by Brindi Quinn
Minx and Pine exchange a look. One of those unsure-of-how-to-deliver-the-bad-news looks. Lovely. What’s that supposed to mean?
“There are SOME people here . . .” says Minx, voice trailing.
“Tch. Not very many,” mutters Pine.
Oh. So that’s it. There are people. I just can’t see them.
Because I’m dead.
Because I’m definitely dead.
Definitely, definitely dead.
“You guys can see people here?” I say. “Where?”
“Not their vessels, just their souls,” Minx delivers carefully.
“And it isn’t important where,” says Pine.
I look around and squint. Nothing. I try squinting even more until my eyes are practically closed. Still nada. “Well, I can’t see them. Not their souls or their ‘vessels’ or their mom-jeans. I do see those pretzels, though. Look pretty tasty, too . . .”
“You don’t need to see people, Marley Craw,” says Minx.
I don’t NEED to? Weird.
“What about the fish?” I ask. “I can see them.”
“Fish are fine,” says Minx. “You’re allowed to see fish. Fish won’t sway you.”
How lucky. Because I SO wanted to see fish. More importantly– “What do you mean by sway?”
“Dumbass!” Pine lets out a huff and shakes his head at Minx.
Minx dips his eyebrows. “What? I can tell her that much.”
“No, you can’t. Argh! Come on.” That said, Pine grabs Minx’s hood and begins pulling him away. I’m left standing in the empty-but-not-really-empty aquarium.
Really, reapers? You’re just going to storm off after delivering that? So frustrating! Grumble, mumble, scowl. The least they could do is explain themselves.
Stupid death. Stupid fish. Stupid pretzels.
No, I take that back. The pretzels did nothing wrong.
Chapter 3: Aquarium-Sweet-Aquarium
“So if I’m dead, am I allowed to haunt people? Because there are a few girls from my school that more than deserve a good possessing.”
For the second time, Minx’s face shows off an impish quality that’s all too cute. He touches his nose. “Maybe I could teach you . . .”
“Are you hearing yourself?” says Pine, stony.
Minx shakes his head and wide-eyed concern returns as quick as a shot of rum. “He’s right, Marley Craw. You shouldn’t think about people. In fact, don’t think about people you knew, all right? Just think about me . . . or HIM, if you must.” He frowns at Pine.
What a strange guy. Getting all excited over causing mischief one minute, only to tell me what I shouldn’t do the next. He reminds me of something . . . something cute . . . something conflicted. Ohh! Got it! He’s like a puppy – a naughty puppy – in training.
Maybe Pine isn’t the mysterious one, after all.
“Just Marley’s fine. Anyway, what are we doing here?”
The reapers tore through the whole aquarium before stopping inside a tunnel-like tank, one meant to immerse aquarium-goers in the underwater experience, where the glass arches over a moving conveyor belt, allowing the fish to swim a full 180 degrees over fish fanatics. The belly of an ugly shark with bulging eyes swims over our heads.
Well, that’s pleasant.
Nasty, slimy thing.
“Here’s where the portal is,” says Minx.
“This is where we’re staying?” I gape up at the swimming fins. “Under Moby Dick?!”
Pine’s uncovered eye looks at me smartly. “Moby Dick was a whale.”
“Awesome! A damn grim reaper knows more about pop culture than I do!”
Well, one of them does, anyway. Meanwhile, Minx stares up at the tunnel’s glass ceiling, wondering what ‘dick’ we’re talking about.
“We aren’t staying out here.” Pine taps the glass. “We’re staying in there.”
Oh, of course. It’ll be much better shacking up in, you know, the WATER for the next two weeks! But while I shake my head at the pair of them and glare at the aquatic life, Pine and Minx don’t bother explaining as they flip up their black hoods, turn to face the glass, and begin rolling up the sleeves of their sweatshirts.
“You guys have tattoos?” I blurt.
