Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross

by B. L. Newport

  “I’m so happy to meet you,” Belinda gushed before she rushed to cross the short width of the subway car. Brigit barely had time to react when Belinda threw her arms around the dark woman’s neck in a grateful hug. “Finally, someone who can see and hear me! It’s been so long since I’ve had a real conversation. Last week,” Brigit finally managed to push the young woman off her, but their separation did not cease Belinda’s ramble. “I tried to talk to this crazy, old homeless man, because I just knew he could see me; but, he turned and ran out of here screaming. It really made me sad. I almost cried,” Brigit watched the young woman begin to pout with the memory of the episode. “But now, here you are and you can see me and talk to me. Hey, that’s an awesome coat,” Belinda said as she noticed the sequins on the lapels of Brigit’s black coat.

  “Thank you,” Brigit replied. “Belinda, I have a proposal for you,”

  “Where did you get it? I’ve been wanting a pirate’s coat for forever,” Belinda cooed.

  “It’s something I’ve had for years,” Brigit explained before catching herself. “Belinda, you do realize you’re no longer living, right?”

  “What? Oh, yeah. I’ve known for years now. It’s too bad that I was wearing this, though,” she waved her hand downward to indicated the ragged black knit shirt with slashed long sleeves, the ankle length black skirt with overly large safety pins as buttons on the pockets and the well worn military boots on her feet. “Not exactly the outfit I would have picked for my last moments on earth, you know? I definitely had better.”

  “I can only imagine,” Brigit replied as she eyed the young woman’s attire. “Anyway, I have a proposition for you.”

  “Oh yeah? Would it mean finally getting off this stupid train for good?” Belinda asked, readjusting the weight of the black leather bag that hand off her shoulder. In its swing, Brigit recognized it to be in the shape of a coffin.

  “It would,” Brigit answered.

  “Then, I’m in,” Belinda immediately said.

  “But you don’t even know what I’m about to offer you,” Brigit pointed out in surprise.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Belinda replied. “If it gets me off this fucking train, I’ll do it. You have no idea what it’s like to be trapped on this thing every day and night. It’s disgusting most of the time. I see people puking or pissing in the corner, shooting junk into their veins at three in the morning. Oh, sure, it gets cleaned up before the early morning rush; but most of the time, I simply can’t stand it. Especially when I see my friends come on, or I see him, the bastard that knifed me for my purse…”

  Brigit watched as the other woman covered the coffin purse protectively. Almost as soon as she did so, the train lurched to signal its attempt to slow down in its approach of the next station. Brigit glanced behind her and then returned her gaze to the young woman before her.

  “Brigit, please, you have to get me off this train,” Belinda pleaded.

  As the train came to a grinding halt beside the platform, Brigit eyed the young woman one last moment. The doors whooshed open behind her as she made a resolute decision.

  “Very well, take my hand,” she instructed. Without hesitation, Belinda grasped Brigit’s outstretched hand and smiled a huge smile as Brigit guided her off the subway car. As soon as they were both safely on the platform, the doors slammed shut once more and the train hurtled back into motion.

  “So, what do I have to do?” Belinda asked when the noise from the departing train had finally died away.

  “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to be a Grim Reaper?” Brigit asked. Belinda looked at her savior in sudden surprise.

  “No shit? You’re a …” the young woman was suddenly at a loss for words. Brigit felt herself smiling in acknowledgement of the Goth girl’s awe. “No fucking kidding? Really? Holy shit,” Belinda finally managed to get out. “I’d love to! What do I have to do?”

  “For the time being, follow me and observe closely. You’re training begins this second. Unfortunately,” Brigit tucked Belinda’s file into her coat’s breast pocket to make sure it would not end up back with the piles of assignments it had come from. “I don’t have the time to train you by the book, so you’ll have to go through on-the-job-training. Here,” she withdrew her field guide from the hip pocket of her coat, “read this while we’re between assignments. Ask questions as they come to mind. I’ll do my best to answer them,” Brigit promised as she hooked her umbrella over her arm and reached for a new assignment. Belinda, who had been scanning the first page of the small book she had been handed, suddenly looked up at her.

