quickly to distract myself. “Let’s do something about breakfast.”

Elliott looked out the window. “Or, perhaps, dinner.”

I reached instinctively for my cell phone to check the time, before realizing I no longer had one.

Except that I did.

On the battered nightstand sat an old flip phone and a worn, brown leather wallet. The wallet contained an ID and debit card, both bearing my picture and the name Michael Reaper; I grimaced at the name I wasn’t willing to accept. There were also a few twenties, and a one-hundred-dollar bill. I pulled one of the twenties from the wallet and it was immediately replaced by a crisp new bill.

No sound, no fanfare—it was just suddenly there.

Okay. That was, admittedly, pretty cool.

I only hesitated briefly before reaching for the bedroom door. The knob turned as you’d expect, and the door swung open, unremarkable in every way.

My living room looked exactly as I remembered, with nothing out of place. “What do you say, Elliott? A nice bowl of Friskies?”

I saw what looked like a sneer, but I didn’t have a chance to hear his response.

A bright white flash cut across my vision. This time, though, it was more than simply light; a bell tolled within my head, causing my teeth to chatter.

The apartment’s front door began to flash bright red.

“Damn it,” I growled. “Our friend is back.”

Elliott dipped his head in a shrug. “That is to be expected. Your assignments will not simply go away.”

I turned my back on the beacon to search the kitchen, but there was nothing to eat. That left me, really, only one choice.

The flashing door was currently blocking my only exit.

My stomach growled again.

“This is stupid.”

I wasn’t going to starve myself just because the door had turned itself into some sort of crazy, creepy strobe light. I crossed the room with more confidence than I felt, and grabbed the knob after a few quick steps.

Elliott cleared his throat to get my attention, and then spoke without waiting to see if he had it. “My role is to support and guide you; under the circumstances, I feel that role should be more active early on. I will accompany you everywhere you go these first couple of days.”

He added, “My ability to speak freely will, obviously, be limited outside of this apartment.”

I opened the door with a smile. “No offense, but that will be a refreshing change.”

My companion mewed.

Up less than an hour, and I already had him cussing. This might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

If he didn’t kill me in my sleep.

As I opened the door, the red beacon vanished.

Or, rather, moved.

The stairway down flashed to red, strobing life.

I looked around carefully for any signs of my demonic neighbor. The hallway appeared empty. Still, I hesitated.

My stomach, insistent, growled angrily.

I moved quickly into the stairway, Elliott close on my heels. The red beacon led us down through the building and out the front door.

The beacon bounced happily down the street to the left, stopping about a block down to wait for us.

I pointedly ignored it, turning to the right.

Behind me, the light vanished with a soft hiss.

It sounded vaguely frustrated.

“No pet in my store!”

Chinatown is full of small Asian groceries and restaurants, but it’s amazing how many of them close early in the evening. We walked nearly four blocks, through a sea of dark storefronts, before we found the “Asian Apple,” a convenience store open late.

The clerk, though, apparently took offense at my companion.

I looked down at Elliott with a smirk. “Oh, he’s not mine…just some filthy stray.”

The cat responded with narrowed eyes and a growl.

Wielding a broom, the owner rushed from behind the counter. He shouted “shoo” several times while swinging his weapon. Elliott hissed once or twice, but ultimately relented; he darted back out the front door as I held it open for him.

I snickered softly, walking down the main aisle.

“That was not particularly funny, Reaper.” Elliott sat, half hidden, behind a small pyramid of twelve-packs.

“How the hell did you get back in?”

The cat scoffed, his tone suggesting the question itself was pointless, “I am a cat.”