by D. C. Gomez
“Constantine to Isis; come in, Isis.” Constantine had actually slapped me out of my pity party. He had the softest paws on the planet. “Are you listening to me?”
“Sorry; just contemplating my afterlife.” My afterlife was looking pretty depressing.
“That’s great, but you’re not dead yet, so do that on your own time. The intern’s job is easy. You monitor abnormal activities that might interfere with Death doing her thing.” With that, Constantine leaned back and started licking his paw. I looked between Constantine and Bartholomew, totally lost.
“One more time, and in English this time. Abnormal activities?” These two were nuts.
“Bartholomew, break it down for her, please.” Constantine didn’t stop cleaning his paw when he spoke.
“Isis, it’s simple. When people die, their souls separate from their bodies. Death is there to collect them. Souls are powerful, and at times other entities try to steal them. Death doesn’t have time to track those incidents down, so the interns do.” Bartholomew actually believed that made sense. Somebody help me!
“Interns? There’s more than one intern?” Of all the things I had heard, why did that bother me?
“Of course, silly child. There’s one per continent. Do you honestly think you could monitor the whole world? We’re responsible for North America. This is going to take us a while.” Constantine gave me that bored looked again, but at least he was done grooming himself.
“If you’re responsible for all of North America, why would you pick Texarkana for a home base?” I was trying to sound just as snotty as Constantine.
“We didn’t. You did. We’re here because you’re here,” Bartholomew said very softly, trying to avoid my glare.
“We were doing fine in New York. You know how hard it is to find gluten-free food for this boy?” It was Constantine’s turn to sound snippy.
There was no way I was responsible for them being there. “OK, this is crazy. I need to get home. I can’t take any more of this.” I got up to try to find the exit.
“Don’t forget your manual. Your minivan is outside with keys in the ignition. By the way, why does a twenty-something girl drive a minivan?” Constantine asked as he curled up on the couch, ready for a nap.
“It can carry a lot of stuff,” I replied weakly as I got my bearings again. I slowly walked toward the door.
“Still odd, unless you were planning on starting a band.” Constantine chuckled to himself.
I looked over my shoulder, and Bartholomew was busy scanning his monitors.
“Bye, Isis. See you tomorrow,” Bartholomew yelled, not even looking up from the screens.
“Bye,” I whispered. I prayed I would never see either of them again.
CHAPTER 4
I was late for work. I was never late for work. Thanks to the army, I was brainwashed that being on time meant late. Everywhere I went, I was at least fifteen minutes early. Today I was barely moving. As my drill sergeant used to say, I was moving like pond water. My shift at Abuelita’s started at 4:00 p.m. It was 4:45 p.m. by the time I showed up. Honestly, it wasn’t as if anyone could blame me, if I could tell a soul.
I had managed to crawl back to bed by 7:00 a.m. The sun was coming up when I drove home. I hadn’t done an all-nighter in years. My party days were over. At least when I was partying, I didn’t end up feeling depressed and overwhelmed. I prayed for sleep, but all I got were nightmares. I had been plagued by nightmares since my parents’ death. The nightmares were worse after the military. The ones this morning were not any better. I popped an Ambien at eleven o’clock after waking myself up screaming. Thanks to the VA, I had more pills than a pharmacy. Why cure the problem when you can knock it out?
The Ambien did the trick. I had a dreamless slumber. Unfortunately, it was hard to wake up from a drug-induced sleep. It was 4:16 p.m. when I woke up. My head was pounding, and I felt as if I had run a marathon. My body ached everywhere. I took a military three-minute shower and was out the door by 4:35 p.m. The blessing about Texarkana was that there was very little traffic, and you could get anywhere in less than ten minutes. Even speeding, I was still very late. It rankled me. I hated being late.
Saturday at Abuelita’s was our busy night. Abuelita’s offered a half-off menu from 4:30 to 7:30 p.m. As I pulled up, I could see that the place was packed. The three tables were filled with families, while the bar was packed with people waiting for carryouts. I ran out of the Whale and went in the back door. No need to try to fight with the crowd.