  “Why me?”

  “Because you said you would,” Brigit replied with a slight smile. “Come, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “No, really, why did you pick me? Surely you made some sort of decision before you even got onto the train. Why?” Belinda asked as she fell in behind Brigit and followed her up the stairs leading to the street level.

  “I’m down two Reapers right now. You have a solid mind and a calm sense about you. If I can train you quickly, I won’t be too far behind on my work,” Brigit explained as she read the file in her hand. Everything she had said was the truth. The only admission was her hope that John wouldn’t come completely unglued once he found out all that had happened during his absence.

  “Then, teach me, oh-great-Grim-Reaper,” Belinda intoned. “I will be clay in your skilled hands,”

  “Don’t get too enamored,” Brigit warned. “It’s not as easy as you might think and it’s definitely not as morbid.”

  “Who cares? I’m off the train. Show me what you got,” Belinda replied with an indifferent shrug.

  “Okay, then. We’re off to the first assignment,” Brigit explained as she turned away. “Read your field guide.”

  “Reading now, oh-great-one,” Belinda quipped as she fell in beside Brigit.

  “Stop that,” Brigit muttered.

  “Yes, oh-great-one…”

  22: Seamus on Fire

  His mouth was dry, as dry as any desert plain he could ever imagine. Twice, he lolled his tongue across the top palate of his mouth trying to form enough spit just so he could swallow and ease the cracked walls of this throat, but nothing came. He had even tried licking his lips to calm the dryness there, but his tongue lacked the moisture to bring even that slight respite.

  His body was on fire, searing away any moisture that might form within him to bring him any second of relief. He could feel it flowing through his veins to burst from his skin. When he could open his eyes, he could see the walls of his office slowly wavering from the heat that he emitted from where Brigit had dumped him on the couch. She had shown an ounce of mercy in covering him with a blanket before she had abandoned him to burn in the flames. Somewhere over the course of the infection, however, he had inadvertently kicked it to the floor beside him. It would have helped, he had the thought, to put out the flames that sprang like lava plumes of an angry volcano from every pore of his mangled body.

  Seamus wondered how long it would be before he had a moment’s peace from the inferno he was enduring. John Blackwick had told him that the degree of a mauling determined the degree of the infection. As he wondered which particular level of Hell he was wandering through, Seamus came to the conclusion that he must be badly damaged. He only wished he had the strength to examine his wounds. Then, he’d have even more of an excuse to kill the female Reaper once he was fully recovered.

  He remembered uttering those words to her before passing out. How she had managed to bring him back to the main office, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. She had said her presence during the assignment had been to provide back up; yet, when the charge had been sounded, Brigit Malone had remained behind in the shadows. Seamus had been left to deal with the Chupacabras by himself, as he remembered it. Five to one had not been a fair fight, especially after he had lost the shelaighley. Yet, being a true warrior, the brave soldier with the blood of a fighting Irishman borne from the direct descendents
of the fearless Fiona of legend, Seamus Flannery had fought hard in completing the assignment. He had succeeded, he remembered it all clearly. Brigit had only finally come to his aide after his collapse. Too little, too late, Seamus thought.

  A creak of the wood floor in the main hall pulled Seamus from his fiery thoughts. Brigit had not been back to the office since she had left him to roast with the vicious fever of the infection. By his count, that had been a couple of days gone by now. Had she finally returned?

  “Oy!”

  The call came out more a groan than a coherent word. Seamus licked his lips and swallowed hard in the attempt to dampen his vocal chords.

  “Oy!” he called again.

  It must have been more coherent this time, he thought. The gentle creak of the wood ceased its quiet echo off the walls of the main hall. Someone was there. Seamus could feel the chill emanating from the soul that was standing just outside the closed door to his office. Though he wanted to close his eyes in the sudden relief from the burning of his body, he knew he couldn’t allow himself to be so vulnerable to an unknown presence. Instead, he kept his emerald daggers poised at the door, hoping that he would be able to summon some amount of strength to try to save himself if there were to be an attack.

