Chapter 4. Deals: The Reaper Saga

Round Four. Before you get on reading, this will likely be the last chapter I post online. After all, can't go spoiling everything for you. That being the case, please let me know what you think, if you want more, if I have any reason to finish, or if I'm just hurling words here. Once again, I want this book to be as good as possible, and if it sucks, I need to know!

Could have been worse... Could have been E.T. for Atari.

So have fun with this last installment (last? maybe... Still haven't decided on how far I want to preview. You guys are the deciding factor on that). Previous chapters are linked below.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

            Scott Harris knew how it would end. No question lingered in his mind as to what he must do. The ideas rolled around in his head as he stepped quietly out the front doors of Paradise Mortuary and into the cold, autumn night. He sucked in a breath of fresh air before cracking open another can of beer and began walking down the dimly lit road. He’d been drinking all day in hopes of drowning the memories of that morning, but with every drink the memories only grew more vivid.

            “Scott! Scott, wake up!” Scott sat upright in his bed upon hearing the frantic voice of his wife. “What’s wrong, Eveline?” He grumbled, his eyes still focusing. “Scott, the house...” The sound of her sobs put Scott on edge. He looked quickly around the room, searching for what might be the cause of his wife’s terror, but everything seemed to be fine. He glanced at the digital clock at the side of his bed. “Honey,” he said to Eveline while pulling her into his arms, “it’s three in the morning. Go back to…”Scott stopped short when he saw the strange light dancing upon the walls in the hallway and the smoke rolling past the door frame and collecting on the ceiling. The deafening shriek of a smoke detector then confirmed his worry.

            The cold air bit at Scott’s ears, nose, and balding head, but he did nothing to warm himself. The feeling of heat only made the memories worse. He wanted to be cold, almost needed to be cold to keep his sanity. Ignoring his numbing body, he turned a corner and started for a local business. There were a few things he would need.

            “Go, Eveline!” His scream sounded foreign to his ears. “I’ll get Sharon!” He bolted down the hallways, pushing his way through the black smoke that polluted them. The fire had already spread throughout most of the house, but Scott was relieved to find that the pink door that lead to Sharon’s room was still untouched.  “Sharon!” He shouted when he threw the door open and his eyes rested upon her empty bed. On one wall was a large black stain. A burn from the fire? “Sharon, where are you?” He almost thought he could hear a faint scream as he saw the open window. “She made it out?” For a moment he doubted himself, but the heat of the flames was gnawing at his primal instinct of survival and begging him to get out. “She made it out.” Scott said with certainty as he ran toward the open window and left the burning house.

            A bell jingled briefly as Scott pushed open the door of a small hardware store and walked inside. “Welcome to Jackson’s Hardware,” a thin teenage boy droned from behind the store’s only register. Scott walked silently past him. The teenager rolled his eyes at the man who had just ignored him and continued to play with the cell phone that he hid beneath the counter, its telltale light shining upward.

            The night sky was lit up by the fantastic light of Scott’s burning house. Scott could feel the heat on his back as he ran away, his entire body drenched in sweat. He stumbled across the dying lawn to where his wife stood waiting anxiously. When he arrived he was horrified to see that his wife waited alone. “Where’s Sharon?” she screamed at her husband hoarsely. “She’s not out here with you?” Scott froze as his wife let out a desperate sob and began running toward the burning house. “Eveline, no!” he shouted. He ran after her, catching her left hand in his. “If you go in there you won’t make it back out!” Eveline pulled her hand out of Scott’s grip. “I don’t care!” she yelled as she ran through the front door and into the flames. As she disappeared into the house, Scott looked down into his hand. Eveline’s wedding ring rested in his palm.

            Scott reached into his pocket as he turned into the yard care aisle, finding a gold diamond ring next to a lighter that he had place there that morning. He paused for a moment, the ring in his fist, and considered what he was about to do. He then lifted the can in his other hand to his lips, finished his drink, threw the empty can on the ground, and continued down the aisle.

            A few feet away an elderly man was browsing a modest selection of lawn fertilizer. The man didn’t pay any attention to Scott until he heard the loud crack of a paint can dropping to the ground. Scott had carelessly emptied the contents of the man’s shopping cart and filled it with a bag of gravel he’d picked up. “Excuse me?” the old man said, looking confusedly at Scott. Scott only continued pushing the shopping cart down the aisle. “Sir?” the man pressed, but Scott had already turned the corner into another aisle.