“Girl, late night? Where were you partying? You look like hell.” Angelito was back in his usual mood, very mischievous.
“Hi to you too, Angelito.” I didn’t even try to smile.
Angelito was beaming like firelight. He had had a great night, by the look of his neck. Some poor soul had left her mark on him. He was shameless, wearing them like a badge of honor. I passed him and headed straight for the kitchen counter. Abuelita was by her double stoves cooking away.
“Isis, are you OK? We called four times, and you didn’t answer.” There was concern in Abuelita’s voice.
Great. Now I felt like hell. Another thing I hated was having people worry about me.
“Yes, I’m sorry, Abuelita. I couldn’t sleep, and I took an Ambien this morning. It knocked me out, and I missed my alarm.” That was the truth. No need to explain the why of my lack of sleep.
“Child, I told you, those pills are going to kill you. I got a tea you should try. It’s all natural and will help you sleep. Maybe even cure those nightmares for you.”
How did Abuelita know about my nightmares? Sometimes I wondered if she was a mind reader. Before I could wonder for too long, three plates of food were flying at me. On Saturday nights, Angelito and I took turns serving and cleaning tables. With the two of us handling the customers, Abuelita pushed more food out than most McDonald’s fully staffed.
Saturday nights were my favorite night at work. We were busy most of the night, the tips were great, and time flew by. This was not one of those nights. My head pounded most of the night, and my vision was blurry. I had floaters in my eyes—those little specks you get with age. At my age, I was blaming too many bad parachute landings that resulted in too many hits to the head. No doctor would confirm my theory, but I was sticking with it.
The rush hour finally ended. Our regulars, a group of about ten or so, avoided that crowd. Most of the regulars were loners or quiet couples with no kids. Not the crowd you would find at Walmart in the middle of the night. They had a quality to them, that of knowing and distance. They all loved Abuelita. It wasn’t just for the food that they came; most wanted private talks with her. During those times, Angelito would prepare the food while I managed the serving and cleaning of the tables.
By eight o’clock, the happy-hour crowd had left. The first of our regular customers walked in. The couple was in their early thirties. The lady had flowing dark hair and always had a peasant skirt. My godmother and she probably shopped at the same stores. The gentleman, on the other hand, had the best collection of Hawaiian shorts and sandals I had ever seen. Even in the winter he wore them. Today he wore a blue pair with a midnight-blue shirt.
The couple always sat at one of the tables by the large windows. She always looked even paler standing next to her man, with his perfect tan. If he wasn’t Hawaiian, the man was probably Filipino. Seven years in the army had a way of expanding your horizons when it came to ethnicity. They always ordered the same, horchata to drink and enchiladas with corn tortillas. It was rude to assume, so I stopped by their table to check on them. I brought them the horchata anyways.
Horchata was a typical Mexican drink made out of rice. Few people ordered it unless they had had it before. Sweet and very refreshing, it was our number-one seller with our regulars. I placed two glasses down and smiled at the couple. The lady looked up at me and smiled. The moment our eyes met, I felt a sharp pain in my forehead, almost between my eyes. I took a deep breath and leaned on their table.
; “Isis, are you OK?” She touched my hand as she spoke. Her hands were hot, almost burning.
I pulled away without thinking. I tried to speak, but her eyes were glowing. I looked at her man, and his eyes were catlike.
“Oh, God.” My mouth went dry, and my hands were sweaty. I bumped against the table behind me as I backed away. “I’m so sorry. I’ll be right back.”
I ran past the kitchen and out the back door. Deep breaths were not calming me down. I rubbed my face with my hands, trying to erase what I had just seen. What had I seen? Nothing made sense. My headache was worse. The back door opened, but I didn’t dare turn around.
“Isis, are you OK? The Joneses just told me you ran out the back. What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all day.” Abuelita had her arms crossed over her chest when I turned to face her. She looked younger and stronger. There was a faint glow to her. She always radiated heat. I couldn’t focus on her face. “Isis, are you listening to me?”
