Necrostatic 2

Exiting the public restroom, I nearly run into a pair of Reno police officers as they troop a handcuffed woman in white between them. Medium height, her hair so blonde it appeared to be silver. She didn’t leave? Some people have no sense. She had to know I was up to something. Maybe she didn’t factor in the mundane…that happened from time to time. No, she was up to some sort of shenanigans.

Those icy blues met my gaping black pits; she was studying the hell out of me. I watched her brief look flit through at least three different types of vision, in a fraction of a few seconds. Her aura was reaching out to mingle with mine, which I casually dissuaded with a snap of my fingers, getting a venomous look for the effort. Perhaps I was the first Reaper she encountered, but that un-cheery spark between us told me this would not be the only time we would meet. Likely she would tell all her Hermit friends about me…

One of the officers stopped dead as he happened to glance at the ground and shifted to look right at me. Following the officer’s look, I winced. My shadow! It still looked like the classic Grim Reaper, scythe included. Forcing it down and back to normal I smiled, albeit cheekily at the officer. “Nice day, officer. Glad to see you…are…uh…doing your job.” I spotted the reason the lady was in cuffs. Tucked under the officers belt was a wicked looking boline. White ivory handle, and its curved blade made of cold hammered copper and it looked obnoxiously sharp. The officer grunted and dismissed what he thought he saw and resumed wrangling the eerily lady in white.

With the officers departing, I walked to the car, not even bothering to wave to the kid as he appeared busy with another pair of authority type adults. Reaching a car I find a sparrow waiting for me on the roof. Sparrows are messengers for death, so I give a quick whispered report and open the door. The bird takes off and I settle in behind the wheel. Tapping the steering wheel I sigh, “I hate this part of the job. It is fucking crap.”

“You shouldn’t cuss so much. It is bad for the aura.” Came a female voice, startling me enough that I nearly went Reaper right then and there. Gripping the wheel I snap my head in the direction of the voice.

Seated in the passenger side was a very see through woman of shifting age. Young face, old eyes, timeless features. Dressed in stereotypical tree hugger wear, jean jacket with an over kill amount of logo pins and talismans. Tattered skirt of faded wine purple and ended with gold laced sandals, looking closely I could see she was hovering about two inches off the passenger seat. Making no apology for cursing, I grumped. “Tracey Whistler. What do you want? Better yet, how did you find me?”

Tracey became a bit more solid, which was generally a sign of proximity or confidence. It still boggled me how she was able to ‘Astral Project’. Just looking at her one would assume she took too much acid or bong hits. Her voice drifted, displaced from where it should be. “I came to see you, because, you know, that is what friends do from time to time. As for finding you, it is not hard. You give me a pen once, a link.” Mental note; retrieve pen as soon as possible.

I kind of just had to accept that I would never be rid of her and the overtures of friendship that she continuously heaped upon me. I don’t even recall how we became ‘friends’, she literally picked me out of a crowd at a party I was reaping at and started hanging out. Psychically and otherwise… Still, she was company and that was in short supply in my line of work.

Mentally I did a count down. Three…two…one… Like clockwork the questions began, pouring forth like a cheerful tidal wave. “Was it hard to stop this one? Are they alright? Got anymore assignments today? Can I go too? Are they ever going to let you be a Reaper again?”

If I had a functioning normal brain I would imagine I’d have a headache about now. I was reluctant to outright ignore Tracey. Like I said I don’t have many people to talk to. “It was tricky, like usual. Yes, they should be fine, look.”

I point out the window as the kid followed by the officers met the father halfway in the park. The father clamped his son in a hug and surely made vows never to let go. Humans are funny like that. Tracey clapped her hands, smiling. “Aww, they look so happy! You really are a good…ma-…per-…being.” Nodding her head triumphantly as she settled on her final answer of what to call me.

