Page 10 of Hot Ghoul Summer (Pine Ridge Universe)

Chapter Ten: A Reaper’s Work

is Never Done

“HELLO? HELLO, I’D LIKE to leave a message for Shop Steward, RMGA Local 17. I need an Emergency Intervention Permission for Mortals for a soul that belongs to Local 49 of the DHR.”

The voice on the other end of the line is loud and crisp. Probably a guardian angel on desk duty. “Is this Toby from Local 17? You just filled out an ECNUR on a soul from RMGA Local 17 and... yes, it’s been approved. You know these things can take three to five mortal days. Reapers are so impatient,” the voice sighs.

“No. That was for Nicky Cross. This is for Theo Cross. Same family. Same target. I need an intervention to scare him off of this girl.” So I don’t have to kill him. “This calls for the big guns. Hellhounds, Guardian Angels, a full staff of Reapers.”

“Hellhounds? That would require an interagency cooperation mediation. Is this woman a dignitary? Politician?”

For a moment, we chuckle. There have been very few politicians coming up our way lately, and even fewer who would make different unions cooperate. (We can get very territorial.)

“She’s a nurse. A beautiful, young, innocent woman. She doesn’t deserve what Theo Cross and his gang will do to her.”

“God, no. Okay. Uh... I mean... We can try, but you know these take time.”

“How much time? I have three weeks according to her scroll.”

“Is this the Martina girl from the ECNUR incident? She’s not a client of Local 17! You looked at her scroll?”

“Look, don’t hang me for nicking a biscuit when I was taking the whole barrel!” I spit.

There’s silence. “I don’t see any biscuit references.”

“Angels have a stunted sense of humor,” I mutter.

“I don’t know how much time. It could take a few weeks.”

“This is urgent!”

“All mortals think their lives are urgent!”

I can’t make this bloke understand that to me, Molly’s life really is urgent. I pace. Musketeer, now in his smaller housebroken form, trots after me, hoping for treats.

“Did you fill in the paperwork for an interagency cooperation mediation?”

“No, but I submitted the EIPM. Just a few moments ago. I wanted to talk to my shop steward though, push the paperwork along.”

“I see.”

I can tell that Wing Boy doesn’t like how I’m working the system, but I will say that angels try very hard, much harder than us Reapers, to abide by mercy and kindness as much as the rules.

“Let me pull up—now, wait a moment. We’ve got two EIPMs here, one for a Gary Garmin and one for a Theodore Cross. You’ve marked both as urgent.”

“They are both urgent.”

“Garmin isn’t even assigned to DHR 49! That’s going to be another ICM form.”

My pacing turns to pummeling. I’m in the basement of the beach house, which looks a lot like a rec room or man cave (at least when I’m here). Big television. Speakers. Pinball machines. There’s a punching bag in the corner that I attack as the flames start to tickle under my skin.

“She’s going to die if someone doesn’t intervene. I can do it, or you can do it through the proper channels. I’m documenting that I asked for help first.”

“Asked for help first makes it sound as if you’re going to take matters into your own hands second !” The angel sounds alarmed.

“Yes, it does sound like that, doesn’t it?” The phrase “I can neither confirm nor deny” rolls through my head but does not leave my mouth.

“We’ll get back to you. Sit tight.”

HOURS PASS. NO CONTACT . I know that every mortal on the planet has a soul, and so I try to be patient. There are millions being born and millions dying. There’s a lot happening in that department, and G.A.s are not just around at the end of life. They have a full-time job, chasing toddlers out of the path of light sockets and angry dogs, misplacing someone’s keys so they stay in the house and off the road for five extra minutes and thus avoid a fatal crash...

Be calm. Be grateful. Molly’s here. She’s safe. For now.

And she...

She’s still upstairs, but I can feel the memory of her body wrapped around mine like I’m living it now. It was the best I’ve ever had, the only lovemaking that’s ever meant anything to me, and I hate knowing that it wasn’t done out of mutual love. On her part, it was vulnerability and a need for comfort amped up by a misplaced desire to have one last sexual hurrah in case Theo Cross gets her. In case I fail.

It’s easy to be lost in my own head, beating myself up for giving in to my carnal desires.

I never consider that Molly might be doing the same until she slinks into the kitchen in a pink sundress, face down, eyes avoiding mine.

“Moll?”

“Hi.”

I rush to be next to her. “Are you okay? I let you rest. I was... I was doing Reaper business. Trying to get Theo Cross taken care of without having to go ‘hands on.’” I dare to place one hand on her arm.

Molly looks at me, face changing from tense to relieved. “Oh. Thank God!”

“Well, I haven’t gotten it cleared yet, but—”

“I was worried I made a total fool of myself, and you were... I don’t know. I’ve had a lot of guys ghost me after they get what they want—and I know you weren’t pressuring me to give you anything!” She defends herself before I can even speak. Her eyes are sparks of anger, and her arms cross over her chest, under those gorgeous breasts that I suddenly want to suck into my mouth.