            Scott leaped through the flames in front of him and into the main hallway of the house. He had to find his wife and baby girl. Life was nothing without them. “Eveline! Sharon!” he yelled through the smoke, but all he could hear was the whoosh and crackle of the fire around him. He reached the end of the hallway, but stopped when he heard his wife’s scream come from behind him. “Eveline!” He ran back down the hallway, ignoring the flames that licked at his body. As he turned a corner he felt two strong arms grab him from behind. “I’ve got you. It’s gonna be okay.” The fireman said as he began dragging Scott out of the house.

            “Excuse me, sir? You have to pay for that.” The young boy had left his post behind the counter to stop Scott, who was now leaving the store with a cart full of gravel, nails, PVC pipe, explosive grout, gunpowder, and four empty red gas containers. Scott ignored him and continued walking. The boy then grabbed Scott’s arm. “Hey,” he said, but was on the floor before he could say another word. Scott had knocked the boy down and had a gun trained on the teenager’s head. “Get back behind that counter.” Scott hissed. The boy’s eyes filled with fear at the sight of the gun. “Okay… Okay. Just, take it e-easy.” He stuttered as he slowly stood with his hands in the air and walked backward toward the register, stumbling over his shaking feet. Scott continued to push the cart toward the exit with his gun still aimed at the boy. “And don’t bother calling the police,” he added, “it’s already too late.” He then put his gun away and pushed his cart out the door and back into the cold night.

            “No!” Scott shouted at the fireman that held him. “Eveline! Sharon! I have to save them!” He struggled against his rescuer’s hold, but couldn’t escape. In seconds the fireman was dragging him across the lawn and away from the burning house. “Get off of me!” Scott continued shouting. More emergency workers rushed to restrain Scott from running back into the burning building. He could do nothing. Nothing but sit and watch as his house burned with his wife and daughter inside.

            Minutes later Scott watched as two firemen walked out of his house with limp bodies wrapped in blankets slung over their shoulders.

            Scott closed his eyes tightly and tried to forget the sight of his dead, burned family. It was horrible. They were almost unrecognizable. The fire had burned his face also, leaving an ugly, blistered sore on his neck and check, but it seemed like nothing compared to the horror he had seen. He pondered what the firemen had told him. “Locked,” he whispered to himself, “in the closet?” The fact only made his pain and confusion worse. Someone had been in his house and locked up his daughter. Someone had started that fire.

            “We found this in the house.” Chief Griffin said, holding Scott’s lighter in his hand. “We believe that the fire was started in your office with this lighter.” Scott sat across from his chief of police at the Paradise Police Station silent, his face emotionless. “Really, it’s surprising that this thing didn’t blow up in the fire,” the chief shuffled his feet uncomfortably. For a moment there was nothing but silence in the room as the chief looked at Scott while Scott looked at the ground. “We, uh,” the chief started, “we’ve finished our inspection with this. You can take it if you want.” He placed the lighter on his desk in front of Scott.

            There were no cars waiting at the only gas station in Paradise as Scott pushed his cart toward the gas pumps. Quickly and without hesitation, Scott pulled a gas nozzle out of one of the consoles and began filling his four five-gallon containers. As the gas splashed into the first container, Scott once again reached into his pocket, this time for the lighter. One hand still on the gas nozzle, he flipped the lighter open. I could end it all right now. He thought as he moved his thumb toward the flint wheel. Just blast myself and everyone else here to oblivion. His thumb pressed against the wheel, ready to ignite the lighter, but a car pulling up to the pump at his side stopped him. No, he thought and closed the lighter, that’s not the way it should be. He slipped the lighter back in his pocket and set his attention back on the containers.

            Chief Griffin took a short sip from his coffee mug, then sighed sadly at the broken wreck of a man that sat in front of him. “Look, Scott,” he said. Scott didn’t seem to acknowledge him. “You’ve just gone through something awful. You’ve lost your house, your family,” Scott tensed, “you’ve been drinking all day,” The chief paused as Scott looked up and met his eyes. “The point is,” he continued, “I think it best that we let you go. Not permanently, just for a time. So you can take a few weeks to recuperate.” Scott’s gaze was like ice, but his silence was colder still. “We’ve gotten you an apartment room and can help you with what you might need for the first week…” Chief Griffin droned on, but Scott didn’t listen. He only stood up silently and walked out of the chief’s office while Chief Griffin tried vainly to call him back.

