Deadsville

by C. L. Bevill

“Did you see who did this to you?” Nica asked instead. His voice was back in a normal range. He didn’t sound like the reaper anymore. Maybe if deadies knew he was a reaper they would go after him for favors and such. The reaper had a secret identity. He was all Peter Parker, except without the sticky fingers and feet.

  Tavie glanced up and saw that he was now wearing a blue t-shirt. It was royal blue. It was a good color on him; it accented his nut brown skin. But the pants and the boots were still black. “No, whacked in the back of the head from behind and while someone hid from me. It’s a good thing I don’t have to worry about concussion in the afterlife because I don’t think I’d be awake in the living world, except after a few weeks and in a hospital bed after that smack down.” She looked down and snagged a shred of duct tape. She heard a growl and thought that Pudd had alerted on something.

  Instead, Pudd was sitting by the podium looking at her with an expression that was far more thoughtful than a dog’s façade should have been. He had located her again and he was pleased with himself.

  It was Nica who had growled.

  “What?”

  “Someone attacked you,” Nica said. “Someone who shouldn’t have been able to do that.”

  “And why do you suppose that would be?”

  “Why do you suppose that would be?”

  “You should have been a lawyer, dude.” Tavie gave up on the glue from the duct tape. She was going to be pulling it off for the rest of eternity, and only God knew how long that was going to be. “I suspect that the gods of the dead are playing games like the reindeer were playing games and didn’t let Rudolph play.”

  Nica appeared confused.

  “They didn’t let him play in their reindeer games?” she prompted. “Missed the Christmas special, huh?”

  “Why don’t you simplify it for me?”

  “I’ve been visited by three gods of the dead, plus a few more have been watching me. I don’t know all their names, but Thana, Anapa, and Barastyr are the ones who intro-ed themselves. It wasn’t like a tea party and no one had name tags. One guy likes a top hat and supposedly is a voodoo god by the name of Baron Samedi.”

  Nica glowered. “The gods have been coming to you besides Thana.” He sounded incredulous.

  “They wanted me to know about my other options,” Tavie said. “Of course I have to ask myself why they would want me to know that. It’s very weird. Apparently I’m not your average deadie in Deadsville. I’m SuperDead, a new heroine. My super powers include sarcasm and snarking. In fact, I have snarkivity, the ability to shoot sarcastic statements as fast as an intercontinental ballistic missile. I just thought of a better name, too. SuperBitch. No, SUPERBitch.”

  “You use humor as a self-defense,” Nica said.

  “I can’t be the first one you’ve met who’s done that, and for the record, did you bonk me on the head and tape me up like a redneck’s lawn chair on the porch?” Tavie put her arms akimbo, staring Nica down. He might be a reaper but he was also a suspect. He didn’t act like a suspect, but she hadn’t seen any of the other local favorites coming into this church in some creepy offshoot of Deadsville.

  “I did not.”

  “You felt me leave Deadsville and followed me?”

  “I felt you leave Deadsville because you’re one of mine,” Nica said. “I brought you over. I was there when you died. I lifted your spirit away from your mortal remains. Your dog brought me here. Apparently, you’re not the only special one.”

  Tavie looked at Pudd. “Puddles A. Lott, you’re my super sidekick in the afterlife! You little devil. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Pudd’s ears perked up at his name.

  “I have to find some Milk Bones,” Tavie said. Inside she knew that Nica didn’t do it. He wouldn’t have come back with her dog. He would have just returned and done whatever it was that he wanted to do. Someone wanted Tavie out of the way. Since she hadn’t done something to warrant revenge, the person had chosen to incapacitate her.

  Ha, she thought. I’m not that easy. SUPERBitch is on the job, folks. Wait. That’s Sheriff SUPERBitch to you if you’re nasty.

  * * *

  “This is a dark place?” she asked.

  “It’s a portal to a portal.”

  “Gee, that doesn’t help at all. Is this dark place what you use to escort the dead?”

  “I am a psychopomp, so yes.”