Bad time to think with my other scythe, but there you have it.

I put my hands on her hips, feeling suddenly far more confident than I have any right to be. I don’t speak, just touch, moving slowly until we press together. Molly gasps when she feels what she’s done to me.

“I’m a Reaper. Not a ghost. Ghosting isn’t going to happen. I’m yours as long as you want me,” I inform her in a low voice, lips seeking her temple.

She smells so good, like clean things and flowers. I breathe in the scent of her hair and her shampoo as she lets her forehead rest under my chin.

“No guy has ever said they’d stick around that long. I don’t even know how long that is.”

“I know you don’t know yet. But I hope you figure it out soon, because I already know. Maybe you should trust me on this. You trust me on other things.”

“Mm. Maybe.” Her arms finally shift, moving around my middle to return my embrace.

“This is the best thing ever. Having someone to hold who holds you back,” I sigh.

“A lot of guys would disagree. They’d say what we did upstairs is the best part of a relationship.”

I chuckle, but I’m not making fun of her. “They’ve all been horny young mortals, haven’t they?”

“If I dated someone who was secretly the bogeyman, he didn’t mention it,” she quips back. “At least you’re honest. That’s a big plus.”

“Then believe me when I say that having someone to love and hold you is better than having someone who can fuck your brains out.” My tone is harsher than I intend, but I pull myself together, trying not to think of all the men who have used Molly, even if they didn’t intend to make her feel that way, even if they didn’t intend to give her all the bricks to build a skeptical fortress around her heart. I continue in a gentler voice, “These bodies fade. Sicken. Wither. Souls last. I want you for your heart and soul, not just the gorgeous package it's in.”

I LOVE THE WAY IT FEELS when Toby holds me. Safe. Protected. Serious. I’m still scared, I still don’t like the situation we’re in, but he makes me aware of all the things I’ve been looking for in a partner and haven’t found in my numerous hook-ups and failed three-month relationships.

But should I be worried about the comment, “I want you for your heart and soul”? Isn’t that a little worrisome coming from a Reaper?

“You tensed up.”

“You want my soul?”

“Yes, with you in charge of it, in your living body,” Toby chuckles. “I want... Well, I want someone who will love me the way I love them. Whole heart and soul.” He lets go of me when I squirm away. “Is that wrong?”

“It’s too fast to tell a girl that.”

His eyes squint in confusion for a minute. “But I want you to know. Then you won’t worry that I’ll leave you or harm you. Shouldn’t your partner make you feel safe?”

“Yes. But a lot of guys say that too soon, and it shows they’re controlling psychopaths.” I give him a crooked grin, “Which you could pull off really well, Mr. McFlaming Skullface.”

“I will pay you a million dollars never to call me that again.”

“What? For real? Are you rich?”

Oh, my God, Molly. If this fiasco hasn’t taught you not to be greedy, I don’t know what will. “Sorry, shutting up.”

Toby laughs. “I don’t know about rich, but I’m very comfortable. I’ve been drawing my salary for several centuries longer than your average boyfriend. If money mattered to you, well, you wouldn’t have to worry as long as you were with me.”

I curse myself for being such a gold digger.

I blame student loans.

No, no. Be strong in your principles. “That’s good to know. But we’re still kind of on opposite sides, Toby. I bring life. You bring death. I try to hold you off from claiming people.”

“And when you succeed, that’s because it’s not their time to leave this world. But sometimes it is, and death is a very welcome guest.” Toby looks out the kitchen window where darkness is falling. “I have to go see an old friend of mine, and I want you to meet her. I want you to see me work.”

“What? No! No, I don’t want to see you kill someone.”

“I’m not going to kill someone. I’m going to take someone’s soul to its next stop. Come with me. Please? Trust me?”

My mouth opens in a protest, and Toby tuts. “Remember? If I can prove to you that sometimes death is not just necessary, but even a comfort, you said you’d go on a date with me.” He reaches out for my hand.

I slide mine into his. “Okay, but—”

That’s all I get out before the world swirls into a white mist and I’m standing in the middle of someone else’s house.

THE HOUSE IS FULL OF pictures, dust, and knickknacks.

A shriveled little old lady is huddled under a shawl in her recliner. The television tray next to her is full of remotes, pill bottles, and the remains of a microwave meal.

“Toby!” I hiss. “You can’t hurt this poor little old—”

But he’s not listening to me. I don’t even know if he can see or hear me. He’s looking his most adorable, suddenly clad in a pair of jeans and a polo shirt as he bends down to talk to the occupant of the house.

“Gladys! It’s me! Toby. Do you remember me?”

The little old lady blinks slowly through thick glasses, her eyes cloudy with age. “That sweet boy who came to see me in the hospital?”

