Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross.

By B.L. Newport.

Prologue:

Where it Ended, Where it Began.

He entered the cafe quietly and scanned the room. The usual inhabitants were there: doing the same things they would do until they decided it was time to go. Some of them were relatively new to the scene while others had haunted the joint since its demise in arson back in 1939. His ice blue gaze met the jovial eyes of Giuseppe Cincotta, the unfortunate soul that had also met his demise in the arson. Giuseppe nodded and turned to begin preparing his regular patron's customary cup of tea.

Slowly, John Blackwick's gaze moved to the left and came to rest on the reason he had arrived so early in the afternoon. 'The Old Man', as John called him affectionately, was waiting patiently his own gaze deep into the gla.s.s of red wine before him. Silently, John approached him and slid onto the stool beside his mentor.

"You called for me, Araxius?" John asked as Giuseppe slid the cup of steaming tea before him. John nodded his thanks before picking it up and blowing gently across the surface.

"I did, John. Thank you for making haste," Araxius replied solemnly. John sipped from his tea while waiting for an explanation. Araxius would take his time with it and the lack of expression on his sunken features did not surprise John at all. Over the last fifty years, he had become overly accustomed to the fact that Araxius one of the founding members of the firm lacked any sense of emotion or expression. After all, Araxius was one of the original the original Grim Reapers. He had a reputation to uphold. Grim Reapers. He had a reputation to uphold.

"The time has come, John," Araxius sighed as he circled the rim of his winegla.s.s with an extremely long and boney forefinger. The Grim Reaper's eyes remained sunken into the depths of the red wine he had loved so dearly as a mortal man so very long ago.

"Time for what? Am I being fired?" John asked evenly. He had learned, since joining the firm, to control his emotions as well as Araxius could; but the occasional urge to wittiness could still rise up in him.

"No, not at all," Araxius countered. "In fact, I would consider it a promotion of sorts." A slight smile tugged at the corners of the old man's mouth, but was not allowed full exposure.

"Oh?" John swiveled on his stool to face his mentor. This was a surprise indeed.

"I'm retiring, John. I've had enough. I no longer wish to reap souls. I'm turning the reins of the firm over to you."

For the first time in fifty years, John Blackwick felt a sudden surge of panic within his gut. Although he was sure the expression was not visible on his face, he was sure he must have paled even more than his normal complexion. A slight icy smile finally surfaced on Araxius' thin lips.

"We've all all decided to retire," The Grim Reaper added. "Everything is yours." Araxius finally turned his head and leveled his icy gaze on his companion as if to further the gravity of the situation. decided to retire," The Grim Reaper added. "Everything is yours." Araxius finally turned his head and leveled his icy gaze on his companion as if to further the gravity of the situation.

"Why me? Wait, what do you mean by "all" of you?" John swallowed hard as his thoughts began to give in to the panic rising fast from his gut.

"You're the last to know because someone must continue on with the work, and someone must open the door for me. The other continental offices have already closed their doors. All the files have been relocated here for you to complete. I dare say I do apologize for such a late notice to your rise in rank; but it has been a decision we've all been considering for quite some time," Araxius explained.

"What about the field agents? Are none of them more qualified than I am to carry on the firm's work? And what about the Bailey? Has he retired as well?" John could feel his palms beginning to sweat; but he knew that was merely a phantom sensation. The dead didn't sweat. That had been a fact to him since day one.

"They've all gone, John. They were given their options this morning. The Bailey, I'm afraid to admit, is unreachable off on one of his little sojourns, I suspect. It will be up to you to find him and give him his options."

"Oh, I see," John managed to say as the reality of the moment sank in on his mind like a cement block dropped from the top of a skysc.r.a.per. John watched Araxius slowly pick up his winegla.s.s. He lifted it in a silent salute to Giuseppe before downing the contents in one long swallow. The Old Man sighed in deep and final satisfaction as he set the gla.s.s back to the counter and stood from his seat. John watched his mentor reach inside his black robe and withdraw a familiar long black folder. It was Araxius' own file.

"You're leaving now now?" John asked as Araxius extended the folder out to him.

