Cheaper to Reaper Page 3

  But Chloe, he could be old enough to be your grandpa.

  I jerk at that thought and sternly tell myself to stop thinking about it. I’d shake my head if it would help. And, of course, my self doesn’t listen to me. At. All.

  Does he still have all his teeth?

  Ewww… do you have to change his diaper?

  If you have sex, will you have to worry about him breaking a hip?

  Ugh, if I had a physical body, I’d be throwing up in my mouth. And now I know that my stupid mind still works the same way it always has, full-speed ahead, about to hit a bad section of track and derail.

  Despite the new circumstances and the weirdness of it all, I’m super bored. I’d slouch down in my seat if I could. As it is, I’m just sort of floating above it, I think, since I can’t feel the chair under me. I glance at the girls to see how they’re doing and feel kind of guilty all of a sudden, because I haven’t been paying them much attention.

  Addison looks like she’s asleep, which I’m not sure is possible for us now; Maddie is twirling her long red hair around her finger and it’s then that I realize we apparently can feel our own bodies, but not anything else; and Tabby is just on the other side of Samuel, looking like she’s trying to crawl into his lap.

  A feeling so fleeting I almost miss it hits me then — I’m pissed off at her. At all of them, actually. I died because of their stupidity. With sudden clarity, I remember that my life was cut short because they wanted to freaking serenade… someone. I think. I cock my head to the side, trying to remember what happened.

  There was an accident that I kind of remember, but not really. It’s like hearing a song on the radio and only knowing some of the lyrics… wait, song on the radio. Yeah, that has something to do with it.

  But what? I really can’t quite wrap the brain around it.

  “Don’t bother trying to remember your past,” Samuel whispers to me, shocking me once again by seeming to know what I’m thinking, and I notice with no small amount of satisfaction that he’s totally ignoring the pink-haired hoochie on his other side.

  “You won’t remember loved ones still living at all and pretty soon your time on earth will fade from memory. It’s easier that way, so that you don’t miss what you left behind.”

  I nod at him, but then I think, On earth? Are we not on the planet any longer?

  Despite Samuel’s suggestion, I can’t stop trying to force myself to remember. But it seems like the harder I try, the more hazy and foggy it gets. I’m sure I had a life, uh before, but what was it like?

  The weird thing is I remember every second of what’s happened after Samuel, uh, collected me. But everything before that is seriously fuzzy.

  I must spend a lot of time trying to figure it out, because before I know it, it’s my turn. How I know that, I can’t say. I just do.

  I thought it was weird before that no one called any names or numbers, yet the people just seemed to know when it was their turn. And now I know how — it’s like an alarm clock went off in my head.

  Samuel reaches down and makes a patting motion on my knee. Of course, I don’t feel it, but it’s nice that he’s trying to reassure me.

  I realize that I’m the first of all the teenagers to get called, which is kind of nerve racking, because I have no idea what the judge will do to us of the younger generation. He looks like the kind of person who when he was alive, used to say things like, “Those damned teenagers,” and “Get off my lawn!”

  After watching the proceedings for however long it’s been, I know the routine. I walk, or float, whatever, to the front of the room, then move before the judge. If I had working feet, I probably would have stumbled when I see the nameplate on his massive desk.

  His Eminence, Seeman Badcock

  Middle school me is finding it seriously hard not to laugh at his name. It really is a good thing I can’t make any noise.

  His Eminence looks down his pointed nose to a piece of paper he’s holding. The guy has to be eighty if he’s a day. But then, he’s probably more like eight hundred. Who knows. My still-stuck-on-being-a-human brain can’t quite grasp all this afterlife weirdness.

  After what feels like forever, the judge finally looks up from the paper to spear me with his beady black eyes. With his flat, wide face and those eyes, he sorta reminds me of a rattlesnake about to strike. I’m waiting a forked tongue to shoot out of his mouth.

  “Miss Sawyer,” he drawls, and I startle. Is that my last name? I have no clue. No memory. So weird.

  “It seems that you were the cause of three deaths, not including your own.”

