Chapter four.
Lawrence.
‘So, you haven’t made contact yet?’, Chief Anchor states, more than asks, making me feel less than adequate. I don’t know how to answer, how do I tell him that I was so overtaken by Paige that I couldn’t focus on my job? How can I tell him that, after merely seeing her, the thought of doing my job makes me feel sick? I can’t.
‘No sir’, I reply ‘the circumstances were less than favourable. I plan on rectifying this by the end of the day, sir.’ I feel admonished and worthless. If there’s anything that comes before death in this job, its order and hierarchy. We must know our place. We must submit. It’s one of the only things I truly hate about being a Reaper- the sheer supremacy of it all. And of course, taking life. Anyone who says that isn’t difficult is simply lying.
‘Good, you’re dismissed now’, Chief says, giving me a not-so-subtle nod towards the door. I bow my head in submission, not bothering with words, and head out of his office. You would think that the head office for Reapers is located on some other worldly plane- we couldn’t possibly co-exist with the triviality of human life. But you’d be wrong to think that. In order to take life, we must par-take in it also. Most Reapers live relatively mundane lives, having homes and pets and the occasional physical lover- but never any permanent attachments, never everything more profound. Never love. Those are not allowed. We can exist side by side with humans, but we cannot interweave those existences. That is absolutely forbidden. So in order to co-exist, the head office is simply an office like any other- from the outside you would think it was a dull accountancy firm or something. We blend in well; it’s what makes taking lives so easy- in the geographical, cosmological sense.
I head out onto the street, the day dreadfully dreary. I don’t bother with a coat, instead I enjoy the way the drizzle soaks into my hair. It’s refreshing. I need to think of a way to talk to Paige that seems natural, not forced. I need her to like me so that I can accomplish my job. But more importantly, I need her to like me because I want her to. There’s some intrinsic part of me that needs to be connected to her, in a way separate to the death-bond. And even though I know I shouldn’t, that any emotional connection to any human, let alone one of my charges, is forbidden, I have to know her. My body won’t allow anything else.
There’s a coffeeshop around the corner that I duck into, grabbing a tea and a booth whilst I let myself formulate a plan. I close my eyes, letting my immediate surroundings fade into a white blur, as I focus on my connection to Paige. The images come in bits and pieces at first- a flash of the sky, a strip of concrete, a motionless feather. As I breathe deeper and concentrate harder, a full image comes into focus. Paige is walking on her own, surrounded by tall buildings, the floor in front of her covered in rain. She seems to be walking slowly, afraid of falling I assume. She reaches what must be her car, an old silver box that looks nearly as old as I feel. Ancient. She sits inside and takes a deep breath, and god what I wouldn’t do to know what is on her mind right now. An idea sparks in my head before it’s fully taken form, and I jump on it without thinking twice. I let my connection to her take hold, pulling me towards her as I fade out of the coffee shop and into the swirling air of nature outside…
***
One second, I’m sitting on a plastic covered seat, surrounded by the four yellow-coloured walls of the coffee shop. The next I’m sprawled out on the wet concrete floor, hoping my plan isn’t as ludicrous as it seems. The floor is wet, but not so wet that it seeps through my clothes. I hear, rather than see, from my viewpoint on the ground, the frantic slamming of a car door and hurried footsteps. I school my features into neutrality, trying desperately not to laugh at the panicked expression that’s taken over Paige’s face.
‘I-I, I’m so sorry! I swear I checked before reversing out and there was no-one. Y-you weren’t, I mean, I didn’t see you’, she frantically babbles out, her horror evident in the quaking sibilance of her voice. If I weren’t trying to be the detached Reaper I’m supposed to be, I would say her panic-riddled state was cute. She looks at me intensely, her ice blue eyes boring into my soul as she scans me over for injuries. I suppose I should say something, reassure her. But honestly the way she looks with her blue eyes so full of distress, and her body hunched into itself so desperately regretting her actions, renders me almost speechless. I’m so wonderfully screwed. I don’t know how I can take her life away; I’ll be robbing the world of a veritable angel on earth.
‘Calm down, it’s okay’, I say placatingly. I make a show of getting up slowly, dusting my hands on my black trousers as though they’re covered in dirt, when in reality, they’re squeaky clean, what with me being on the floor for no more than a minute. I can tell she doesn’t believe me though; she thinks she’s seriously injured me. Maybe this plan was a little too over the top. Oh well, no going back now. She’s shaking her head as though the mere action will erase the past five minutes of her life.
‘Honestly, don’t look so scared. You barely touched me. See’, I say, giving her a twirl, ‘I’m absolutely fine.’ I wouldn’t normally care to make humans feel at ease, to comfort them, but the sheer stress on her face is killing me- especially since my stupid idea of a plan is the reason why.
‘Oh’, she breathes, a gush of air leaving her body. She visibly sags in relief, her expression turning from panicked to almost embarrassed. ‘I swear I looked though, I guess you wearing all black didn’t help.’ Is she chastising me? I can’t tell if she’s merely justifying the near miss to herself, or if she’s actually blaming my clothing choice for her poor driving skills. Obviously, it was all my fault, but she doesn’t need to know that.
‘Are you actually trying to blame this on me?’, I smirk.
‘I could have killed you!’, she exclaims, ‘maybe if you wore something other than depressing black, people would have a better time seeing you.’ Little does she know that black was not a choice, it was the uniform. Despite this, I’ve always thought it looked sleek rather than bleak, but I suppose it isn’t for everyone.
‘I doubt that.’ Though death, for Reapers, is as ordinary as a passing cloud, it isn’t something that will ever take us in its grip. The peacefulness of the afterlife is denied those who ferry spirits to it; we exist like time, in waves and trickles, until the universe is no more than thought in the wind. We will never know peace; we will only ever know this watered-down version of human existence. But still, I can’t complain. Who else can say that they will live forever?
‘Anyway’, I continue, ‘my name is Lawrence.’ I hold out my hand towards her, hoping she’ll accept it.
‘Oh’ she says, taking my hand, and it’s like my whole arm is on fire. The breath seems to rush out of me in seconds; her mouth is frozen in a surprised ‘o’. The feel of her hand in mine is electric, and I have to try my best to remind myself, regardless of what my body seems to feel, that I have a job to do. I shake her hand, one firm shake, and then draw back away from her, giving her a slight nod. I can tell she’s confused, maybe even slightly hurt by my stand-offish behaviour, from the way her brows furrow, creating a small crease between her eyebrows. ‘I’m Paige’, she offers. And boy don’t I know it. She smiles a little, uncertain in where to go from here. Unfortunately for her though, we don’t have all the time in the world, so I need to start as I mean to go on.
‘Paige, it’s nice to meet you. I was thinking, and hear me out, maybe we could go and get coffee? I know you don’t know me, but it’s the least you could do, after running me over and all that.’, I tease, praying, hoping that she’ll say yes. Otherwise, I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do.
‘Um, I don’t think- ‘
‘Oh come on, it’ll be nice’, I interrupt, seeing that she needs some convincing, ‘who could possibly say no to coffee?’ I could, I hate the stuff, the way its bitterness burns down one’s throat, but something about her screams that she loves the stuff. She smiles, and I know I’ve got her.
‘Okay then, why not’ she assents. ‘There’s a coffeeshop just around the corner if you’re interested?’
‘Sure’, I nod, knowing that this is where it all begins. ‘Lead the way.’