As they waited for the paramedics to arrive, Mary had Molly lie on the couch in the living room. Mary found a cloth and ran it under the faucet in the kitchen before putting it on Molly’s head.
“Christ,” Molly said. “Martin…”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you.”
Molly shook her head feebly. “No, you did the right thing. It’s better I find out now while I can do something about it.”
Mary looked at her watch and sighed. “I’ve wasted a lot of time. Please tell me—if Martin’s not here, where would he be?”
Molly weakly stated, “There’s a cabin on the outskirts of Guthrie. Hardly anyone knows about it. 312 Rainbow Lake Drive. If he’s anywhere, he’ll be there.”
“Thank you,” Mary said. She wanted to hurry on over there, but couldn’t leave Molly McDonnell in her current state. So, she stayed there until help arrived, which didn’t happen quickly. The paramedics must have gotten held up, because it took a good half hour for them to show up. When they finally did, Mary got up to leave.
However, Molly suddenly grabbed her arm. “Please,” she said with renewed strength. “Save Martin!”
Mary nodded. “I will.”
8
The cabin held a lot of memories for Martin. He remembered every quiet conversation, every cozy dinner, every trip down to the lake to go swimming. Nothing was forgotten.
At least, that was what Serika thought to herself as her astral form stood in the living room. Martin damned well better remember it, or she would hurt him more than she was already planning to (which, if things went smoothly, would be no pain at all).
This was perfect. He had retreated to the one place the Shinigami didn’t know about and was now passed out on the couch, unable to defend himself. Mary would waste plenty of time going to Molly’s place, never realizing Molly had a job and would be at work. Poor Mary. No one will be there to tell her where Martin has gone. Serika laughed. And in order to avoid freaking Molly out, Mary would have to go in person, not astral form, which would take much more time.
Her abilities, limited as they were in this form, were still sufficient to carry out this act. So, without wasting much time, she had gone to the fireplace and, after a bit of tampering, triggered a gas leak. The cabin was now filling up with delightfully combustible vapor. And Martin, conked out on the couch, would have no idea what was happening until it was too late. And I will meet you at the gates of Yomi, where we’ll have so much to discuss.
Now the only thing to do was wait for the maximum level of gas to build up, and… boom. Serika cackled to herself, confident Martin wouldn’t hear her in his hung-over state. Come to me, Martin.
Itsu made mo.
* * *
Martin opened his eyes. He could have sworn he had heard someone laughing. Oh, shit! It must have been the killers. They had found him here and were about to finish him off.
He leapt to his feet and was greeted by his spinning head. He threatened to topple over but managed to keep his balance.
His eyes frantically searched the room but found nothing. Everything was as it should be. No intruders in sight, no ominous laughter. Had he dreamed it?
However, his nose quickly told him what his eyes and ears could not. The stench of rotten eggs pervaded the room. He tried to move, to get himself out of the cabin. But he must have still had a hangover because dizziness overcame him and he fell to his knees, his eyes and throat being irritated by the gas. This is it. This is how I die. Thoughts of guilt ran through his mind and he realized he was strangely okay with this. After all, death was what he deserved.
* * *
Though he could not see her, Serika could see him. She watched Martin fall to his knees, her triumph assured. There was no way he could possibly escape death this time.
She raised her hand and snapped her fingers. It was just enough to produce the tiniest of sparks. Just enough to level the entire building.
See you soon, Martin.
* * *
People often said that when facing death, your life flashes before your eyes. As Martin watched the spark come to life and expand in front of him, he realized that wasn’t true. What really happens is time slows down and you wait for the sweet embrace of death to envelope you.
He marveled at the scene unfolding before him. The small fire built up into a raging inferno which spread out in all directions like a supernova. In a few moments, it would take him forever. The smell of fire and smoke assaulted his senses and he began to choke, while the explosion itself was muted since it hadn’t reached his ears yet.
He felt perhaps he should close his eyes and accept his fate. Still, it was too beautiful, too mesmerizing, to ignore. The inferno shone upon him. It seemed both divine and demonic.
It was mere inches away, now. Without warning, though, a shimmering form appeared in front of him and something (or maybe someone) wrapped its arms around him. If it was a person, though, that person must have been dead, because their touch was ice cold.
That was the last thing he remembered.
* * *
His eyes shot open and he looked around. He was now maybe a hundred feet outside a smoldering pile of debris, not far from the lakeshore. Flaming wreckage lay strewn about all around him and the smell of smoke was almost overwhelming.
Martin carefully began moving his body. Aside from a series of bruises, he seemed fine. He attempted to stand and found that he could.
It was impossible. Nothing could have survived that. He should have been blown into unrecognizable ashes. And yet, here he was.
He didn’t have much time to ponder this because a series of emergency vehicles arrived in a grim parade. First a fire truck, followed by an ambulance and police cars. Martin wondered how long he had been out and how quickly they had gotten here.
