Have you read Red Reaper Part Five - Sloth?
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Death
Noun
- The action or fact of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.
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Quickly changing into her red dress, fishnet stockings, and chunky boots, she headed outside the apartment and opened Hellhole. The Grim city was a Hellhole so surely it’d work, right? She typed Reaper Barracks into the search bar and hit enter. It brought up a pin on a building next to the door she’d gone through with Jett. Following the red line, she stormed along the corridor, down the lift, and through the park to the building. People glanced at her curiously, but she ignored them.
She came up short in front of a small guard house carved into the rock next to the huge timber and iron studded doors. She marched up to the small door. Next to it was a long sheet of metal. About a hundred names were etched into it. Realising they were in alphabetical order, she scanned the list until she found:
Taylor, J – 3D
Next to his name was a small button. She pressed it.
“Yeah?” came a deep crackly voice through the intercom.
“It’s Kyle, let me in,” she demanded.
There was a pause. “No.”
“You better bloody let me in! I’ve got questions for you,” she said, thumping her fist on the door and staring daggers at the metal grill of the intercom speaker.
“Go away,” Jett growled. There was a click as he hung up.
Oh no he didn’t. Anger flaring, she jabbed the little button next to his name hard. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And a-
“For fuck’s sake,” came the growl through the intercom.
There was a buzz at the door, and she quickly pushed it open before the door latched again. She entered a dimly lit stone lobby. Metal letter boxes lined the wall on one side of her, small metallic lift doors were on the other, and a set of metal stairs straight ahead. It was very utilitarian, and quite frankly a bit grim. She’d way rather stay with Flynn and the others at their apartment.
She marched up the stairs to level three, her boots clanging on the stairs. At the top of the landing was the lift doors and one other black door. She went through the black door which led to a long low hall, lit by a string of bare bulbs hung along the ceiling.
She found the door with a little shiny ‘3D’ on it. She banged on the door with her fist, stepped back, and planted her hands on her hips. The door wrenched open and a tall, gangly, bespectacled woman with a bright blue pixie cut wearing a loose t-shirt, cargo pants, and a choker appeared.
“Oh, er, sorry. I… I thought Jett lived here?” Kyle asked, dropping her hands and shifting her weight.
The woman smiled. “He does, I was just leaving.” She stepped over the threshold. “I’ll catch ya later Taylor,” she called over her shoulder, waving a gloved hand into the apartment. Leaving the door open behind her, she headed off down the hall.
Stepping through the open doorway, Kyle closed the door behind her. Jett’s apartment was surprisingly spacious and tidy. Although small, the main living room she’d entered had a high ceiling and was painted white with a few closed doors, presumably leading to bedrooms and a bathroom. To her left, hands reached out of the wall with a leather jacket and variety of bags hanging from them. A kitchen with a stainless-steel bench top was to her right.
In front of her, Jett was relaxing on a large grey couch in a black singlet which showed off muscled arms with full sleeve tattoos. He had a gaming controller in his hands and was concentrating on a huge TV on the opposite wall. Her eyes moved to the TV as a tank exploded on screen.
“Shit,” Jett muttered.
“Who was that?” she asked, thumbing over her shoulder.
“Tek.”
She waited for him to elaborate.
He side eyed her. “What do you want?”
Her blood boiled. “I want to know why you haven’t told me anything about being a Reaper!”
“You haven’t asked,” he shrugged. The game reloaded and he turned back to the TV, fingers hitting buttons furiously on the controller.
She threw her arms in the air. “How the hell am I supposed to ask questions when I don’t even know what to ask!”
He ignored her.
She marched into the room, standing in front of the TV. “Why can’t I talk to Flynn about what happened Above? Why didn’t you prepare me for the earthquake? Why didn’t you tell me Ann was dead? Why didn’t you come back with me to the city?” she thundered, stamping her foot and flinging her arms in frustration.
He paused the game, rolled his eyes, and got up.
“Where do you think you’re going!”
“Coffee?” he asked, making his way to the kitchen, and opening the pantry.
She was taken by surprise, banking the fire blazing in her. “Oh, er, ok.”
He pulled out two mugs and took them to the coffee machine. They stood in silence as the machine whirred and gurgled. Jett leant against the kitchen bench, looking up at the horned skull mounted on the wall opposite him. The angle of the light made the jagged scar on the side of his head stand out.
