Page 59 of Grim
“Patience, peaches.” He laces his fingers together on the desk.
“You see, I forgot myself for a while. I let Fate and Time run too much of the show. Gave them creative control, which was clearly a mistake. They tried to hog-tie me with my own rules—and that isn’t as fun as it sounds.
Then,” he shudders theatrically, “do unspeakable things to my executive authority.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about power, Rue. Hierarchy. Who makes the rules and who has to follow them. Those Weaver Sisters sing a siren’s song, but my head is clear now. They overplayed their hand and didn’t think I’d see the puppet strings. But I have, and I have cut them down.”
“That’s a second rope analogy, and I’m just as lost as I was after the first one.”
“I don’t answer to Time, Rue. Death isn’t beholden to Fate.
Everyone whines about choice. Choice, independence, free will .
” He mocks in an odd whiny baby voice. “Well, no one and nothing escapes death. Fate can tell any story she wants, as long as it ends in death. Time can strum a tune for any soul, but the final note will always be silence. I am the period at the end of a book. I am the rest at the end of a ballad. I am the only inevitability in a world full of mystery. And I will be obeyed.” During this diatribe, D rises from his chair, placing his palms flat on the surface of the desk, punctuating his last sentence .
“Ooookay.” I stretch out the word, taking the wind out of his sails. “Well, congratulations on your rebranding. What does this have to do with me?”
“Everything, fool.”
Flames light behind his eyes, and I pause. He’s a bear in a cage, and perhaps I’d better not rattle it. He may act like a sitcom villain with a sugar addiction, but he is still the current incarnation of Death and de facto ruler of the OtherWorld. Unhinged or not, he is still the boss.
He continues in a much more composed manner. “I am feeling, shall we say, a bit merciful at the moment, Rue. So, I come to you today with a choice. According to your intake forms, you qualify for a fast track to PTO.”
“PTO? Paid time off?”
“No, Rue. Passage To Oblivion,” he corrects.
“It’s a bit like The Nothing, which I’m sure you remember from my recent soiree—which everyone loved, by the way—but much nicer.
An all-expense-paid eternity in a dream state of your own making.
No work, no souls, no pain. Just you, your imagination, and an infinity pool of peace. ”
“Can I bring anyone?”
“Oh, you won’t remember anyone or anything there, Rue. That’s the Oblivion part. Blissful ignorance, a mind free of those pesky memories.”
“So, a lobotomy in a luxury suite?”
He gives me a wink. “It has an amazing view.”
My brain floods with a sea of memories I cherish, each like one of the precious crystal animals in Amanda Wingfield’s menagerie. “And what’s the other option?”
“Well, Rue, it turns out, that tiresome empathy of yours, that annoying willingness to listen and understand people, has proven a pretty powerful tool. Who knew?”
“This is my surprised face,” I mumble.
“What did you say?” D’s voice cracks like a whip.
“I said, this is my surprised face.”
D gyrates behind his desk as though shaking the phrase off him somehow.
“Anyway,” he begins, “I turned a blind eye to the potential in this pathetic, and frankly meaningless, compassion.”
“It’s not meaningless to the souls receiving it. ”
“Yes, I understand that, but in the grand scheme of things, when you take a macro view, mortal , each of your stories mean very little in the end.”
I bury my ire for the moment and allow him to finish his explanation.
“But we have been missing an opportunity. More souls mean expansion, growth, increased productivity. So, I’m offering you a once-in-an-AfterLife chance to continue what you started.
Return to the mortal realm and help shepherd more of those long-abandoned cases back across the threshold.
Punishing beings for eternity because of a poor choice made in one high-stakes moment is perhaps a bit draconian.
Now, with your gifts, we have an opportunity to make room for … ”
“Forgiveness?” I supply, and D bristles at the word.
“Something like that,” he deflects.
“Mercy?” I drop the word like an anchor straight to the bottom of the deep blue sea.
His black eyes shoot to mine, but the flames inside them don’t dance. Instead, they turn the deepest shade of blue I’ve ever seen. A fire burning at its hottest point.
“In my infinite generosity, I offer you a choice. An eternity of peace or an AfterLife of purpose. PTO or a job as the founding head of the Lost Souls Division,” he says, plucking another Twizzler from Nana’s dome and biting it in half.
I stare at the skull between us with her hollow sockets and furrow my brow. “Did Nana just wink at me?”
“Probably.” D shrugs. “She must like you. She’s an excellent judge of character.”
D pauses and appraises me, perhaps trying to guess at which direction I’m leaning. This is my red pill/blue pill moment.
“So, what’ll it be?” D leaves the question hanging in the air.
I don’t hesitate. “I only have one demand.”