Reap What You Sow (And Love)
[04:00 Monday]
Radio static saturates the air. Some grainy words are perceptible through the audio version of TV snow:
“Sheriff unit six-twelve, six-twelve to dispatch... ten-fifteen, highway 27-E requesting medical to location…”
The Southstar County Sheriff Department’s dispatch operator responds. Finally.
“Dispatch to six-twelve. Ten-four; sending Southstar Glen EMS to location.”
“Dispatch… we need extraction here on 27-E. Unit 198 has death rolled through median into North Lane. Traffic assist required.”
“Ten-four. Dispatching Southstar Glen EMS & fire department for extraction.”
“confirmed; sending ten-sixteen with extraction… please hurry…”
The last request echoes, reverberates, becoming more granular amidst the static by the second. Its echo persists:
“Please hurry… hurry… urry…”
With a sharp gasp, the man’s body straightens up from his bed.
“NOOO!...” His eyes are wide, his sitting up starting a symphony of beeping from the medical equipment and prompting nurses to rush in. They push him back onto the bed. A cold sweat runs down his face as his mind tries to acclimate to reality.
“Please calm down, sir… you’re okay… just try to calm down.”
The primary nurse, a woman in her early 40s with an average build and contemporary hairstyle, pushes some buttons to silence the tones of the machine. She offers water or pillows for the patient, each a variation of softness to ease the tension that is wracking his every nerve, every muscle.
He declines both.
Two days have passed since his patrol car rolled six times during a chase on New Year’s morning. Reasons that might have initiated the high-speed pursuit are still unknown, but the prevalent point of knowledge was: the chase never dropping under 80 miles per hour through the uncharacteristically silent Highway 27. The offenders tried to lose officers on their trail by driving down the incoming traffic side—the wounded officer’s last memory, happening at 90 miles-an-hour, was trying to perform a standard PIT maneuver. One that would never be completed, but resulted in the present moment. The suspects’ van swerved into him, causing both vehicles to slam the median—the brief instance causing his squad car to dig into the grass and begin a six-time spin which was reported as a “death roll” by those in his unit. He knew this was his bed, this pain, this hospital room, was his fate, as it was the last call he heard.
[17:00 Wednesday]
She slips her coat off, setting it on the chair, and walks over to the hospital bed, sitting on its edge. He smiles at her, her expression is warm and returns the smile. Seeing this thin yet shapely figure is pleasant solace from what has been the start of a hellish week.
There is more to her than what one could see on the outside; a deadliness to her beauty if it were. He knows this, and it quickly activates panic within him—a state of alarm that is swift and sudden.
Grabbing her arm, he pulls her closer to him.
“How long do I have? Tell me!"
His demands are met with sudden shock on her face, and a stammering of "I don't know" along with a struggle. He is not hurting her, but instilling concern into her nonetheless.
"Stop playing these games!” His voice rises in direct proportion to his anxiety. “We both know the score here. Tell me: how long do I have now?”
Her composure is already regained as she puts a hand on the one gripping her arm.
“You know I cannot give that information. We’ve gone over this before and you know that I can’t interfere—”
“How can you be so cold?” he protests strongly, though his voice is barely above a whisper.
“Calm yourself… please.”
Ripping his grip from her arm, she sits closer and stares at him, all seriousness.
“I can tell you that you’re stronger than you think, and have time yet.”
The tension loosens from his face as she speaks.
“You know that I cannot fraternize with clients. You know I am taking liberties with these rules to be close to you without risking my rank,” she admonishes him softly. Her eyes close momentarily, then open again, holding him in a half-lidded, solemn gaze.
“Had it not been for Miss Kosen telling me that you were so enraged to know if your life was ending after this hiccup in time—I wouldn’t be here, as the case remains.”
She stands from the bed to pull a chair over next to it. Taking a seat upon it, facing him, she makes sure to adjust her knee-length skirt.