The coffee machine clicked off. “Sit,” he said, placing the mugs on the kitchen bar and gesturing to the bar stools.
Kyle took the seat closest to her, wrapping her fingers around the warm mug. Jett picked the bar stool furthest from her, grabbed his coffee, and took a sip. She copied him. The milky coffee warmed her as it slid down her throat, chasing away the dregs of wine sticking to her tongue.
He turned to her. “Satan’s Will, I couldn’t prepare you, you needed to learn a lesson, and it’s none of your business.” He took another sip of his coffee.
She stared at him. Partly because she was trying to piece together his answers with her questions, and partly because that was the most he’d ever said to her in one go.
He raised his eyebrows at her as the silence stretched.
She took another sip of her coffee, trying to order the questions swimming through her mind. “Ok, so if it’s Satan’s Will that I can’t talk about what happened Above with Flynn, why can I talk to you about it?”
He shrugged.
She waited but he didn’t elaborate. “Can all Reapers talk to other Reapers about things that happen Above?”
He nodded. “It’s why we live in the Barracks,” he said, gesturing to the apartment.
“Ok, so if we can talk to each other about what happens Above, why didn’t you prepare me for the earthquake?”
He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “There was no way to prepare you.” He looked at her, his dark eyes pulling her in. She noticed a few lines at the corners of his eyes, like a ghost of laughter from his life Above.
She supposed he was right. What could he have said to prepare her for what she saw? She’d seen earthquakes and stuff on the news when she’d been alive, but actually being there… it was like nothing she’d ever experienced. The devastation, the screaming sirens, Geofry and Ann. Her throat tightened.
“Why…” she swallowed. Hot tears pricked her eyes. No. She wasn’t going to cry in front of this asshole. She downed her coffee to give herself a moment. Letting out a breath she tried again. “Why did you let me… why didn’t you tell me Ann was dead?”
His eyes softened, mouth pulling slightly to one side.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped. “I don’t need your pity.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I knew you’d try play Satan. We’re not Satan, we’re Satan’s bitches. You had to learn the hard way.” He took another sip of his coffee.
“Why?”
He rolled his eyes. “Because, you’re a spoilt youngest child who’s never had to take responsibility.”
Ouch. She opened her mouth angrily to retort then realised he’d read her perfectly. She closed her mouth and turned away with a huff. He let out a low chuckle that skittered over her skin. He was right, she had tried to play God, or Satan rather. Not once did she stop to ask Jett what to do. She didn’t stop to think about how her actions would affect Geofry or Ann. She leant forward, elbows on the bench, head in hands, as guilt swept through her. Jett stayed silent next to her. The guilt boiled in her stomach. Images, thoughts, and regrets raced around her brain. She needed it to stop.
“You got any wine,” she said to her knees.
“Yes,” he grunted.
Ugh. “Can I have some?”
“No.”
Her head shot up, brows pulled together. She opened her mouth angrily again, realised she was indeed being spoilt by expecting him to give her his wine and closed her mouth. She took a deep breath. “Why?”
A small smile tugged at his lips, briefly softening the hard planes of his face. “Ah, she learns.”
She couldn’t help the small smile she returned. “She does.”
He huffed a laugh, then his expression became serious again. “We have the hardest assignment. We’re called when someone’s been killed. The end of the life of a person is confronting. You need to learn to deal with it.” He looked away from her. “I wouldn’t recommend drowning yourself in wine.” She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. “I can smell it on you. You’ve got…” He paused. “You’ve got too much life in you for that kind of thing,” he said quietly. She stared at him. “Plus, no one overindulges in my house.” He took another sip of his coffee.
A cheeky smiled tugged at her mouth. “Gluttony isn’t one of your sins, is it?” she asked.
He stiffened slightly. “I was never… privileged enough to develop that particular sin.”
Shit. She scrambled for a change of subject. “Why’d you leave me to get back to the city by myself?” she asked.
“None of your business.”
“I’m your… trainee. Surely it’s my business?” she said.
He sipped his coffee, ignoring her.
Fine. She’d already figured out when conversations were a lost cause with him. To be completely honest, she’d gotten a lot more information out of him than she’d expected. She’d come here ready for a fight, but now she just felt… she wasn’t sure really. Hollow? Lost? Alone?
She slumped forward, chin in her hand. “This sucks,” she said with a sigh.
He plunked his empty mug on the counter and shrugged. “That’s Death.”
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