Death is a Girl

Chapter 93 - The Kids Aren't Alright

They moved quietly through the city streets, Morrigan scanning every street and corner as they made their way. Pepper seemed to do the same, though her movements were more subtle. Noir was somewhere nearby, either hiding in the shadows or outside this plane altogether, so Pepper hadn’t needed to blindfold herself just yet.

Morrigan couldn’t help but wonder why Pepper had this ability, because it apparently went beyond simply seeing ghosts. It seemed Pepper was even more attuned to the supernatural than Morrigan herself, despite being a reaper.

“Morrigan,” Pepper whispered, breaking the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Morrigan replied as she was pulled from her thoughts.

“Did you really used to be human… or… was that a lie?”

Morrigan stopped and turned to face her. “Huh? Uh, yeah, I didn’t lie about that. I was human.”

“But you don’t look human.”

“I don’t?” Morrigan blinked. “Wait… can you see through my glamour?”

Pepper nodded. “I guess so. I mean, just since this morning when I looked at you in the bathroom mirror. Your eyes were red, and your skin was too pale to be human. Plus, your hair is white, not blonde. Ever since I saw it for the first time, I could easily see what you really look like.”

“Wow. And you weren’t scared?”

Pepper instantly shook her head. “I was more surprised than scared. Maybe if I’d seen it when we first met, I’d have been afraid. But after watching you help the ghost in the basement, I knew you were good. When I realized you were hiding your appearance, I didn’t think you were a monster or here to hurt me because I knew it was the opposite. I-I mean… I thought maybe…”

“Maybe what?” Morrigan pressed.

“That you were sent here. That you were here to help me. Like you were an angel or something.”

Morrigan laughed. She didn’t mean to but she couldn’t help herself. “No, I’m not an angel, trust me,” she said, stifling her laughter. Pepper blushed, looking embarrassed.

“I-it’s just what I thought!”

“I know, sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just I can see why you’d think that. But I don’t think angels exist the way you think they do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hmmm, well, I don’t know for sure. Even reapers don’t know everything about the world. My mentor probably knows more than he lets on, but that’s only because he’s been around forever. I bet Noir could tell us a few things, but he won’t because he’s a jerk.”

“I don’t because I am forbidden to do so,” Noir’s voice hissed from the shadows. “The planes must be kept separate. Even telling a reaper certain things risks that information spreading to mortal minds. Knowledge spreads like a virus; therefore, some truths must never be spoken in this plane.”

“But you talk freely about the Great Old Ones and demons and stuff.”

“That’s because they are already known in this world. The true nature of heaven, hell, and fate is not.”

Morrigan grinned. “So… you’re saying every religion is wrong?”

“The major religions of this world… yes, certainly.”

Morrigan had already suspected as much, but having an interdimensional entity confirm it felt oddly satisfying. The phrase ‘take that, Mormons!’ popped into her head.

“Um… you said major religions. What about the smaller ones?” Pepper asked. “I-it’s just the way you phrased it. It sounded like maybe there is someone who got it right?”

“That, I will not comment on,” Noir said, though whether it was because he was forbidden or just tired of answering questions, Morrigan couldn’t tell. “Pepper, place the blindfold over your eyes; I’m coming out now.”

Pepper fumbled in her pockets until she found the strip of cloth. She tried to tie the blindfold behind her head, but it was too loose and slipped off her eyes.

“Here, let me,” Morrigan said, taking over and tying it tighter. “That okay? Can you see anything?”

“Not really,” Pepper said, tilting her head back and adjusting it slightly. “A little at the very corner… but… ah, there we go. Yeah, I can’t see anything.”

“Alright, here. Just grab my sleeve and follow me.”

As they resumed walking, Noir emerged from a particularly dark shadow and fell into step alongside Morrigan. She glanced at him, trying to see through whatever veil he used to hide his true appearance, wondering what he really looked like. Tentacles… eyes… shadows that move. It didn’t seem too hard to imagine, but the way Pepper had reacted and Noir’s warning about the potential of breaking her mind made Morrigan think there had to be more to it than that.

“You have a client on the way to the place Pepper described. We will reap them first, then Pepper’s sister, and after that, you have just one more name on your list tonight.”

“So why only two official entries on my list tonight? I usually do at least three or more every day.”

“Luck of the draw, perhaps. This is an unusual time for you to work, so maybe there are enough reapers in this area that you weren’t needed for more than two. Besides, there tends to be more dying during the day than at night.”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense.”

As they approached an intersection, Morrigan slowed and warned Pepper to stop. “Car’s coming.” She focused on extending her perception-blocking ability to Pepper, as she had with the door earlier. She imagined themselves as just two normal people, definitely not teenagers, and one of them definitely not wearing a blindfold. She had no idea if it worked or not, but the car didn’t slow down or seem to notice them, so she guessed it did.

Eventually, Noir stopped in front of an alleyway. “Morrigan, your next client is here.”

