by KJ Harlow
“Death,” I squirmed, his name coming out clumsily. “Is my body still in the alleyway, behind my workplace?”
Death reached out and patted me on the shoulder. I didn’t flinch or pull away. His hand was powerful and reassuring.
“No. Your body is in here with you,” he said, pointing to my chest.
“But how does that work? I was shot dead that night - twice. Didn’t I leave a corpse?”
Now that I had signed the contract, Death didn’t seem impatient anymore. He stood up again, towering over me.
“You did leave one – for a while. The police arrived at the scene soon after the shooting. You were pronounced dead at the scene – two GSWs to the head by unidentified firearms.” I blinked in surprise at Death’s use of forensic terminology but didn’t interrupt him. “The moment you signed that contract, your soul reclaimed your corporeal entity. Call it… an act of divine intervention.” He finished, with a chuckle to himself. You’ll need it later when you go back to the Overworld.”
So I would be going back then. This was getting weirder and weirder by the minute, but I was determined to ride it out. Staring at the contract, a smiling face suddenly swam up out of my memory.
“There was a guy called Greg who was with me before, in the Waiting Room. He also got called into your office. What happened to him?” I asked.
“Oh Mills. Yes, he signed a contract too.” Death said dismissively. “You two will be working together.”
I smiled hearing this. Greg had made this whole ordeal all the more tolerable. Yes, he was a terrible flirter, but he made me realize that I wasn’t in a doctor’s clinic. Plus he averted a crisis that in hindsight I’m immensely glad I didn’t pursue. It wouldn’t have been a good look if I had started a fight with Death’s receptionist. If I wasn’t sure that I would be going to hell before, I definitely would be if I had done that. I firmly clapped my hands down onto my lap.
“So what now?” I asked.
“We haven’t been able to find Mortimer again. We suspect that he’s tracking down the next target to turn into a Tormented. We’re planning to send you out to protect the targets.”
My thoughts floated back to Stan. He must have been so worried that I didn’t come home. He might have my phone now, wondering where I’d gone. Would the shooting have been on the news? Was there any security footage? Would he have filed a missing person’s report?
“When can I go back to find Stan?” Death’s impatience returned.
“Rose, we have more pressing matters at hand. We need to protect the individual who we think the Tormented are targeting. We have reason to believe that this person may be Daniel Riggs.”
“Riggs?” I spluttered. I had to go back and protect my complete ass of a manager? The Tormented could have him for all that I cared.
“This is important. Did it seem like he was disturbed in any way in the time that he worked with you?”
“Yeah, he was mentally disturbed in a big way,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Death crossed his arms and frowned at me. “OK, this isn’t going to work. We need to get you up to speed on how things work around here.” He stepped aside and gestured to another gnarled, wooden door just like the one that I had come in through.
“It’s time for you to meet your team.”
Death turned the knob and we ushered me through the door. The room was bright, far brighter than Death’s office. I shielded my eyes as they adjusted to the light. I looked around the room in awe.
What I saw looked like something out of mission control for a space station. There were work stations and desks arranged in a semi-circle. They were facing a wall that was composed of dozens of screens all stacked together. What looked like security footage was being run on them.
The room was abuzz with activity. People of different kinds were quickly pacing throughout the room, talking with one another and in some cases gesticulating animatedly. Death looked around and stopped a balding, portly man who passed in front of us.
“What’s the update on Mortimer?”
The man seemed taken aback that Death himself was talking to him. He recovered his composure.
“We have triangulated his whereabouts to within a two-mile radius. We have not confirmed whether he has a hostage yet,” the man barked.
Death’s face was grim. He nodded and Stevens walked away as quickly as his rotund figure would allow him. I then noticed some doors I hadn’t seen yet. They looked like automatic doors that were made of opaque, white glass.
