A Hollow Cry (After Life Book 1)

by Bee Douglas

  She never has to ask for anything. Every night that she sings, the Playground welcomes her with open arms. If she wants a drink, Quill is ready to pour. Any alterations to clothes or the setup, Xi is at her beckon call. We can’t exactly risk the exposure, which means she’s confined to the apartment on her off time. But we talk. I even invested in a Netflix account for her to watch. I make sure that there’s food for her to eat. I keep her as far from Vivian’s clutch as I can. I will not allow her to get mixed up in that trouble. Nora’s living a life on a silver platter – at least, what limited life she leads.

  The door to the bedroom is already shut when I make it up to the apartment. She didn’t even bother turning on any of the lights.

  “Nora!” She doesn’t answer. I hoped she would so that I could void this childish illusion from my mind. Stomping over to her door, I try to swallow the bitter taste of frustration before I knock my fist on the door. “Nora, open the door.”

  “I’m going to bed.”

  “No, you aren’t,” I state. “You’re going to come out here and tell me what’s crawled up your ass.”

  I picture her rolling her eyes. “No.”

  “Get out here,” I growl. I never thought a grown woman could behave this much like a child, “or I will come in there and drag you out.”

  Through the door, I can hear the way the springs of her mattress squeak. By the time she walks out, irritation has me shaking.

  “What’s with you? Why are you acting so damn miserable?”

  “Nothing,” she whispers. She keeps her eyes leveled with mine as she bites at her bottom lip.

  Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. “Stop lying and tell me.” Her mouth forms into a hard line as she clenches her jaw. “Fuck, Nora! What’s your problem?”

  “What’s my problem?” she hollers. It’s as if she’s taken all of her built of anger, formed it into a flaming ball, and launched it. Her target? Me. “You have the nerve to stand there and ask me what my problem is? It’s you, Kane! You and everyone in this fucked up little world of yours. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this mess. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be forced to sing and possibly end a life. If it wasn’t-“

  “If it wasn’t for me, you would be nothing, Nora,” I bite out. She flinches at my words. “You would be working that dead-end job, getting nowhere in life. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be wiping shit off the old for the next thirty years. You are a Banshee. You potentially are one of the strongest beings in this world. You can’t help what you are, just as I can’t help what I am. These are the cards we’ve been dealt.”

  “I didn’t ask for this!”

  “And I didn’t ask to be stuck babysitting a stubborn girl, but here we both are!” I throw my hands up in the air.

  Whether out of anger or frustration, tears rim her eyes. Her chest moves in time with her heavy breaths. “You’re a fucking bastard!”

  “And you’re an ungrateful little bitch.”

  I’ve been in my fair share of fights. My body bears countless scars from being attacked with crystals. And yet, the sting of her palm across my cheek is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. It takes me a moment to recover from shock. She actually had the balls to do that. Any sense of calm goes out the fucking window at this point. I’m no longer thinking straight. Honestly, I’m no longer thinking at all. I grasp her chin in my hand, lifting it to meet my gaze. Her eyes are wild. Their usual light green color twists into a darker shade of emerald.

  “I’d think twice before trying that again.” My voice has curdled with rage. “Little Banshees don’t need fingers and hands to sing.”

  Instant regret washes over me as the threat comes hurdling out of my mouth. No. That’s a lie. I’m void of all other emotions. Rage spreads like wildfire in my veins. Nora’s eyes glaze over. Her chin trembles in my hand. She’s afraid, and yet, she doesn’t cower. While her bravado is blatantly false, it remains steadfast.

  “This is bigger than you. This is bigger than me. You need to accept that. If not,” I warn, “the princes will end your life.”

  She rips her face from my grasp and all but runs to the safety of her bedroom. The door slams shut, followed by the faint click of the lock. A small sound, but it echoes throughout the dark loft.

  ...

  As a Reaper, we’ve become accustomed to dying bodies. Whether it’s from old age or even the messy gore of a crash, deaths are just another part of the job. We don’t stress over the details; we go in, collect the souls, and leave. But even then, the first initial death always throws a new Reaper through a loop.

