Grave Vengeance

by Lori Sjoberg

  If given the chance, Gwen could spend an entire day viewing the endless array of exhibits. She’d always been inquisitive by nature and spent much of her childhood at the public library. To be surrounded by so much history was simply awe-inspiring. Was Dmitri sharing a similar experience inside the Air and Space Museum? Maybe she’d ask him later, when they met at the designated place and time.

  “Ma’am?”

  Gwen twisted her neck toward the sound of a boy’s voice. He appeared to be no older than nine, with chubby cheeks and a mop of curly red hair. She returned his shy smile. “Yes?”

  Looking nervous, the boy stepped toward her and held out an envelope with her name written across the front. “Um … some guy asked me to give you this.”

  Her gaze darted about the crowded room, scanning for signs of Patrick but finding none. No surprise there. After working as a reaper for close to thirty years, he’d become an expert at blending in with a crowd. Extending her hand, she accepted the envelope the boy offered. “Thank—” The kid took off before she could finish her sentence.

  Wasting no time, she tore the envelope open and found a museum postcard inside. On the front was a picture of Dorothy’s ruby red slippers from The Wizard of Oz. On the back was a simple message: Follow the yellow brick road. You have five minutes.

  Well, shit. She had no idea where the Smithsonian displayed the Oz memorabilia. “Excuse me,” she said to a passing guide. “Do you know where I could find Dorothy’s slippers?”

  “I sure do,” the older woman chirped. “They’re in the American Stories exhibit. Second floor, east side.”

  “Thank you.” Gwen slung her purse over her shoulder and rushed for the stairs.

  She found the red shoes near the Kermit the Frog puppet with under a minute to spare. No sign of Patrick, but an older man handed her a note, this one with instructions to go to the First Ladies exhibit on the third floor. From there, she was sent to the American flag that inspired “The Star-Spangled Banner” and then to the main cafeteria on the first floor.

  One more stupid note and she was calling it a day, she thought as she trudged past a table full of rowdy, middle school–aged girls. She stalked across the crowded room, mentally sifting through the mass of humanity but finding no hint of Patrick’s life force. For all she knew, he was jerking her chain for kicks and giggles while his followers ran amok.

  For a moment, she wondered what Dmitri was doing. Were Patrick’s people doing the same thing to him? How much would he put up with before finally losing his patience?

  Just as she was about to give up the search, the faint pulse of immortality tinged the air. She froze where she stood, using her mind to track the signal back to its source.

  Northeast corner.

  She turned, her eyes searching the far side of the cafeteria until she found Patrick’s bright, smiling face.

  In her mind, she struggled to reconcile the memories of the Patrick she used to know with the reality of what he’d done. He still looked every bit the idealistic young man she’d taken under her wing nearly thirty years before. It was hard to believe he’d committed such atrocities, and yet she couldn’t deny the facts. Somewhere along the line, the naïve young man she fondly remembered had morphed into a ruthless killer. With a heavy heart, she crossed the room.

  “It’s nice to see you, Gwen.” Patrick motioned for her to join him at the table. “Thank you so much for coming.”

  For the sake of civility, she sat on the chair across from his. “I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  “As do I. My apologies for sending you on a wild goose chase, but I had to make sure you were alone.” His gaze moved over her while he sipped his drink. Nothing rude or overtly sexual, just the casual appraisal of a longtime friend. “You look tired, dear lady. Are you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine.” Her fingers brushed over her throat. The bruises had already faded, but the memory was fresh in her mind. “I didn’t sleep well after seeing what you did to poor Lazlo.”

  Regret shadowed his face. Was it genuine? She had no idea. “That was most unfortunate. I wanted to include him in my plans, but he didn’t respect my vision.”

  “So you hacked him to pieces and sent him to judgment?” She flushed with indignation. “With the sins on his soul he’s as good as damned. How could you possibly do that to him?”

  Patrick leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “What makes you so sure he’s damned?”

  “You know the rules as well as I do. A reaper sent to judgment with an impure soul means automatic damnation.”

  “You understand the rules you’ve been given.” He combed a hand through his short sandy-brown hair, and a stray lock fell over his forehead. “How do you know they’re accurate?”

  “Because I learned them through firsthand experience.” Samuel had given her a taste of damnation after an early act of defiance. The memory still gave her chills. Since then, she’d been willing to do whatever it took to make sure she didn’t end up on the wrong side of the hereafter.

  “What you know is illusion.” He finished the last of his drink and pushed the empty cup aside. “Everything Samuel’s told us is a lie. There is no judgment, and there is no Hell. It’s all an elaborate scheme to enslave us.”

  At first she thought he was joking. But then she recognized the fire of fanaticism in his eyes, the absolute belief on his boyish features. “You’ve watched The Matrix too many times.”

  “This isn’t a movie!” His clear, crisp voice rose loudly enough to make the guys at the next table glance over to see what the fuss was all about. When Patrick noticed them watching, he blushed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

  “It’s okay.” Actually, it wasn’t. He was starting to give her the creeps. “Explain it to me, Patrick. Why did you hurt Lazlo and the others?”

