Grave Intentions (14 page)
Authors: Lori Sjoberg
David blew out a frustrated breath. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
“I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Christ.” David dragged a hand through his hair, reminding himself that violence wasn’t the answer, even though it had a laundry list of tangible benefits.
“What’s the big deal?” Adam nudged David with his elbow. “She’s interested in you; you’re obviously interested in her. I say go for it. God knows you need to crank out a good one.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Adam made a guttural sound in the back of his throat. “Of course it is. It’s basic biology.” He pressed his point by making a pumping gesture with his fist.
Not wanting to draw attention, David resisted the urge to give Adam a good smack upside the head. “No, there’s more to it than that. I can’t give her what she needs.”
“How do you know what she needs? When’s the last time you asked her?” Adam didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “For all you know, she might be in the market for a friend with benefits.”
He seriously doubted Sarah was looking for a casual hookup with the harbinger of Death. Besides, she deserved better. She deserved a man who would love her until she turned old and gray, a partner to share the rest of her life with. And he sure as hell didn’t meet the general qualifications.
“Passion doesn’t come along often, boss man. You’ve got to embrace it when the opportunity presents itself.”
David pinned Adam with a withering glare. “Drop it.”
“Fine, have it your way. Go ahead and piss away the chance to be with a beautiful woman who—for some strange reason that I’ll never understand in a million years—actually wants your sorry ass.” Adam looked at David as if he were trying to talk physics with a kid who just hopped off the short bus. “I’m telling you, you’re blowing it. She’s got the hots for you, and if you had a functional brain in your head, you’d go for it.”
If only he could. He thought of Sarah and the dull ache in his soul twisted, turning into a longing so fierce it damn near left him breathless. It wasn’t a question of attraction. He’d spent half the night fantasizing about all the things he wanted to do with her. He hadn’t felt this passionate about a woman in years. Hell, he hadn’t felt this passionate about much of anything since the Reagan administration.
It would be so easy to give in to the temptation. But opening his heart to Sarah would also unleash a Pandora’s box of darker emotions, ones that had taken him years to wrestle under control. Without the emotional disconnect, his mind had no protection against the constant exposure to death and brutality. No way would he risk losing that.
“Have you found the target?” David asked, changing the subject to the job at hand.
Adam shot him a dark look, but let the matter drop. His brows furrowed while his eyes scanned the surrounding cityscape. After a couple minutes he shook his head. “No, I can’t sense this one yet.”
“City reaps are always a bitch to pin down,” David said, his eyes surveying the scenery in search of their four-fifteen. He could sense death fast approaching, but with the crowded scene it was like finding a needle in a haystack.
Already, the streets bustled with late afternoon traffic. Drivers wove in and out of lanes, cutting off other cars and blowing red lights. Harried pedestrians darted across busy streets, not always cautious enough to wait for the signal or use the crosswalk. Nearby, a construction crew worked eight stories up, the men relaying and acknowledging orders in English and Spanish over the continuous rumble of construction machinery. A block away at the courthouse, a rush of people poured out of the exits.
“Jury duty must have let out early,” Adam murmured, his eyes still darting from person to person.
A scream from above caught both men’s attention. David’s gaze tracked high, to the top of the building under construction, just in time to see a worker in a bright yellow hardhat slip from his perch on a steel girder. The safety harness snapped, sending the dark-skinned man plunging to the concrete below. The scream ended abruptly when he hit facedown with a dull, sickening thud, a thick cloud of dirt and concrete dust billowing up from the impact like a mushroom cloud.
“Let’s roll,” David said right before he broke into a run. He scaled the concrete barricade and knelt beside the fallen worker, intent on finishing the job as quickly as possible.
Within seconds, a crowd formed around the site of the accident. Bystanders gawked while the construction foreman rushed to the scene, shouting into his cell phone for an ambulance.
“Want me to take this one?” Adam knelt down on the other side of the body. He pressed two fingers to the man’s neck, pretending to check for a pulse.
“No, I got it,” David replied, ignoring the pungent stench of death, sweat, and concrete dust. The crowd was growing larger by the minute. As much as Adam needed the practice, priority rested on collecting the soul and leaving the scene before anyone got any bright ideas about posting the incident on YouTube. “Go get the car. I’ll meet you at Orange and Amelia in five.”
