Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  The big day had finally arrived. Lenny and Roger were getting married, and nobody could be happier than Bobby. The last six months had been an endless, torturous barrage of invitation shopping, flower shopping, tuxedo shopping, guest list arguments and table assignments. Living on cloud nine, they were two of the happiest people Bobby ever knew and he couldn’t wait for it to be over.

  “Last shift,” Lenny sighed as they pulled out of the EMT garage and onto the unforgiving streets of the south Bronx.

  “Three weeks bro!” Roger rubbed his hands together greedily.

  “Three weeks!” Lenny shared his enthusiasm.

  “Possible OD. Soundview Houses, building six, third floor. NYPD on scene,” the familiar voice of dispatch screeched from the radio.

  Lenny grabbed the microphone, “Wagon 85, ETA eleven minutes.”

  “Eleven? You crazy?” Roger hit the lights and gunned the motor.

  “Come on granny, you can do it.” Lenny knew he’d given his partner a serious challenge, it was a good fifteen minute haul, even running hot.

  “Ten bucks?” Roger accepted the challenge

  “Dishes for a week?”

  “Done.”

  It took fourteen. Lenny laughed as Roger protested while climbing the dark dingy stairs toward the waiting cop on the third floor landing.

  “Looks like pills, boys,” the young officer informed them as he opened the hallway door and ushered them into chaos.

  A grieving mother hovered over the lifeless body of a girl who couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Her maternal cries echoed down the pea-green tiled corridor calling every tenant to their doors to investigate. Dressed in scrubs, her hair pinned neatly back and her eyes swollen with grief, the woman howled, “Help her! Help her! She’s a good girl! She’s a good girl! My baby! Please! My baby!”

  “Everybody please stay inside your apartments. These guys need room to work,” the second cop commanded in an attempt to control the scene.

  Some listened. Most didn’t. The live drama was better than anything television offered.

  “Any idea what she took?” Lenny asked as he dropped to his knees beside the girl and her mother.

  “She don’t do drugs! She’s a good girl!” the mother replied angrily.

  “Mom, if we know we can help her,” Lenny explained as he took the girl’s vitals.

  “She’s good! She’s a good girl!” the mother insisted hysterically.

  “She home alone?” Roger asked with a kind smile.

  “Yes,” the mother moaned. “Her and her brother.”

  “Where’s he?”

  “Inside,” the mom replied, turning toward the open apartment door behind her.

  “Can you get him for me?” Roger asked, knowing siblings shared secrets.

  “Jordan!” the mother shouted.

  The kid popped out from behind the door, he’d been hiding there, watching through the jamb.

  “Your sister?” Roger began as he approached the boy.

  “Wendy,” Jordan whispered her name.

  “Right, Wendy.” Roger lowered himself onto one knee to look the kid in his big, frightened, wet eyes, “She been doing anything weird?”

  Jordan looked at his mother then at Roger, he had a secret.

  “You can tell me,” Roger coaxed. “Mom won’t be mad.”

  “She took some kinda medicine,” Jordan said, his voice cracking.

  “Do you know what kind?”

  Jordan shrugged.

  “It’s super important little man.” Roger was on a scent and, like any good bloodhound, he wasn’t going to let it go. “It could save Wendy’s life.”

  “She hid them in her room before mommy got home. Probably in her jewelry box, she hides all her stuff in there.” The kid broke down then, crying as if it was all his fault.

  His mother waved him to her side and wrapped him in a loving embrace, squeezing reassurance and love into the boy.

  “Got it,” one cop said, darting inside.

  “Weak pulse. Shallow breathing,” Lenny informed Roger.

  I’m thinking opiates Lenny.”

  “Get the Narcan ready.”

  The cop emerged with a little baggie containing three small white pills between his outstretched fingers. Roger grabbed it and dumped one into his palm. Imprinted on one side of the round uncoated tablet was the number ten, the letters ‘OP’ on the other. “Oxy ten mils,” Roger confirmed their suspicion.

  “We know how many she took?” Lenny asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Narcan.”

  “Narcan.” Roger handed him the overdose antidote.

  Lenny cracked the seal, inserted applicator in one of the girl’s nostrils and pressed the plunger down slowly.