  I reel back. Really? Um… wow. I totally thought the accident was the girls’ fault. From what little I remember, anyway, which admittedly isn’t a lot. I figure I should feel guilty for basically killing my friends, but honestly, I don’t. And I don’t know why. I’m pretty sure that isn’t like me, but my memory of previous me is really starting to fade.

  Of course, I want to argue, to say my piece. Since I can’t say anything, I sort of wave toward the girls and give the judge a look that says, “Hello? They’re just as guilty.”

  Like Samuel, he seems to know what I’m thinking, or the point I’m trying to get across. He cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “Miss Sawyer, this is about you, and what you did, not what your friends did. They will have their own hearing,” he chastises me, and I feel like a little kid about to get a spanking.

  If I could, I’d shuffle my feet and mutter, “Yes sir.”

  “Now, you departed the earth at age—” he looks at the paper he’s holding, “—seventeen. I see here that you would have made it to the surprisingly old age of ninety-nine if you’d lived out your allotted days. That is eighty-two years that you will have for afterlife service.”

  I mentally moan at that and curse my family’s longevity. For some reason, I know this, that the women in our family live a very long time. Why I remember that stupid fact, I don’t know. All it means now is a long ass time I’ll have to do some stupid afterlife job. Hopefully it won’t be something too lame.

  “Now, since you were ultimately responsible for taking four lives, I think it is only fitting that you spend those eighty-two years creating life. You will work with a Mother Nature principal, caring for flora.”

  I’m pretty sure my ghostly eyes bug out of my spectral head at that. I mean, it doesn’t sound like that bad of a job, really, but for me… it’s totally lame. I’m not the kinda girl who likes getting dirty, for one thing, and for another, I really need some excitement.

  Plant-sitting sounds borinnng. And eighty-two years of it means a snoozefest complete with comatose clowns and vegetative vendors.

  “I can see by your expression that you’re not impressed by my recommendation,” the Seeman guy says. He looks down that long nose at me.

  “I will give you an option, but it will add two hundred years to your service, unless and until final judgment occurs before then.”

  Two hundred years? No way. No freaking way.

  “Alternatively, you can attend Afterlife Academy to learn a specialized trade.”

  Ugh, I mentally groan. School is not my strongpoint. That much I do remember. I excelled at lunch and detention and that was about it. I’m going to have to tell the guy no and resign myself to plant stupid trees and flowers.

  “Then, after you have completed the curriculum,” His Eminence drones on, “you will become a subprincipal and will be assigned duties befitting your service.”

  Yeah, not happening, but I’ll let him finish. Kinda don’t have a choice with the voice not being installed on this model.

  He glances back down at the paper that tells him all he needs to know about me, my life and my death. All summed up on one sheet of paper. Probably only one paragraph, to be honest. I haven’t done much that’s noteworthy, good or bad.

  “In light of the fact that you took four lives—” I frown at that, wishing he’d quit running that tidbit of info into the ground. Not only is it embarrass
ing, but I know that the girls are going to hold that over my head for eternity.

  “—I believe you would be a good fit for the Reaper program.”

  And there goes the eye bugging thing again, but dang, that’s kind of the last thing I thought he would say. I mean, I was figuring he was going to send me to school to be a banshee or something, considering how loudly I was screaming at the girls before we died.

  But a Reaper like Samuel? Hell yeah!

  Going to school to learn to be something cool suddenly sounds a lot better than planting seeds, even if it does add a couple hundred years onto my sentence. I mean, if I can spend those years with Samuel…

  I tilt my head in thought. I wonder if I will be able to have babies in my new body. Or even have sex. Oh, my gawwwd… what if we’re like non-sexual or something? Or is it asexual? Like an earthworm. But, no… Samuel is definitely a male. Totally. A hot male too. Like scorching…

  “Miss Sawyer!” His Eminence barks, startling me. I do a ghostly headshake and force myself to pay attention.

  He frowns at me. Reminds me of a little snake that my dog caught one time, hissing and spitting.

  “I said, nod your head if you wish to attend the Academy, or shake it if you decline.”