“Yes, I love you, you know that,” she seems to read his mind. “While we cannot officially deem ourselves a couple, we still can enjoy the more… naughty perks that couples have. I still care for you, and someday soon, we can be together for real. Once I can get on retired selective service.”
“It’s not worth all that,” he protests. “I spent years on the streets before I got the chance to get onto the force; all for some punks to almost waste me. The divorce—”
Her finger rush to his lips, silencing him.
“We don’t talk about such silly things. She left you and took your daughter with her. They have moved on, dear, and you should as well. Trying to expedite a natural process solves nothing!”
“I’d rather be with you now!” he proclaims,
fully forgetting the nature of this lady of his heart and of his fate.
A
woman who
possesses the trait of being a Reaper:
Replacing the norm of male figures in black cloaks;
This and many other women work beyond the realm we call The Living as ranked consultants and collectors of humans upon their passing,
Transitioning over time, these women of the early Dark Ages find joy in manipulating men and destroying the lives of many for pleasure.
Entering the early 1900s, they organized a processing system which takes in those who have passed and send them beyond what we appellate as Heaven or Hell.
An academy was created to train new girls into the path to become the highest rank using methods of strict rules, training in fighting and seduction, and at times, acts of humiliation inflicted upon them to create unfeeling women ready to go collect those humans to whom they are assigned.
An extensive library exists, holding detailed scrolls and later books that record information of each human being processed, as well as select reapers’ notes from the point of initiation as Reaper to the day of their own passing.
In modern-day society, the new millennium brought a renaissance of focus to consulting and guiding those who passed into processing. This new system reduces the role of a Reaper to simply kill or destroy humans. Thus, this current agenda prohibits Reapers from interacting romantically with one whom they are assigned.
Reapers are permitted to become romantically free when retired and no longer serving active duty; a time period that can range from a few hundred years to many centuries. High-ranking Reapers have the choice to retire whenever they wish after completing the Academy curriculum and being actively on duty for 100 years.
Once in a while, it may happen that a human male’s petite and unassuming guest may hold the class of high-ranking Reaper—yet she keeps in her black heart the hope to soon be able to retire and spend her life with her client...
“…Stop being foolish!” She snaps at him angrily. “Killing yourself now will only complicate things. You know well that processing would be more rigorous and you will wind up the pet of some other high-rank reaper!”
Her jealousy is intimidating, flattering.
“I refuse to lose you because of your foolish ways!”
She leans in close to him, careful of the IV and tubes helping keep him vitally comfortable, and lays a kiss upon his forehead. His ear is warmed by her whispers:
“I’ve been in love with you since the day I was assigned to you. Since the day you had become a teenager, the moment you turned twenty-one and grew into a man. I felt pain; an ache my kind should not feel, watching as you… witlessly slept with other, shallow women. I watched you impregnate your wife—you tricked her into it! You know it and I know it. She expected you to be safe, and you aided her light-headed passion with booze and then when she moaned for you to exit her—you simply settled in.”
His face reddens hearing such lurid details of his past. The fact that she is telling them in such a tone as this, as if commentating on a written version of his personal life.
“I was young—and stupid...” He tries to relieve her ire.
“Young, yes, but not stupid. Controlling and precise. I must confess my enjoyment in watching, as I felt my own body warm to the thought of you.”
Her voice had lowered now, sensualizing and teasing at his ear. The blood pressure machine starts registering higher pulse levels, and the nurse—oh, mere mortal woman!— returns as prescribed; giving the strange woman a look while resetting the alarm on the flashing box.
“Miss. Visiting hours have ended fifteen minutes ago. Please wrap things up and head out the east exit, okay?”
A sweet smile and nod acknowledges the request.
“You know I can’t visit often, but know that I still can follow your progress. You’ll be home in no time—and we can talk more about us.”
She smiles again, and leans over him again, kissing his lips—letting him pull her closer for a more passionate moment. At its end, she smirks and grabs her coat. Slipping it on and giving a light wave to him as she leaves the room.
©2017 (Original) -2020 (Revised) Dave Minton
Revision/Proofread by JMC
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