            Fired. The irony of the word sickened Scott. He had lost everything. His wife, his daughter, his house, his car, and his job. All gone. All fired. All he had was the clothing that he wore and the meager help that his job and the city offered him.

            Scott had finished filling his gas containers and was walking toward his provided apartment with his stolen shopping cart. He had left the gas station without paying and without any problem. Everything seemed too easy, almost as if what he was doing was meant to be. For a moment he could feel his heart beat a little faster, a fleeting moment of fear at what he was about to do. It will be worth it, Scott reassured himself.

            The apartment was old and run down, but it was the only apartment complex, hotel, or anything like it in all of Paradise. Scott pushed his shopping cart up to number 14 and put his key in the door. He heard the lock click quietly as he turned it, then opened the door, pulling the cart into the room behind him.

            The apartment was small, and smelled old and musty. A queen-size bed was pushed up against one wall while a television that was very possibly older than Scott’s 38 years sat on a wooden dresser that had obviously seen better days. The brown shag carpet was stained and dusty and the lampshades that hung over the bed were the same. Tucked into one corner was the bathroom and closet, with a pathetic excuse for a kitchen across from it. Overall, it was a fairly ugly site, but Scott wasn’t there to look around. He closed the door behind him and got to work.

* * *

            The dispatch officer working the phone at Paradise Police Department jumped a little when she heard the phone ring. She groaned as she reached for the phone, “Probably just some stupid kids pulling a prank.” She pressed the button on her telephone headset and read her part from the computer screen in front of her.

            “Nine-one-one dispatch, what is your emergency?”

            The conversation was short and disturbing. The distressed teenage boy that she had spoken to had told her that a man had stolen a cart full of material. The things that the man had stolen were the perfect ingredients for a bomb, but more disturbing than that was the description that the boy gave of the man.

            Suddenly the phone rang again.

            “Nine-one-one dispatch, what is your emergency?” the officer asked again.

            “Hi, uh,” stuttered the girl on the other end, “My name is Chelsea. I work at the gas station store, and, um, some guy just stole some gas.”

            The officer continued with her routine job. “Can you describe the man to me?”

            “Um, yeah, I think.” The girl said. “He was, I don’t know, like six feet tall, balding, and had kind of a big nose.”

            “Was he thin? Stocky?”

            “Thin, but strong. You know, not like a wimp or anything.” The girl responded.

            “Any distinguishing marks?”

            The girl paused, “Yeah, there was one thing,” she said. “He had a really gross looking blotch on the side of his face. Like, a sore or something.”

            The officer froze. “Which side, Chelsea?” She asked with a knot in her throat.

            “The right side I think,” she paused, then answered with conviction, “Yeah, the right side.” The answer sent a chill up the officer’s spine.

            “Thank you Chelsea, I’m sending officers right now.” She hung up the phone. Her thoughts swam around in her head for a moment, but there was no doubt in her mind of who they were dealing with.

            “Scott Harris.”

* * *

            Fifteen minutes later the entire Paradise police force was surrounding the Paradise Apartment Complex. They had evacuated all of the residents and staff that were nearby and were preparing to confront Scott Harris. They had suited up two officers that were particularly close to Scott with bulletproof vests and other equipment to go in and try to talk him down.

            “You ready Jordan?” One of the cops said to the other.

            “Ready as I’ll ever be, Sean.” Jordan responded.

            Jordan and Sean had been working in the force together for eight years, but this was their first real job. Although they wouldn’t admit it to one another, they were scared and unsure of themselves. On the other side of the door in front of them was their friend and coworker who had been on the force long before they joined. They had a thousand questions and doubts running through their minds, but for the sake of professionalism, they stayed quiet.

            The two of them walked up to the front door, and, on signal, opened the door with a master key that the staff had given them.

            The hotel room had changed significantly since Scott had first entered. There were containers set up in the corners of the room, the bed had been ripped to shreds, and pieces of cotton and down littered the floor. The TV had been knocked over and the rounded screen was cracked. The stained floor also seemed to be stained with something else, a wet spot that lead directly to Scott Harris.

            “Scott,” Jordan said, his voice shaky, “hey, it’s me. Jordan.” He took a slow step into the room. “We’re here to talk, okay?” Scott didn’t say anything, he just reached into his pocket. Jordan and Sean instinctively put their hands over their guns, ready to draw. Scott pulled the lighter and ring out of his pocket.

