- Reapers -

He leaned back in the chair. Looked towards the front entrance. Then took a bite of the apple pie that he had ordered.

“Roger” he heard someone call out behind him. “Roger is that you?” He turned slowly, his leather coat creaking as he spotted the man with his right eye only.

“I knew it, that is you, glad to see you”

With out acknowledgement, Roger, turned just as slowly as he looked back to his pie.

He heard the chair move away form the table and hard heeled shoes approach.

The man appeared in his vision, took a seat, and then waved the waitress over.

Roger gave a visible sigh. “Simon” he took a sip of coffee “How are you these days?”

The man rolled his eyes and crosed his legs leaning against the back of the chair and chewing on his lip.

“To be honest Rog, not that good. It’s a whole bloody mess out there. Just crazy. I thought I had things figured out, but alas, it gets all topsy turvy when I step into it. I mean the last bloke that I ran into couldn’t even tell me the time. Imagine that!”

The rain outside was picking up. The restaurant had windows, but they were thin and the walls were covered in dark wood. It made the interior feel enclosed, warm and in its own pocket of the world. The rain added a layer, its heavy drops thumping onto the roof filling the whole place with a thick layer of noise. Art deco to its core, green light covers that barely illuminated anything, but kept a cool atmosphere for the patrons. The bar was a mix of a diner and high class joint and the tables were simple and modest, with a bit of elegant charm thrown in at the legs and silverware. It was a fine place to hide.

“Yes, I agree” Roger said dryly. His pie was almost finished. The waitress came over.

“Ya, coffee, and a slice of pie, we will share, two forks. Thanks” Simon smiled at the waitress as she shimmied off. “Fine one, huh”

Roger had had enough. He finished his last piece of pie , wiped his mouth and sat back with his arms crossed.

“Simon”

“Yeah, Rog”

“Look at me, not the waitress, what do you want?”

Simon licked his lips. “Well you know Rog, we have a job to do, not a nice one either. I just wanted to get your advice, that’s all”

“Our job is to reap, so reap, what is so hard about that?” Roger uncrossed his arms, and produced a pocket watch which he flicked open. He stared mesmerized by it for a moment then eyed Simon. “I see”

Simon let out a heavy sigh and nodded “You see”

There was a quiet resignation to Roger, he clasped the pocket watch shut in one sharp motion and put it on the table. “How long?”

“A minute at most. What about when it’s my time Rog, I don’t want to” the words caught in his throat “die”

Roger let out a laugh, one from younger days, much younger.

“Simon, we all must be reaped one day, even the reapers” He coughed “You couldn’t have just shot me, huh?” His voice grew hoarse and he clasped his chest with a smile. How many had he seen just like him now. Gasping for air, heart pumping its last beats, but his, not a heat, a special kind of spirit. Returning to its creator. What a beautiful life he had lived. Eons, the highs and lows, it all span in a memory of light, blazing past every sense that he had. Human and otherwise.

“Till the next time” Roger breathed his last breath and then his head hit the table hard, arms falling to his side.

Simon sat for along while, the waitress screaming in the background, customers standing to find out what had happened.

“Yes, my friend, till next time” Simon stood up trembling.

Simon had become a reaper of reapers.

There is a scene in Supernatural that I absolutely love and that is when death is introduced in this diner. It is storming outside and everyone on the inside is dead and he is just eating a piece of pie when Dean confronts him. I based it partly on that. Death can’t be everywhere? Maybe it can? Or maybe it needs a little bit of help. But all things come to an end. All things…die.

Keep living my friends, till the very end

The room was lit by a single large flat screen TV. Police cars, ambulances, and news casters filled the scene. A man jumped over the couch, brushed his hair back and pushed his gold horned rimmed glasses up his nose.

“Police are saying this is the worst killings they have seen in years. Fourteen men and women have been found in pieces around the city. No suspects have been listed yet”

The screen flipped to the outside of an apartment building and then followed the captain of police to the outside of an apartment door.

“These have been the worst serial killings we have seen in a long time, who has done this will pay the ultimate price. I won’t stop till they are caught”

The man clicked the mute button and stood up into the projected light.

“Worst? Why is it always the worst?” He turned to his left. A set of eyes cried out to him. He walked over to the wall and flicked the lights on. “Do you see that? or I guess, hear that, worst”

The man snatched a large knife from the table. Bound to a chair was a young women, her eyes were large circles that were stained by tears. She struggled against her bonds and screamed through the gag at him.