He turned his attention back to the dead man, determined to harvest the man’s soul without further delay. The crowd was moving closer, drawn by a morbid curiosity all humans possessed.
“Oh my God!” one woman said as she inched closer to the barricade. She went up on her tiptoes to get a better look. “Do you think he’s dead?”
“Gee, nothing gets past you, Einstein,” David growled under his breath, his patience wearing thin. The man had been dead for over a minute, and the soul still hadn’t made its departure. He redoubled his efforts, reaching out with his mind to prod the soul. “Come on, you lazy bastard. I ain’t got all day.”
A little more prodding and the soul separated from its host, abandoning its physical form and moving toward David. There was a rush of benevolent warmth as the soul merged with his body, and then David was inundated with the frantic barrage of unfinished business.
Dead? I can’t be dead! NO! My wife’s going to have a baby in two months! How’s she going to make it without me? She don’t make enough to pay the rent! Oh God, I’ll never see my boy grow up! What about my mom? Oh man, she’s going to lose her shit when she finds out I’m gone! This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, it’s all a bad dream. . . .
So caught up in containing the soul, he failed to notice the familiar form approaching from his right.
“David?”
The surrounding ambient noise dimmed to a soft hum, leaving only the sound of that solitary word, spoken with stunned disbelief. Recognition kicked in, and his focus shifted toward the voice in his periphery.
Sarah.
Through the haze of the newly taken soul, he saw her. More to the point, he saw horror and confusion etched into her delicate features.
Holy shit, could she see what he was doing? Impossible. To the human eye he was nothing more than a Good Samaritan providing aid and comfort to a dying man. But her expression told a different story, one of shock, dismay, and abject terror.
“Who . . . what are you?” she stammered, her features blanching. She pressed an unsteady hand against the base of her throat, then turned on her heel and bolted down the street.
He would have followed, but the soul was still being a pain in the ass, railing against its newfound state, desperate to escape and return to a life it no longer held dominion over. By the time he wrangled it under control, she’d disappeared around the corner.
And just like that, the meticulous framework of her structured life came crashing down around her.
“Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip,” Sarah muttered as she jammed the key in the ignition and started her car. Her grip on the wheel was as shaky as her grasp on reality as she sped out of the parking garage and onto Central Avenue.
She’d always wondered how it was going to happen. After so many years of waiting for the other shoe to drop, she’d finally followed family tradition and lost her marbles. It was the only possible explanation for what she’d just witnessed.
She replayed the memory for what had to be the thousandth time, searching for some shred of reality in her delusions. Maybe it was a trick of the mind. Yeah, that had to be it. Maybe she hadn’t seen some unexplainable phenomenon rise from the construction worker’s body and merge with David. A . . . ghost? Spirit? Apparition?
No. That’s not possible.
She shook her head, ruthlessly eliminating the notion from the short list of possibilities.
No. That’s not possible.
She shook her head, ruthlessly eliminating the notion from the short list of possibilities.
There had to be some rational explanation for what she’d seen. Maybe it was the refraction of light off a nearby building, mixing with the cloud of concrete dust to create the optical illusion of an apparition floating around downtown Orlando on a cloudy weekday afternoon.
Or maybe she was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
With Colonial Drive already clogged with bumper-to-bumper traffic, she wove a frantic path through lesser-traveled side streets. All the while her mind raced with panic, desperate to get home before she went completely bonkers.
What was she going to do? Who could she tell? Would they put her on the same drugs they’d given her mother? Or would they opt for the meds that were mixed in with Grandma Pearl’s orange juice every morning? Oh God, she hoped not. Neither option sounded appealing. She didn’t know if she wanted to live under the fog of antipsychotic medication.
Sarah bit the inside of her cheek, focusing on the pain so she wouldn’t cry. Ever since her mother died, she’d hoped to avoid the family curse and live a normal life without a side order of crazy. But now she knew she couldn’t outrun bad genetics. Try as she might, she was just another nut on the family tree.
She swung into her apartment complex and took the spot closest to her building, her front tires bumping against the curb when she came to an abrupt stop. Breaking from her usual routine, she didn’t bother picking up the mail and headed straight for her apartment.