  Before I can even get the upward movement for the Oh hell yeah! I wanna give the guy, Samuel jumps up.

  “Your Eminence, I don’t believe Miss Sawyer would be a good fit for the Reaper program.”

  Okayyy, that shocks me a little. Hurts my feelings too, and I’m kinda surprised I have feelings in this from. I thought Samuel and I had something going. I mean, he’s been so attentive from the very beginning and all, I had hoped it would lead to more. A lot more… like little Reaper babies.

  I turn to look at him and hope my doe-eyed “you boo-boo’d my feelings” look shows on my doppelgänger face.

  He ignores me. Jerk.

  “And why is that, Mister Mackenzie?”

  Oooh, he’s Scottish. I thought I’d detected a slight accent. Be still my River Dancing heart. Oh wait… I think that’s Irish. Well, regardless, I lurrrved Outlander. Diana Gabaldon is like my favorite person ever for creating Jamie Fraser.

  But still… Samuel doesn’t want me to be a Reaper, and that hurts. A lot.

  “There is the fact that Azrael won’t approve—” he starts, but the judge guy interrupts.

  “Azrael has no choice but to accept my ruling,” he tells him haughtily. “You know that I have supremacy in these decisions.”

  Samuel nods. “Yes, of course, Your Eminence, but, uh, well, I also don’t think Miss Sawyer is a good fit for the Reapers. I mean, she’s young, inexperienced—”

  “And that is what the Academy is for, obviously,” His Holy Eminence interrupts again. I want to high-five the guy. At least he’s on my side.

  Then he sighs. “Mister Mackenzie, it isn’t your, or Azrael’s, decision. If Miss Sawyer wishes to attend the Academy in lieu of service with the Mother Nature principal, then that is her prerogative. You honestly do not have a say in the matter.” And with that, he whacked his hammer thingy on his desk.

  I guess that means I’m a student at Afterlife Academy.

  Chapter 4

  A FTER THE DECISION was made to attend the Academy, I go back to sit with Samuel and my besties. Samuel won’t look at me and he has a scowl on his face now. I really want to know what he’s thinking.

  But maybe I don’t.

  I still can’t talk, which sucks, because I have questions. Mainly, why is Samuel being such a jerk? I really want to know why he doesn’t want me to go to the Academy. I mean, does he hate me? He doesn’t even know me! He sure wasn’t acting like he hated me before I went up before His Holy Eminence what’s-his-name.

  But since we’re still in the A.S.S. room, waiting to hear the decisions for my girls, I can’t ask. Can’t speak.

  The girls are called up one by one and I realize that it’s kind of weird that I’m still in the hearing room. Almost everyone else got their sentence and moved off somewhere else. I think it has something to do with the fact that Samuel is our Reaper, and that he “reaped” us all at the same time and place.

  Guess we’re all sticking together for now.

  It’s with zero shock that I hear the girls are sentenced to be sirens, those singers of the sea who lure sailors to their deaths, except it turns out that real sirens actually draw sailors away from dangers like rocks and icebergs. You would think in the modern age with all the electronic navigations that they wouldn’t be needed, but I guess not.

  I’m kind of surprised, though, that the girls aren’t offered the option of going to the Afterlife Academy, like I was.

  Afterwards, Samuel leads us out of the back door in the A.S.S. room and takes us down another ugly gray hallway. The décor reminds me of “Beetlejuice,” when they went to the afterlife place. Kinda funny. Wonder which one copied the other.

  Samuel leads us to another big wood door, but this one isn’t as ornate as the A.S.S. room. I definitely would have tripped if I had working feet after reading the name on the door: Afterlife Reanimation Service Experts.

  A.R.S.E… Seriously? I think someone has a weird butt fetish in the afterlife.

  Once again, he holds the door for us, but I ignore him as I go by. It’s too bad I can’t talk, because I want to tell him that I’m not talking to him.

  The room looks exactly like a doctor’s waiting room. Samuel leaves us by the door and walks up to a lady who I’m assuming is a receptionist. He gives her our names, then turns and points to the chairs lining the walls. We dutifully move to them and Addison and Maddie sit, but Tabby waits until Samuel sits down before she chooses her chair so she can be right next to him.