“Thanks.” Tracey brought up a good question. Did I have anymore assignments for today? Taking up the note pad, I flipped the page. Tracey gaped as letters began to appear on the page. “WOW! Look at that! You have to be seeing this!”

“I have seen it before yes. Happens every time there is an assignment.” I say, concentrating on the words that were forming for they would be brief and drop down to be lost in the previous writings that overlapped on the page into an unintelligible scribble.

Tracey kept on babbling, “It is like a hole opened up over the notebook and letters fell out and on to the page. How do you guys do that? Hey I know that address! That is my old high school!” Her old school? With her going on I lost the time stamp of when to be there.

Setting the notebook down with purpose I turned to the spectral Tracey. “You can’t come. The work is not for someone like you.”

Tracey blurred and came back into focus an instant later. Her voice carried a hurt tone for the first time that I could recall. “What? Why? Is it because I am a woman? I will have you know this is an age approaching equality, sir!”

“It’s not that…” I started to reply and was immediately cut off.

“Oh just admit it, Maxwell! Half the time I think your brain is stuck back when you were alive! Oooooo you anachronism! Of course you know I mean that in a good way, you just don’t know the strides that are being made and the fight we all face to bring about change.”

“Tracey…”

“No! Look, I put up with a lot from other men out there and I thought you were different.”

“Tracey…”

“I mean what is the big deal if I want to go? I will have you know-“

“Tracey!” I snap finally. That gets her attention so I can get a word in.

Her brow furrows beneath her dreadlocks. “What?”

I am about to open a door I may regret later as the words come forth. “It is not you. It is the fact there could be other Reapers there. If they see you they could mistake you for something else.”

Curious now, “Like what?” Tracey asks.

Expelling a sigh I push on, despite what my lone wolf image is telling me to stop. “Like the mighty dead. Those that have died and refused to cross over for whatever reason. A lot of Reapers are pretty old school and feel this is against the order of things. You die, you cross, then come back later to live again. It is a huge feather in their caps if a Reaper can convince one of the Mighty Dead to cross, one way or the other. I just…don’t want to see anything happen to you.”

Honestly, I didn’t know what would happen if they tried to make her cross. Supposedly astral projection was the soul leaving the body on short trips, but it didn’t feel right entirely. Tracey’s sudden hard line attitude softens, “You mean you care about me?”

“Who else am I going to talk to?”

“That’s a yes!” Tracey chirped gleefully.

******** ********* *********** *********** **************

Driving with Tracey since I really couldn’t get rid of her was interesting. She bobbed along with the car keeping pace. I tested a few theories out along the way. I took a sharp turn and watched her nearly rocket out of the car. Tracey sticks her tongue out at me while half her head jutted through the closed passenger window. A short stop and Tracey goes through the front of the dashboard. Jerking herself back she rolls her eyes. “You did that on purpose.” Yep.

Nearing the school, Tracey resumes her questions. “So how do you get those assignments? How do you know where to be?”

I shrug, “Ghosts. They give us the information.”

Tracey makes a face, “Aren’t ghosts what is left over when someone dies?”

“A ghost is an echo. Echoes go both ways, to the past and to the future. Think of it like a stone you toss into a pond, the ripples go out. We just figured out a way to read the ripples on the other side of the pond.”

Tracey appeared nearly solid, which suggested emotions controlled the focus of her projection. “How exact is it?”

Bitterly I look at the glove box that contained the notebook. “It’s not. Like I said it is like a ripple, it is an event, the when and why is often is often lost. The where lasts a lot longer. We focus on that.”

Tracey digests this and chews her lip. Shifting subjects yet again, “So how do you become a…a…uh.”

“A Reaper?” I finish the tentative question for her.

Tracey nods, “Yeah.”

“You really want to know?”

Shyly, Tracey nods looking at me expectantly.

Pulling into the parking lot of Sparks High School, I begin to hunt down a spot in the now crowded lot. “To be a Reaper, you kill one and take its place.” Hey, she asked…