Ch. 7


Rafonne ended up spending his vacation in Paris, meaning that he walked around parks, watched people, and stole Parisian foodstuffs during the day while coming back to the life plane to sleep each night. He was very happy with this setup. The food was good, the people seemed friendly (though he couldn't communicate with them directly), and the buildings were pretty. Plus, Paris being the haven for young love that it is, he had been there enough times granting young couples the happiness of new life that he knew the area fairly well.

As he sat on a park bench, watching couples kissing and children playing, he thought about how happy he would be if he could grant some births, but then he remembered that he couldn't grant any new births because this was a vacation from work. That was fine, though. After all, it was what was best for him, and the sky was such a beautiful shade of blue and the sun was shining so happily and the birds were chirping so enthusiastically and the children were laughing so merrily that the entire world felt like it itself had just been born for the sole purpose of making Rafonne happy. And happy Rafonne was.

When a tanned, smiling woman with curly light-brown hair and a small amount of makeup sat on the bench beside Rafonne, he stood and moved. After all, some people were happier when alone and if she wasn't, then someone she wanted to be together with would come soon and they'd be happy together. There was nothing more important to Rafonne than happiness and everyone had to find their own happiness. He was so glad that his job gave people happiness. It made him blissfully content with himself and who he stood for. As he walked off, invisible to the world, he sung a song with no real words and no real tune to himself and to the world who couldn't hear him.

Rafonne danced down the French streets, to some make believe classical song looping through his head, whirling and leaping like a ballerina with wings. It was fitting, he felt, to dance ballet in France, since ballet dancing was French. Maybe later that night he would go to a concert hall and watch some ballet – whirl around on the stage with the ballerinas and make them happier because they were sharing their happiness with others. And then, tomorrow, he might go to Moscow and make some ballerinas there happy, or go to Rome and belt out songs with all his strength alongside some opera singers, or go to America and find a jazz concert or an Elvis impersonator and beat his thighs like the jazz drums or swing his hips with all his might up there with the silver-clad Elvis.

And then, a week from today, he would go back to doing his job, and make people happy by granting them new baby boys or girls and he could sing and dance and drum for the new parents to celebrate their new lives with a new person.

Life granting – and just life in general – was a beautiful thing.



Ch. 8


“Keve, you about gave that girl a heart attack,” Graye said from the couch. “You drugged her? May as well have said, 'Hello! My name is Keve and I am a terrifying serial killer out to get you, but first let me tell you some cock-and-bull story about Grim Reapers in an awful attempt to lure you into a false sense of security. You want to go live under a bridge with me?'”

“I didn't realize you cared so much,” Keve snarled at Graye, surprising himself with the intensity of his snarl. “Graye, caring about any individual ever? That's a first.”

A shadow of confusion passed over the expression Graye was making with Cinch's face. “Oh shut up. I'm more caring about the future of both our race and hers – neither of which, may I remind you, will be a very good one if she decides not to join you for whatever reason. And right now it's looking like that reason would be because YOU TERRIFIED HER.”

Keve stared at the ground sheepishly for a moment before Graye spoke again. “Go make yourself useful and carry us up to her bed and wash that glass you used before her parents get home.”

“And when are we expecting her parents to come home?” Keve asked, more out of spite than because he cared.

Graye screwed up Cinch's eyes for a moment. “Her father will arrive at...six forty-five, apparently, which is in fifteen minutes. I'd hurry if I was you.”

Keve rubbed his forehead for a minute, then got to work, while Graye retreated within Cinch's body completely.

–

Cinch was standing in a small room with plain white walls, wooden flooring, and an intricately carved wooden desk with a leather chair on either side of it, trying to make sense of everything. At one moment, she had blacked out after that strange voice inside her head had talked to her, and at the next, she was...standing here...

There was a small pop, and an attractive woman with short black hair and a very down-to-earth expression on her face appeared on the chair on the other side of the desk. “Please, sit down for a moment,” she said, then disappeared. Cinch slowly sat. The chair was quite comfortable.

The woman appeared a second time with another small pop. “When would some parent be coming to your house?”

“What?”

The woman snapped her fingers impatiently. “Look, I know it's a strange question. Just answer it and this whole thing can go much faster.”

“Um...my dad should be home from work at around six forty-five...”

“Perfect. Thank you,” the woman disappeared again and Cinch sat in the chair, staring at nothing in particular. A few seconds later, she appeared again with yet another pop.

“I wish you would stop doing that,” Cinch said. “It's really quite aggravating.”