  The first soul I was assigned was that of a teenage boy. His name was Colton Ray Nelson – it’s a name that I’ll never forget. He was a prick. He mentally and physically harmed his peers to maintain his social status.

  One night, during the summer of his senior year, he and his friends stole some of their parents’ alcohol. They went down by the railroad track on the edge of town. There had been one in the group that didn’t quite fit, but he tried.

  After a few drinks, they found reckless fun in trying to grab hold of the sides of the passing train cars. Nelson had egged the outlier into jumping with him. Wanting to be a part of the group, the other boy went along with it. They were both able to grab hold and hoist themselves up, but Nelson didn’t stop there. He goaded the boy to jump off the train car. With the train picking up speed, I could see the boy coming to the realization of the mistake he made. Being told no, Nelson was pissed. He took hold of the back of the boy’s shirt and pushed him.

  The boy ended up dying from a head trauma caused from landing on a rock, but he wasn’t the only one that died. Nelson wasn’t betting on the boy having a quick reaction time. As the boy tumbled down, he reached out and grabbed hold of Nelson’s shirt, pulling him down. His leg got caught in one of the metal rungs, the top portion of his body catching under the train.

  Anything I had in my stomach came up, covering a nearby shrub. In my sickened haze, I could barely make out the shroud of his soul leaving his body. My feet refused to move. My knees shook uncontrollably. The first soul I was sent out to reap was the first soul I lost.

  There was a Reaper named Jeremiah that I was to go to if I had any issues the first couple of months. He was a huge son of bitch. The punishment I received from him scared me shitless. Afterward, he sat me down and told me to think of the dead bodies as vessels and not actual human beings. Reapers are to collect souls, not redeem them. The entire conversation left me confused. It was a twisted lesson. They sent me out knowing I wouldn’t be able to collect the soul. Nelson was now stuck in limbo – a place he’d never get out of unless presented with the offer to reap.

  Like most, I make it a point not to let any more souls slip past me. But unlike my fellow Reapers, my reasoning is vastly different. I don’t want anyone else to agree to serve the half-life Hell I’m stuck in. They’re better off rotting in the fiery pits than forced into the never-ending soul snatching gig.

  That was years ago, but my goal hasn’t changed. I reap every soul I’m assigned. I send them to serve their sentence in Hell. And I haven’t lost a soul since. Nora may hate me for what I said, but I need for her to forgive me. No matter how pissed off I am, she’s more important than all that. Nora’s emotions are on a tightly tethered cord, but as each fiber breaks from tension, they will drive her insane. This world can’t afford to lose her. I can’t afford to lose her. And I refuse to stand by and watch as her body and mind dwindle to nothing. I will not let her soul join those that are already lost. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever – as long as I can help it.

  15

  Kane

  This isn’t about me, I keep reminding myself.

  Last night got out of hand. Nora and I are in a bad place and it’s all my fault. I’ve been focused on keeping her name from floating around that I overlooked her as a person. As strong as she seems, Nora’s still human. She’s fragile. Her emotions even more so.

  None of this is a
bout me. I’m just an accessory. My world currently revolves around one girl and her wellbeing. And I just happened to piss her off last night. No. More than that. I demeaned her. For some unforsaken reason, she finds me worthy of her trust. She allows me to get close to her. She’s shown me a part of herself she normally keeps hidden. And in just a few seconds, I burned our connection to the ground.

  I let my irritation and anger get the best of me. Nora isn’t another Reaper or demon. While they may be inconsequential, she’s everything. I wouldn’t hurt her. And yet, after how I reacted last night, she probably never wants to be left alone in a room with me. My behavior was inexcusable. I have to rebuild her trust, no matter the cost.

  When I finally get up the nerve to knock on her door, I’ve pretty much worn a hole in the floor from pacing back and forth like a jackass. Her mattress squeaks and I can make out the sound of her bare feet padding across the floor. The door remains shut.

  “Nora, open up.” I wince at how thick the irritation is in my voice. Controlling it, I offer a single, “Please?”