“Here?” she asked, squinting into the darkness.

“Indeed. Tim Archer. He’ll die in just a couple of minutes.”

“Huh… okay. Pepper, you wait here.”

Morrigan really wished she had brought a flashlight as she stepped into the darkness alone, a chill running down her spine. The silence was only broken by the distant ambient sounds of the city, an occasional drip of water, and her footsteps echoing off the narrow, damp walls.

Then she heard a sick moan, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw a figure huddled against the far wall. As she approached, the figure became clearer—a man, seemingly in his late twenties, slumped over with his head resting on his knees. He didn’t seem to notice her approach, lost in whatever personal hell had brought him here.

“Hey there,” Morrigan said softly, crouching in front of him. He was still alive, but that wouldn’t last long. Either by her touch or his own natural end, her scythe would be the last thing he saw of this world before moving on to the next.

“Um… I’m here to help you. My name’s Morrigan.”

“H-help?” he wheezed, lifting his head just enough for one tired eye to meet hers. “There’s no helping me.”

Morrigan offered a small, sympathetic smile—the kind she was still working on but hoped she’d learn to perfect it in a way that’d help soothe dead and dying souls. “Sometimes,” she said gently, “help doesn’t mean fixing things. Sometimes it just means making the next part a little easier.”

“I… I can’t…” His head fell between his knees as his words trailed off. “I can’t… do it… any—” His body shuddered and went silent, though he was still breathing. Morrigan slipped off her glove and gently touched his wrist. As soon as her hand wrapped around his limp limb, his body lost all its strength, collapsing in the corner as his spirit emerged.

He was tall. Well, Morrigan wasn’t very tall herself, but he towered over her like Jenna, standing at about six foot four, if Morrigan had to guess. He had a goatee and long hair. “What the heck?” he said, his voice sounding much smoother, now free from the pain of his body. “Wait… I don’t feel anything. I—” He looked his spiritual self over until his eyes landed on his own dead body, and he froze. “I-is that me?”

“I’m afraid so,” Morrigan said. “Unfortunately, you died. You’re a spirit now.”

“Oh,” he said lamely, then, “Well, shouldn’t surprise me. At least it’s finally over.” He continued to stare at himself with a lost expression, then asked, “Is this really all I amounted to?”

“What do you mean?” Morrigan asked.

“Dying alone in an alleyway… damn it!” He punched a wall but made no sound as there was no true force behind it. “Things were supposed to turn out different! I had plans, you know? Dreams.” His voice grew thick with emotion as he stared at his now lifeless body. “So why! Why did it turn out like this?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t really know your story, but if you’d like to tell me, I’d be happy to listen.”

He looked at her, assessing her. “So, what are you?”

“A reaper. It’s my duty to send souls to the afterlife.”

He nodded as if that made perfect sense, then looked back at his body, lost in thought, until he seemed to decide on somewhere to start his story.

“It all started when they stole my song. Well, that’s not true; it started way before that, but that was my chance to get out of the hole I was in. I owed money to some bad people—my own fault—but I did what I had to do until my music career took off.

“Then, just when things were looking up, someone ripped off my song. It got popular, but I never saw a dime from it. It was supposed to be my breakout hit, and instead, I ended up with nothing. No royalties, no recognition. You know what that feels like? Being in the gutter and hearing your supposed lifeline played everywhere?” His face twisted in frustration as he recounted the story, the bitterness clear in his tone. “Anyway, drug dealing was my only way to keep up with the debts, but I ended up using the stuff myself. Things got worse and worse until I was on the streets. The loan sharks eventually stopped looking for me. I mean, when you’re just another bum with no permanent address, you’re hard to find, and it becomes completely pointless to try either way.”

Morrigan listened and nodded sympathetically. “Sounds like things could have been different. But you tried hard to make things work.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, his gaze drifting back to his body. “But I was naive. Thought talent and hard work would be enough. I didn’t realize how cruel the world could be.”

Morrigan thought about the other spirits she’d reaped over the summer. No matter who they were or how they lived, they all ultimately ended up in the same position. Death was truly the great equalizer.

“I just can’t believe, with all my dreams, I ended up as a dead bum in an alleyway,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I know it’s little compensation,” Morrigan began, “but maybe there’s something to the equality of death. Whatever triumphs or failures you faced in this life won’t matter anymore. You’ll be free from shame, pain, despair… the struggles to stay alive or make ends meet…” Her words trailed off. This little epiphany just sounded more depressing when spoken out loud, but she wondered if that’s what her mom thought when she tried to kill herself. Morrigan had felt that way herself at some point, particularly when she went down to lay in the crypt.

The changeling stirred under its seal as she thought about that day. She frowned, thinking maybe suicide wasn’t such a big mystery after all. Her thought process never continued to that final step, but if she was honest with herself, it always made sense to her, even if she pretended otherwise.