The woman grinned, though the grin did not really hold any emotion. “Don't worry. That was my last time for now. Just needed to get things sorted out in the real world.”

“So...where exactly are we? And who are you?”

The woman's grin widened slightly. “We are inside your mind. A very small part of your consciousness that I am currently using as my base of operation. I hope you do not mind too much.”

“I – what? My...mind?” Cinch shook her head no. “This feels way too real to be delving into my consciousness or whatever.”

The woman stared at Cinch, and Cinch saw how cold her blue eyes looked. “That's because I am here, holding some threads of your consciousness together. I took a couple very small parts of your overall thought process and being and sort of mashed them together into a new state of existence. You know how if you compress any type of matter, even liquid or gas, enough, it will become a solid? Well, I took some of the half-established pieces of your thoughts and feelings and compressed them into a much more realistic-feeling place. That doesn't mean it's real, but it doesn't mean it's false, either.”

“So is this real or isn't it?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Well, this conversation we are having is real – and quite frankly boring me to tears – but the place we are having the conversation in is not as real. It's more of a projection of ourselves that we created subconsciously in your unconscious so that you do not feel like these conversations are just you going crazy.”

“My head hurts now.”

The woman looked at her for a moment. “I really couldn't care less if the theory behind this makes sense or not. The fact is that it works, and it works well enough that I can talk to you. So let me try to explain our current situation to you, okay?”

Cinch's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I really don't like your attitude, Ms...uh...”

“Graye. The name is Graye. Honestly, I don't care if you like my attitude or not. You're stuck with me, because you are the only person I have found with a consciousness I am able to take up residence in.”

“Why's that?”

“Don't ask me. I guess your thought process is closer to mine than most humans or something. That must make you pretty hard to get along with.”

Cinch did not deny the accusation and instead ignored it. “About 'our current situation'...”

But Graye wasn't done jerking Cinch around yet. “...Though that may just be because of your hair. Seriously, three pigtails on the back of your head? This is not some cartoon or something where the main characters are decided by how crazy their hairstyles are.”

“Hey! I like that hairstyle and so does Sember, thank you very much. It helps me keep my kerchief on, too, when I wear it.”

“Glad to know we're in Russia,” Graye quipped dryly, then kept going before Cinch had a chance for her heated reply. “In any case, here's the situation as I know so far. Grene found out something he shouldn't have and killed me over it, then took over the company and the power went to his head or something. Keve, bless his heart, stole some important items from my old office – now Grene's office – and ran away. He almost died escaping, actually.”

“Is he okay?”

“Oh yeah, he's fine. I don't see why he shouldn't be able to suck it up and keep living his life,” then, again before Cinch could hotly retort. “Keve follows his old orders and tries as best he can to replicate his old life, except now he's trying to save humans who aren't supposed to die yet, on top of killing all those who are. It's a huge undertaking, and one that I think I should probably help him with.”

“Why?”

“That's why I pos – wha-?”

Cinch tapped her foot impatiently. “Why do you think you should probably help him? You don't strike me as the kind of person – or reaper or whatever – who would want to help anyone with anything, offense meant. So why do you want to help him?”

Graye glared at Cinch, but then grinned again and looked intrigued. “Point – and offense – taken. My motives are a little hard to explain, so let me just say for now that I want to help avenge my death and punish those who went along with it and leave it at that. I think some of my secrets should stay mine.”

Then Graye broke eye contact. “I've fiddled with some things in your memory,” Cinch spasmed in fear and Graye winked at her exasperatingly. “I haven't changed anything about you and your life, I swear, but I have created a database of sorts. Now, if you see any Reaper, you will recognize them by face and know their name, as well as a few other things about them, like what weapons they normally use and any really important details of their past. That should help you out to some extent.”

Now it was Cinch's turn to glare. “How do I know that you haven't altered my memories any more than that?”

That emotionless grin spread across Graye's face again and she made eye contact once again. “Because I don't know what alterations could make your consciousness change completely and no longer let me stay here. I don't want to risk that,” the grin disappeared for a moment, then returned. “You know that's the real reason, because it has nothing to do with ethics or the preservation of your being, but now you also know that I really haven't changed anything about you.”

Cinch kept staring. “I think I hate you.”

That grin didn't even falter. “Join the club.”

With a loud groan and crunch of wood, the entire room suddenly collapsed within itself and all was darkness. Then, from the darkness came Graye's voice, “Just will yourself here to come back and talk to me whenever you need to.”