“Stop that, what do you mean? You don’t know what your talking about. Fourteen” The man with the knife was young, thin, square jaw line and semi brown hair. He looked like an old school librarian. Dressed in black slacks, a tweed vest and a white button up shirt that was rolled up before his elbows. “I’m the best, not the worst”

He shook his head and pulled a chair in front of the bound women. She extended trying to threaten, but he waved her off with his knife.

“Look, I’m going to tell you a secret, yeah? Okay okay, here it goes. Those other things out there, the second rate serial killers, murders, what ever you call them. They cut their prizes up while they are alive.” The man shook his head and rolled his eyes “Like how are you going to get clean cuts if they are moving all around or blood is flowing so hard? You aren’t. Yeah yeah use drugs and all that, blah blah, doesn’t work, tried it. Does it look like I have time to surgeon people? To many people to get to. What a pain. Also I am going to tell you something else. That police captain. I have had coffee twice with him. Twice! and I told him TWICE that I was the serial killer. I told him, you have to start calling me the best, not the worst. This schmuck didn’t believe me. I tell everyone what I do, no one cares, what a sick game this is huh?”

The man return the chair to the table and walked back over to the women. Her energy was running out. The screaming, struggling and rationalizing were taking a toll on her. Her eyes fluttered to stay awake. Then she felt her arms being unshackled and the gag removed from her mouth.

“All right, all done.” the man said.

The women stood up weakly and stared at the man.

“Your letting me go?” she said hoarsely

The man reached for her and spun her around to see the chair she was bound to. There she was. Sitting, blood running from her neck and down her chest and pooling at feet of the chair.

“Sorry, your dead, But good news or I mean, bad news? Maybe both, you take it the way you want, you have been dead for a couple days” he said returning to the couch and flipping the channels until it hit another news station.

The women stood staring. Distant. A void. If that was her, who was she now. She turned and looked at the man sitting on the couch. He was now eating a stick of jerky. In a lul she moved to the couch and sat next to him.

“Do you care to explain?”

The man ripped off another head of jerky and pushed his glass up “Look, I’m good at something. Being a serial killer. The best, already am. I have even serial killed serial killers” He grinned and gave a thumbs up to her “Now you may ask what is all this ghost stuff that you are experiencing and this jazz. I serial kill people that have been missed by the grim reaper. Here” He pulled out a cylinder object. It was smooth metallic black. It pulsed with a cold energy. “Look at this” with a quick flick of his wrist a ghostly parchment draped from the cylinder. Fog emitted around the paper. “This list, which is updated all the time, is of those that death has missed. That car accident that you survived a couple of days ago, nah, you didn’t”

The women looked closer at the scroll. The names were jet black against a faded white parchment. They seemed to faze in and out and some would even disappeared before he eyes.

“Pretty cool eh? Well I had a dilemma on my hands. See I’m a natural born killer. Yet! I had an inner conflict. I like people and humanity, but damn, that feeling of” He made a stabbing motion with the beef jerky stick “and the life just seeping out, nothing like it. So one day, I just asked the sky. What should I do and Bam!” he leapt off the couch and stomped around “a bear came running straight out of the woods were I was, It’s teeth, claws ready and sliced me down.” he gave a laugh “Just ate me right there. When I awoke there it was, death with a contract and oh check this out” The man extended his hand towards the knife which was sitting on the table behind them, it wobbled then flew from the table into his palm. “My scythe”

The women made no motion, her face was stoic and internally she felt nothing,but exhaustion. No confusion over the whole situation, no anger over what she had gone through, just pure exhaustion.

“So what now? Heaven?”

“We wait. Death will show up and take you somewhere” He flopped back down next to her “So in the mean time” the TV unmuted “Jerky?” he held out a fresh stick to her.

The women sighed.

She grabbed the jerky.

This story was inspired by a irrational situation of a serial killer seeing that they were being called the worst, when if you took the stats, they were the best. Such as having the most kills or never getting caught. Also the thought of being good at something that is unmoral. As if what would happen if you asked the person who was going to kill you why they were doing it? and they said, “Well I am good at this”
I also remember seeing a Japanese movie where the serial killer would produce art from his victims, because it was his inspiration and what he was good at. This is sorta like that. I took a fun angle with it though, because While being morbid, being to morbid is sorta a drag.