Okay, now what? She paced the length of her living room like a caged animal, her breathing as erratic as her thoughts. Her mind worked overtime, bouncing from tangent to tangent with such speed she couldn’t latch on to any one thought for a prolonged period of time. She wanted to cry, wanted to break something, wanted to run away and deny the inevitable. She considered cracking open a bottle of wine to settle her nerves, but quickly abandoned the idea. Crazy
and
drunk didn’t sound like a winning combination.
and
drunk didn’t sound like a winning combination.
Feeling a sudden, strong pull of exhaustion, she sank down on the couch and buried her head in her hands. She stayed that way for the longest time, until a brisk knock at the door had her nearly jumping out of her seat.
“Sarah?”
Great, it was David, the object of her hallucinations. Should she thank him for showing her the light or tell him to buzz off?
Coward that she was, she opted for the latter. “Go away!”
“Sarah, we need to talk.” The door handle jiggled.
Thank God she’d had enough sense to flip the bolt when she came in. “I said go away!”
“I just want to talk,” David said, his voice strained with a sense of urgency. The door handle jiggled again. “Please, Sarah. I’m not going anywhere until you open this door.”
Sarah sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Knowing David, he’d knock until his knuckles bled, so she might as well get this over with. Before she had the chance to change her mind, she crossed the room, flipped the bolt, and yanked open the door.
The concern on David’s face nearly did her in. She straightened her spine, fighting back the urge to throw herself into his arms and accept his unspoken offer of comfort.
“You want to talk? Fine.” She stalked over to the couch and sank down on the cushions. Feeling more mulish by the second, she propped her feet on the coffee table and folded her arms across her chest. “Start talking.”
chapter 11
David could only imagine what Sarah was thinking. It wasn’t every day a mortal witnessed the delicate transition between life and death. Actually, it was something mortals were supposedly incapable of seeing. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he planned on finding out.
“About what happened downtown,” David said as he stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. This was uncharted territory for him, too. He needed to determine what she knew so he could figure out how to best proceed. “I’m not sure what you think you saw, but—”
“What I
think
I saw?” Sarah glared at him, her chin tipped up and her expression tight with tension. Looking beyond the anger, he found uncertainty in her eyes, and a quiver in her lower lip that gnawed at his heart. “You wouldn’t believe me in a million years.”
think
I saw?” Sarah glared at him, her chin tipped up and her expression tight with tension. Looking beyond the anger, he found uncertainty in her eyes, and a quiver in her lower lip that gnawed at his heart. “You wouldn’t believe me in a million years.”
“Try me.” He walked over to the couch and took a seat on the opposite end. “Talk to me, Sarah. Let me help.”
She met his gaze then, her eyes filled with such unspoken anguish he almost gave in to the urge to gather her into his arms. Reaching back, she pulled the elastic band from her hair and raked her fingers across her scalp. “You don’t understand. You can’t help.”
“You won’t know until you give it a try.” He inched a little closer and laid his hand over hers. She flinched at his touch, but before long the tension in her muscles began to relax.
Then the anger in her expression melted a little, giving way to brittle desolation. When she spoke again, her voice came close to cracking. “It’s finally happened, hasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Her eyes tracked right to the bookcase against the far wall, focusing on the pictures on the top shelf. “Oh yeah, that’s right. I never told you about my mother, did I?” She muttered something under her breath, too low for him to make out the words.
Not wanting to spook her, he kept his voice calm and even. “No, you didn’t. Why don’t you tell me, Sarah?”
“Oh, you’re going to love this one.” She let out a short, bitter laugh, then took a deep breath and released it slowly. Almost a full minute passed before she spoke again. “Did I ever tell you how my grandmother raised me?”
David shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Well, my grandmother raised me because my mother died when I was seven.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about. It’s not like you did it.” Her mouth dropped open, the last bits of color draining from her face. “Oh God, you didn’t do it, did you?”
“What? No! Of course not.” Well, not that he was aware of. He did a quick check of the math, realized he was working in Atlanta around the time her mother passed, and let out a mental sigh of relief.