“I’m sorry, Abuelita. I really don’t know what came over me. My head is just killing me.” I looked at the ground as I spoke. Abuelita was too much to look at now. It was probably the light overhead that gave her that weird glow.
“Child, you need to start taking better of yourself. If you’re good, let’s get inside. The regulars are hungry.” She walked back inside and held the door for me.
I took another deep breath. I needed to get it together. In less than twenty-four hours, I had been followed by Death, met a talking cat, and hung out with a boy genius. At this rate I was going to go nuts before my three-day deadline—if it was actually real and I wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. To top off this crazy day, I just needed Samuel L. Jackson to walk in and recruit me for the Avengers or XXX.
Breathe. Just breathe, Isis. You’re going to be OK. Why did we talk to ourselves as if we were three years old when all hell broke loose? That was one of those horrible habits I couldn’t break. I steadied myself and picked up the plates of enchiladas. The Joneses were creatures of habit.
“Hi, here is your food. I’m so sorry about earlier. I’m having a horrible headache.” That wasn’t a lie, but I made sure to keep my eyes on the plates when I talked to them. Whatever was going on, I didn’t want a repeat of it.
“Oh, that’s too bad. Are you going to be OK?” Mr. Jones sounded very sincere. I nodded and slowly walked to the bar before one of them tried to touch me again. I still felt the heat on my hand where Mrs. Jones had touched me.
“Isis, come over here and help me with this pot,” Abuelita said from the back of the kitchen. The kitchen area of Abuelita’s was larger than the front. She had three large fridges and two deep freezes. The cooking area was to the left of the building and a sink all the way on the far right. The back door was in the middle of the back wall. Abuelita always made extra beans and rice on Saturdays to donate to the shelter downtown. She was struggling to put the bean pot in the fridge.
“Angelito, watch the front for now. Isis can handle the back.” I was so grateful to Abuelita. She was truly a caring woman.
“Thank you, Abuelita.” I really meant it. Her compassion for people was probably the reason I never looked for another job. I was making a little less than minimum wage, right at $6.50. With the tips, the money balanced itself out. I wasn’t getting rich, but I could afford rent and be comfortable for my standards.
For over an hour I scrubbed pots and pans. Angelito brought in a steady stream of plates and dishes. At one point, I wondered where he kept finding them. I was washing the big items and running the dishwashers for the plates and cups. Thank God we had two. Fortunately, the work was calming my nerves. Instead of complaining, I enjoyed the peace of the simple action and the running of the water. My fingers were prunes by the time I finished with all the dishes. It was still early, and our regulars would be coming in all the way till we closed at midnight.
With the water off, I could hear Angelito’s conversation at the bar. One of my favorite customers had walked in. I recognized Gabe’s voice. He had that Barry White voice, with smoldering blue eyes that were incredible with his jet-black hair. If Michelangelo needed a model for David, I was sure Gabe would have qualified. It had been years since my last date, and I felt clumsy and young around Gabe. Maybe Gabe was the reason I loved Saturday nights. I was told he came in Monday and Wednesday night as well. Too bad; I only worked Thursday to Sunday. Abuelita’s nieces handled the rest of the week.
He was great eye candy. I knew Gabe’s order by heart. He always sat at the bar—something about the tables being too tight. I didn’t care about the reason; at the bar I didn’t need a reason to talk to him.
Angelito put in his order, and in less than three minutes, Abuelita was ready. Carnitas asadas with rice and beans, no tortillas—that was his usual. I wasn’t a meat eater, but watching Gabe enjoyed his food made me want to try the pork at least once.
My earlier incidents were forgotten, and I rushed to take his plate from Abuelita. Angelito smiled and bowed down when I walked by him.
“Do your thing, little mamma.” The child was unstoppable with that mischievous smile. I turned around to face Gabe, who was looking at me.
