Death & Stilettos

by Jason Krumbine

  “Okay, again, I had one glass of champagne and practically danced the night away with my wonderful boyfriend,” Avery repeats. “You planted your ass at the bar all night. Which was strange, because there were several eligible bachelors on the groom's side. And, as I recall, you left empty handed.”

  “I did not leave Stacy's wedding empty handed.” Brooke folds her arms.

  "You left before I did," Avery says. "And when I left, all the eligible bachelors were accounted for."

  "How exactly for?"

  "I counted them," Avery replies. "I wanted to know whose house I was going to have to pick up my drunk sister from."

  Brooke holds a hand over her heart and gives Avery a pained expression. "That hurts."

  "How did you even get invited to Stacy's wedding. She hates you."

  “I’m friends with Bernie, too.”

  “You used to sleep with Bernie,” Avery says. “That's why Stacy hates you.”

  "Yes, but Bernie's still quite fond of me," Brooke replies, smiling.

  "Oh no," Avery moans. "You didn't. Please, oh, please tell me you didn’t."

  "What are you so desperately hoping that I didn’t do?”"

  "Look me in the eye tell me that you didn't have sex with Bernie last night," Avery says. "Please."

  Brooke's genuinely appalled. "Are you serious? Is that the kind of person you think I am? That I would sleep with a married man on the night of his wedding."

  "You know," Avery says. "It's funny that you would add the bit about it being the night of his wedding. It kind of implies that there is an appropriate time to sleep with a married man."

  "I did nothing with Bernie last night other than wish him well," Brooke says.

  "Nothing?"

  "Absolutely nothing."

  "So you went home empty handed."

  Brooke points to the trunk of the sedan. "Do you have something or is your plan to bore me to death and then I can sneak in and grab the dead Withers on my way to the afterlife?"

  Avery reaches into the trunk and pulls out two sticks. The sticks are about two feet long and an inch wide. They're a dark mahogany, with muted pink swirls encircling the lengths of them. The bases of the sticks are smoothed out for gripping and the tops come to a vague point.

  There are three classes of grim reapers: Wood, Cloth and Metal. The Graves sisters are trained, like their father before them, in Wood, also sometimes, and unfortunately, called Stick Magic.

  Brooke takes her stick, her eyes wide with excitement. “Our new tapping sticks?”

  “Our new tapping sticks.”

  “It’s heavier,” Brooke comments, weighing it in her hands.

  "I know," Avery replies. "I asked Russell about that and he just glared at me."

  "How come you didn't tell me these had come in?"

  "I tried to," Avery says. "You weren't answering your phone this morning."

  Brooke avoids her sister's gaze. "I need my beauty sleep. So what's the plan?"

  Avery grabs her purse and closes the sedan's trunk. Brooke follows her up to the door. The front door opens before Avery can knock. The security man is standing there again, giving the sisters a squinty look.

  “You’re bothering Ms. Withers,” he says. “Please leave."

  “Look,” Avery pauses. “What’s your name?”

  The security man takes a moment to answer. “Gibbs.”

  “Gibbs. Right. Look, Gibbs,” Avery says, her tapping stick resting casually against her shoulder and her right hand sitting inside her purse. “We’re just here to pick up Mr. Withers.”

  Gibbs doesn’t say anything for a second. “Mrs. Withers is not ready to part with her husband. Please leave.”

  “Yeah, well, her husband’s already departed,” Brooke says. “So, you know, get out of our way.”

  Gibbs’ head turns ever so slightly to Brooke. “Mrs. Withers is not ready to part with her husband. If you do not leave, we will remove you from the premises, forcibly.”

  “You and what army?” Brooke asks.

  “Hey, here’s an idea,” Avery says. “Let’s not antagonize the large security man?” Avery pauses, turning her attention back to Gibbs. “Here’s the thing, Gibbs. We’re not looking to start a fight. Honest. Mr. Withers is dead. He needs to move on. His wife is keeping him from moving on. That’s why we’re here. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just let us in. We’ll take Mr. Withers and be gone before you know it.”

