Nate’s words snapped me out of my trance. “That’s Pick?”
“Yes.” His gaze slid to mine and he lowered his voice. “Don’t let him touch you.”
Like that even had to be said. “Yeah, no problem.”
I must have been in shock, because I should have been freaking out. It wasn’t every day you saw an elevator to Hell in a convenience store bathroom. My life was hockey games and laundry, not…well, not whatever this was.
“Nate.” Pick’s voice carved through the tension like a hissing blade. “Punctual as usual.” His gaze tracked to me and his thin lips pulled into a white, feral smile. “And who do we have here?”
This Pick character gave off a seriously eerie vibe.
“A new recruit,” Nate said.
I had no idea if they were talking about me, and it didn’t matter. At this point I was doing good not to pee myself.
The attorney guy pulled a clipboard from a file pocket mounted near the entrance and scanned an attached paper. “Leroy Badder?”
“Yes.” Nate didn’t move or release his hold on my hands. “He just robbed the convenience store—or tried to.”
Pick ticked a mark on the clipboard and placed it back into the pocket. “You’ve been quite the troublemaker, Mr. Badder.”
“Yeah, well, let me go and I’ll show you just how bad I can be.” Leroy tugged against my hold, pulling me toward the elevator.
Panic shot through me. Nate had specifically said to not let Pick touch me, and I had every intention of complying. Once again, I dug the thick heels of my boots against the slick tile floor, and lunged backward.
Nate’s grip tightened and he leaned in, pressing his mouth against my ear. “When I tell you to release him, let go.”
“Gladly.” Though I didn’t know if my fingers would open after being crushed for so long.
Leroy shook his arms, which caused me to chomp down on my tongue. I bit back a string of name calling, most of which were less than flattering references to his mother.
“Now?” I shuffled my feet, trying to avoid Badder’s stomping boots. Then the ghost braced his foot against my thigh and hauled backward. “Now?” I shouted.
“Now!” Nate’s grip slid from my hands to my waist, holding me steady.
With the help of Leroy’s thrashing, my fingers uncurled and released the ghost. Leroy hurled toward the open door, as if being sucked in by a giant vacuum, and tumbled into the elevator. He lay for a few seconds, looking around. When his gaze tracked downward, his eyes widened and his mouth rounded in a silent scream. Before he uttered a sound, Leroy dropped out of sight. The scene reminded me of the coyote on one of those Road Runner cartoons. Seconds later, the cry he hadn’t voiced wafted up and out of the elevator to Hell.
Pick stood in the doorway, plucking invisible lint from his suit until Leroy’s voice faded. I stumbled backward and out of Nate’s hold, hitting the door. My fingers fumbled for the handle, but Nate flicked the deadbolt to lock.
“Let me out.” My hands shook so badly I couldn’t maneuver the latch back. I had no idea who or what Pick was or where Leroy Badder had disappeared. What I did know was that I wanted to be as far away from these guys as possible. I pointed. “I’m not going in there.”
“Calm down.” Nate grabbed my shoulders and spun me to face him. “You don’t have to but we need to talk before the police get here.”
I stared at him, not sure I trusted anything he said. My fingers curled around the handle of the door. No way was I dropping my defenses so this guy could toss me through the fiery Gates of Hell. Nate released me but kept his hands raised, gesturing for me to stay put. I didn’t move—was unable to move.
He faced the elevator. “Our transaction is complete.”
Pick tipped his head in acknowledgment and straightened. “Until next time.”
With that, the door slid shut and compressed into a thin line of light, shrinking until it vanished completely. Nate walked to the other end of the bathroom. “It’s over.”
I didn’t release my death-grip. “What was that? Who are you? Where did Leroy go?” My questions flowed like verbal diarrhea. “Am I dead?”
“You aren’t dead, but Leroy is. That doorway was a portal, and Pick is what’s called a porter. He escorts souls to their appointed destination.”
“Appointed destination? You mean Hell?”