            “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Scott said as he tenderly touched the burnt skin on his face, then the ring in his hand. Jordan and Sean froze. “I was supposed to die like the rest of my family, burning.”

            “Scott, wait. Put the lighter down.” Sean tried, but Scott either didn’t hear him, or was ignoring him.

            “My family is dead.” He hissed through his teeth. “I heard them scream as their flesh melted off of them.” He stopped for a moment, considering the two young officers in front of him. “Now I will die the same way.” He droned emotionlessly. “My only regret is that I will have to take you with me. I’m sorry.” He then lit the lighter and let it fall to the floor in front of him.

            When the flame made contact with the wet shag carpet it burst into a raging gasoline fire. The fire spread to Jordan and Sean before they could even react, and then to the four containers that were set up around the room. Sean pulled his gun out of its holster and shot a round, hitting Scott in the shoulder. The impact of the bullet threw Scott backward just as the gas reached the bombs he had built. The room was lit up as the gasoline and gunpowder inside the containers ignited, sending flames in all directions mingled with red hot nails and chunks of gravel. The walls of the apartment room were violently torn and spackled with holes, and everything inside obliterated. Jordan and Sean tried to cover themselves, but it was too late. Scott could feel the work of his hands burning and piercing into his body as he fell back. Just before he hit the ground a sick grin flashed across his face.

            Scott Harris knew how it would end, and now it was over.

Chapter 3: Deals: The Reaper Saga

And we're back for chapter 3! I'll keep the introduction short this time around, I just want to say one quick thing. After reading, or before if you want, please leave a like or a comment if you enjoyed it. I want to know that I'm writing for an audience and not just thin air, and knowing that at least one person out there is enjoying the story I'm crafting motivates me to continue. Or at least to pump out chapters a bit quicker. In any case, I hate to pander for likes or be one of those guys, but please like, comment, and share with everyone. Show your coworkers, friends, family, and if you hate it, show your enemies for all I care! I'm writing this story because I love to create and craft, and I've fallen in love with the story and characters. I'm doing this because I love it and want to share it with you. And I hope that you love it too.

Or at this point, finish it.

Here are links to the previous chapters in case you missed them.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

            The five o’clock news was still playing, but I didn’t notice. I was frantic, trying to make sense of the impossible memories that had just come back to me. The small group of people at the display had grown thinner, but a few still watched the news report. I could almost feel suspicious glances in my direction from them.

            I’ve got to get out of here. I thought. I stood up from my place against the wall of the electronics store and took one shaky step, stumbling onto the sidewalk. I don’t believe it. I have to see it myself. The wreck. The house. Sharon.

            Sharon! Suddenly, the image of the small girl cowering in a locked closet flashed through my mind. Her frightened green eyes, her fragile little figure, her hands shaking nervously as she sat defenseless while a raging fire spread throughout her house.

            In an instant I forgot about my weak body and took off running, my numb legs tripping over themselves. Confused looks followed me from the TV display, but I didn’t care. All I could think about was Sharon. I had to save her. I had to get to her. I ran across the street toward my apartment, panic strangling me and halting my breath.

            Three blocks later, I arrived at the parking lot of the apartment complex where my beat-up Ford Taurus sat waiting. I ran to the car, and without a second thought I snatched a spare key from below the rear bumper, got in, and sped onto the main road. She’s dead. I thought. The phrase repeated itself over and over in my mind. She’s dead she’s dead she’s dead… I pressed a little harder on the gas pedal and tore toward the house.

            The road quickly changed from small, quiet neighborhood streets, to an even quieter wooded road. The road weaved through the trees and around several tight corners before straightening out into a thin highway. As I maneuvered my small car around a sharp corner a strange realization hit me – I was driving the same route as the Hummer that had smashed into Cole and me the night before. A gory image flashed through my head of Cole’s limp body caught in the tangled metal, the driver of the Hummer crushed and slumped lifeless over the steering wheel, the blood and smoke. I tried to imagine my own broken, mangled body.

            “There it is.” I said to myself as I passed the wreckage site. Half of the road was still blocked off where the clean-up crews were sweeping up glass and spraying the blood off of the street. “Blood…” I muttered. “My blood.” I glanced down at my own body, as if to check if I was still alive and in one piece, and accelerated past them, forcing the image of my twisted corpse out of my head.