“Come on Rose, this way.” Death walked across the room. No matter how busy people seemed to be, they would stop what they were doing and look up as Death passed by. He stopped here and there to have a word with different people, nodding encouragingly or asking constructive questions. I shook my head and smiled to myself. Theology had Death pegged all wrong. We made it to the other side of the room. Death stopped in front of it and looked at me.
“Touch the door.” Surprised by the request, I moved to stand in front of Death, feeling dozens of pairs of eyes on my back. I brought my hand up, stretched out my fingers and lay it flat on the glass.
The glass became transparent and disappeared. I was immediately met with the stares of seven impressive looking people who sat along a marble table.
When I was a kid I had a horrific experience at a spelling bee. I’d made it to the final round and I was asked to spell “arc”. I asked for the word in a sentence and I was so confident that I didn’t even hear it. When I heard, “that is… incorrect,” I realized I’d spelled it as “ark” and was so embarrassed I couldn’t even move. I had to be gently ushered off the stage by Miss Townsend.
That moment made it virtually impossible for me to stand in front of a group of strangers and not start freaking out. As the seven people in the room stared at Death and me with expressions varying from mild curiosity to slight amusement, I noticed that I didn’t feel flushed like I usually would. Benefit #45 of being dead: there’s no blood to rush to your face and make you feel all hot and bothered in socially awkward situations.
“Deliverers, I’d like to introduce Rose Eaving to you,” Death announced.
You could have cut the silence with a butter knife. I stiffly lifted my hand and waved. The Deliverers looked at me. Some of them half smiled. As I cast my eyes around the table, I froze. At the end of the table was the man who had shot me in the head. In the space of a second, a range of emotions flitted across his face: alarm, concern and… embarrassment? They were replaced with his practiced neutral expression as someone with sandy hair moved bounded towards me.
“Rose! Fancy seeing you here!” Greg said, beaming at me.
I nodded at him and smiled weakly. He was the most cheerful dead person that I knew.
“Death, could you have waited until the end of our meeting?” An older female in the corner asked, trying to control her annoyance.
Death was not the least bit perturbed at being challenged. He cocked his head slightly, angling his gaze towards the woman. “Agatha, you are here to defeat the Tormented,” he placed one of his big hands on my shoulder. “Building the best possible team to do that is the most important thing.”
The woman leaned back, crossing her arms, not breaking her stare with the angel behind me.
“Tor,” Death barked, making me jump slightly. His hand was still on my shoulder. I cursed myself for being caught off guard. “A word please, outside.” Death’s voice was controlled but had a hint of danger.
Tor’s jaw tightened as he looked between Death and I. He jerkily stood up then walked rigidly around the table. Not looking at me, he lay his hand on the glass and walked through once it disappeared. Death stepped out after him.
As ironic as it was, I had been clinging on to Death as my life line in this strange place up until that point. Now that he was gone, I was faced with the prospect of socializing in the underworld. At least there was Greg.
“Rose, come and take a seat. Sit between me and Greg,” an older gentleman
said warmly. His hair was wavy and black with flecks of gray. He had a neat, trimmed mustache. His smile made his eyes crinkle with kindness. I smiled and acquiesced, moving to sit between where he had indicated.
“My name’s Walter Plains.” The older gentleman said, extending his hand to me. I shook it, looking at his eyes. They were a dark grey, reminding me of storm clouds. He had a firm handshake. He released my hand a second after my grip relaxed.
“We are the Deliverers,” he said, sweeping his arm across the table.
“Yes, Death’s told me about you,” I said, my voice sounding stronger than I thought it would be. “Why are you called the Deliverers?” I questioned.
“Because we deliver lost souls to the where they belong,” Agatha answered. I turned to the regal looking woman. She wasn’t tall in stature, but there was something about her that commanded authority. She wore a Catholic nun’s habit and had a little wooden cross around her neck.
