Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross

By

B.L. Newport

Smashwords Edition

© 2010 B.L. Newport

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ISBN: 1449588522

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Acknowledgements

I would like to thank everyone who has ever
said "go for it" when it came to the idea of writing this story. I
would especially like to thank the following people: My mother, for
encouraging my oddities in her own way -- Jennifer Shimp Atkinson,
my longest and closest friend, for the many readings and
suggestions after being relentlessly hounded with questions from
the beginning -- Kristy Trippy, thank you for being an inspiration
during this process and for becoming a fan. To everyone else who
may find a little bit of themselves in this story one way or
another,
Thank you.

Finally, the biggest
Thank you
to my
loving partner, Rochelle. You have been the biggest inspiration and
motivation through it all. Thank you for your love and support. I
couldn't have done this without you.

“
For True Love, I’ll wait forever…” -
Edmund J. Polly

He entered the café quietly and scanned the
room. The usual inhabitants were there: doing the same things they
would do until they decided it was time to go. Some of them were
relatively new to the scene while others had haunted the joint
since its demise in arson back in 1939. His ice blue gaze met the
jovial eyes of Giuseppe Cincotta, the unfortunate soul that had
also met his demise in the arson. Giuseppe nodded and turned to
begin preparing his regular patron’s customary cup of tea.

Slowly, John Blackwick’s gaze moved to the
left and came to rest on the reason he had arrived so early in the
afternoon. ‘The Old Man’, as John called him affectionately, was
waiting patiently – his own gaze deep into the glass of red wine
before him. Silently, John approached him and slid onto the stool
beside his mentor.

“You called for me, Araxius?” John asked as
Giuseppe slid the cup of steaming tea before him. John nodded his
thanks before picking it up and blowing gently across the
surface.

“I did, John. Thank you for making haste,”
Araxius replied solemnly. John sipped from his tea while waiting
for an explanation. Araxius would take his time with it and the
lack of expression on his sunken features did not surprise John at
all. Over the last fifty years, he had become overly accustomed to
the fact that Araxius – one of the founding members of the firm –
lacked any sense of emotion or expression. After all, Araxius was
one of
the original
Grim Reapers. He had a reputation to
uphold.

“The time has come, John,” Araxius sighed as
he circled the rim of his wineglass with an extremely long and
boney forefinger. The Grim Reaper’s eyes remained sunken into the
depths of the red wine he had loved so dearly as a mortal man so
very long ago.

“Time for what? Am I being fired?” John asked
evenly. He had learned, since joining the firm, to control his
emotions as well as Araxius could; but the occasional urge to
wittiness could still rise up in him.

“No, not at all,” Araxius countered. “In
fact, I would consider it a promotion of sorts.” A slight smile
tugged at the corners of the old man’s mouth, but was not allowed
full exposure.

“Oh?” John swiveled on his stool to face his
mentor. This was a surprise indeed.

“I’m retiring, John. I’ve had enough. I no
longer wish to reap souls. I’m turning the reins of the firm over
to you.”

For the first time in fifty years, John
Blackwick felt a sudden surge of panic within his gut. Although he
was sure the expression was not visible on his face, he was sure he
must have paled even more than his normal complexion. A slight icy
smile finally surfaced on Araxius’ thin lips.

“We’ve
all
decided to retire,” The
Grim Reaper added. “Everything is yours.” Araxius finally turned
his head and leveled his icy gaze on his companion as if to further
the gravity of the situation.

“Why me? Wait, what do you mean by
“
all
” of you?” John swallowed hard as his thoughts began to
give in to the panic rising fast from his gut.

“You’re the last to know because someone must
continue on with the work, and someone must open the door for me.
The other continental offices have already closed their doors. All
the files have been relocated here for you to complete. I dare say
I do apologize for such a late notice to your rise in rank; but it
has been a decision we’ve all been considering for quite some
time,” Araxius explained.

“What about the field agents? Are none of
them more qualified than I am to carry on the firm’s work? And what
about the Bailey? Has he retired as well?” John could feel his
palms beginning to sweat; but he knew that was merely a phantom
sensation. The dead didn’t sweat. That had been a fact to him since
day one.

“They’ve all gone, John. They were given
their options this morning. The Bailey, I’m afraid to admit, is
unreachable – off on one of his little sojourns, I suspect. It will
be up to you to find him and give him his options.”

“Oh, I see,” John managed to say as the
reality of the moment sank in on his mind like a cement block
dropped from the top of a skyscraper. John watched Araxius slowly
pick up his wineglass. He lifted it in a silent salute to Giuseppe
before downing the contents in one long swallow. The Old Man sighed
in deep and final satisfaction as he set the glass back to the
counter and stood from his seat. John watched his mentor reach
inside his black robe and withdraw a familiar long black folder. It
was Araxius’ own file.

“You’re leaving
now
?” John asked as
Araxius extended the folder out to him.

“This is my file, John,” Araxius said quietly
– ignoring his apprentice’s question. “I’m ready to face my fate,”
he announced. A genuine smile finally came to his face as he stared
at the dark haired man before him. Araxius could see the shock (or
was it fear?) on the young man’s face as he stared at the black
folder being held out to him.