            Only fifteen minutes after leaving the crowd at the electronics store, I arrived at the burnt house. The house was still standing, but it was obviously damaged beyond repair. The patio and deck were now blackened, charred and broken. All of the new windows were burned, and most of them were shattered. The conservative gray siding had melted down the sides of the house, and for the most part had completely fallen off. There were places where the walls were bent out of shape, corroded by the flames. In other parts the walls had been burned away. There were gaping, charred holes in the roof, and the once perfect lawn surrounding the house was now dead and blackened.

I parked my car behind the house, where it couldn’t be seen from the main road, and got out. There was nobody else there. I ducked under the yellow “caution,” and “police line – do not cross” tape, the dry grass crunching beneath my feet, and ran toward the ruined house.

Sharon’s bedroom window – my bedroom window – was still open with the blinds pulled up from the night before, although now the glass looked warped, and the blinds and window pane was covered in ash and burn marks. I felt a knot grow in my throat. I did this, I thought. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself, but choked on the air. I opened my eyes immediately and looked around, my jaw clenched in fear. Burnt rubber. The scent was strong, just like the night before.

I tried to keep from panicking as I attempted to justify the smell. I was just outside a burnt house after all. I had every imaginable reason to be smelling burnt rubber. But not like this, I thought, This smells like tires on asphalt. I clenched my fists and strained to gather myself, but it was useless. Floods of images and memories from the night before poured over me. My body started to tremble and I leaned against the house for support, only to feel a burned chunk of siding crumble to ash under my weight. My eyes began going in and out of focus and all I could hear was what sounded like distorted voices shrieking in my mind. I fell to my knees, desperately trying to focus, but the feeling only got worse. I wanted to scream, but every sound I attempted to make was caught in my throat. It felt like I was being crushed, like I was dying again. My vision began darkening until all I could see was a blurry sliver of light that seemed to be getting closer. Headlights?

Suddenly I gasped in a ragged breath. In an instant my vision cleared up and the world around me was back to normal. I stayed on the ground my breathing heavy, confused and terrified. “What the...” I whispered out loud to myself. Was that some sort of hallucination? A post-traumatic stress attack?

I stood up shakily and looked through the window, then back at my car. I wanted to leave. I wanted to forget about the house, about the wreck, about my horrific episode, and about Sharon, and just disappear. I wanted to follow my gut and get out of there, but I couldn’t. Instead I hoisted myself up through the window and into my old bedroom.

The room was a disaster. The fire had burned through most of the walls, the bed was little more than a blackened mass of springs and ashes, and everything that was left on the floor, including the carpet, was ruined. My eyes settled on the closet doors. They were burned completely black and the ribbon I had tied to the knobs was gone, burned maybe.

I stepped toward the doors and grabbed the doorknob. I froze as the feeling of horror magnified inside of me. For the first time I could remember in my life, I was genuinely terrified. What would I find on the other side of the door? Did the girl live? Or would I find nothing but a burnt corpse lying in a heap?

I pulled on the knob and jumped back as the entire door fell off its hinges and to the ground, ashes floating up around it as it landed with a thud. Inside the closet looked just as bad as the room outside of it. The walls were blackened, the clothes burned beyond recognition and anything else in there was either melted or reduced to ashes.

Sharon wasn’t there.

My breath caught in my throat. Did she escape? Or had the firemen carried her out? Or did she just burn to ash? I sunk to my knees in confusion and despair. When my knees hit the floor I felt moisture soak through my black suit pants. I ran my hand through the stiff, burnt carpet. The ground was still wet from the fire fight that morning. It was a nightmarish reminder of how real everything was.

A cold chill ran through the house, sending a shiver up my spine. The feeling of terror that was haunting me reached a new height as I stared at the supposed death site of a girl I might have killed.

“Eleven.” The hollow voice came from behind me. The tone was awful – deep, haunting, and coarse. It echoed in my brain, the very sound of it making me want to shrink and run away.

I leapt to my feet and whipped around, my heart in my throat. “Who are…”  I shouted, but froze when I saw the figure in front of me. “… You?” I finished nervously.