“Humans that are attacked by Tormented become Conflicted. Their souls are trapped in the corporeal shell of the Conflicted roaming the Overworld until they are released by our Lucent Guns. Only then can they come to the Waiting Room,” Agatha leaned in and peered at me intently. “Or in some cases, Death’s office.” She finished, unsmiling.
There was something I didn’t like about her. Then again, I’d always had a problem with authority, especially older people who they that they deserved respect simply because they had lived longer than I had. Neither Agatha nor I broke eye contact until a young woman who I hadn’t really noticed melted the tension with her tinkling laughter.
“Oh Sister Burnside, that’s no way to treat the newest member of our team now, is it?” She looked like that girl that I would have given a wide berth to in high school: gossiper, backstabber, outrageous flirt and on every boy’s mind for all the wrong reasons. No one else seemed to notice that she called her Sister Burnside but me.
She tossed her perfect brunette hair over her shoulder and surprised me by taking Agatha’s hand in hers and patting it reassuringly. Agatha relaxed. “Now Tracy, I told you not to call me that anymore,” she said, pretending to admonish Tracy.
Tracy turned to me and smiled. I stared back blankly, not even pretending to be friendly. I’d just never gotten along with women in general. Now I had two I had to be wary of. Question was, who was more threatening to me? I had to be careful. Forcing a smile, I looked towards the opaque glass door.
“What’s up with Tor and Death?” I queried.
Tracy rolled her eyes. “Oh, nothing big. Tor was just on a mission to gather intel about the next person that Mortimer was looking to turn. He managed to find Mortimer and tail him all the way to where you were.”
“And what, he wasn’t meant to do that?” I pushed on.
“No, it was fine that he did that,” Agatha sighed. “What wasn’t fine was when you appeared.” She finished pointedly.
The room became silent again as five pairs of eyes regarded me, waiting for my response. I don’t know what they were hoping I would feel, but it certainly wasn’t embarrassment. I huffed indignantly, looking back at Agatha. I was liking her less and less by the minute.
“Well, it wasn’t my fault that Tor and Mortimer decided to choose the back of my work building as their place to face off. That’s where I parked my car.” I retorted, eyes blazing.
“No, that’s not the problem,” Walter said gently. “Deliverers are meant to be able to read the situation and act accordingly. The problem Death has with Tor is that he let Mortimer escape and let you get turned into a Conflicted.”
I sat there quietly. The events of that night played back in my mind. What stuck in my mind wasn’t so much the fear of feeling Mortimer’s gun against my head. For some reason, I knew I was going to die that night. What I remembered was the ringing. Just thinking about it made my head ache. I shook my head vigorously.
“Anyway,” Greg said brightly, “now that Rose is a part of our pack of wicked zombie slayers, I say that we induct her right now.”
“Without Tor and Death here?” Tracy asked, slightly indignant.
Greg looked towards Walter. He shrugged and looked down at me with a grin. “Well, I don’t see why not.” So Walter had some clout amongst the Deliverers. Better get into his good books.
“OK Rose, let’s start with the Deliverer’s Rules. Number 1–”
There was a sudden commotion outside the meeting room. People were yelling. Agatha got to the door the fastest, belying her age. She slammed her hand on the glass and made it outside. We all hurried after her.
Tracy gasped. I clamored to the front to get a look at what she saw. Tor had drawn his gun and planted it on Death’s neck. Death stood there, arms by his side, looking unreasonably calm. His head was pushed up by Tor as he jammed the gun threateningly under his jaw.
“Tor put the gun down,” Walter said slowly, inching towards the pair.
I stood there, helpless. Was the man who shot me a traitor to the Deliverers? I heard a gun shot. My knees buckled. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my hands to my ears as the ringing in my ears began anew.
Five
By the time I opened my eyes, it was all over. Tor’s gun lay several feet away. Tor himself was cursing, shooting dirty looks in our direction and gingerly flexing his fingers. Death stood exactly where he was, arms still dangling by his side. What had happened?