  “Mrs. Withers,” Gibbs starts again, but is abruptly cut off as Avery yanks her hand from her purse and jabs the Taser into Gibbs’ chest.

  Gibbs stiffens as five thousand volts of electricity course through his body. Avery releases the trigger on the stun gun and the large security man doesn’t move.

  Gibbs sways on his feet for another ten seconds before dropping to the ground.

  Brooke stares at the unconscious security guard and then at her sister. “That's your plan."

  “The first part of it, at least,” Avery says.

  three

  “So who did you go home with last night?” Avery asks, stepping over Gibbs’ unconscious body.

  “You know, normally you’re whining that I share too much.” Brooke makes her way through the foyer into a large room with a staircase wrapping around a curved wall.

  “And you do,” Avery agrees. She peeks through the next doorway. It’s an empty sitting room. There’s a large painted portrait of a couple on the wall. The woman looks to be in her forties with blonde hair and a dowdy business suit. The man looks older than dirt and is sitting in a wheelchair next to her. “The Withers, I presume?”

  “What?” Brooke peeks over her sister’s shoulder.

  Avery points to the painting.

  Brooke shrugs. “She looks uglier in person.” She starts for the stairs. “So why are you badgering me about this?”

  “Because I’m your sister.”

  “And?”

  “I care.”

  “Hey, you know who Maria left with?” Brooke asks, trying to change the subject.

  “Her boyfriend?”

  Brooke shakes her head. “She and Larry broke up.”

  “Really? When?"

  "I don't know. Three weeks ago? Four?" Brooke shrugs. "She walked in on Larry making the beast with two backs with her apprentice."

  Avery's jaw drops. "Get out of here. That tiny girl? She looked about twelve."

  "Oh, she was legal," Brooke assures her. "And apparently into older, heavyset men with latent pedophile complexes."

  "Wow." Avery shakes her head. "I did not see that coming."

  "Anyway," Brooke continues. "Maria went up with Four-Eyes."

  Avery pauses. “Four-Eyes?”

  “The Ginger with the glasses,” Brooke holds her hands up to her eyes like spectacles.

  “Yeah, I know what the term meant,” Avery says, starting up the stairs. “I’m trying to figure out who you’re talking about.”

  “How many gingers were there last night wearing glasses?”

  “Please stop calling him a ginger.”

  “It’s not a derogatory term.”

  “No, it’s not,” Avery agrees. “But coming out of your mouth, it makes you sound like some weird backwards hillbilly.”

  Brooke says, “He was wearing those robes? Hell, he was standing up the whole time, right between Bernie and Sarah. How could you miss him?”

  Avery stops halfway up the stairs. “You mean the priest?”

  Brooke shrugs. “I don’t know what they call ‘em.”

  “Maria went home with the priest?” Avery says.

  “If that’s the ginger with the glasses and the robes, then yes Marie went home with the priest.”

  Avery shakes her head again. “I don’t believe this.”

  “What’s not to believe?”

  “Don’t they take a vow of celibacy or something?” Avery asks.

  They reach the second floor and are greeted by two more large men in business suits. They’re wearing ID tags around th
eir necks. The one to the left with the bushy eyebrows is Smith and the one on right, with the shaved head, is Jones.

  “You’re trespassing,” Smith says in a gravelly voice.

  “Are we though,” Avery asks. “I mean, really? We are grim reapers, I think that entitles us to a certain amount of leeway, right?”

  Smith steps forward, raising his fist. Avery swings her tapping stick at him. As it connects with the side of his head and she mutters something under her breath.

  There’s a bright burst of blue light from the point of impact and Smith goes bouncing around down the stairs like he’s in a pinball machine.

  Jones hesitates. He looks past the sisters down at his partner who’s moaning at the foot of the stairs.

  “Yeah, it’s not gun but it’s impressive nonetheless,” Avery says, twirling her stick. “Why don’t you just step aside?”

  Jones growls at her.

  “I got this one,” Brooke says and she jabs her tapping stick into Jones’ stomach. She mutters something under her breath, but her timing’s off and nothing happens.