  “Who’s out there? Show yer bleedin’ self,” he commanded, trying to sound stronger than he actually was. “C’mon! Show yerself!”

  Slowly, the door swung open and Seamus felt his head jerk back with the sight of the figure before him. The pale man (if it was a man, Seamus mused…) dressed in tattered black robes stood just inside the door frame. His eyes were wide in fear and bewilderment.

  “Who the fook are you?” Seamus demanded.

  “Bailey,” came the hoarse whisper of a reply.

  “Do ye work here too?” A silent nod was his only answer. “What department?”

  “Bailey,” the pale man said again. Seamus closed his eyes finally. The chill reaching out from the pale man was so soothing. It allowed Seamus to focus his thoughts a little more clearly.

  “I know yer bleedin’ name, man. What do you do for the firm?” he asked, hoping to get an actual answer. “What is yer job?”

  “Bailey,” the word came a third time and Seamus groaned in frustration rather than pain. An intelligent conversation was obviously not going to happen. Seamus didn’t have the patience to try to drag one out of the pale man either.

  “Well, do me a favor, Mr. Bailey,” Seamus instructed. “Find John Blackwick and bring him back. Tell him things are sorely amiss at the office. Tell him Seamus said so. Do ye understand me?”

  “Where?” the Bailey asked. Seamus let his eyes open and take in the pale figure that suddenly reminded him of all the pictures he had ever seen representing the figure of Death – the conjured image of what a Grim Reaper truly looked like.

  “Italy,” Seamus finally said, drawing on the infuriating memory of Brigit telling him that John had gone for a few days. “Fetch him at once,” the Irishman instructed sternly. The Bailey nodded in comprehension and began to back slowly from the small office, taking with him the cool energy that Seamus had been finding such comfort in.

  When the Bailey had gone, Seamus closed his eyes again. He could feel it returning, the fire of the infection coursing through his veins. He only had a few minutes, he knew, before he would be engulfed in the searing flames that threatened to scar him for all eternity. He was lucid. He needed to gather his wits quickly and begin to formulate his strategy for vengeance. Calculations could be made on another day, when the fires were finally gone from his being. At the moment, Seamus determined, he had to begin the blue print to the end of days for Brigit Malone.

  23: The Reaper’s Apprentice

  “So, how do you know what weapon will be right for you? I mean, how did you choose an umbrella over, say, a bow and arrow? How about swords? Can we pick a sword?”

  Brigit sighed as she tucked the last completed assignment into the pocket that held all the others. Belinda Yaris had not ceased with the questions since she had completed reading The Reaper’s Field Guide. As the questions rolled one after the other with barely a moment in between to receive an answer, Brigit silently began to wish that the field guide had been written with more consideration to the mentor and their time. At some point during the barrage of inquiries, Brigit had simply began offering an ‘I don’t know’ and ‘That’s a good question’ as a reply to her new apprentice – especially when a question had come in the middle of a scuffle with a dark spirit that had no desire to cross over peacefully.

  “We’ll come to that when we return,” Brigit said quietly.

  Suddenly, she felt tired. They had been working non-stop for two days, unable to return to the office to refresh their assignments – or so that she could check on Seamus Flannery. Her mind had been divided into too many directions throughout their travels. On the one hand, she was focused on their assignments and the assessment of Belinda Yaris – wondering if she had made a good choice in offering a position to the Goth girl with an endless supply of pertinent questions. On the other hand, she found herself worrying that she should have done more for Seamus in his mangled state and the subsequent illness that Brigit knew would beset itself upon him. Behind all that, she wondered how she would explain it all to John when he returned. Running delicately between all these thoughts was the deep missing of Maggie.

  “Are we done?” Belinda asked when she finally glanced up at Brigit. She had been scanning the pages of the field guide for any item she might have missed during the initial reading. Her mentor, Belinda noted, suddenly looked tired.