  *

  Wendy lay motionless as the living waited and prayed silent prayers. A portal to Hell opened, releasing a Reaper to claim her. The living could do no more to save her.

  “Shit,” Bobby groaned, he’d become accustomed to dealing with his colleagues but it still scared the crap out of him.

  “Double?” the woman asked as she strolled through the drama to where Bobby stood.

  “Nope, I’m tethered to that guy, the big one,” Bobby replied, willing himself to remain calm.

  “How long?” the slender Reaper asked in a very un-New York accent as she studied him.

  “A few years, I lost count.”

  “You are familiar to me,” she said accusingly, pushing her hood back as far as she could without dropping out of its protection.

  “Holy shit! Rachkovsky!”

  No way. Not good.

  “Grant…yes, the one who could not shut his mind from speaking,” the mob queen spit the words as if they had a bad taste.

  This is a bad bitch bro! Play it cool Bobby. Play it real fucking cool.

  “Yeah, that’s me. Long time no see. How’s it going?”

  “Going? I am Reaper, stuck forever chasing fools like dog catcher.” She clearly hadn’t warmed to her calling.

  “Yeah, it sucks.”

  “You have been among living for long time. Why you have not to make this one kill himself?”

  “Fucker found Jesus,” Bobby told his lie.

  “Fool, keep him from sleep, break his mind. Then it is no problem for you.”

  “Great idea, thanks. I’ll try that.”

  “It’s good. You do not want Hunters to come for you.” she said, smiling, cold and cunning. “This you will not enjoy.”

  Hunters? That doesn’t sound good.

  “Hunters?”

  “The Hunters, yes. The police you can say, they come if we do not obey rules. You know this, yes?”

  Fuck no!

  “Oh yeah, sure, I just call them RP’s so…but I haven’t seen them.” He didn’t want Rachkovsky to think he was up to no good, or good, whatever the case may be.

  “It is next level,” she added with admiration.

  “What?”

  “Ignorant boy, you know nothing. For Reaper to become Hunter is promotion. More power, more killing.

  She’s definitely into both.

  “Shit, must’ve missed that lesson,” Bobby chuckled.

  “Um,” Rachkovsky grunted.

  “So you’re trying to get a promotion huh?” Bobby asked, wanting to keep her chatting, the girl on the floor could use the time.

  “Of course,” Rachkovsky replied, annoyed by the question. “To be this thing, to be bottom of chain, it is no good for me.

  “Gotcha.”

  “Only negative is partner, the Hunter works with another but perhaps this is not bad. To talk, even this, with you, is welcome after such a long time alone, yes?”

  “Yeah, a little company would be a nice change.” Bobby didn’t think she wanted his and he definitely wasn’t a fan of hers.

  “It is time,” Rachkovsky said

  *

  Wendy was dead. Her spirit climbed from her corpse and stood beside her mother, confused by the commotion and the wom
an’s tearful pleading.

  “Come girl, we go!” Rachkovsky barked.

  Wide-eyed with shock, Wendy backed away as the Reaper approached. “Do not worry, they do not matter anymore,” Rachkovsky offered, holding out one hand for the girls. “Come, we go now.”

  Bobby realized Rachkovsky was in a rush to get out of Dodge before an Angel showed up. “Hey Rachkovsky?” Bobby called after her, needing to stall. “Let me ask you something. What did Jones do to you when he had you all to himself?”

  Rachkovsky’s eyes closed at once. The foul memories of her private time with the vile madman replayed in her memory even as she fought to quell them. “It is not for you,” she hissed through clenched teeth, turning to Bobby, stabbing him with her eyes.

  “Come on.” Bobby smiled and walked closer. “Tell me, it must have been crazy.”

  Rachkovsky grimaced, her memories as corrupted as the Reaper that orchestrated them. “It is not to share,” she growled.

  *

  “Paddles!” Lenny cried out when he realized the girl’s heart had stopped its lazy beat, the antidote too little, too late or both.

  “Paddles,” Roger confirmed then handed them, gelled and charged, to his partner.

  “Clear?”

  “Clear.”