“Not gonna lie,” the spirit said, “that’s kind of a bummer take on life. But I guess that’s all I got now.”

“Sorry,” Morrigan muttered. “I’m… I’m not really cut out for this. I want to help people like you before I send you on, but I’m full of crap. All I really have are words that are cheap and meaningless.”

He stared at her. There was a mix of understanding and pity in his eyes. He was one of the few spirits who seemed to consider how she was feeling. “Sure... But you know, that’s not your fault. This world is cheap and meaningless. It’s no wonder pep talks usually feel the same.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do more to help you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He took a deep, albeit unnecessary, breath. “So what happens now?”

Morrigan summoned her scythe. It glowed blue, signaling the spirit’s destination. He looked at the scythe and seemed to smile. “Why doesn’t the Bible talk about this part? That’s kinda badass.”

“Uh… turns out all religion is wrong,” she said with a grin, and the way he laughed forced the grin into a full smile.

“Good! ’Cause if any one of those backwards idiots turned out to be right, I’d be pissed. Alright, come on, let’s do this! I’m ready to meet my maker! I’ve got some questions for his ass!”

“Or her ass,” Morrigan offered with a shrug.

He laughed again, and she was surprised by his good humor. She supposed for someone who had truly hit rock bottom, death was almost a relief.

“It was nice meeting you, Tim Archer,” she said, raising her scythe. “Good luck on your next journey.”

“Wait, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Morrigan. Morrigan Livingston.”

“Well, thanks, Morrigan. And good luck to you too. You look like you need it.”

Well, he’s not wrong there.

Morrigan swung her scythe, reaping his spirit and sending him floating up in a dissipating puff of mist.

She tossed her scythe away and began walking back down the alley… but something was wrong.

Pepper wasn’t standing there at the end. “Noir? Hey, Noir?” she called out. He didn’t answer, and her legs moved faster.

Why am I panicking? There’s no reason to panic yet. She’s probably just leaning against the wall where I can’t see her. She’ll be right around this corner for sure…

That wasn’t wrong. Pepper was indeed around the next corner, but she wasn’t alone.

A glowing blue scythe held Pepper against the wall, its blade mere inches from her throat as she tilted her chin up. She still had the blindfold on, and she was trembling. “M-Morrigan!? Who is—”

“Ssshhhhh,” the other reaper said soothingly. “Don’t move too much, or I might accidentally nick you.”

Morrigan’s gaze followed the blade hovering inches from Pepper’s trembling throat, up along the pole to the white hand holding it, and finally to the face smiling at her from under a black hood. The scars on her lips stretched unnervingly, her eyes glowing bright red from the darkness of the hood.

“You! Let her go!” Morrigan yelled, reaching to the side and summoning her scythe.

Alice tisked. “Threatening another reaper with your scythe? You might want to rethink that.”

“Then what are you doing!? Leave Pepper alone!”

Alice’s smile widened as her scythe scraped across the brick wall, the arc of its blade closing in on Pepper’s throat.

“STOP!”

“Morrigan!” Noir said, and she glanced down to see him standing near Alice’s feet. “Don’t attack her. You wouldn’t stand a chance, and that’s precisely what she wants anyway.”

“Sh-she can’t do this!” Morrigan directed her gaze back to Alice. “You can’t! You can’t kill someone who isn’t on your list!”

“Well, you are correct about that.” Alice pursed her scarred lips into an O and let out two high-pitched whistles. A black mass then descended from the sky as she lifted her free arm. The figure swooped down and perched on Alice’s forearm. It was a bird, but not like any Morrigan had ever seen. It looked kind of like a raven, but different. It was huge, for one, and something about the shape of its body was just wrong—too tall, maybe? Its head pivoted back and forth until it locked its sideways gaze onto Morrigan. “Nyx,” Alice said calmly. “Can you please remind me of the details of my next client?”

The raven turned its red-eyed gaze upward and cawed once, then slowly began to recite. Its voice lacked Noir’s elegant way of speaking. This voidling, Nyx, behaved much more like the animal body it inhabited. “CAW! Pepper Hawthorne! CAW! 01:32 am! CAW! 765 Airport Road!”

Morrigan felt her heart drop. Was this a lie? It had to be! It had to be some trick. Then, as the information processed, it clicked. Currently, the time was only around midnight or even a little past, but there was no way it was 1:30 am yet. Not only that… Morrigan glanced at the nearest street sign. It said Market Street, not Airport Road.

Morrigan turned to point this out to Alice, grasping at the hope that there was still time to change fate. However, Pepper spoke first. “A-Airport Road? But that’s where… my sister died.”

Morrigan’s mouth gaped in horror, realizing what this meant. It was her fault. Had she not come into Pepper’s life, the girl would be safely in her room back at the shelter now. Her fate would have been different—she wouldn’t have been marked to die.

READ THE REST OF VOLUME 2!