  The door cracks, allowing a sliver of light in the bedroom. Despite it nearing midday, the curtains are drawn tightly. Nora peers out. If my emotions weren’t already in fucking turmoil, taking in the sight of her would do me in. Her nose is red, blending with the blotches across her face. She looks at me with those doe eyes - her eyelashes laced with wetness. Absentmindedly, I reach out to wipe the tears away. She flinches.

  “I’m sorry.” The words taste like ash in my mouth.

  “I don’t sing today,” she states with a hoarse voice.

  “You’re right, but I want to take you somewhere.”

  Her response is quick. No hesitation. No second thoughts. “No.”

  I slip my foot in the doorway, stopping it from being slammed shut. She looks up at me, her eyes dancing with a wild fear.

  “Just let me take you somewhere,” I beg. “If what I have to show you doesn’t make up for my behavior, I will make sure you are placed in better hands.” The corners of her eyes squint. “Tonight.”

  “You hurt me, Kane.”

  Fuck it if my palms aren’t itching to reach out and wipe the pain from her face.

  “I’m sorry, Nora. It was a moment of thoughtless reaction.” What the fuck is this girl doing to me? “Have I given you a reason to be afraid of me before? Have I ever hurt you?”

  She places me under her scrutinizing glare. I take a step back, holding my hands up in surrender. I can see the war waging in her mind. Finally, she lets out a sigh and opens the door a little more.

  “You will not touch me,” she states, laying down the law. She may be frail, but she knows how to stand her ground. “And when we return, I want to be placed in someone else’s custody.”

  I bite back my distaste. “As you wish.”

  Satisfied, she shuts the door. I stand there for a few minutes until I hear the sound of the shower being turned on. Disappearing to my end of the loft, I make quick work of showering and readying myself. When I’m done, Nora hasn’t made it out of the room yet. In most circumstances, I would’ve rushed her, but not today. Everything about this day needs set at her pace. When she emerges, her combed hair is still wet, leaving damp spots on her oversized sweater.

  “Are you ready?” I ask. She doesn’t answer, holding tightly to her stubborn ways as she walks to the elevator. Whether she knows it or not, she mans the reins. If she wants to take four more hours, my ass would’ve sat and waited. It would’ve made taking her out pointless, but it’s the principal.

  How in Hell did a Reaper fall to the mercy of a mortal?

  ...

  Singh parks the car a few blocks away, allowing us to walk to our destination. Nora still hasn’t said a word. As we walk, it’s at her pace. While most days her legs move a mile a minute to keep up with my stride, I will myself to slow.

  “This way.” A wrought iron arch hangs over a paved driveway, designating the entrance.

  “A park?”

  “Don’t act surprised. Swings are the shit,” I tease, hoping to puncture a crack in the wall she mortared overnight. She bites her bottom lip.

  We continue walking, the canopy of trees keeping us shaded. Sunlight pokes through in several places, dancing in the ground. A breeze blows through and dries Nora’s hair, causing the ends to curl.

  A mountainous playground eventually appears. Hordes of children run around, climbing as high as they can; their laughter grows louder as we near. Parents sit on blankets in the grass or read on the surrounding benches. It’s a child’s utopia.

  I reach out to grab Nora’s hand, but at the slightest touch, she yanks it away and crosses her arms over her chest. My teeth grind together. This is maddening. I want to tell her to stop being stubborn. I want to sit her down and get it through her head that, after all this time, she should know I wouldn’t hurt her. But I can’t. All I can do is sit on one of the free benches and pretend that I don’t notice the extra space she keeps between us.

  We sit in silence and take in the scene. Everyone is happy and carefree, completely oblivious to the world around them. A handful of boys run around and play a clumsy version of tag. Two little girls in dresses brush the hair of their dolls. A mom and dad holler over to their kids, letting them know it’s time to eat their picnic lunch. These people have no worries. They all disappear once they step through the gate.

  “What are we doing here, Kane?” Nora doesn’t look at me.