Slowly, John managed to raise his hand and
take the folder from Araxius. In silence, he opened it and read the
contents as he stood. From the corner of his eye, John saw the door
appear to his left. Araxius turned to face the door, taking a deep
breath in anticipation. It was to the left of the Reaper who stood
before him. Better than he had hoped for after all this time.
Perhaps there was some redemption to be found between the crossings
after all….

John grasped the handle of the door in his
hand and gently pulled it open before looking his mentor fully in
the eye.

“
Araxius Herodotus, may you find eternal
peace
,” he cited with a solemn gentleness that suggested he
cared for the soul about to cross the threshold. Araxius lay a
boney hand on John’s shoulder. It was the last rite before passing.
John had learned it beautifully.

“Well said, my boy. Good luck and thank
you.”

John Blackwick could only nod his reply
before Araxius stepped through the door to accept his final
judgment. Softly, John pushed the door shut and stared blankly at
the floor as he tucked the now blank folder of Araxius Herodotus,
former Grim Reaper and original founding member of
Reapers,
Inc
., deep into the inner pocket of his black suit coat. A new
era of reaping was about to begin. John Blackwick suddenly had no
idea where to start.

October 31 – Halloween

Brigit shifted the cell phone to her left
hand as she reached out with her right to push open the door
leading into
Mr. Al’s Cleaning & More
. She flashed a
smile at Mrs. Al as she approached the counter while listening to
Maggie remind her how important it was that they be on time to the
Halloween party at the Women’s Center. They had promised Mama Dee
months ago that they would participate in the festivities. Brigit’s
gaze fell to the long black velvet coat Mrs. Al was taking down
from the conveyer belt that snaked the length of the room. The
clear plastic hanging over the coat added an extra glimmer to the
black sequins decorating the lapels and cuffs of the antique
coat.

“I know, sweetheart,” Brigit replied when
Maggie stopped long enough to take a breath, “but it will only be
for a few minutes. Rachel just wants to show off her decorating
skills – that’s all.”

“Have you picked up your coat from Mr. Al’s
yet? That’s the most important piece of your costume,” Maggie
pointed out.

“I’m picking it up now,” Brigit said as she
dug through her briefcase for her wallet. “Say ‘hello’, Mrs. Al,”
Brigit said as she extended the cell phone toward the small Asian
woman on the other side of the counter.

“Halloo, Miss Maggieee,” Mrs. Al sang out as
she took the money Brigit was handing her.

“Do you see?” Brigit asked as she returned
the cell phone to her ear and began stuffing the contents of her
briefcase back inside. She paused before putting her wallet back.
Instead, she tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans before
reaching for the long black coat Mrs. Al had laid across the
counter.

“I hate it when you do that,” Maggie sighed.
Brigit smiled as she pictured her partner’s face. The vision held
an expression Brigit was fond of. It meant that she had Maggie’s
attention and a moment to speak.

“Listen, Mags, it will just be for a few
minutes. I won’t even have a drink,” Brigit promised.

“That’s good. I’d hate to see what Mama Dee
would do to you if you showed up with alcohol on your breath,”
Maggie warned.

“Okay, okay. I’ll see you in a bit,” Brigit
promised.

“Be careful, Bree” Maggie warned. Brigit
smiled at the use of the nickname. Maggie only used it on special
occasions – or when she especially wanted Brigit to pay attention.
Brigit had always hung on every word that came from Maggie’s lips,
but the use of the nickname seemed to make a difference in
remembering things that might otherwise seem mundane.

“I will, sweetheart.”

“Seriously, Bree,” Maggie pleaded. “Tonight
especially. It’s Halloween and it’s getting dark too early this
year.”

“
Sweetheart
, don’t worry. I’ll be home
by seven-thirty. I promise.” There was a brief pause on the other
end of the line and Brigit knew she had won the conversation for
now. “I love you.”

"I love you too, Bree.”

As she left Mrs. Al with a wish for a safe
and happy Halloween, Brigit smiled and turned left. Usually, she
would have gone to the right and caught the 6:50 uptown bus for
home; but she had promised Rachel that she would make an appearance
at her fiancée’s new bar. They had been working on it for months
and Rachel had pleaded incessantly that her colleague come and
check it out before business wore off the excitement of its being
new.

7:00 P.M.

The Black Cat Club was at the dead end of an
alley between A and B streets. As Brigit walked past the
neighborhood’s denizens, she heard the life inside the tenement
buildings spilling out into the street through the windows left
open to the cool evening breezes of a punctual autumn. The chill of
this October evening’s breeze blowing gently from the north nipped
at her nose and cheeks as it rustled the orange and yellow leaves
that had fallen from the young sycamores that lined the street. The
city had planted them earlier that spring in an effort to beautify
the neighborhood. This evening, they served as the visual reminder
that autumn had arrived for sure and winter would be close on its
heels. For Brigit, it signified the change in the air. It was the
beginning of her favorite time of the year. The first sight of
orange in the trees always excited her to the depths of her
soul.

Brigit smiled to herself as she checked her
watch. She had to hurry or she’d never be home at the promised
time. Maggie would be mad about that and, tonight, Brigit didn’t
want that. Tomorrow was their anniversary. Brigit had made plans
for a wonderful day to show her appreciation for her partner of ten
years.

She stopped at the head of the alleyway and
suddenly frowned. It was lined with dumpsters and shadows. Her
stomach clenched momentarily in uneasiness.

“Of course it would be the scariest alley in
the whole city,” she mumbled to herself.