  When I get my voice back, I’m so letting her have it. I’ll be damned if I let her steal another guy from me.

  Not if I can help it anyway.

  Up until now, Samuel hadn’t paid her any attention. But now that he’s acting like he’s ticked off at me, he seems like he’s more interested in her. I have no clue why he’s angry at me, other than the fact that he doesn’t want me to be a Reaper.

  Piss on him.

  I should just step aside and let Tabby have him. And I try to ignore the fact that just the thought of that makes my chest hurt. Which is weird because so far, I haven’t felt anything physical in this form I’m in.

  Of course, I know I’m being stupid and making a whole lot of assumptions. We just “met” the guy and haven’t even been able to talk to him. It’s really dumb to be staking claims and planning futures.

  Especially since we have no idea what our futures are.

  The girls are going to be singing with the seagulls to passing boats for about seventy-five years. They all had different numbers of years left, of course. I’m going to some school for however long and then I’m guess I’m going to pluck souls from dying bodies. And a lot of those will be dying from gruesome accidents. Wish I’d thought of that before. My weak stomach won’t stand for much grossness.

  Planting trees is starting to sound hella better.

  I sigh, even though I don’t think I’m really breathing and cross my legs so they point away from Samuel, the universal sign that I’m not interested. It’s dumb for us to “sit,” I think, since we aren’t even touching the stupid chairs, but whatever. I guess it’s better than just floating in the corner like a forgotten Halloween decoration.

  I’m pretty sure I’m aging by centuries while waiting for the… whoever it is we’re waiting for. But then, it’s just like before when I was alive and had to go to the dentist or doctor, waiting for-freaking-ever to hear your name.

  I wonder how much actual time is passing while we’re here. Seriously, it does seem like hundreds of years have passed since the accident. I also wonder if that’s another oddity about this new world. Like it just seems time is taking forever to pass.

  Finally, they call my name. I get up, nose in the air, ignoring Samuel and Tabby as I do the walk float thing toward the
door. Of course, when I try to turn the handle, I remember too late that I can’t actually manipulate anything in this stupid bodiless… body.

  I keep my back to the others, because I’m super embarrassed after the “don’t give a crap” ‘tude I just threw at them.

  If I could produce tears, now would be a good time. I know that it’s probably not something a bad ass Reaper would do, but dang, I think I deserve a good snot-slinging ugly cry.

  Seriously. In the past however long, I lost a guy for the dozenth time to Tabby the wonder slut; wrecked a vehicle; died; discovered that I have to be some freaking spiritual slave for a ridiculously long time; fell instantly in lust with another guy (and I’m ignoring the fact that this is making me sound fickle as hell); thought the guy was into me and for once actually had a guy diss Tabby for me, only to find out that said guy is not only not into me, but doesn’t even want me as a coworker. I try for a sniffle, but I got nothing.

  Dammit.

  A hand reaches around me then to open the door. I don’t look back. It’s obviously Samuel, since he’s the only one in the room with hands that work.

  “Chloe—” he murmurs. I glance at him. His mouth opens and closes a few times, like he can’t figure out what he wants to say. He sighs then.

  He looks back at the girls. “Stay here,” he orders them and then motions me through the door. I’m surprised when he follows.

  As we walk down yet another hall, I think about the fact that I really hope they aren’t going to make me strip and put on some paper gown or something, cuz I really don’t want Samuel seeing my naked ass, ghostly though it might be.

  A dark, handsome man is standing in the hallway — with ugly green walls this time — and he motions to a room beside him. I go inside and hear Samuel arguing with the guy who doesn’t want him in the room. I’m hoping the guy has some pull and can stop him, but Samuel gets his way, and walks in. The other guy follows him with a frustrated look on his face.

  I know how you feel, dude.

  I turn my back on them and look around. I swear the room looks exactly like one in Dr. Hugo’s office, my childhood pediatrician. If there was a poster of a teddy bear on the wall with bandages on his knees, I would swear I’m dreaming.