  Scanning the crowd, I point to a set of swings. A woman smiles at the little girl she pushes back and forth, back and forth. The child squeals every time she reaches a new height; her blonde curls blowing wildly.

  “Hannah!” Nora gasps. She stands straight up, igniting her feet to run to her sister. But then she stops. Both of her hands cover her mouth. As I walk up behind her, I notice her body trembling.

  “She’s fine,” I say. She jumps at my voice.

  “What is this? Who is that with my sister?”

  I hand her the print out I had stuck in my pocket before we left. “Her name is Carrie. She’s been working with your sister. Sort of a governess.”

  “I don’t understand.” Her voice wavers, scanning the woman’s profile. It holds all her basic information, along with references and testimonials.

  Nora lifts her gaze, finally looking up at me. “Carrie’s been working with children for over ten years. She specializes in at-home care and learning.”

  “I can’t afford this, Kane. Dina and George, they barely set any money side for food.” Each word she speaks is laced with confusion and a dash of anger.

  “I know.” She winces as if I insulted her. “A few days after you came back to the apartment, I reached out. You were cooperating. I stayed up late several nights researching. I wanted to make sure your sister was placed in exceptional hands.”

  Nora’s jaw drops, parting her full lips. “You did this?”

  I nod. “I don’t have much practice in child care. I hope you approve of her credentials. From the feedbacks she’s sent me, Hannah seems to have connected well with her.”

  She turns away from me, taking in her sister at play once more. The swing slows and Carrie helps the little girl down. She runs over to the jungle gym as fast as her legs will carry her. Climbing up a ladder, she waits her turn and then sits down, slipping down a slide.

  “She’s finally mastered tying her shoes,” I interrupt her thoughts. “Carrie said she kept calling the laces bunny ears.”

  A smile spread across Nora’s face. “We were working on that. She would get frustrated because she kept mixing up what hole to slip the laces through.”

  “Do you want to go say hello?”

  Nora looks up at me as if I just offered her a key to the world. But the light fades from her eyes quickly and she shakes her head. “I shouldn’t. It would only confuse her.”

  “Understandable.”

  I let her watch her sister a few more minutes. Unfortunately for her, we have one more stop we need to m
ake. We backtrack, walking toward the entrance. But before she makes a right to where Singh has the car parked, I take hold of her wrist. This time, she doesn’t wretch it away. We keep up the steady pace in silence, adding more and more space between us and the car. We stop a few more blocks away, letting people walk around us.

  “This next thing may be hard for you, but it’s something you need to see,” I tell her, keeping my gaze locked on hers. Hesitation dances in her eyes, but she nods. I hand her a black envelope that’s sealed with red wax.

  Confusion plasters her face, but she takes it and reads the name scrawled along the front. “Who is Thomas Kenneth Montgomery?”

  “You’ll see,” I say. “I need you to keep a hold of my arm. It’s the only way this next part will work.” Before she can answer, I pull her into the alleyway and mutter the incantation, veiling us from the rest of the world. A moment later, a man slows along the sidewalk, his steps faltering. His stained shirt hangs loosely on his body

  “Kane, what-“

  Nora’s voice is cut off as she lets out a groan. Mirroring the man, she clamps her free hand on her head. Her expression is of pure agony. I wrap my arm around her waist, supporting her. The man, Thomas, collapses on the ground. Within seconds, the film of his soul rises up.

  “Et portae inferi rum animus manet.”

  Nora’s weak body leans on mine, putting the majority of her weight against me. I brush the fly away hairs from her face. “Are you okay?”

  She nods, taking a deep breath. “This happens all the time. It’ll go away.” I look down, my brow creasing. “It happens when I’m stressed.”

  I bite back the comments fighting to get out. The stress in her life has spiked dramatically since I barged into her life, but she hasn’t acted like this once. I push my thoughts aside and hold onto her. When the pain she’s experiencing starts to fade, she looks down to where a crowd has formed around the body.

  I keep hold of her as I guide her down the alley, not letting go till we reach the other side. Thanks to the momentary lapse of judgement the incantation offers, it would appear as if we just walked out of the alley, not unveiling ourselves.