Nate shrugged. “Not necessarily, but in most cases, yes.”
“What do you mean, in most cases?”
He stared at me, his blue eyes never wavering from my face, but didn’t answer.
“What are you?”
Nate took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m a grim reaper. It’s my job to get souls to the porters.”
I didn’t know whether to laugh or run screaming from the restroom. There wasn’t enough liquor in the world to drown the images of the things I witnessed. Not enough soap to scrub away the feel of Leroy sticking to me. And there was no denying I might have completely lost my mind.
Nate cleared his throat. “And you’re a grim reaper too.”
Okay, I’d definitely lost my mind.
Chapter 2
Me a reaper? Very funny.” I pointed my shaking finger at Nate. “Okay, I’m leaving now. You just stay there and…well, just stay there.”
“Lisa.”
That brought me up short. During our initial struggle with Leroy’s ghost he’d called me Lisa. “How do you know my name?”
“I’ve been watching you for a while.” He took a step toward me.
“Don’t come any closer, stalker boy.” I spazed and plastered my body against the door. My left hand fumbled in my coat pocket and I hauled out my deadly set of keys. “I will gouge your eyes out.”
Nate looked up at the ceiling, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “I knew this was a mistake.”
“What? Killing me in a public bathroom?” In an effort to back up my threat, I jabbed the pointy end of a key at him. “That would be a very big mistake. My dad used to be a cop.”
“I told them you weren’t cut out to be a reaper, but nobody listened to me.”
“What do you mean not cut out to be a reaper?” Rational thought and action sometimes eluded me. Instead of going along with his assumption that I couldn’t do the job, I rallied my bruised pride and foolishness. “If there was such a thing as a reaper, which there isn’t, I’d be awesome at it. And for your information, I’ve got a black belt in Karate.”
He shook his head. “No, you don’t.”
“How would you know?” Stupid question, he was a stalker after all.
“It’s my job to know everything about the reapers in my zone.”
“Okay.” I shook my keys at him. “Then tell me about myself.”
“You’re thirty-five, a mother of three, and your husband died a year ago today.”
“You could have Googled that.” I pulled on the door handle and tried to flip the lock open, but it wouldn’t move.
“I didn’t.” When he walked toward me I faced him, sliding to the corner, with my keys still held in attack mode. “You’ve been on our radar for some time, but with your husband’s death I didn’t think it would be wise to approach you about being a grim reaper.”
“Good plan, let’s keep it like that.” I reached for the handle again, but he slammed his foot in front of the door, preventing my escape. I glared at him. “As a matter of fact, let’s never speak of it again.”
With everything I’d just experienced, and now this guy claiming I was a reaper, it was just too much to take in.
“We need to talk about it, Lisa. Now that you’ve activated your powers, a decision needs to be made.”
“Fine, I’ve decided to ignore my reaperness, you, and—” I made a circle with my hand, indicating the other end of the bathroom. “The whole paranormal shindig that may or may not have happened.”
“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that.” He ran his hand through his hair, giving it a messy appearance that made him even cute
r. “You need to be informed before you make a decision.”
“No, I really don’t. I’ve made plenty of uninformed decisions. Turducken, skinny jeans, the fruit diet, all bad judgments, yet here I am, right as rain.”
“This isn’t the same as making a poor fashion choice. There are entities you have to report to now that you’ve reaped Leroy Badder.”
“I did not reap Leroy Badder. He just—kind of—stuck to me.”
Nate held his hands out to his side and gave me a look that said duh. “Same thing. You have to answer for it.”
I narrowed my gaze, not completely understanding what he was trying to tell me. “Who are these entities? Like the Human Resource Department of reapers or bigger, like God or Satan?”
“We can’t talk here. I’ll explain things after we’ve dealt with the police.”
“Do I look like an idiot?” I gave an unladylike snort. “I’m not discussing anything with you and I don’t need you to explain things to me.”