Sarah tipped her head back and stared up at the ceiling. “My mother . . . my mother used to hear voices. And see things.” She cast a quick glance in David’s direction, as if she was unsure if he was real or a figment of her imagination. “Grandma always said she had the sight, but everybody else in town knew she was crazy as a loon.”
David kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt.
“Momma used to drink. A lot. She said it made the voices hush up for a little while. One night, she tried to drive home after one too many and got pulled over by the police. They arrested her for drunk driving, and when she told them about the voices, they locked her up in the psych ward at Chattahoochee. The doctors later diagnosed her as paranoid schizophrenic.”
A faint Southern accent had bled into her words, something David never noticed before. Did the accent only come out when she got upset, or did she intentionally cover it up?
“They put her on drugs,” Sarah continued, her expression turning impossibly bleak. “Powerful drugs. They were supposed to keep the voices quiet.”
“Did they work?”
Sarah nodded. She picked up one of the multicolored throw pillows and hugged it against her body like a shield. “For a little while. But the voices eventually came back, so she took a little more. And a little more. And then one day, she took a little too much.”
Slowly, she turned her head in David’s direction, her face filled with such raw anguish it twisted his heart . Without thinking, he took her hand in his and gave it a light squeeze.
“They never determined if she took her life intentionally or if the overdose was accidental.” She shrugged. “I guess we’ll never know for sure.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“Well, how could you?” She sounded bitter, resigned. “And now it looks like I’m following the grand old family tradition.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh really? And what would you call delusions of seeing ghosts in the middle of downtown Orlando? It certainly doesn’t fall within the parameters of normal cognitive behavior.”
Silence stretched tight between them.
With a good deal of smooth talking, he could probably convince her that what she’d seen was no more than her mind playing tricks on her. She was fiercely analytical by nature, with an intellect that searched for the most reasonable and plausible explanation.
But he couldn’t bring himself to take the easy way out. No, she deserved to know the truth. The poor woman had unnecessarily tormented herself for years, fearful of her own talents and abilities, convinced they were no more than the portents of insanity.
David gathered his courage, took a deep breath, and then broke one of the cardinal rules of reapers. “It was a soul.”
Sarah’s brow crinkled as she pulled her hand free from his grip. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t see a ghost.” David blew out another deep breath, clenched and unclenched his hands, and took the plunge. “What you witnessed this afternoon at the construction site. It was a soul.”
“A soul,” she said, the words coming out in a dull monotone. Her features hardened as she gave him a level glare. Then she let out a faint, cynical laugh and shook her head in disbelief. “That’s just great. You’re even crazier than I am.”
“I’m not crazy, and neither are you. What you saw was the soul of the man who fell off the scaffolding.” David flexed his hands and steeled his resolve before diving feet-first into the CliffsNotes edition of Soul Harvesting 101. “When a person dies, their soul crosses over to the next realm; Heaven or Hell, for lack of a better word, depending on the quality of their character. But if someone dies an unnatural death, they require a little . . .” He paused, rubbing at the growing tension in the back of his neck. “Assistance . . . moving on. That’s where I come in.”
“Come in how?” she asked, looking at him as if he were trying to sell her swampland in the Everglades.
He stared at his sneakers for a few seconds while he figured out what to say next. Finally, he spared her a glance, meeting her eyes. “I collect their souls.”
Her expression changed from skeptical to pissed off in less than a second. “Very funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
“Oh really?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “So you honestly expect me to believe you’re the goddamn Grim Reaper?”
“Yes. Well, one of them. There’s way too much work for one person to handle.”
Sarah’s eyes narrowed with anger. “That has to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! And that says a lot, considering I grew up with Grandma Pearl.”
“I understand this might be difficult for you to accept.”
“You think?” Her voice grew louder, higher pitched. “What you’re telling me is totally implausible! You have no supporting evidence to substantiate any of these ridiculous claims.”
So she demanded proof, huh? Considering her personality, it wasn’t too surprising. Well, since he’d already gone this far, he might as well throw in the whole nine yards. Moving to the kitchen, he pulled a knife out of the butcher block.
“Remember when I got hurt and you patched me up? Remember how the cuts were gone the next time you saw me?”
“Yes, but it was almost a week later. You’re a fast healer.” Her focus locked on the knife as he approached. “What are you doing with that?”