Standing in the ashes in front of me was an incredibly tall, and incredibly slender man. His skin was pale and languid, and his sparse black hair was neatly combed back. His face was sickly thin, with his cheek and jawbones protruding to form a skeletal silhouette. A long, bony nose jutted out from between two eyes that were sunken back deep into the man’s head. He was dressed in a straight black business suit that was made to fit his almost seven foot frame, with an equally black tie cinched around his long neck. He stood poised and lightly, as if he didn’t weigh a thing at all, with his arms at his sides. Hanging out the cuffs in either sleeve were two equally pale and skeletal hands. His fingers were long and thin with thick, arthritic looking joints. He stood there looking blankly at me with his hollow, piercing black eyes, his lips turned down in an emotionless frown.

“The fire reached the girl eleven minutes before the firemen.” The man stated, his voice jarring me with every word. “They were eleven minutes too late.”

I could feel the blood draining from my face. “Wh-what are you talking about?” My voice grew shriller with each word.

“Sharon.” He responded, his lips hardly moving.

“She’s… Dead?” I could barely whisper the word.

“Yes.” The man mused. His indifference made my stomach turn.

I was beginning to feel weak again. “I…” I choked, “I killed her.” I felt like I was going to vomit. And who was this stranger? How could he know that?

The corners of the man’s lips curled up into a hideous smile. “Yes, you killed her.” He repeated, his empty black eyes staring through me. “You’ve done well, Alexander.”

I tensed up. “Who are you?!” I hissed, trying to sound angry, but I only sounded more frightened, “And how do you know my name?”

The man took one smooth step around me. “It’s me, Alexander. Virgil.” He said.

Virgil. The name sounded oddly familiar. I tried to think back, but I couldn’t remember anyone by that name at all, not to mention my terrified brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders. The name nagged at me though, almost like a warning.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” Virgil droned, and reached one long arm outward toward my head. I flinched at the advance, but couldn’t react. I froze, whether from fear, or something else, I couldn’t move. Virgil grinned as his cold index finger landed right between my eyebrows.

Suddenly the whole world seemed to melt away. The walls, ceiling, and floor in front of me sagged downward and faded to black. Virgil’s tall, thin figure stretched and blurred in front of me into an unrecognizable black stain. In seconds I was standing in pure darkness. I couldn’t see or hear a thing. I was alone.

I was shaking as I took a step forward, the sound of my own footstep making me cringe. “Hey!” I yelled, my breathing fast and loud, “Where am I?”

“Where am I?” My voice echoed back, although it sounded different somehow. “What just happened?” I froze. I didn’t say that, yet it was my voice that I had heard.

“You have died, Alexander Jensen.” The voice that responded was a deep, emotionless one.

“Dead?” My voice said. “No… I… I can’t be dead…” I whipped around, trying to find the source of the voice – my voice. “But Sharon!”

“Sharon will die.”

Then I saw it. Far in front of me, stood… me. I could see myself, barely visible in the darkness, talking to the other voice. “What is going on?” I whispered, my heart racing.

“No!” The other me shouted. “She can’t die! It’s not my fault! Cole lit the fire, she can’t die!”

“She will die.” The voice stated firmly. “And her blood will be on your hands.”

Suddenly I knew what was happening. This was a memory. A memory from the other side, I thought, This was when I was... I paused. It was impossible, but what else could it be? This was when I was dead.

“There has to be something I can do!” My memory screamed. “Anything! I’ll do anything.” He – I – was turning in circles in the darkness, yelling into the nothingness that surrounded him. “Anything...” He repeated hopelessly.

There was a long pause. “There is one thing.” The low voice said.

I looked up, obliviously mimicking the actions of the other me. “What?” My memory asked. “What can I do?”

Silence followed for what seemed to be an eternity. The air seemed thin as my vision jumped between the other me and the blackness around him. The darkness was growing grayer, washing out the scene before me. I squinted my eyes to try to see the memory as long as I could. I saw the other me clench his fists just as my vision went white. Then, “You can make a deal.”

My eyes shot open. I was lying in a pile of ashes in the burnt house. Outside the sun had gone down, leaving the house almost pitch dark. I looked around, confused.

Virgil was gone.

Ricky's Book! Chapter 2 of Deals: The Reaper Saga

Confession time. I love my story. It's the one thing I look at that I've created (or am in the process of creating) and think, wow. This is awesome. But I HATE chapter one. I wasn't about to tell you all that before you read it, because then you'd all have expectations or something. But now that you've all read it, I'm safe to admit that (and if you haven't read it yet, SHAME ON YOU. Click here).

So now that my least favorite chapter is done and away with, we can start with the juicy stuff.

Muahahahaha.....ha....ha

So now I will avoid the temptation to start writing explanations and anecdotes and let you get right to it.