He knew one thing for sure. He needed a drink.
9
Upon setting off the spark, Serika immediately hauled ass back to Yomi. She didn’t want to be around the cabin (or its remains) when Mary finally showed up.
Freshly departed souls arrived in Yomi almost immediately. After that it was another few hours of processing and orientation. Serika sat in her office awaiting the chance to finally speak with Martin and tell him what was on her mind, what she could not tell him in astral form. This had to be face to face. She had spent many nights lying awake, imagining what she would say to him. She had carefully chosen her words, afraid to send the wrong message. The hardest part would be explaining why she killed him, why he had to die. But he would understand. She knew he would. After all, he had brought this upon himself. It was his fault, really. Surely, he could understand that.
There was a knock at her office door, and she firmly expected Mary to come in and give her the “bad” news. “Come in,” she said.
Sure enough, in walked Mary, and she looked every bit as grim as Serika had hoped. “I have bad news.”
Serika’s hopes shot through the ceiling. “Oh, no. Is it Martin again? Please say it isn’t!”
Mary nodded. “There was an explosion at the cabin he was staying at.”
It was at this moment that Serika put on the performance of her life (or afterlife). She began sobbing, enticing the tears to come by invoking the memories of her death.
But Mary said, “It’s Okay. He’s all right. He was outside the cabin when it happened.”
Serika’s show came to a crashing halt. “What?”
“Yes. He’s okay. I just wanted to tell you that. Don’t worry; we’ll find the person who’s doing this.” She then made her exit.
Serika stared at the door to her office for several moments, trying to come to terms with what Mary had just said. It was impossible. Martin hadn’t been outside when it happened. He was on his knees in the living room. She saw him! Mary was lying to her, but why?
Inwardly, she raged. Martin kept surviving. This was more than just luck. This was divine intervention. But who was intervening? Surely not Lord First; he was too busy for su
ch things.
She stormed out of her office, hoping to walk off her toxic anger.
It was in the hallway that she ran into Hebimaru. “Hello, Serika.” He flashed her a big fake smile as he approached.
He had slick, almost oily black hair he kept short. He was shorter than her, but made up for it with questionable charisma. He was always on, a trait Serika found repulsive. Still, she needed his less ethical services.
“Hi, Hebimaru.” She tried to sound happy to see him, but that was difficult because of her current mood. That, and he always wanted to get into her kimono.
“Did you hear the news?”
She sighed. “What news?”
He ratcheted his expression up to maximum smugness. “Someone you know very well has been drinking himself silly. Aogami reports alcohol liver failure has begun. His death is imminent.”
She was afraid to ask, fearful he was just fucking with her. Yet she had to know. “Who?’
He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Why, the guy who killed you, of course.”
He hadn’t just said that. She wasn’t that lucky. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely. His life has just become too stressful, it seems. He needed a way to cope, and he decided on the bottle. Poor bastard’ll be dead before you know it.” He laughed. “Good news for you, huh? Oh, look at the time. I need to get going.”
He tried to walk past her, but she grabbed his arm. “When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Her eyes locked onto his. “Who’s been assigned to it? Tell me.”
There was that arrogant smirk again. “Me.”
Unacceptable. “Let me do it.”
“Forget it,” he said. “You’re too close to it. They’ll never let you do it.”
She did something she’d never done before: She pleaded with him. “Please. I’ve wanted this guy dead for a long time.”
He shrugged. “Even if I wanted to, they’d never agree to it.”
“That’s why we’re going to do it in secret.”
* * *
After another intense round of questioning by the police, Martin returned home. But unlike when he had left that morning, he didn’t feel a sense of utter despair. He knew now he was in good hands. Someone was looking out for him.
The phone rang. It was Betty. “Martin! Oh, thank God! I heard there was another attempt on your life.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But it’s fine. I survived.”
“It’s not fine! You were almost killed! Is it true a building blew up in your face?”
“Yes. But I’ll be okay. Trust me on that.”
He envisioned her shaking her head vigorously. “How can you be so sure of that?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Oh, really?” she said, her voice dripping with skepticism.
“Well, you’ll have plenty of time to explain tomorrow. I’m coming over to see you then.”
“What? No. It’s too dangerous. The killers are probably still lurking around here.”
“Try and stop me. We need to talk and that’s what we’re going to do.”
This was insane. “Then I won’t be here.”
“I’m coming over anyway. Do you want me to be stuck outside over there with a killer on the loose?”
He sighed. There was no talking her out of this. “Fine. But you have to promise to leave before dark.”
“I promise.”
“All right. See you then.”
There was a message from his sister on his voice mail. He really didn’t feel like rehashing his conversation with Betty, but Molly was undoubtedly worried sick, and he couldn’t just leave her hanging.
He called her back. She was as distraught as he expected. He managed to calm her down and reassure her he was fine.
After hanging up, he went to his fridge and proceeded to down a cold one.