Ignoring Sarah’s question, David knelt down beside her and held the knife out. He wanted her to get a good look at it so she’d know he wasn’t playing tricks. “Yes, I do heal quickly. My job has what you might call a heightened level of risk exposure. As a result, my kind are designed to sustain heavy damage. Watch this.”
Without further explanation, he sliced the blade across the inside of his left arm. The cut stung, but he ignored the pain, keeping his gaze locked with hers.
“Are you crazy?” Sarah grabbed for the knife but he held it out of reach.
“Just watch.” He set the knife on the coffee table, and then stretched his arm out in front of her so she could see for herself.
The cut was relatively shallow, a thin red line on the surface of his skin. Nothing in comparison to his previous injuries, but enough to prove his point. The bleeding stopped within seconds, and in less than a minute the cut sealed, the only evidence a faint line along his forearm. Another few seconds and the line disappeared, leaving his skin unblemished. He repeated the exercise two more times, allowing her to watch the cuts heal faster than possible for any mortal.
“Again?” he asked, holding the blade over his arm.
“No!”
Sarah bolted from the couch and shot across the room like a scalded cat. Her arms were crossed, her right hand rubbing her left arm as if suddenly chilled. She turned back at the window, giving David a look of intense scrutiny.
“You’re a-a-a—” As her voice trailed off her face turned white, and for a moment she looked like she might pass out. Her breathing was heavy and uneven, her eyes wide and unblinking. David inched a little closer just in case, but she managed to hold it together.
“We’ve been given many names over the years, but Grim Reaper is the term you’re probably most familiar with.”
She swallowed hard, her expression wavering between fear and skepticism. “But . . . aren’t you supposed to wear all black or something?”
“It’s not very practical with the heat and humidity,” David said, trying hard not to smile even though he found humor in the question. “Besides, it makes it difficult to blend.” He took a step forward and felt a stab of disappointment when she took a defensive step back. “I’m not going to hurt you, Sarah. I’d never hurt you. I promise.”
“You’re not?”
He shook his head again and moved closer. This time, she stayed put.
Tentatively, she reached out, barely touching his chest as if she feared her fingers might pass through his body.
“For Christ’s sake, Sarah, I’m not Casper. I’m flesh and blood, just like you.” David grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand against his chest. She flinched at first, but then her muscles relaxed, and her hand finally stopped shaking.
He watched the emotions play over her face, from panic to fear to inquisitiveness to absolute wonder.
For the next hour, he fielded her questions. Some he could answer, some he couldn’t. She possessed an inherent curiosity, brimming with the desire to bridge the gaps in her knowledge. She started with the basics: How did someone become a reaper? Is a reaper still human? How is a soul harvested? Why was it even necessary? From there she branched out, asking detailed questions about David’s life, before and after his current incarnation.
“How long have you been doing this?”
“Sixty years, give or take,” David replied, leaning back against the couch cushions. He regarded her with wary eyes, trying to gauge her reaction. She seemed to be taking things well, but who knows how she’d handle it once everything sunk in.
Sarah’s brows shot up so far they almost touched her hairline. “Sixty?” Her gaze tracked over his body, the intensity in her eyes making him shift in his seat. “You’re in pretty good shape for an old guy. When were you born?”
“1925.”
She paused, probably doing the math. Then she nodded. “Makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Well, yes. Your body is young, but sometimes your eyes have the sadness of an old soul.” She shrugged. “It sort of makes sense now.”
He didn’t know what to make of her last statement. He wasn’t sad. Hadn’t been in a very long time. Resigned, yes, and more than a little bitter. But he’d closed himself off from the remaining sentiments a long time ago, preferring the cold comfort of indifference to the pain associated with deeper emotions.
“One more question,” Sarah said, pulling David from his moment of introspection.
“Yes?”
“Could you show me again, the harvesting of a soul?” she asked, the uncertainty returning to her voice. “So I can reconcile this all in my mind?”
His first instinct was to give her a resounding no. It was bad enough she’d seen it the first time. But then he reconsidered her request, carefully weighing the pros and cons. At this point, what was the harm? She already knew who he was and what he did. A demonstration would simply serve to confirm her findings. Still, watching death wasn’t an easy business, especially for a mortal. The effects could prove detrimental.
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