by Boone Brux
What happened next like trying to wiping sticky fingers with a paper napkin. No matter what, the napkin clings to me—just like the robber did.
I was still bent over, as if locked in a deadly game of Twister, when the cute guy heaved himself back and finally dragged me free. I won’t swear in public, but I’m almost positive he groped my boobs again.
I couldn’t be certain because at the same time I heard a zipper-like rasp and found myself reeling backward. Mr. Snack Cake caught me before we both fell into a postcard stand. I’d barely righted myself when the dead guy’s body lifted from the tile and hurdled toward me. I folded in on myself, bracing for impact. But instead of colliding, the mini-mart robber passed through me. Somebody screamed like a little girl—I’m pretty sure it was me.
The man holding me gripped my hands, curling them into fists. “Hold him, Lisa!”
Every instinct had me spinning to see where the robber had gone. Nothing made sense. Had I just imagined the man passing through me?
“He’ll run if you let go,” the cute guy said into my ear.
“Let go of what?”
That question was quickly answered as the robber snapped back through my body, slicing me with an icy chill that cut through my bones. A shudder rippled through me and my mind couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing—Mr. Bad Manners.
His translucent body flickered and a dark aura pulsed around the form. I screamed again and attempted to violently shake off the good-looking guy’s hold. I’m certain it was one of those spastic, hyperventilating convolutions. Not pretty, but I wasn’t apologizing for my freak-out.
“Stop fighting me,” Mr. Snack Cake yelled.
Yeah, right. Every survival instinct screamed for me to get away from the ghostly entity glaring at me. I dug my boots into the tile floor and pushed backward, but couldn’t get traction. Any movement I made tugged the apparition of the bald guy with me. The darkness around the robber grew and enveloped me. His anger beat against me as if it was my own emotion. It invaded my personal space, choking off my breath and the scream hovering in my throat.
The ghost yanked against my hold, which disconnected his dark aura from me. I gasped, inhaling a lungful of air. He jerked again, yanking me forward. I stumbled over something and when I looked down I saw the mini-mart robber’s body lying in the same place he’d fallen, except now a pool of dark blood seeped from under his back.
My gaze darted to the ghost attached to me and then down at his body. I screamed—again. I mean, I was all about the paranormal, but in a romantic way—fallen angels—sexy vampires—pretty much any immortal who wanted me to be the focus of his world—but not an angry ghost of a violent criminal.
The cute guy leaned in. “Whatever you do, don’t let go of him.”
Not that I could. My fingers ached from the living guy’s grip and my nails gouged my palms. He turned me toward the back of the store, which automatically dragged the apparition of the robber with us. “I’m taking her to the bathroom to get cleaned up and calmed down,” he said to the boys. “Lock the doors until the police get here.”
At this point, he frog-marched me and what I now believed was a ghost, toward the back of the mini-mart.
The apparition fought our every step. “Let me go, you stupid bitch.”
Wow, harsh. Logic shrieked I shouldn’t argue. I’d seen the Amityville Horror. No way did I want blood seeping out of the walls of my house. It was hard enough getting red wine stains off the carpet.
“Shut up, Leroy,” the cute guy said.
That silenced the robber’s ghost. Crap, were these two partners? Had I just become a criminal sandwich? Nausea rolled through me. Maybe if I puked on Snack Cake’s fancy hiking boots, he’d let me go.
“How do you know my name?” The spirit stopped struggling. “You a cop?”
Cute guy lowered his voice so only we could hear. “You wish I was a cop.”
Chills slithered down my spine at his tone. Who the hell was this guy? The darkness pulsing around Leroy’s ghost intensified and my head started to swim. It felt as if he was sucking the life from me. Blackness crept around the edges of my vision.
Don’t pass out. Don’t pass out.
Damn it, I’d been determined to get my life on track. It looked like the first day of my new life might be my last.
We entered the bathroom. The smell of industrial cleaner filled my nose and the flickering fluorescent lights intensified my headache. He kicked the door closed, sealing us inside the white tiled tomb.
“My name is Nate.”
I craned my neck to see if he was talking to me. “All right.” Nice to meet you seemed a little inappropriate for the situation. “Listen Nate, you need to tell me what the hell is going on because I am seriously about to lose it.”
“Let me get rid of him first and then we’ll talk.” His voice softened, the creepy killer tone lessening.
“Get rid of him?” I scrunched my face and laced my words with my infamous sarcasm. “Where do you think he’s going? We’re in a frickin’ bathroom of a mini-mart.”
Me and my big mouth.
“Pick!” Nate waited a few seconds before shouting the word again. “Pick!”
“Pick?” What was I supposed to pick? The ghost or me? Life or death? My fingers ached from his crushing grip. I wiggled, trying to get away, but he continued to hold me in place. “I pick life. I want to live. Don’t kill me.”
“Me too,” Leroy’s ghost said.
“It’s too late for you, Badder.”
I didn’t know who Badder was, but when Leroy began to fight me again, my keen sense of deduction kicked in, telling me it was him. Several times he tried to jerk away, but kept rebounding like a rubber band. His arms passed through mine, cutting my bones with a searing cold. My head pounded, feeling like it was about to shatter. Any minute I was going to embark on a psychotic episode of epic proportion.
A bright, blue light suddenly appeared at the end of the bathroom near the toilet. All of us stopped struggling and stared as the sink disappeared behind the elongating glow. The light widened into a rectangle and the intensity dimmed. Breath caught in my throat when an actual door appeared and then slid open. Leroy Badder’s mouth dropped open and his shoulders slumped. At least I wasn’t the only one stunned by the sight. Nate, however, appeared perfectly calm, like an elevator arriving in the Holiday bathroom was a normal occurrence.
My attention drifted back to the far end of the bathroom and the man standing on the other side of the door. At least I thought it was a man. Something about him didn’t look completely human. Maybe it was his coal black eyes or perhaps the tiny bumps protruding from the front of his skull that reminded me of horns. Despite what was certainly an unfortunate birth defect, the man’s head was a perfect oval. A solid sheet of sable brown hair slicked along the top and sides like glossy frosting, and the creases in his black suit were so sharp they could cut. Mafia attorney popped into my mind.
Beyond him the room glowed red. Not like those red light bulbs hookers use to advertise their services, but more like a roaring fire burned nearby. My first impression? Modern Gates of Hell. But that would be ridiculous, right? I mean, I was standing in a mini-mart bathroom.
“I’ve got him, Pick.”
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 there.”
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 n
ew 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 to hold 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 scream 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 to. 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 TWO
“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.” 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 cuter. “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. “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. He kept glancing my way with his piercing blue eyes. Why were the cute ones always total 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?”