  Jones’ grabs the tapping stick and yanks it hard. Brook doesn’t let go, she’s always had a firm grip, and finds herself smacked into the wall.

  “Okay, that’s not cool.” Avery gives her tapping stick a little twirl and rushes forward.

  But Jones‘ has seen all their tricks. He ducks the tapping stick and his hands snap up, wrapping themselves around Avery’s head. He throws her against the railing, threatening to toss her over the side. Avery squeaks out an exclamation of pain and drops her tapping stick. She brings her fist up to Jones’ neck, but the impact has no effect on the larger man.

  “Hey asshole,” Brooke snaps suddenly.

  Jones’ looks over his shoulder in time to see the Taser jabbed into his forehead. He immediately releases Avery and tumbles down the stairs after his partner.

  Avery straightens up, rubbing her sore head. She snatches up her tapping stick and twists at her waist, cracking her back.

  Brooke rubs her cheek. “So your plan is just us walking in like a couple of badass chicks, storming the castle?”

  “Well, we do have our tapping sticks” Avery replies stepping onto the second floor. “It would have been a shame not to break them in. Obviously it be easier if you had any sense of coordination.”

  Brooke follows. “I have plenty of great coordination.”

  “Too bad it doesn’t extend out of the bedroom.”

  They turn the corner, expecting to find security guards waiting for them. Instead an empty hallway greets them. They hear the pounding of footsteps racing away.

  “Well, that’s a pleasant surprise,” Brooke says.

  “And people say we’re not intimidating,” Avery says with a little bit of pride.

  The carpet in the hallway is of the fluffy beige variety. Avery can’t feel exactly how soft it is beneath of the soles of her boots, but the pounding in her head suggests that the carpet could very well the softest she’s ever known.

  Brooke points to the side of her sister’s head. “You’re bleeding.”

  Avery touches the spot and her fingers come away wet.

  “You should probably get that looked at,” Brooke says. “Like, right away.”

  “I’m thinking if you practiced your Stick Magic as much you practice your oral sex skills,” Avery says. “I wouldn’t need to.”

  She waves off her sister’s concern. “I focus on my strengths.”

  Avery gently taps her stick against the wall. A gentle blue wave pulses outwards to the left.

  They follow the wave.

  “Hey,” Avery says. “What was up with that speech the Maid of Honor gave last night?”

  “Oh, I forgot all about that,” Brooke replies.

  “It went on for, like a bazillion years.”

  Brooke stops in the hallway. “But me exaggerating out to two thousand years is too much?”

  Avery points to her head. “I probably have a concussion.”

  Brooke exhales, blowing the wayward strands of hair out of her face. “That speech went on forever.”

  “Forever,” Avery agrees.

  “It was like a mini biography of Stacy’s life.”

  “Only not that mini,” Avery says.

  “I don’t know,” Brooke says peeking into an empty guest room. “Can you believe Stacy and Bernie got married?”

  “I cannot,” Avery agrees. “I would have thought the dead hooker would have definitely broken them up for good.”

  “You can thank me for fixing that,” Brooke says proudly.

  “It was your fault in the first place,” Avery says. She sighs. “Marriage.”

  “The m-word,” Brooke agrees. She shakes her head. “I don’t know. How long do you give?”

  “For Stacy and Bernie?” Avery asks. “No, sorry, I’m not even going to guess.”

  “I give it two years,” Brooke says. “That wasn’t the only time Bernie’s been caught with a dead hooker.”

  A faint moaning catches their attention.

  Avery and Brooke look at each other.

  “Did you hear that?” Avery asks.

  “I did,” Brooke says.

  The moaning is getting louder the further down the hallway they go.

  “Does it sound like...?”

  Brooke nods her head. “It does.”

  The moaning turns into a lusty shriek as the sisters stop in front of a pair of double doors.

  The shriek has a decidedly female sound to it.

  Brooke shakes her head. “Nope. I do not want to go there.”

  Avery tightens her grip on her tapping stick. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

  “Yes, Daniel!” A woman shrieks from behind the double doors. “Give me your unearthly seed!”