  “Do you use the reaper getup to pick up people?”

  “No, that’s only for judgment.”

  “That’s kind of messed up.” Tavie really would have said the whole thing was messed up. Who would have thought that the afterlife was just as many shades of gray as the living world?

  “It’s a human perception of what death is. It’s also what Thana’s perception is, and she is, after all, in charge.”

  “I’ve heard that before. We’ve got all these gods of the dead running around because they’re what humans believed in. What, we made them?”

  Nica didn’t answer.

  “Really, I can’t be right,” Tavie said incredulously.

  “Nature has a way of becoming what we need it to be.”

  Tavie spun around and looked at the long abandoned church. “What is it with all these damn philosophical statements? ‘It’s a portal to a portal.’ ‘Nature has a way of becoming what we need it to be.’ ‘Oh, I totally know how you died, but I ain’t gonna tell you because I’m not permitted.’”

  “I didn’t say the last one.”

  Tavie turned and studied Nica. He was still sitting on the pew. He didn’t look happy. But that was okay. She wasn’t happy either. “Are we going back to Deadsville?”

  “I can take you back there,” Nica said. “Or…”

  “Or what?”

  “I can take you where you need to be.”

  “Maybe you should be a little more specific. Where is it that I need to be?”

  “Think about what you need, Tavie,” Nica said and it was a weighty tone.

  Tavie went to sit next to him. She lowered herself onto the pew and listened to the ancient wood moan an old protest. It was always her experience that roundabout ways got quicker answers that demanding that one answer the original question. “Why is this church here?” she asked.

  “This was once part of the living world,” Nica said. He motioned toward the doors. “It doesn’t go far. This isn’t Deadsville that’s packed to the rafters with deadies. This is a place long forgotten by man and dead alike.”

  “Someone didn’t forget about it. Someone who can kill deadies and carve ectoplasm into their backs.”

  “I can’t explain that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Can’t.”

  Tavie blew out air. “You frustrate me, Nica. What can you tell me?”

  “Have you ever heard of the Romani?”

  “Gypsies, right?”

  “Or the Roma, depending on who you ask. I’ve talked to several dozen coming through Deadsville. The idea of what the Romani was has changed since my time. Many people see my people as cunning vagrants who steal and connive at the drop of a hat. That’s changed somewhat. Now we’re all fortune tellers and incessant wanderers.”

  “You were Romani?”

  “In Spain, France, Germany,” Nica answered slowly, in a wistful manner. “My people did wander. We took from the land. Some would call it stealing, especially if we ‘borrowed’ something from the King’s lands. We didn’t see it that way.”

  “And you were cursed?” Tavie asked, unable to help herself.

  “No, I was stupid., even cruel.”

  Tavie blinked. Weren’t gypsies supposed to be cursed? Or cursors? Or something like that? Then she damned herself for using stereotypes.

  “You were stupid and you became a reaper?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Nica said. “I was stupid first, then I paid the price for my stupidity.”

  “How long have you been a reaper?”

  “It’s been centuries,” Nica said
with a matter-of-fact quality that shocked Tavie.

  “Haven’t you paid your price yet?” She screwed up her face. “Wait. Before this you said something about rules against telling me any of this. So why are you able to tell me now?”

  Nica gestured at the entirety of the church. “I don’t understand it but we’re in a place where the rules have changed.”

  “So what did you do?” she asked gently.

  “I was callous to a girl. I caused her death. I didn’t brandish the knife, but she died because of me, all the same.” Nica took a deep breath. “I longed for peace. I prayed for her wellbeing and for her forgiveness. But my people thought I should pay for an eternity. She was another Romani, you see.”

  “No fooling around with the locals, huh?”

  “You think I would tell a typical story?” Nica smiled tightly. “Young man makes a mistake and is cursed. Spends the rest of time as one who reaps the souls of the damned.”

  “My soul is damned?”

  “Yes…and no.”