"This is my file, John," Araxius said quietly ignoring his apprentice's question. "I'm ready to face my fate," he announced. A genuine smile finally came to his face as he stared at the dark haired man before him. Araxius could see the shock (or was it fear?) on the young man's face as he stared at the black folder being held out to him.

Slowly, John managed to raise his hand and take the folder from Araxius. In silence, he opened it and read the contents as he stood. From the corner of his eye, John saw the door appear to his left. Araxius turned to face the door, taking a deep breath in antic.i.p.ation. It was to the left of the Reaper who stood before him. Better than he had hoped for after all this time. Perhaps there was some redemption to be found between the crossings after all....

John grasped the handle of the door in his hand and gently pulled it open before looking his mentor fully in the eye.

"Araxius Herodotus, may you find eternal peace," he cited with a solemn gentleness that suggested he cared for the soul about to cross the threshold. Araxius lay a boney hand on John's shoulder. It was the last rite before pa.s.sing. John had learned it beautifully.

"Well said, my boy. Good luck and thank you."

John Blackwick could only nod his reply before Araxius stepped through the door to accept his final judgment. Softly, John pushed the door shut and stared blankly at the floor as he tucked the now blank folder of Araxius Herodotus, former Grim Reaper and original founding member of Reapers, Inc Reapers, Inc., deep into the inner pocket of his black suit coat. A new era of reaping was about to begin. John Blackwick suddenly had no idea where to start.

1: The Day the Sky Fell

October 31 Halloween

Brigit shifted the cell phone to her left hand as she reached out with her right to push open the door leading into Mr. Al's Cleaning & More Mr. Al's Cleaning & More. She flashed a smile at Mrs. Al as she approached the counter while listening to Maggie remind her how important it was that they be on time to the Halloween party at the Women's Center. They had promised Mama Dee months ago that they would partic.i.p.ate in the festivities. Brigit's gaze fell to the long black velvet coat Mrs. Al was taking down from the conveyer belt that snaked the length of the room. The clear plastic hanging over the coat added an extra glimmer to the black sequins decorating the lapels and cuffs of the antique coat.

"I know, sweetheart," Brigit replied when Maggie stopped long enough to take a breath, "but it will only be for a few minutes. Rachel just wants to show off her decorating skills that's all."

"Have you picked up your coat from Mr. Al's yet? That's the most important piece of your costume," Maggie pointed out.

"I'm picking it up now," Brigit said as she dug through her briefcase for her wallet. "Say 'h.e.l.lo', Mrs. Al," Brigit said as she extended the cell phone toward the small Asian woman on the other side of the counter.

"Halloo, Miss Maggieee," Mrs. Al sang out as she took the money Brigit was handing her.

"Do you see?" Brigit asked as she returned the cell phone to her ear and began stuffing the contents of her briefcase back inside. She paused before putting her wallet back. Instead, she tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans before reaching for the long black coat Mrs. Al had laid across the counter.

"I hate it when you do that," Maggie sighed. Brigit smiled as she pictured her partner's face. The vision held an expression Brigit was fond of. It meant that she had Maggie's attention and a moment to speak.

"Listen, Mags, it will just be for a few minutes. I won't even have a drink," Brigit promised.

"That's good. I'd hate to see what Mama Dee would do to you if you showed up with alcohol on your breath," Maggie warned.

"Okay, okay. I'll see you in a bit," Brigit promised.

"Be careful, Bree" Maggie warned. Brigit smiled at the use of the nickname. Maggie only used it on special occasions or when she especially wanted Brigit to pay attention. Brigit had always hung on every word that came from Maggie's lips, but the use of the nickname seemed to make a difference in remembering things that might otherwise seem mundane.

"I will, sweetheart."

"Seriously, Bree," Maggie pleaded. "Tonight especially. It's Halloween and it's getting dark too early this year."

"Sweetheart, don't worry. I'll be home by seven-thirty. I promise." There was a brief pause on the other end of the line and Brigit knew she had won the conversation for now. "I love you."

"I love you too, Bree."

As she left Mrs. Al with a wish for a safe and happy Halloween, Brigit smiled and turned left. Usually, she would have gone to the right and caught the 6:50 uptown bus for home; but she had promised Rachel that she would make an appearance at her fiancee's new bar. They had been working on it for months and Rachel had pleaded incessantly that her colleague come and check it out before business wore off the excitement of its being new.