Yup, sure seems that way. The two reapers have identical tattoos – one on the inside of each arm, just above the wrist. I’ve always wanted a tattoo. Sometimes, when I was bored in Mr. Donnelson’s biology class, I’d doodle on my hand with a permanent marker. Snakes . . . roses . . . snakes eating roses. You know, something kind of badass to say, ‘Yeah, see me? I’m totally legit.’ Sigh. What a shame that my body remained uninked right up until the end, and now I’ll never have a tattoo, be it reptile or flower, to show off my badassdom. But that’s okay, I guess. My grandma wouldn’t have approved of a tattoo. In fact, I’d probably be disowned even worse than that basement dweller, Milo.
“What are they?” I ask. “Sickles?”
“Our scythes,” says Pine.
Grim reapers. Scythes. Should have known.
“So predictable,” I say, under my breath. Pine glances shrewdly at me over his shoulder. “Well it IS,” I tell him.
Pine says nothing and returns his attention to the glass. Then, he positions his hands in front of his body so that his palms are facing one another. He places his right middle and pointer fingers on his left wrist, and his left middle and pointer fingers on his right wrist. Minx does the same.
“The wages of sin is death,” they say in unison, and the ground beneath them kicks up with wind in response. Now they really don’t look human. Swirling, the gust billows upwards until it’s tossing the black hoods that frame their faces.
“Are you guys doing . . . magic? As in non-hokey-pokey, real-life magic?!”
Or am I supposed to say ‘real-death’ now?
Neither one of them answers, but something unseen is whirling around them – I just know it!
I’m a reasonable girl. Downright down-to-earth if you ask me. I’ve seen enough fantasy-magic-hoodoo flicks to know when nether-powers are at work. And this has nether written all over it. Around Pine’s hand, a green light forms – while around Minx’s, forms a blue. The light from their hands casts onto their faces, and for the first time, the pair of them look . . . dark.
Holy. Potato. Salad.
This whole thing’s so supernatural.
“Uh, guys? You aren’t, like, summoning anything or anything, are you?”
Still, they don’t answer me, and I’m left to watch, as the side of the glass appears first to roll, and then to melt. The fish on the other side don’t take any notice. Could be they can’t see us, the way I can’t see people – but they’ll for sure notice if Pine and Minx break the glass. If that happens, water will come spilling onto the floor and bloaty sharks and wriggling rays will be left flopping around in the aftermath!
“Guys?” No response. “Reapers?” Nothing. “MINX AND PINE?!”
At that, the pair of them stiffen and very slowly turn to look at me from over their shoulders.
Ooookay.
“She said our names,” says Minx, voice oddly light.
Pine’s uncovered eye blinks. “She did,” he says, voice low.
“For the first time,” says Minx . . . and his red eyes glow for a split second. Definitely nether-powers!
“Whoa, Minx, your eyes!” I say.
“She said it again,” says Minx, and his eyes glow red again. With their glow set on me, he starts away from the glass . . . and he looks . . . pining of all things.
Ohmigosh! That’s definitely pining!
Did I do that? Très bizarre . . .
Minx’s hands drop to his sides and along with them the blue glow falls. He begins to unhood his hood. “Marle–”
“Control yourself.” Pine grabs him by the collar, breaking the green glow around his own hands. The wiggling of the tank’s glass stops. Pine glances at it sardonically. “Ugh. Now we have to start over.”
Minx’s eyes di
m. “What is it, Marley Craw?” he asks and his voice is reverted to normal.
“I just . . .” I’m distracted. Me saying the reaper’s name out loud did something – it had some kind of effect on him. “Never mind.”
The two reapers start up their nether-powers once more.
“The wages of sin is death.”
Their hands glow; the glass ripples, and while I stand chewing on my thumbnail, the side of the tank melts and a door-shaped hole is left in its place – but rather than water and gnarly eels crashing through the opening, dark-colored fog creeps out.
Well, if that isn’t ominous, I don’t know what is.
Pine dusts his hands together. “Done.” Then, he turns to me and extends his hand. The dim glow of the aquarium falls over it.
Everything is so quiet all of a sudden. Like that feeling you get when you’re alone in someone else’s house.