After my husband died, I’d struggled with my own mortality and the meaning of life. I’d gone to a dozen churches, looking for solace, read books on life-after-death, and searched for reasons why he died. Let’s just say I have a tendency to immerse myself in my projects. Unfortunately, I was exactly the kind of person who would buy into this reaper crap, hoping for a higher meaning.
Before he replied somebody pounded on the door.
“Police, could you step out here please?”
Relief washed through me. I needed to get out of Hell’s bathroom before I did something stupid, like enlisting in reaper boot camp, or signing my soul over to Satan. “Coming officer.”
Nate approached and covered my hand with one of his. “Take this and call me. We need to talk.” He held out a business card. When I didn’t take it, he slipped it into my jacket pocket. “I’ll explain everything then.”
I stared at him for a second, no clever retort coming to me. But neither did I tell him I wouldn’t be calling. I pulled the door open and squeezed out, making sure not to brush against him. By the off chance he was the Angel of Death, I wanted to keep touching to a minimum.
The next hour was spent rehashing the details of the robbery. I did my best to stay as far from Nate as possible, but he kept glancing my way with his piercing blue eyes. Why were the cute ones always nutjobs—or grim reapers? As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t dismiss the bizarre events that happened. No obvious explanation for Leroy’s ghost, the Gates of Hell, or Pick popped into my head. Common sense told me revealing the bathroom incident to the police would not be in my best interest.
After the officer finished with me, I walked to Doug. The poor guy looked paler than usual. I’d been frequenting this particular Holiday for a year and had learned that Doug was a sweet, farm boy from Iowa, who came to Anchorage to study environmental science. I’d done my part to make sure the police knew he’d shot Leroy in self-defense.
“How you doing, Doug?”
His round hazel eyes slid to my face. “I killed a guy.”
I leaned my hip against the counter. “Yes you did. Thanks for that.”
His brow furrowed. “Thanks?”
“If you hadn’t shot him, he would’ve shot you, and maybe the rest of us.”
I wasn’t sure if that was true. Perhaps if Doug hadn’t tried to be a hero and handed over the cash, Leroy would have escaped with the money, leaving all of us unharmed. Or in my case, not a grim reaper—supposedly. But Badder was dead, and Doug would struggle with that the rest of his life. What harm would a few possible fibs do?
“Really?” The expression on his face nearly broke my heart. He appeared to be clinging to any thread that would lift the burden of snuffing out someone’s life. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Doug, you saved all our lives.” I indicated the store with the sweep of my hand. “My kids have already lost one parent. Thanks to you they didn’t lose me too.”
His posture straightened. “Wow, I did that?”
I gave him a couple of pats on the shoulder. “You really did.”
Roger approached, his brown eyes still wide with shock, and his normally tan skin on the ashen side. “You okay, Mrs. Carron?”
Roger was a native kid from a bush village called Dillingham. “I’m fine, Roger. How are you doing?”
“All right, I guess.” He glanced over his shoulder at the police, and then back to us. “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.” I had that effect on people. Complete strangers routinely bared their souls to me in the checkout line. I always found it weird that people were willing to tell me intimate details of their lives. If only I could get my daughter to share a bit about her life.
“You know after Doug shot the robber?”
I nodded.
Roger swallowed hard. “I could have sworn I saw his ghost.”
To cover my shock I play dumbed. “Who? Doug’s ghost?”
“No.” Roger’s tongue darted out nervously to moisten his lips. “The gunman’s ghost. It was only there for a few seconds, but faded when you went to the bathroom.”
I kept my face passive. “Really?”
“Yeah, he was standing right in front of you and he looked really pissed.”
Pissed was putting it mildly. I gave him a strained smile. “Whew, glad I didn’t see him. I would have lost it big time.”
Roger clutched his hands to his chest. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I think some people are more susceptible to the spirit world.”
That wasn’t a lie. I’d always fancied myself sensitive to things like ghosts and haunted houses, whether it was a sense of being watched, or a feeling of foreboding when I walked into a room. If I really was a grim reaper, that might explain my experiences. Maybe Roger’s native upbringing connected him to the spirit world. Heck, maybe he’d taken a hallucinogenic before work. Besides the robbery, I couldn’t explain anything else that had happened.