  He stared down at the table for a few long moments, his long, slender fingers busy tearing a paper napkin to shreds. At last, he looked up again, his face filled with grim determination. “In your time as a reaper, how many souls have you harvested?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” She preferred not to dwell upon the legions of souls she’d collected in her years of service. Instead, she kept her focus on the goal of salvation, where she’d no longer feel haunted by the ghosts of her past.

  “Think about it. You were drafted into service in the early nineteen sixties. Even if you only harvested one soul a day, that would add up to at least twenty thousand. That’s a tremendous amount of stress for one reaper to bear.”

  She didn’t need the reminder. The dead flashed through her mind, so many that they all blended together. Maybe that was for the best. “The path to redemption isn’t supposed to be a walk in the park.”

  “Yes, but why does it have to be so difficult? We’re forced to witness such terrible injustice day after day after day. Children die at the hands of their parents while gang members gun each other down in the streets. In some parts of the world, genocide is practiced openly and women and children are treated like livestock. And what does Fate do? She sits on her butt and lets it all happen. Why should we stand idly by when we could tip the scales in favor of what’s right?”

  “Right by whose standard? Yours?”

  “By the standards of basic human decency.” He spat the words out. “This world is sick. You know that as well as I do. It’s infected with the cancer of incalculable cruelty. Instead of serving as the lapdog of an absentee landlord, why not take an active role in purging the disease?”

  Good grief, he’d turned into a vigilante. “And how do you plan on making that happen? How can you tell the difference between true evil and those capable of redemption?”

  “I can sense the soul of an evildoer, and so can you.” Fanaticism gleamed in his eyes.

  Gwen snorted. “Yeah, right. Both of us have blood on our hands. We’re no more righteous than the mugger down the street. And even if we are, where does it end? Do you stop with the murderers, or do
you include rapists? How about the thugs who beat up little old ladies? Or the rich who steal from the poor?”

  He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re splitting hairs, Gwen.”

  “Am I? What if one of those hairs is redeemable? For all you know, one of those degenerates you kill—or maybe their offspring—is fated to make a positive impact on the world. We don’t know because we’re not privy to Fate’s grand scheme. Are you willing to risk the possibility of eliminating an agent of the greater good?”

  “I’d much rather take an active role in shaping the future than leave it to a being whose stewardship is far from commendable.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Can’t you see I’m giving you the chance to be a part of the solution? You’re either with us or against us. Let me know now before I waste any more of my time.”

  Leaning back in her chair, she met his unwavering gaze. “And if I choose not to join you?”

  “Then I’ll have no choice but to end your suffering.”

  “By sending me to Hell.” She let out a short bitter laugh. “How charitable of you.”

  His face turned red, the vein in his forehead bulging. “There is no Hell. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  “Where’s your proof?”

  “I know.”

  “How, through osmosis? Maybe you were just sniffing paint thinner one afternoon and hallucinated the entire thing.”

  She could actually see his teeth grinding. “Make your decision, Gwen. This is a one-time offer, good for today only.”

  “I’m sorry, Patrick. I’ll aid the departed, but I refuse to play God.”

  “That’s regrettable.” His lips pursed. “The next time our paths cross, things won’t be so cordial.”

  The legs of his chair scraped against the floor as he rose from his seat and dropped the last bits of shredded napkin on his tray. He closed his eyes over the space of a few seconds, and when he opened them again she no longer sensed the immortality that threaded every reaper’s soul. Maybe that was why Samuel couldn’t track his whereabouts. But how did he manage to do it? The question was perched on the tip of her tongue, but since they’d just declared open hostilities, she thought it unwise to ask.

  “I’ll be coming for you,” she said. It pained her heart, but it had to be done.

  “Yes, and that’s unfortunate.” He stared down at her, his expression a mixture of pity and disappointment. “But at least you won’t have to deal with that beast any longer.”

  A queasy feeling took root in her stomach. “What do you mean?”

  He peered down at his phone on the table, and his mouth curved up in a ghost of a smile. “Let’s just call it a parting gift on my behalf. My associates are taking care of him at this very moment.”

  “Who?” She already knew the answer, and her queasiness turned to panic. “You didn’t.”

  His brow crinkled with confusion. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  Gwen shot up from her seat so fast the chair nearly flipped over. Even though she considered Dmitri an enemy, she didn’t think he deserved to be damned. “You bastard! You had no right.” She grabbed for her phone and dialed Dmitri. The call dumped directly to voice mail. Her heart raced and her pulse pounded in her ears. “So help me, if you sent him to judgment, I’ll tear you apart and give Samuel the pieces.”

  “Doubtful, but you’re welcome to try.” He gestured toward the main exit. “Good luck retrieving the body. Things might get interesting if the police run his fingerprints.”

  Dmitri stared at the heavily charred Soyuz capsule, wondering what kind of idiot would be crazy enough to voluntarily plummet through the earth’s atmosphere in an oversized, insulated tin can.