  *

  “Why must you know this?” Rachkovsky asked, even tortured by her memories, she was still as sharp as a new razor.

  “Curious,” Bobby replied nervously.

  “As am I but not about this, about you Grant. You try to slow me,” Rachkovsky said, scanning the hallway for anything suspicious.

  “Slow you, why?” Bobby shrugged and shook his head. “Just figured we’d talk a little, you know, shoot the shit.”

  “This is lie.” Rachkovsky snarled, grabbed Wendy and wrenched her to her side.

  Wendy cried out but there was nobody to hear her except the hooded creeps that caused it.

  “Relax,” Bobby tried to calm both of them down.

  “You delay me!” Rachkovsky demanded, adjusting her grip on her scythe. “You betray and you hide here. You do not kill this one but not because of Jesus as you say. You defect to this place and you wish for me to join you, yes?”

  Thank God for big egos!

  “Yes! Please, please stay with me. We can live here together, me and you. We can live again.”

  “It is fool’s game and you are a fool Grant. They will find you, they will come. Hunters, they are worst of us, they will peel you and dance as you scream.”

  That’s a bit extreme.

  “We can hide,” Bobby pushed.

  “No. No hiding. I only have to claim a few more of the innocents to make promotion,” Rachkovsky confessed the depth of her ambition.

  “Innocents?” Bobby let it slip without thinking.

  “Yes, perhaps you call them different like you do for Hunters?”

  “Yeah, maybe?” Bobby thought fast, needing to know what she did. “The um…”

  Rachkovsky rolled her eyes. “Those claimed before Angel arrives, the stolen ones, yes?”

  “Oh right, those,” Bobby shook his head and smiled. “I call them BPs.”

  “I do not get this, this BP. What does this mean?”

  “Early bird specials, restaurant jargon for the people who come in early, before the dinner rush, ya’know? It’s all old people looking for a bargain dinner. The ladies have a thing for blue hair so they call it a blue plate special, BPs. Get it?”

  “This name is stupid,” she snapped.

  She not only bought it, it pissed her off. Nice job Bobby. Well, thank you, I try.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Bobby shrugged submissively. “Innocents sounds better.”

  The shabby hallway burned as bright as the sun and as cool as the moon for a brief millisecond. “Shit,” Rachkovsky spat.

  “Oh no,” Bobby agreed.

  “Hold this one.” Rachkovsky stuffed Wendy’s thin wrist into Bobby’s hand. “I must kill the enemy before it speaks.”

  If she kills the Angel before they offer forgiveness it might still count. Bitch has it all worked out.

  “Why?” Bobby asked, wanting to get the facts right.

  “Because I hate them,” Rachkovsky replied and marched toward the Angel who just appeared.

  Not exactly the big reveal Bobby expected but it made sense. He had seen the very worst of her during their time together in Hell, the mob queen was an expert at hate. Bobby looked toward his roomies. The two EMTs were no longer frantic. They knelt, heads low and hands clasped in prayer, over Wendy’s corpse.

  “Please let me go back to my mommy?” Wendy sobbed from beside Bobby, he’d almost forgotten her.

  This is some serious bullshit! There’s no way I’m telling this poor little thing she’s dead.

  “I’m dead right mister?” she said, beating him to it.

  “I’m sorry sweetie.”

  “Are you here to take me to Hell?”

  “No.”

  “But she is right, the mean lady?”

  “I’m not going to let that happen,” Bobby replied, hoping he wasn’t lying.

  Wendy was nobody’s fool. She’d spent her short life living in an unforgiving world, her common sense honed to a razor’s edge by the tough streets outside her door. “You’re not on her side? You guys look the same.”

  “I know it might look that way but I’m like a double agent. I look like her but I am definitely not on her side. I’m on yours.”

  “So you’re an Angel? You’re going to take me to see Jesus?”

  “No but that guy in white is and we have to help him,” Bobby explained. “Now I need you to do something for me, I need you to yell as loud as you can that you want forgiveness and you want to go see Jesus. Loud girl, as loud as you can.”

  “Really?” The dead girl didn’t trust easily, another symptom of her hard life.

  “Please Wendy, trust me.” It was a big ask.