“Well, I need to get going. Are you guys okay? Did you call the owner?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Doug nodded. Through all the hoopla, his plastic comb had remained firmly in place at the side of his fro. “He’s on his way.”
“Maybe you’ll get a bonus for preventing a robbery.” They looked at each other, their eyes lighting at my mention of money. I smiled. “Mind if I grab a soda?”
Doug shook his head. “Take anything you want, Mrs. Carron. Anything.”
“Thanks.” I slipped between a police officer and the stand of postcards, trying to be as discreet as possible. If I could get my soda and leave, I wouldn’t have to talk to crazy Nate again.
I opted for the forty-four ounce jug and made a break for the front door. A cop still questioned him, but Nate glanced in my direction. Our gazes locked for a few seconds, and then he flicked his head toward me, indicating our business wasn’t finished. I silently groaned. A slick ditch would have been too easy.
Despite the crowd gathered beyond the yellow police tape, I pushed open the glass door and stepped outside. Cameras clicked and questions were shouted at me, but I kept my head down and walked briskly to my van. Why couldn’t the robbery have happened after I’d gotten my hair done?
I drove to the Northway Mall, where Vella’s Star Power Salon resided. I parked, grabbed my soda and purse, and locked Omar. The brisk breeze registered, but the shivers running through me were not caused from the cold. I was still trying to wrap my head around everything, but not having much luck.
At least I’d be able to relay all the events to Vella. Her quirky outlook on life was one of acceptance and what-ifs. Hopefully, she wouldn’t suggest I seek psychiatric help or up my meds—which I did not take. Vella thought everybody should be on happy pills, as she referred to them. Not me, I preferred to suffer through my pain.
The mall was quiet for a Saturday morning. Then again, it was usually quiet. Situated in the not so posh section of town, the stores in the Northway Mall came and went. There were a f
ew steady merchants, and personally, I liked the smaller crowds. But I’m sure the storeowners would disagree.
The smell of hair color hung in the air and Elvis Presley crooned over the speaker system when I entered the salon. She was a diehard Elvis fan and even owned a motion activated, life-size cutout of him in her house. The damn thing scared me to death one night when I stayed with her. Stumbling down the dim hallway for a midnight pee, I’d passed her Elvis room. From out of the darkness I heard, “Thank you, thank you very much.” When I screamed Vella’s husband, Bud, ran out of their bedroom in his tidy whites, wielding a baseball bat. Let’s just say there are things that can’t be unseen.
“You’re late.” Vella lounged at her station, pawing through a celebrity magazine. “I thought you were going to be here at nine o’clock.”
Vella was from Texas, and although she’d lived in the great north for over twenty years, she’d refused to relinquish her big bleached blond hair and tanning bed. I called her Menopause Barbie—not to her face.
I plopped down in the chair next to her. “I would have but I got stuck in the middle of a mini-mart robbery.”
“What?” She tossed her magazine onto the counter “Girl, are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine—well, physically fine.” I sighed. “Which is more than I can say for Leroy Badder.”
Vella shrugged. “Who’s that?”
“The guy who robbed the store. You know Doug, the kid from Iowa?”
“Big hair?” Vella held her hands out to the sides of her head.
“Yeah, he shot and killed the guy.” The memory of the blood seeping from under Leroy’s body made me shudder. “It was awful.”
“Sweet Jesus, and here I had my panties in a bunch, thinking you were having one of your pity parties.”
If anybody other than my best friend had said that to me I would have ripped their head off. But when Jeff died, she’d been right beside me, holding my hand, wiping my tears, and taking care of my kids when I’d had too much.
“Hello ladies, and I use that term loosely.” Jonathan, the salon’s receptionist, sauntered in, carrying two large cups of coffee. “Decided to get out of bed, I see.”
Myths & Magic: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection Page 287