The still, warm air pricks my skin in a weird sort of way. Over Pine’s head, a brown-toned fish sidles by. I don’t know what kind of fish it is, mind you – fishology’s never really been my thing.
“Come here, Marley.” Pine’s voice is commanding, unwavering, and direct. His jaw is sharp and defined, his arms strong and toned.
I don’t have a choice, really, but to take his hand.
Pine’s palm is warm and steady and big. It engulfs the whole of my hand as it draws me towards the doorway.
Draws.
When Minx first embraced me it was . . . comfy. With his arm around my stomach, this unbelievably comfortable sensation came over me – no, it took over me.
Holding Pine’s hand is the same . . . but not. With his hand surrounding mine, something takes over me, but it isn’t comfortableness, at all.
“Take me somewhere,” my mouth says without first asking permission of my brain.
Take me.
Slowly, Pine turns his head and his uncovered eye studies me. “What?”
“Nothing! Nothing at all!” Good going, Marley Craw! Reeeeal smooth. Well, it’s not like I could help it! Holding Pine’s hand is exciting – like at any moment he could whisk me away to some far-off land. It’s almost like he knows it, too, because for the first time since meeting him, the reaper does something that goes against his enigmatic quality.
He grins.
And my heart hiccups for just an instant.
It’s short-lived, though. Pine turns his head to hide the grin as he pulls me after him through the doorway.
I prepare to be wet – I mean, that’s what should happen when you walk into a tank of water, isn’t it? But no wetness comes. My hand stays dry as dry can be.
On the other side of the doorway, there’s a large room. An empty room, perfectly square and symmetrical with white walls and a white floor. Yuck. My matronly smock sticks out more than ever in here.
“Where is this?” I ask.
But to answer, Minx slips his hands over my eyes again. “Fill the room, Marley Craw.”
“Fill the–”
Minx’s mouth presses to my ear. “Fill it with your desires.”
Desires? At the moment, the only ‘desire’ I have is standing right behind me, whispering into my ear all seductive-like.
Now, I’m a reasonable girl. Downright down to earth if you ask me. I know it isn’t normal to allow two strange men to take you into a secluded room and pull you around wherever they please, but there’s something you have to understand. Something about Minx – no, everything about Minx – is comfortable. He’s like . . . the strongest anti-anxiety med ever. No, more like a tranquilizer. A cup of tea that’s been spiked with brandy?
Whatever. You get the idea.
Being around him makes me lower my guard for no gosh damn reason. I only just met the guy, but . . .
Keep your head, Marley Craw.
I swallow to push back the magnetism of Minx’s presence. “How, exactly, would I go about filling the room with my desires?” I ask.
Minx nuzzles his nose against my ear. “Just think about what you want most and it’ll come.”
Great! If I do that, a hundred Minxes will appear, smooshed into the room like sardines!
So not cool.
“Think, Marley Craw,” Minx whispers. “Think about what you really want most.”
“Are you sure?” I say flatly.
I guess there’s no helping it. Soon, both Minx and Pine will know what a shallow, indulgent girl I am. No wonder I didn’t get into Heaven. I take in a long, slooow breath, and–
“Ah, I see. That’s . . . interesting,” says Minx.
Oh no!
“W-what is it?” I say.
“Take a look, Marley Craw. Look at your desires.” Minx removes his hands from my eyes. Even so, I keep them shut tight.
“But I haven’t thought of anything yet!” I protest. “Swear I haven’t! There’s been some kind of mistake.”
Like a wussy kid at a scary movie, I peek one eye open while keeping the other securely clenched.
Through my one open eye, I see . . . Minx. Shoot, shoot, shoot! Oh wait . . . there’s only ONE Minx still. Well, that’s good, I guess. I breathe a breath of relief. There’s one Pine, too. And . . .
In the corner of the room sits a small bed with a faded quilt showing cartoony elephants balancing on balls and spouting water out of their trunks. Next to that, there’s an old school desk with a collection of pink gum stuck underneath. On the opposite wall, a rusty blue locker – number 367 – stands, conspicuously decorated with magnets that say things like: girlfriend, LOL, and TTYL.
