Reap

I walk into The Whisky just as some shitty metalcore band steps off the stage. Standing stageside, I notice a familiar blue haired, tattooed woman; Jezebel. She one of the Devil’s whores but she’s also one of the few people in this fucked up world that I call a friend.

From the stage, she spots me and a twisted grin appears on her lips as she walks over towards me, hips swaying with each and every step. “Should have known you’d be here.” I simply state as she pulls me into a brief hug. “Musicians are your speciality.”

“Just like suicides are yours.” She smiles as she grabs my elbow and guides me to the bar area. “What brings you here tonight? I know Death already gave you your new soul. And I know for a fact The Tragic Truth isn’t playing tonight.”

“No but she is.” I reply. “I came to check up on her, making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Like sell her soul for fame and fortune?” Jezebel smirks. “Even I know not to make that deal. You may only be a Reaper but you’re scrappy and resourceful. You’d make my eternity worse than Hell. No demon in the L.A will grant her that wish.”

“Lets keep it that way. I fucked up; she can’t.”

“And she won’t Alyx.” She firmly says. “So Damian Rite, huh? That’s a shock. I can’t believe he’s really trying to make his contract null and void.”

“And how does one do that?”

“Why do you think he was given to you?” She questions me. “Death usually pairs his Reapers with people that die in a similar fashion. Drug Overdoses take Drug Overdoses as well as Suicide takes Suicide. He’s going to off himself not by heroin or sleeping pills. The only way to make your contract with the devil null and void is by condemning yourself to an eternity in hell; by killing yourself. It’s the only way to make sure you don’t end up as one of the Devil’s play toys.”

“Worst case scenario. If Damian kills himself, what happens?”

“He becomes a Reaper like you.”

“And if the Devil gets a hold of him?”

“That’s between him and the demon he made a deal with. Sadly, I wasn’t that demon or I’d tell you.”

Before I can say anything else, a stereotypical metalhead runs up to Jezebel. His hair is curly and his Slayer t shirt is ratty. His tattoos are crappy and his jeans have more holes in them than needed. He’s definitely a musician.

“There you are baby, the band and I were beginning to think you ran off.” He says with a typical California surfer accent.

“I just ran into an old friend and began talking.” Jezebel says laying on the innocent voice thickly. “I’ll be right back, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” He nods his head before walking away and Jezebel turns to me, rolling her eyes. “Men are so stupid. But I guess I should go. I’ve got a personal goal that needs to be met.”

“Can you try and out the demon that holds Damian’s contract?”

“I can’t make any promises but I’ll try.” She offers a weak smile. “Why do you care who holds it?”

“Honestly?” I ask, earning a nod of her head. “No idea. He should be just another suicide but this feels different.”

“Try not to do anything stupid okay? You’re dealing with the Devil, literally. He can fry you.” With that she walks away, leaving me alone at the bar.

I play with my rings as the bartender steps in front of me, looking at me with a concern look at his face. “Why the long face?”

“I’ve been put in a awkward situation that I have no idea how to get out of.” I admit. ”Any advice?”

“You’re asking a stranger for advice?” He chuckles. “Bartenders in the real world aren’t like the ones in the movies.”

A genuine laugh escapes my lips, “then how about you get me a scotch on the rocks.”

“That is something I can do, I’ll be right back.” I smile as he walks off to fill my order.

As he does that, I scan the room. Most of the people at the bar are lost in the music that is currently playing or lost in the lovers’ eyes. All but her. Her blue eyes light up as she laughs about something her friend said. I can practically hear her infamous belly laugh even from across the room. Her blonde hair bounces she imitates another friend. She looks happy, which brings a smile on my face.

Her laughter stops when our eyes locked. Hers widen as her jaw drops. She immediately gets up out of her seat and rushes over towards me. In panic, I toss a twenty on the bar and rush to get out of there. The only downside of Death’s Witness Protection PRogram, I can never see her again; not without serious consequences. She can never know I’m walking this plane; never.