I could smell that a firearm had been discharged but from where? I turned back towards the Delivers standing behind me. Off to the side was someone that I hadn’t seen before. He wore metal-rimmed, oval-shaped glasses. He had a gray vest and a dark red-brown tie underneath it. In his right hand was his Lucent Gun. Slivers of smoke floating lazily from the barrel. It was pointing at a spot directly between Death and Tor.
The room was dead quiet except for the occasional beep from a computer. The bespectacled man slowly holstered his firearm then looked at me, light glinting off his glasses.
“Rule Number 1: Have unwavering conviction when you shoot,” he quietly said with a slight smile.
Death lowered his head and looked at Tor, who was still wincing. “See? I told you Silas would be the one to pull the trigger.”
So he was a Deliverer too. I looked at this man Death called Silas, trying to get a read on him. He looked like the last person to handle a firearm, but he had just disarmed someone by shooting his gun away, himself standing about 7 yards away. If his clothes were anything to go by, it looked like he worked in the corporate sector before he died. Why was he here?
Death strode over to the group. He walked directly up to Silas and, smiling broadly, clapped his hand on Silas’ shoulder. Death looked down at me, still sitting on the floor. The ringing in my ears was slowly dying down. I could just hear Death’s low timbre as he addressed me.
“Rose, I hope I didn’t startle you with that little scene. Tor and I were just having a discussion about how he could have better handled the situation with you,” he stepped back and turned towards Tor who was starting to come towards us. Hastily, I got to my feet. Tor’s face was twisted in a scowl as he came up to Silas. He was about half a foot taller than him, but Silas didn’t budge an inch even as he brought his face right up to his. Silas looked up at Tor, a bland smile on his face.
“What about Rule Number 2: never shoot a fellow Deliverer?” Tor hissed.
“Well technically, Silas didn’t shoot you, now did he Tor?” Walter explained. “He was simply demonstrating what he would have done in a hostage situation, as well as his excellent technique.”
Silas broke his stare off with Tor and dipped his head gracefully at Walter.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Greg taking notes. Where did he find a pen and notepad down here?
“Well then!” Death said, clapping his hands loudly. “I guess that settles that. OK everyone, back to work!” The tension in the room immediately dissipated. The staff in the control room went back to their desks or resumed passing information to their colleagues.<
br />
Greg finished writing, pocketed his notebook then came and stood next to me. “Pretty exciting down here, isn’t it?” He said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. The other Deliverers started moving back towards the meeting room. Death and Tor had stepped to one side just far enough so that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Death maintained his calm look but Tor looked agitated. He glanced in my direction several times.
“Oh, I think I know what you’re going to do now,” Greg said shrewdly. “Get ready for a world of pain.” He rubbed his side ruefully.
The conversation between Death and Tor had ended. Tor seemed to obey an order given to him, jerking his head in a nod. Death turned around smoothly and glided back out towards his office. Tor started walking towards Greg and I. He seemed annoyed, but also seemed to be holding something back that I couldn’t quite read.
Tor stopped in front of us. I suddenly remembered what I thought about when Mortimer had his gun pressed against the side of my head. I knew I was going to die so I wanted to die with happy thoughts. Tor was a tall, handsome, mysterious stranger that I hoped would be my hero. I imagined us being together, fingers intertwined. I imagined him smiling at me, even though I hadn’t seen him smile before. Looking at him now, I could also see that he would have a cute smile, despite his fiery demeanor.
Wait, what was I doing thinking about other men, no less men who had shot me in the head? I had to go back to the Overworld, find Stan and tell him everything that happened. I grinned stupidly, thinking how he was going to react when I told him that I was now essentially an intern working for Death.
I must have been daydreaming for longer than I thought because when my eyes refocused, Tor was looking at me with an eyebrow slightly raised and Greg was nudging me.
“Rose,” Tor said curtly. “I have been instructed to start training your body up for the rigors of combat.”