“Oh, God.” I dropped his plate. Gabe was glowing, and he had wings. Not the fake plastic crap people use for Halloween. Oh, no. These babies were real and at least five feet from his shoulder down to his legs. No wonder the boy couldn’t fit in a chair. He was a freaking angel or demon—oh God, I had no clue. I looked over his shoulder, and everyone was staring at me. They looked like my regular night crowd except they were not humans. I had a three-eyed monster in one corner and a pointy-eared couple in another. Everyone was glowing. Their eyes were inhuman.
I was having a panic attack. I couldn’t breathe. My mind was in overdrive. I was nauseated, and the room was starting to spin. Angelito put his hand on my shoulder, and I bolted for the door. The tears came down before I could stop them. I was trembling all over. Even the woods behind Abuelita’s looked alive. There was so much movement out there.
“Isis, sweetie, you need to go home.” I barely heard Abuelita’s voice. It sounded muffled and very far away. “Honey, you need sleep. You’re sleep deprived. Can you drive yourself home? Or I can have Angelito take you.”
Abuelita was careful not to face me. She walked up behind me and slowly guided me toward the Whale out front.
“Sleep deprived. That’s it. I’m hallucinating.” I sounded drugged, even to myself. “You’re right. I just need to go home and sleep. Are you sure I can leave?” I felt guilty leaving, but I knew I couldn’t stay.
“Sweetie, I’m afraid you might dump a plate on top of a customer. Are you sure you can drive?” Abuelita didn’t sound mad, just truly concerned. I climbed into the Whale and waved at her without looking. Home was not going to help me now, but I had a feeling I knew a pair who could.
CHAPTER 5
Like everything else in town, the business park was less than six minutes from Abuelita’s, heading west on 82. I was there in less than four. The outside looked like all the other metal buildings in the parks, just taller. No windows on the front, and the ones on the side were too high for anyone to climb. Unless you had wings, like Gabe. I was still in shock, and I prayed this was all a bad dream. They were going to dehypnotize me, and life would go back to normal.
I slowly climbed out of the Whale. The sign on the building, “Reapers Incorporated,” was written in gothic red—blood red, to be precise. Who said Death didn’t have a sense of humor? If not Death, at least her people did. There was something eerie about the building. Almost like a sensation that made me want to turn around. There was a door on the left-hand side and a doorbell. I rang the bell and heard a soft voice say “Come in.”
I stepped into a narrow hallway, four feet wide by six feet long. The door behind me closed on its own, and I heard a lock kick in. There was another door at the end of the hall. When the first door closed, the second one opened. Weird blue lights illuminated the place. I understood what t
hose kids in Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory felt like. Too bad the end of this tunnel didn’t lead to a river of chocolate. I had really been out of it when I left that morning; I didn’t remember any of this. To my right was a glass wall. These boys were nuts about their glass walls. This one didn’t let you see inside.
The way my night was going, I steadied myself before leaving the hallway. The first floor of the warehouse was empty. A few lights were on, illuminating the shop and the gym area. I looked behind me, and there were two rooms parallel to the entrance hallway. I wondered what was inside. The eerie sensation had left me, but I wasn’t sure if I really wanted to keep walking. I saw Bartholomew wave at me from the second-floor balcony. As I had suspected, the bottom of the glass was a one-way mirror. From the ground it looked like steel.
I was wasting time. I swallowed my fears and headed to the staircase on the other side of the warehouse.
By the time I reached the second floor, Bartholomew was back at his computer station. Constantine was napping on top of the couch. I started talking even before I reached them.
“What have you done to me? I’m broken. For the past four hours, I’ve been seeing things. The world looks weird. This headache won’t go away. This is all your fault. I was fine before I got here last night.”
Constantine jumped up. I guessed he wasn’t used waking up to screaming girls.
“Wow. Do you normally talk that fast?” He yawned lazily.
Bartholomew just looked over his shoulder and kept working.
“When I’m mad or nervous.” I sounded like a five-year-old. It was unnerving, but I was sure Constantine could see into my soul.
“Good to know. Now, one more time. This time slowly, and from the beginning. What’s going on?” He laid his head on his paws and stared at me very closely. Note to self: never get in a staring contest with Constantine—I would lose badly.