“Several times, young lady!” He takes her wrinkled hands, which are covered in purple marks and liver spots, the thin skin offering very little protection from life’s daily bumps and bruises.

Gladys giggles weakly. “Young lady. Silly.”

“You’ve been feeling a bit peaky, haven’t you, love?” He strokes her thin white curls with a look of concern on his face.

“No. No, can’t complain.” Gladys smiles, and yet she presses a hand over her chest.

My nurse’s eye looks at her. Her legs are swollen. Her breathing is wet. Her heart is failing.

Anger wells in me. Toby should be calling an ambulance, not taking her life! She could be helped.

But a tiny part of me protests. She could be rushed to the hospital, and +given lots of interventions for congestive heart failure, but would they work? Would she want to be put through that in a sterile room full of strangers? Where are her kids?

“It’s that dratted valve, isn’t it, Glad?”

“It’s been with me for ninety-nine years. I don’t care what the doctor says. I say that’s a good job!”

“It is! I agree.”

Gladys reaches past Toby to pick up a photo in a silver frame from among the pill bottles. “Too good,” she whispers, withered fingers tracing over the image.

A family of three. Mother. Father. Son. The son must be in his late twenties, early thirties. I don’t know why he’s not here, but from the way Gladys looks at the photograph, I have a feeling it’s not because he’s some loser son who doesn’t show up to take care of his mom.

“I always wished I had gone before Benny, but... But they say losing your mother is so hard. In a way, I’m glad he never had to know that pain.”

“You took all that pain for both of them. I can relate. My mum... she lost a son too early, too.” Toby’s voice is thick and choked, which shocks me so much I stop feeling angry.

For a moment, he and the old woman simply hold hands in silence. When he speaks again, his voice is barely audible. “Gladys, love. George and Benny miss you. They’ve been so patient. You’ve been so patient. But what if I take you to meet them, hm?”

The last spark of energy that Gladys has comes bursting through at his words. “Oh, yes! Yes, please, take me to them!” She tries to rise and I instinctively rush forward, ready to help her, because I know that with a weak heart and those swollen legs, it’ll be a struggle.

But it isn’t.

The woman in front of me is splitting, her timeworn frame staying still as shining light lifts from it, rising above. The human form that’s wrinkled and old stays in that chair, and the stunning young woman she must’ve been is rising, insubstantial, a beauty with chestnut waves of hair and a dress that’s as neat as a pin with pearls and pumps that would make any vintage fashionista whip out their credit card.

“Gladys Emmerhoff, you are free. You are homeward bound at last.” Toby’s hand holds something small and shiny, and as he presses a guiding hand to her back, I see it flicker.

I can barely hear it when he slices the little string of shining light that holds one form to the other.

Snip.

A single metallic sound that rings like a silver bell.

“Take me to my boys!” she urges, already leading Toby away, body moving freely, probably for the first time in years.

Toby has to trot to stay with her—although to me it only looks like they’re staying in place. I want to get closer to see what they’re seeing—but I’m also afraid to.

“We’ll take it from here,” a deep, masculine voice says. “Special permission.”

“Mom!”

Toby lets go, and I see Gladys running toward lights, two solid figures that hurt to look at because they’re so bright. I have to cover my eyes—and when I dare to peek again, Toby is waving heavenward as three glittering forms sail away. “Bye, Gladys! Nice to meet you, George! Bye, Benny!”

I stare at him, then the silent, still figure in the chair.

“Mrs. Emmerhoff is no longer here.” Toby looks at me with wet eyes and a beaming smile. “She’s finally home with her husband and only child.”

And then he breaks down, sobbing, and I rush to hug him.

“Do you do this every time?” I whisper, patting his back.

“Mostly,” he snuffles. “I’m just so bloody happy for her. For them. And I miss my mum on jobs like this, where the kiddies have gone first. I hope my mother never... Oh, God. Never mind, I’m sorry. I’m such a big girl’s blouse.”

“A what ?”

“Never mind. It means I’m a sobbin’ mess.” He sniffs in and wipes his eyes. “You ever watch Brit-coms? Might’ve heard it on there.”

“Not a lot.”

“I’ll show you. Or not.” He breaks into sobs again.

Toby won the bet. Even for a nurse who hates it when a patient passes away, I could see that to Gladys, it was such a joy and relief. She was ready to go. She wasn’t leaving this world as much as rejoining the people who made it worth staying in. Without them, she was ready to move on.

It’s funny, but seeing Toby do the thing I thought I would hate him for has just made me fall the tiniest bit in love with him.

It hits hard and fast, like the pinch of a needle, and suddenly he’s flowing through my veins, invading my heart.

“You owe me a date,” I whisper.

He gasps and straightens up. “Really? Even after I blubbed all over you?”

“Especially after that. I hope your house makes a mean pitcher of margaritas.”