  Tavie blinked again. That wasn’t exactly news to her. But the truth was that she wasn’t roasting marshmallows in hell yet. “But damned doesn’t mean exactly what I think it means.”

  “It means that your soul is tainted,” Nica said. “Some people’s souls are tainted by what they were, or what they did, or what was done to them. Being dead is hardly objective.”

  “I’ll say.” Tavie thought about it. Nica was offering to cut her pain short. “I’m not supposed to be here, but I’m not done with what I need to do. I have a job to do.”

  Nica nodded. “I thought you would say that.” He started to rise. Tavie grasped his forearm and pulled it down.

  “I would have thought your arm would be cold,” she said, resting her fingers on his forearm. “But none of us are cold, are we?”

  “We’re what we were before, although some of us can change things,” Nica said. She glanced up and realized his t-shirt color had changed to salmon. It wasn’t the same shade as the polo she had given to her father, but it was close.

  “What did you do to this girl that was so terrible?” Tavie asked gently.

  “I was young and arrogant,” Nica said with a flat expression. “She was young and naïve. I promised her the moon and all the stars. She believed me. I thought I could let her down gently, but instead she was outraged. She saw me kissing another woman, a gadji, that’s our word for a woman not of the Romani, and she stabbed me. The gadji got away. I’m sorry to say I don’t recall her name.”

  “The Romani girl or the gadji?”

  “The Roma’s name was Tsura. The gadji was just a girl I charmed for a moment, a girl who wanted a little taste of wildness. She was a milk maid, carrying jugs of milk to the market. She left the milk behind and was soundly beaten for it, although she did live.” Nica’s eyes were black pits and Tavie nearly jerked backward at the silent intensity of his emotions.

  “So Tsura killed you.”

  “Stabbed me over and over again until the blade broke.” Nica made a noise that sounded like despair or derision. “She was a strong girl. I didn’t feel anything after the first thrust. Then I was standing over her as she cried. You see, I had broken her heart by kissing a girl who was inconsequential at the moment. I watched Tsura as she wiped tears from her face and unknowingly smeared my blood over her cheeks. When she realized what she had done, she was horrified beyond belief.”

  “You could see this after your death?”

  “It was as if I watched from a distance and yet not,” Nica said. “I’m sorry you cannot recall your death. It might help your frame of mind.”

  “I was told that it happens that way,” she said.

  “Told by whom?”

  “I don’t remember.” Tavie’s lips curled. “There’s a lot of people in Deadsville with a lot of different opinions. What happened to Tsura?”

  “She took the broken blade and shoved it into her heart,” Nica said. “I didn’t kill her, but I did kill her.”

  Tavie didn’t know what to say. There was nothing that could be said. It was clear that Nica had suffered as a result of his actions. There was no blame that was pushed off on other people. She was used to hearing that from people. Blame was always to be placed upon another person instead of taking responsibility. Especially when one was speaking with a law enforcement official.

  “I watched as she died,” Nica said softly. “The knife plugged the heart so she didn’t die right away. The Romani believe in the supernatural, you see, and Tsura desperately clung to her life. She found she didn’t really want to die, she hadn’t really wanted to kill me, and her regret was like a deep, dark hole from which one can never escape. The psychopomp who came for her was a kindly sort. There was no Deadsville for Tsura. She was forgiven as she died. I forgave her for my sins. She deserved forgiveness because she was penitent.”

  Tavie squeezed Nica’s forearm and he took a breath.

  “The Romani believe that the cry of the owl signals a death to come, and we had heard owls the night before. I disregarded the sign and Tsura only wanted to abate her curiosity about me.” Nica took a deep breath. “The psychopomp who came for me wasn’t so kind. I had caused a death, a needless death, and I would pay for my actions. I begged to be forgiven by Tsura, but the Romani found our bodies soon after, and there was no forgiveness. They pieced together what happened, based on what they knew about me, the milk jugs, and Tsura’s actions. The funerals were quick, the gathering for the meal was only the local Romani. Our material possessions were burned separately, in order to contain the taint of my actions. We were forgotten, but Tsura’s family never really forgot.”