  Wendy saw something good in the Reaper’s eyes, and something desperate. “You’re scared,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.”

  *

  “I want to go see Jesus! I want to be forgiven!” Wendy screamed as only a teenage girl can, filling the narrow hallway with an ear popping, nails on a chalkboard, cats in a wood chipper cry of desperation.

  “Shut her up fool!” Rachkovsky’s head twisted, her face even more so with rage.

  Bobby crouched over the girl and grabbed her roughly. “I’m going to pretend to try to cover your mouth, keep screaming though, fight me,” he whispered.

  Wendy nodded and kept at it, squirming like an eel to keep from Bobby’s exaggerated attempts to muzzle her. “Forgive me Jesus! I love you Jesus! Take me home Jesus!”

  “Good girl,” Bobby whispered and realized the girl hadn’t cringed at his touch.

  That’s weird

  The slightest brush of his cold, dead skin usually invoked an abrupt reaction. Maria said it felt like she touched something contagious.

  The fight began, Wendy’s call emboldened the Angel to attack but Rachkovsky was ready for it. Short and stout with a soft paunch drooping over his golden belt, the Angel fought the good fight with surprising skill and ferocity. Rachkovsky fended off his attacks with ease and launched her own with liquid speed. The Angel blocked and countered, slicing Rachkovsky’s thigh, following it up with well-placed elbow to the face as she tried to recover. Bobby almost cheered but stifled it.

  Rachkovsky smiled, spit and attacked again. Swinging wild, her anger pushing her forward recklessly, a whirlwind of deadly hate. The Angel couldn’t keep up with the fevered assault. Rachkovsky breached his defense, cleaving his right leg to the bone with a short strike then severing his sword arm above the elbow and laughing like the mad woman she was as the he fell.

  “She asks forgiveness!” he cried, squirming backward to put space between them. “This is against the Laws!”

  “Laws, where are these laws you weaklings speak of?” Rachkovsky asked.

 
“The Laws are…” the Angel began but was quickly cut off.

  “These are not mine, I do not know them. Rules are for the weak, it is why your kind fade and mine grow stronger,” Rachkovsky preached as she followed the Angel’s awkward retreat.

  Arrogant bitch.

  .“Help him. Help him, please?” Wendy begged as she tugged at Bobby’s sleeve, their farce forgotten.

  Bobby looked down at the dead girl. She was so scared, so very, very scared. She was just a kid who loved her mom and her Jesus. There was no way this poor, sweet soul should be fast-tracked for eternal damnation.

  She’s wearing pink fucking unicorn hair clips for God’s sake.

  “Don’t worry sweetheart, I won’t let her take you. Wait here.”

  Wendy smiled, she believed him.

  Shit Bobby you’re going to mess everything up with this.

  The Russian was toying with her prey, beating him with the staff of her scythe as she rambled on about how great she was and how easy it was for her to kill Angels. Bobby glided silently toward them, his eyes glued to the Angel, his finger poised in front of his lips to signal the need for silence in case he looked up. When he was less than five feet away, the Angel finally noticed him. Bobby crossed his lips with his finger, the international sign for ‘Shut the fuck up.

  The Angel glimpsed Bobby with terrified eyes then turned his attention back to his tormentor. Bobby cheered internally and edged a little closer. Spinning his scythe so that the blade followed the staff, he raised it over his shoulder and dropped the hammer on the deserving skull of the Russian bitch. A hollow thud rolled down the hallway. Rachkovsky crumbled. Her scythe stood for a moment longer before toppling it with a clatter onto the floor beside her.

  *

  Lenny tried to console Wendy’s mother as Roger unfolded and spread a thin plastic sheet over the girl’s corpse. The cops milled around uncomfortably. The neighbors quietly closed their doors, hiding from the grief as if it were contagious.

  “Why did you do that?” the brutalized Angel asked.

  “Long story bro. I’m Bobby.”

  Weird.

  “I can’t really talk to you,” the Angel admitted although it was obvious he wanted to.

  “What’s your name?” Bobby asked anyway, determined to set him straight, fill him in on some serious shit and get him safely on his way, along with the girl, and needing to do it quick.