7:00 P.M.

The Black Cat Club was at the dead end of an alley between A and B streets. As Brigit walked past the neighborhood's denizens, she heard the life inside the tenement buildings spilling out into the street through the windows left open to the cool evening breezes of a punctual autumn. The chill of this October evening's breeze blowing gently from the north nipped at her nose and cheeks as it rustled the orange and yellow leaves that had fallen from the young sycamores that lined the street. The city had planted them earlier that spring in an effort to beautify the neighborhood. This evening, they served as the visual reminder that autumn had arrived for sure and winter would be close on its heels. For Brigit, it signified the change in the air. It was the beginning of her favorite time of the year. The first sight of orange in the trees always excited her to the depths of her soul.

Brigit smiled to herself as she checked her watch. She had to hurry or she'd never be home at the promised time. Maggie would be mad about that and, tonight, Brigit didn't want that. Tomorrow was their anniversary. Brigit had made plans for a wonderful day to show her appreciation for her partner of ten years.

She stopped at the head of the alleyway and suddenly frowned. It was lined with dumpsters and shadows. Her stomach clenched momentarily in uneasiness.

"Of course it would be the scariest alley in the whole city," she mumbled to herself.

Slowly, Brigit readjusted her grip on the hanger still holding the coat over her shoulder. Involuntarily, her grip tightened on the briefcase handle she held in the other hand. Her eyes would adjust, she told herself as she focused on the blue light bulb burning over the door at the end of the alley. Rachel had said to knock twice so they would know it was Brigit on the other side. The girl hadn't said what Brigit should do if she were attacked during the walk to the door.

Brigit shook that idea out of her head. She would know what to do if she were attacked. Seven years of Kung Fu Kung Fu training would take over if it were actually to happen. It would be the first time she would use it outside a compet.i.tive tournament, but she was confident it would be an automatic response. training would take over if it were actually to happen. It would be the first time she would use it outside a compet.i.tive tournament, but she was confident it would be an automatic response.

The breeze picked up again, this time blowing from the east. A few strands of Brigit's black hair blew free from the ponytail she wore on Fridays. She shivered as a chill from the breeze slid across the back of her neck. She made a quick note to herself to politely decline the next invitation to visit the bar, no matter what season it came in.

Fighting the urge to look from side to side, Brigit lengthened her stride until she stood before the door with the silhouette of a cat painted in black on it. Raising her hand holding the briefcase, she knocked twice and waited. Another chill found its way down her spine and this time she turned to look down the alley behind her. The feeling of invisible eyes had settled on her, watching her intently enough to cause her to stiffen in the unconscious preparation for a fight.

"You're here!"

Brigit turned and found Rachel standing in the doorway. Her costume's bright orange head dress was waving wildly in the gentle evening breeze.

"What are you supposed to be?" Brigit asked as she eyed the fluffy tower of feathers that demanded the smaller woman to move slowly lest she lose her balance.

"A Las Vegas show girl," Rachel replied as she slowly waved her arms and swiveled her hips. "It was Scott's idea. I wanted to be a beer wench, but he said that the customers might confuse me with the real wait staff. Where's your costume?" She looked Brigit over, realizing that the other woman in black jeans and motorcycle boots was dressed normally for a casual Friday at the office.

"Right here," Brigit replied, c.o.c.king her head toward the long black coat she carried over her shoulder. "Are you going to let me in? It's a little creepy out here," she pointed out.

"Oh, sure, sorry. You can set your briefcase on the bar. Bobby will watch it," Rachel promised, motioning to the corner. Brigit looked to her right and saw a shadow move. Two white orbs materialized from the darkness and Brigit took a step back. Bobby was a black man as broad as he was tall. There was barely a line of distinction between his skin and the cuff of the neck of the black turtleneck he had managed to squeeze over his torso.

"I'll watch it," Bobby promised. His voice was a low growl that had the potential to rival Barry White.

"Thank you," Brigit said as she set the case on the bar.

"Bobby's going to be our doorman. He'll be outside mostly unless the weather's bad. Are you cold?" Rachel asked as Brigit pulled the black coat from the plastic bag and shrugged it on over the black b.u.t.ton down she had chosen to wear that morning. She laid the wire hanger and the wadded up bag on the bar beside her briefcase.