  “You saw all of this?”

  “Part of my payment to the afterlife,” Nica said simply. “Now I bring the dead here. I cannot help them. I cannot give them consolation. I cannot tell them what awaits them. I simply do what I have to do until the day I am sent to bring them to their next destination.”

  “It sounds horribly unsatisfying,” Tavie said. “I was brought up to believe in forgiveness. My sin was greater than yours.”

  “Not in your heart,” Nica said. He reached up with his free hand and touched her cheek, looking into her eyes. “Your heart reveals its purity. It shines out like a beacon to the hopeless here. You don’t belong here anymore than Tsura did.”

  ​Chapter 16

  There are not as many deaths as there are sorrows. – Russian Proverb

  ~

  “I wish I didn’t have regrets, but there are always things that people do that they regret.” – Octavia Stone

  ~

  Tavie took Nica’s face in her hands, framing his lean cheeks with them. It was true that police officers tended to be bitter and jaded, so when Nica told his story, she couldn’t help that aggravating inner voice that questioned his actions. What was the point in telling Tavie? Was any of it really true? But ultimately Tavie could tell. Nica’s face was desolate. He had lived through that experience, only to die because of it. He was still paying for it.

  She stared into his eyes as he stared back. Black eyes glittered in the meager light. The lantern allowed her to see the depth there. Nica had caused the girl’s death by his careless actions, but there hadn’t been intent. He hadn’t intended to hurt her, nor anyone else. But his guilt was like a blanket swaddling him tightly so that he could never get loose.

  Her fingertips stroked along the flesh. He should have been cold, but he felt as warm as any hot-blooded mammal. The flesh felt pitted and irregular but silky in places as if he had freshly shaved. She ran the end of a finger over his lips. Nica made a rough sound.

  Certainly Nica felt human. Tavie could look into him and see the reaper, but he was also a deadie. He wasn’t unfeeling. He wasn’t cold and atrophied with the relentless amount of death he’d seen in his seemingly endless years. He’d made a mistake, in a similar way that Tavie had made a mistake.

  All humans made mistakes. It was the origin of the phrase “We’re only human.” Huma
ns had been born to make mistakes. Listening to the serpent in Eden was only the first in a long, long line.

  Live for the moment was the thought that went through Tavie’s head, although a split second later it was followed by a wry Die for the moment. She leaned forward, tilting her head, and pressed her lips to Nica’s.

  Tavie had never had a “type” before so she couldn’t say Nica was or wasn’t her type. She’d had boyfriends before, although they were scarce since she’d thrown one through the glass door. (Even though he’d declined to press charges, the word had gotten out.) She admired honesty and strength in a man. She liked a handsome man as much as the next girl, but there was always something compelling about a man with a strong character. If anything could be said about Nica, it was that his character had become stronger over the time that he had spent as a reaper.

  She moved her lips on Nica’s, waiting for something to happen. It was a tentative action, an invitation for the man to reciprocate. He tasted of something spicy and his breath was warm on her flesh.

  Nica was frozen in place, clearly uncertain and dumbfounded.

  Tavie allowed a smile to curve her lips. She couldn’t remember ever having that kind of effect on a man. But then, Nica was not only a man, he was a reaper. She ran the tip of her tongue across his lips just because she could. She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to wrap around his neck, tugging him into her.

  Abruptly Nica pressed back, surging into her body, melding his with hers, his strong arms wrapped around her and threatened to crush a rib or two in the process. Tavie breathed out a content sigh and allowed herself to enjoy the human contact in an elemental manner. There was heat and yearning and passion all combined into a ball of longing. It was a plain fact that Tavie had never had a better first kiss in all her thirty-four years.

  It could have been an hour later or only a few minutes that Tavie pulled away, just enough so that when her eyes opened she could look into the shadows of his face. He simply sat there for a long moment with his eyes shut and his chest moving irregularly. His eyes slowly came open and he looked at her with rapt curiosity.