Enjoy.

Chapter 2

            It was 3:00 AM the night before. The sky was smeared with a layer of clouds that blotted out the stars, leaving the flickering campfire in front of me the only light I had. Across from me Cole sat on a cooler in front of his roofless Jeep. A little less than an hour ago we had left the main road and driven toward the sporadic trees of the orchard we now sat in. It was cold. The wind carried the fall air through the barren trees to where we sat, chilling our skin. To me it seemed almost like a warning – freezing me, telling me to turn back.

            “Catch.” The word snapped me out of my daze just in time for me to grab what was tossed at me before it collided with my chest. A can of beer.

            “Drink up, Al,” Cole grinned at me through the flames. “You need to relax a little.”

            I frowned at the can in my hand. I had never liked drinking, but Cole loved it. He had invited me to a drink on more occasions than I could count, but I almost always turned him down. Maybe it was the taste I didn’t like, or maybe it was the affect that it has on people, but I could never seem to muscle the liquid down.

            “Not now, Cole,” I tossed the can back to him, “I think I need to be a little more focused than relaxed.” It was a shallow excuse, but by now he was used to it. He frowned and cracked it open for himself, letting foam spill out of the shaken can. My eyes dropped back down to the fire. I really was thirsty, but even if he had offered me water I wouldn’t have drank it. My stomach was in a knot and satisfying my thirst was close to the last thing on my mind.

            “Al,” he stood up and walked around the fire to where I sat. “Alex.” He repeated my name as he hunched over me and put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not thinking about backing out are you?” It was more of a threat than a question. If I gave up now, Cole would never let me forget it. Of course, it wouldn't be the first time I had backed out of our plans on account of them being absolutely idiotic or dangerous, but this time was a bit different.

“Doing this was your idea,” he added.

            “I know.” I said, shrugging his hand off. The entire thing was my idea, but I was starting to have second thoughts. I was stuck. Cole had me in the palm of his hand and he wasn’t going to let me go. My head was swimming with reasons why we should just turn around and leave, but I knew that nothing I said would change Cole’s mind.

I looked through the trees toward the large house that was set just outside the orchard. My house. I could feel anger and hatred burning in my chest at the sight, fueling me, reminding me why we came.

“I’m not backing out,” I stood up and forced a smile at Cole. “Put out the fire. We’ve got a house to rob.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Cole laughed, clapping me on the back with his free hand. He pushed past me to the cooler he had been sitting on and lifted it into the back of the Jeep. I pulled my empty backpack over my shoulder and waited as Cole looked for a way to put out the campfire. He walked around for a minute, kicking dirt onto the flames, but the autumn leaves that littered the ground kindled the flames more than killing them. He looked around for another way to put out the fire when his eyes settled on the can in his hand.

“Dude, if I pour this on the fire, do ya think it'll blow up since it’s alcohol?” Cole laughed as he tempted the though.

I rolled my eyes at him. “I dunno. It’s more water than actual alcohol in beer, so probably not.”

He looked at the can, shook his head, and took another drink. “Screw it. I don’t want to waste this on the fire.”

I sighed loudly. I had had enough of Cole already for the night, and drunk Cole wasn’t much better. “Just piss on it or something.” I said, not hiding the annoyance in my voice at all.

“Relax, man!” he laughed. I shot the dirtiest look I could at Cole. I hated it when he said that to me. It was as if he was somehow stating that he was better than me, or that I was an embarrassment to him. I turned back to the Jeep and ripped the lid off of the cooler, uncovering two cans of beer that floated in a pool of ice and water. “Relax? We’re about to rob a house, and you’re getting drunk like we’re at a party! Do you want to get caught?” I whispered loudly in a voice that tore at the back of my throat.

“Put the fire out. With this.” I demanded, and shoved the cooler into his hands.

Cole rolled his eyes at me as he took the cooler. His ridiculous behavior only angered me more. I turned away, trying to calm myself, and started walking through the trees toward the house.  A few seconds later I heard the hiss of a dying fire behind me.

“The fire’s out!” Cole called as he ran to catch up with me. “And look at this,” I didn’t even glance over at him, “I brought the last two beers!” he finished. He proudly held one of the two cans in front of me, but I just pushed it away. “What?” Cole pressed, putting on a ridiculous pout. “You don’t want it?” I ignored him again. I could tell that he was just trying to get me out of my foul mood, but I still didn’t want to be content with Cole. “Ah well, more for me.” He said as he stuffed the cans into his backpack.