  The National Air and Space Museum had dedicated an entire gallery to the period when the United States and the Soviet Union competed against each other for supremacy in space exploration. Back in the day, he’d celebrated each Soviet launch and mourned every disaster that struck the program.

  Turning his attention away from the exhibit, Dmitri scanned the dense crowd for signs of immortality. Once again, he found no trace among the humanity, and frustration burned in his blood. Two hours had passed since Gwen walked through the main entrance of the National Museum of American History. She was supposed to meet him here once her meeting with Ziegler was over, and he grew tired of waiting for her arrival.

  What the hell was taking so long? He’d tried to call her a few minutes before, but his phone wasn’t picking up a signal.

  Just as he contemplated leaving, he sensed the strong, steady hum of her life force. Searching the crowd, he traced her presence to the hall between galleries and caught sight of her marching in his direction. From a distance, he saw the raw fear on her face and regretted not smuggling a weapon inside the building.

  “Oh, thank God you’re safe.” Without explanation, she threw her arms around him and squeezed so hard his ribs creaked.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You didn’t answer your damn phone.” Her breath came out in a shuddering exhale as she buried her face in his chest.

  Awkwardly, he folded his arms around her. It felt strange to give comfort to someone he’d despised for more than half a century. But he couldn’t think of anything else to do in a public setting, so he stood there and stroked a hand up and down her back.

  “Are you going to tell me what the hell’s wrong?” he asked when her breathing finally slowed.

  “We have to get out of here. Now.” Stepping back, she grabbed hold of his arm and tugged toward the exit. Her eyes were scanning the cavernous room like a rabbit watching for wolves.

  “Why?”

  “Patrick’s people are coming for you.”

  All of his senses went on alert. Dammit, he really should have brought his Glock. “Let them come.”

  She shot him a look of impatience. “Look, I know you’re more than capable of disemboweling a man with a coffee stirrer, but we have no idea what we’re up against. Patrick figured out a way to disguise his life force, so I’m betting he taught his people the same trick. We need to move out and regroup.”

  The fear in her eyes had him reconsidering the instinctual urge to stand his ground. This was not a woman who scared easily, and her wariness left him on edge.

  “Okay. Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t care,” she said, looking nervously about the hall. This time when she yanked on his arm, he let her lead him toward the exit. “Anywhere but here.”

  They settled on a restaurant in Chinatown. The place was small and off the beaten path, making it easier for them to watch for unwanted company. As usual, Dmitri took the bench seat against the wall, forcing Gwen to sit with her back facing the door. While they waited for their food, she filled him in on her encounter with Ziegler.

  “I doubt he sent anyone to take me out,” Dmitri said as he poured soy sauce onto his lo mein. He sampled a forkful before adding a little more. “He probably told you that so you’d leave without trying to follow him.”

  “Maybe. But he sounded so sincere, like he was doing me a huge favor.”

  Dmitri’s eyes thinned to slits. “And why would he think something like that?”

  Her gaze met his for an instant before turning back to her orange chicken. “Our history isn’t exactly a secret.”

  “True. And you two were close at one time.” He set down his fork and stared at her. “What did you tell him about me?”

  A blush rose in her cheeks. On anyone else, he would have found it attractive. Pushing her food around her plate, she said, “He knows about our mortal lives. And about the first year as reapers when we had to work together.”

  Wonderful. “Does he know what happened in Mississippi?”

  Her eyes hardened. “What do you think?”

  Shit. No wonder Ziegler thought she’d want him terminated. “How many times have I apologized for that?”

  She let out a disgusted huff. “Apologies mean nothing when they’re not
sincere.”

  “I came back for you.” Reluctantly. Truth be told, his mentor forced him to do it.

  “An hour later!” she snapped. The frown lines between her eyebrows deepened. “You left me in the middle of a race riot! Do you have any idea what could have happened to me in the space of an hour?”

  Vividly. At the time, he didn’t give a shit. The years must have made him soft, because now he felt a pang of remorse.

  He stretched a hand across the table and placed it over hers. She flinched at the contact but didn’t jerk away. “Look, I’m sorry. It was a stupid thing to do and I apologize. I swear I will never put your welfare in jeopardy like that again.”

  The tension in her muscles loosened. “Well. Okay. Apology accepted.” She slid her hand out from under his and grabbed her fork.

  He started to pick at his own food, and they ate in awkward silence.

  The waitress came by a few minutes later to refill their glasses and to see if they needed anything else. Gwen asked for two egg rolls to go. Dmitri asked for the check.

  Finished with his food, he pushed the empty plate aside. “Any thoughts on Patrick’s next move?”

  “He’s on a crusade, and he’s searching for converts. You should have seen the look on his face when he failed to recruit me.” Gwen wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it on her plate. “In all likelihood, he’ll contact the reapers he knows first and branch out from there.”

  He suspected as much, and it pleased him to know they were on the same page. “In that case, we’ll need a list of every reaper he’s ever worked with. How long would it take to make that happen?”

  “That depends. Who’s compiling the list, me or you?”

  “Probably better if it’s you.” Over the years, he’d burned a lot of bridges with his American counterparts. Without a doubt, she’d have an easier time getting information out of them.