* * *
Crossing the street, she tripped and fell down. That was when the screech of tires assaulted her ears. She turned her head in time to glimpse the truck coming at her. Before she knew what was happening, she was underneath it. Her flesh was shredded as it dragged her along for the ride. She screamed in agony but couldn’t hear anything over the roar of the engine. Her bones were crushed in a grisly procession.
Eventually she was dislodged. She went rolling for maybe a hundred feet before coming to a stop. The last thing she saw was a trail of her own blood smeared in a line as far as she could see.
Serika awoke with a jolt, her heart banging furiously in her chest. She didn’t have the dream every night, but when she did, her reaction was always the same.
She sobbed uncontrollably for an hour.
Thursday
(Part One)
10
Serika met Hebimaru outside the bastard’s Oklahoma City apartment. The cool morning breeze caressed her skin and the sun shone down upon her, filling her with warmth. It was beautiful day to do some good for the world.
“Did you make sure you weren’t followed?” he asked her.
“Who do you take me for?” Officially, she had taken a personal day.
“Hmph. Fair enough. But remember our deal. I let you do this, and then, at some point in the not-too-distant future, you let me, well, you know.” He leered at her with a distinctive lack of subtlety.
She smiled. “It would be my pleasure.” This creep would never, ever see what was underneath her uniform. True, he would obviously never do another favor for her, but it was worth it to finally kill the guy waiting behind this door.
“By the way, what’s with the sketch book?” he said.
“Never you mind that,” she responded, trying to sound as friendly as possible. He didn’t need to know why she was carrying this thing.
In her other hand was her scythe, the signature tool of all Shinigami.
Ordinarily, two people walking around dressed as they were would have attracted all kinds of unwanted attention. However, their clothing was specially made in Yomi to be sophisticated camouflage. It projected an image into the mind of whoever looked upon them to make these Shinigami look like what the person expected to see. This feature could also be disabled if, for some reason, the Shinigami wanted the person to see them as they truly were.
Serika put her palm against the door and projected her god energy into it. Said energy quickly found the lock and worked its mechanisms to open. She then strolled confidently into the apartment while Hebimaru stood watch outside.
What a mess, she thought as she surveyed the living room. All kinds of crap lay strewn about the floor. There were clothes, beer bottles, fast food wrappers and bills from everything from rent to doctors’ visits.
She made her way to his bedroom and opened the door as quietly as possible. She walked in and guessed the miserable lump under the blankets on the ramshackle contraption he called a bed was him. Otherwise, this was the same as the living room: covered in refuse.
She jabbed the lump with the butt of her scythe. “Wake up.”
There was a moaning, followed by the slow reveal of her target. Dull eyes stared at her. “Who are you?” His rancid breath threatened to drive her from the room.
“Daniel Fargas?”
She knew from Shinigami records he was in his forties, but he looked twenty years older. Time had nothing on alcohol. He possessed long black, scraggly hair and a beard to match. He probably suffered from some sort of mental illness, but that wouldn’t earn him any mercy today. “Yeah, that’s me.” He groaned, clearly still under the influence of his latest drink. Based on the yellowish hue of his skin and eyes, she guessed jaundice had set in. Also, a flaky rash dominated his hands. He saw her scythe and his eyes went wide. “What do you want?”
“Do you remember me?”
He managed to scooch away from her on the bed, but he was soon against the wall. “No. S-Should I?”
She drank in his fear and was getting high off it. “I thought you might have forgotten. That’s why I brought some visual aids
to help you remember.” She held the sketchbook in front of her and began flipping through it.
“Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess.”
“She had a wonderful life, and even found herself a prince.”
“But one night, an evil wizard cast the spell of DUI.”
“The princess was dragged for a mile before finally becoming dislodged. At that point, it was too late.”
“The end.”
“And so now you understand what you did to me. And why you have to die today.”
“No. Please,” he whimpered. The dam had officially burst by now. “I’ll do anything you want.”
She gave him the widest grin she had ever given since dying. “That’s great! Because I want you to die.”
“Help!” he screamed. “Somebody! Anybody!” His face was a wet, snotty mess.
“Yell all you want. My friend is currently projecting a sound-dampening field around this unit. Most gods have a unique ability called an Indō, and that’s his. No one will hear you.”
She inched closer to him, relishing every microsecond of this encounter. His abject terror filled her with a joy she hadn’t felt in ages.
Serika held the scythe up to his throat. At this point, he only had one thing to say. “Who are you?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said. “I forgot to give you my name. It’s very important to me, you know. My name is Serika.” She then added, “Serika McDonnell.”
* * *
She returned to Hebimaru, her scythe dripping with blood. “How’d it go?” he asked.
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” she beamed.
He nodded. “Good. You got what you wanted.”
“Of course I did,” she said. “I’m a McDonnell, and we always get what we want through sheer goddamn determination.”
“You did remember to heal him and wipe his memory of this event before you finished him off, right?”
Aragami Page 5