  Brooke looks at her sister again. “Hell, no.”

  Avery shakes her head. “Sorry. But we gots to pay the bills.”

  With that, Avery kicks in the double doors.

  four

  The Waiting Room is often the last stop for the departed.

  It’s exactly as it sounds: a small room located in a nondescript building. The walls are a sedate shade of blue and the carpet is fluffy beige. The receptionist window is frosted glass and usually kept closed. A handful of chairs are kept in the room and the wait time here can be anywhere from five minutes to an hour. In the Waiting Room time doesn’t move the same as it does outside in the real world. Five minutes in the Waiting Room could be an hour and a half on the outside.

  There are only two doors in the Waiting Room. The brown door is for the people who are alive. The Red Door is for the souls moving on.

  Avery and Brooke, along with the deceased Mr. Withers, enter through the brown door. The Graves sisters will be leaving through the same door. Mr. Withers won’t.

  Withers is an old man with wispy white hair and wrinkles that had wrinkles. He has the dazed expression of a dead soul waiting to move on. The handcuffs around his wrists are for him and him alone. Once those cuffs went on, Withers became as docile as a turtle.

  “I’ve seen things I can’t un-see,” Brooke says, trailing behind her sister.

  “Tell me about,” Avery agrees.

  “She was having sex with him.” Brooke points to Mr. Withers.

  “Well, she was having sex with his dead body,” Avery says. “I’m pretty sure his soul wasn’t really involved.”

  Brooke shudders. “I can’t un-see it.”

  “Just stop thinking about it.”

  “I can’t,” Brooke says. “When I say I can’t un-see it, that’s what I mean. It won’t go away. It's been burned into my retinas.”

  “It won’t go away because you won’t stop talking about it,” Avery replies with a tired sigh.

  “Well, this is definitely a pleasant surprise.”

  Avery and Brooke stop abruptly.

  It’s not a set rule that there can only be one grim reaper in the Waiting Room at a time, but it’s not often that the sisters
run into anyone else.

  The man who spoke is sitting adjacent to the receptionist’s window. His name is Thane Grym. He’s a sexy slab of meat wrapped up tightly in a bundle of muscles and topped off with an easy smile and a square jaw. His jeans are faded and his t-shirt is a dark grey color with a v-line neck. His short brown hair is growing out a bit, adding some softer definition to a head of sharp corners.

  Thane smiles at the sisters. “Hello, ladies."

  Brooke grabs a seat. “This is awkward,” she whispers.

  “No, it’s not,” Avery says, nudging Withers towards an empty chair.

  “Really?” Brooke asks. “Because I’m pretty sure you have a crush on Mr. Gorgeous there.” She tries hard to keep her voice low, but it's a small room.

  “Are you two talking about me?” Thane asks.

  “No,” Avery replies.

  “Yes,” Brooke answers.

  “Shut up,” Avery tells her sister. To Thane she says, “What are you doing here?”

  “Working.” Thane points to the dazed junkie sitting next to him. “This is Brad. Brad had an overdose earlier today and decided to haunt his girlfriend half to death because he thought she spiked his drugs. Say hi to the pretty ladies, Brad.”

  Brad, naturally, just stares the floor.

  “Brad says ‘Hi,’” Thane says to the girls. He points to Withers. “Now he looks familiar.”

  Brooke shakes her head. “After a while all the old people look the same to me.”

  “Daniel Withers,” Avery says, trying to sound as professional as possible. She focuses her attention on her cellphone as not to seem too interested in the handsome grim reaper across from her.

  Thane nods his head. “That’s right. He married that model.”

  Brooke raises an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Model?”

  Thane shrugs. “I don’t know the particulars. There was a reality show. She was a centerfold in some prominent,” he pauses, “adult magazines.” Avery glances up at Thane. He quickly adds, “I heard that through a third party. About the adult magazines. I don’t read those.”

  Brooke looks at her sister “There’s no way she was a model.”

  “You just need to rewind the clock a bit on her,” Avery says.