This is . . . SO TOTALLY LAME!
Minx scans the room with a frown. “This is what you desire most?”
“No!” I say. “This is . . . my old stuff.”
At the admission, Minx gives a small jolt. “What?” He folds his arms uncomfortably.
“Well gosh! I don’t know! All of my old stuff just showed up for some reason! That bed over there – that was my first big-girl bed.”
Oh gawd! Did I just say ‘big-girl bed’ in front of the hotties?! I hang my head in shame. Minx is clearly disappointed by my lame-o ‘desires.’ I don’t know about Pine, though. His back is turned. “Go on,” he says quietly.
“But–!”
“I want to hear.”
“My great-aunt made that elephant quilt for me before she died, which is sort of ironic because I’m actually terrified of elephants! They’re just so wrinkly, you know? And you can never tell what they’re thinking through those beady little eyes, and don’t their trunks kind of remind you of . . . of . . .” I’ll stop myself there.
“And that?” Pine motions to the desk.
“My desk from third grade. I used to stick one piece of strawberry-flavored Bubble Blast gum under there every day. I thought if I accumulated enough, it’d eventually grow sentient. Doesn’t it sort of look like a brain?”
From behind, I see Pine shudder. “It does,” he says. He points to the locker. “And that?”
“My locker from middle school. See those magnets? What you’d do is write funny sayings on the outside of your friends’ lockers. I got detention once for writing . . . well, something I shouldn’t have, but Amy Jo TOTALLY deserved it because she was a complete beyotch back then. See, she told this guy I liked that I needed to use MAN deodorant because I had overactive pits, and after that he wouldn’t even come within a ten-foot radius of me! Can you believe that skank?! Sigh. To this day, I’m still scarred.”
Pine and Minx continue to look around at my old belongings. My prom dress from last year hangs in the corner, glittery and short. Posters and artwork and failed origami attempts litter the walls.
Minx’s eyes fall on a pile of anime plushies I ordered from the Internet. “Has this ever happened to you before?” he asks Pine.
“. . . Once or twice,” says Pine.
“This is bad, isn’t it?” says Minx, and is it my imagination, or does he sound a little panicked?
Pine takes a moment to study a collection of dangling Mardis
Gras beads before nodding once.
“What’s bad?” I say. “Besides my taste, I mean.”
The reapers exchange another of those looks. I hate those things! Ominous side-glances should be banished from life AND death!
“Just tell me,” I demand, shifting my body to hide an embarrassing wall poster of Jonathan Taylor Thomas.
“What you desire most is life,” says Pine.
Oh. And that’s bad because . . . I’m dead?
“You shouldn’t think about life, Marley Craw,” says Minx, urgency in his voice. “Don’t think about anything but me . . . or HIM, if you must.” Minx looks to Pine. “What should we do?”
“Work harder.”
And with that, Pine brushes the hair from his face, uncovering his other eye for the first time. So he does have two of them. And here I’d been wondering if he was hiding some sort of ugly defect.
Nope.
Still perfect.
With both eyes uncompromisingly set on me, he comes right over to where I stand concealing JTT.
“Let’s try this again,” he says, and brings a hand to the small of my back.
My stomach somersaults. Too hot. WAY too hot for a spirit like me to handle.
His eyelashes are dark, and as he looks down at me through them with those silvery, unnatural eyes, my stomach somersaults again.
He presses me close using the hand on my back and puts his other hand at the side of my neck so that he’s holding me between the cheek and ear.
Now, a normal, alive girl might fight back when taken hold of by a guy they don’t know – no matter how attractive that guy might be – but I, you see, am very recently dead and feel an unnatural . . . weakness regarding the two reapers.
To be honest, I don’t mind his hands on me at all. Nope, not one little bit.
It’s sort of strange, isn’t it, when you consider the way I died?
But I don’t really want to think about that.