"A little," Brigit admitted even though she knew the chill she was experiencing was from the feeling that had overwhelmed her in the alleyway. "It's going to be a cool night," she predicted as an excuse.

"So, what are you you supposed to be?" Rachel asked as she leaned in to examine the beadwork on the lapel of Brigit's coat. supposed to be?" Rachel asked as she leaned in to examine the beadwork on the lapel of Brigit's coat.

"Maggie calls it my 'pirate coat'. I just think she has a secret fetish for swashbucklers," Brigit laughed.

"It's missing something," Rachel determined. She reached over the bar with her left hand while raising her right to balance the tower of feathers on her head. "Here, tie this around your head. Then, you'll be dashing dashing," Rachel giggled as she pa.s.sed a crimson silk scarf to her companion. "All swashbucklers wear red somewhere."

"Whose is this?"

It's Scott's," Rachel said as she watched Brigit tie the red scarf across her forehead and then pull out the rubber band that held her long black hair back from her face. The dark tresses fell easily about her shoulders.

"What's he supposed to be tonight?"

"Mick Jagger circa 1978," the smaller woman sighed with a roll of her eyes. She stepped away from the bar and motioned for Brigit to follow.

"Scott's bald," Brigit pointed out as she began to follow her friend through the empty bar.

"You should see the wig. He looks more like John Travolta circa 1978 than Mick Jagger." The two women broke out into laugher and continued the tour.

7:10 P.M.

"This is a nice place, Rach, but I need to get going. I promised Maggie I'd be home by seven-thirty," Brigit explained as they descended the stairs from the VIP floor. She slid the borrowed red scarf from her brow and pa.s.sed it to Rachel as they walked across the main floor toward the door. Brigit's dark hair fell even further onto her shoulders, framing her face in rich ebony.

"I understand," Rachel sighed. "Thank you for coming by. Maybe next time you'll see us with some business. Call me. I'll be sure your name is on the VIP list," she promised.

"Maybe," Brigit laughed, "but I'm usually getting ready for bed by nine. Have a great first night," she wished her friend as they hugged. Rachel suddenly reached for the towering head dress as it began to sway dangerously, causing them both to start laughing again.

Brigit was still laughing as she let herself out and glanced at her watch. She knew she'd be lucky if she were able to catch a cab in the next five minutes. Perhaps it would save her from too harsh a lecture from Maggie as she readied herself for the carnival. Luck was rarely on her side though...

The street was empty from her viewpoint at the end of the alley. Darkness had firmly settled over the city and Brigit shivered once more before striding down the alley. It still felt as if she were being watched by the invisible eyes; but she didn't have the time to thoroughly process that thought now. She had to get home. She had to keep her promise to Maggie.

Half way down the alley, she stopped suddenly and looked at her hands. She had forgotten her briefcase. She didn't remember seeing Bobby at the bar when she left; but then, she hadn't seen him sitting there when she had entered either.

"s.h.i.t," she cursed as she spun on her heel and began the path back to the door with the black cat painted on it.

She was ten feet away when she heard the whoosh of the air over her head. Before she could raise her eyes to view the source, she felt the weight strike the top of her head. The stress knot Maggie had been trying to work out of her neck for a week suddenly popped like a rubber band snapping. The pain of it dropped Brigit to her knees and she felt herself fighting to control the urge to puke. She closed her eyes against the white lights beginning to flash behind them in rapid sequence. The broken gla.s.s scattered across the cement was biting into her palms as she pressed against the ground to maintain an upright position. Slowly, Brigit leaned forward and rested her forehead against the cement, gasping hard for breath...

7:12 P.M.

Rachel scanned the empty room around her and smiled. They had been preparing for this night for months. Halloween Night, she thought, was the best night they could have hoped for. Fliers had been pa.s.sed out all over town. If she hadn't given her notice earlier that morning, she was sure she would have been fired for using the company's resources to pursue personal endeavors. The rest of the staff was due to arrive at any moment. It was going to be a good night...

The door opened to the left and Bobby's huge frame blocked the stark light that burned from within the room.

"Bathroom okay, Bob?" she asked jokingly.

"A little small if you ask me," Bobby replied. "Where's your friend?"