  “For now,” Brigit responded when she had finished massaging her temples. A phantom sensation had arisen in her head, reminiscent of the migraines she would occasionally suffer when the stress of a hectic work day would finally take its toll. “ I need a break. How about you?”

  “Oh, I could go for days. I feel great,” Belinda chirped with a smile. “Where are we going now?”

  “Back to the office. There’s something there I need to check on, and, seeing that you possess a fountain of energy, you can set to work on recording the completed assignments,” Brigit determined.

  “My first task, goodie,” Belinda said cheerfully as she fell in beside her mentor. Brigit sighed, but kept her silence. She hoped for the time being that her apprentice would follow the set example and be quiet as well.

  Belinda sighed happily as she tried to keep in step with Brigit. She was stoked about the new turn her ‘life’ had taken. She had watched Brigit like a hawk, observing every nuance of her teacher, every small movement the dark woman made through the completion of each assignment. Belinda had found herself in awe when Brigit had fought with the dark spirits. The woman seemed to maintain a perfect sense of calm composure during the fight, her eyes never leaving the focus of her attention. Once, Belinda had asked a question in the middle of such a confrontation. The sudden asking had broken Brigit’s concentration which resulted in the sudden death-hold of a monster Brigit was trying to cross over. Luckily, Brigit had quickly managed to regain her train of thought and, somehow, remove herself from harm’s retched grasp. Belinda made the decision to save her questions until the assignment was complete after that.

  As she walked beside Brigit, Belinda began to assess her own skills. She had never been a fighter. If anything, she had always been able to talk her way out of a confrontation. Except on that day when she had ceased to be a mortal and became trapped on the subway. Talking had done nothing for her that day… Yet, as she pondered all that she had observed Brigit doing, Belinda was sure she would still not be one to fight. Deep down, she hoped there would be something else for her within the firm that she would be better suited for because fighting and confrontation was definitely not one of her strengths.

  Together, they walked along avenues and boulevards of the city. Along the way, Belinda would occasionally notice the waiting spirits. Some would spot the Reapers and run to hide, obviously afraid of the idea of being
crossed over. Others would simply stare at them with various expressions of indifference, boredom, anxious questioning or simply endless patience.

  “There are so many of them,” Belinda noted out loud.

  “The fruits of Death are constantly blooming,” Brigit replied quietly. “Can you tell the difference between a living soul and a waiting soul?”

  “I think so,” Belinda mused.

  “How are they different?”

  “Is this a quiz?”

  “Yes,” Brigit replied solemnly.

  Taking a deep breath, Belinda launched into her theory that the difference between a living soul and a waiting soul had to do with the aura that surrounded them. The living were vibrant, creating waves of rippling energy as they moved from place to place. The waiting soul’s energy seemed stagnate, confined to the space immediately around them. Brigit only smiled as she listened. It was the same theory that she had formed during her own beginnings as a Reaper.

  “Why are you smiling? Did I say something funny? Am I wrong?” Belinda questioned immediately when she spied her mentor’s expression.

  “No, you are correct,” Brigit answered. “I’m proud of you for being so observant.”

  Belinda fell silent again as they continued walking. The wonderment of her new level of existence fascinated and elated her. In the back of her mind, though, she couldn’t help but think that it all would have made a really good story.

  When they entered 666 ½ Bleecker Street, Belinda felt her spirit surge higher with its elation. The dark wood surrounding them and the eerie gargoyles peering down from the ceiling delighted her. It was every Goth girl’s fantasy to be in a place so seemingly medieval. Belinda nearly made herself dizzy as she spun around and around to take it all in.

  Brigit had not noticed her apprentice’s sudden stop to marvel at the dark architecture. Instead, she had immediately gone into Seamus’ office – noting that the door was open though she clearly remembered the closure of it upon her departure. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat with the fear that John had already returned and discovered the ill Irishman. The skipping of the beat, however, was merely another phantom sensation. Brigit was aware that she had not heard, nor felt, her own heartbeat in almost a year.