He half skipped to keep up with my quick pace. “Dude, I can’t believe we’re about to do this!” His voice was starting to grind at my nerves. “I mean, breaking in and robbing the house of your own father?”

I snapped. I stopped dead and grabbed Cole’s shoulder, flinging him around to face me. I stuck my face in his, hatred lacing my voice as I growled, “He is not my father! And that,” I jabbed my finger toward the house, “is not his house!” I took a deep breath. I didn’t realize that my left fist was curled around the collar of Cole’s shirt. I let go, scowling as I pushed Cole back, and started again for the house.

“Geez, man,” Cole forced a laugh and brushed himself off. “You coulda just told me. No need to get your panties all bunched up.” He swatted me on the back lightly, as if telling me everything was fine. I never got how he could do that – I’d blown up at him a hundred times before and he always just shrugged it off as if nothing had happened. I was probably way too harsh on him. He didn’t deserve getting yelled at that much, but this time he did deserve it. I was not going to let him call that man my father, or say the house is his.

Twelve years ago, a few days after getting the news that I was an orphan, a greasy looking man with dark hair – an attorney, I think – told me that since I was my father’s only child, the house, and everything in it, was left to me. The orchard, to the front door, to the roof was all mine, or it would be if I were 18. The greasy man told me that they couldn't leave a five-year-old boy all alone in a house he couldn't legally own, but that I shouldn’t worry. Everything was already taken care of. He said that my Uncle Scott – or Officer Harris, as he made me call him – and Aunt Eveline, being my closest relatives were going to move in and take care of me. Scott and Eveline, who had previously lived in a run-down apartment complex, gladly moved in the next day.

Scott worked on the Paradise police force. He always said that he loved his job because he was “giving back to the community,” but I’m sure he only liked it because he never had to do anything at all. Hardly anything ever happened in Paradise that needed police attention.

The two story house was now just in front of us. It was fairly large, with an elaborate stained wood deck and patio. The windows looked like they were new and the lawn around the house was immaculately cut. At least they’re taking good care of it for me, I thought, although I knew they had absolutely no intention of handing the house over. At least, not willfully.

Suddenly my anger disappeared, replaced by the cold chill of nerves. I felt my entire body tense up as we arrived at the back of the house. Here we go, I thought, trying to motivate myself, but I only felt more nervous with every step.

“You ready Cole?” I tried to keep my voice steady.

“Ready, captain,” If he heard the fear in my voice, he ignored it. “What’s the game plan?” He grinned excitedly. It kind of freaked me out how happy and content he seemed with all of this. I brushed it off though and told him.

“The locks on the window to my old bedroom are broken, so we’ll go in through there,” I had broken the locks myself after Scott put the new windows in. I snuck out so often that I didn’t want him locking me out in the middle of the night if he found out I was gone. “Once we’re inside, well,” I shrugged, “use your imagination.” I wanted to take that back right after I said it. Cole’s imagination could get us both in big trouble.

“Speaking of imagination,” Cole grinned as he reached into his backpack, “have you ever spray painted the inside of a house before?” From the backpack he produced two cans of black spray paint and held one toward me.

I looked uncomfortably at the can in Cole’s hand. The plan had started out so simple – get in, rob a few things and get out – but Cole was over-complicating things. Stealing from my own house is one thing, but vandalism was far more. And the house did technically belong to me. I wouldn’t want to spray paint my own house. But it wasn’t my house yet, it was still Scott’s. The thought of ruining a few of my uncle’s things almost made the idea seem worth it.

“You gonna take this?” Cole’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Uh,” I stuttered, “yeah.” I took the can quickly. I could tell that Cole was worried that I was going to run away or screw something up, so I forced a smile. “Alright then,” I breathed, barely more than a whisper, “let’s go.”

I quietly shuffled toward my old bedroom window and popped the mesh screen out. I threw the screen behind us as Cole pushed the window open a crack. He nodded at me, trying to encourage me as we both slipped our fingers into the gap and slowly lifted the window. Cole went first, he awkwardly hoisted himself up and wormed his way through the gap, twisting his body so that he’d come out on his feet. I flinched at the slight clacking of the blinds and waited until he pulled them up. I followed quickly after, pulling myself over and landing next to Cole.

The room in front of me was unrecognizable. The walls, which were once a soft blue, were now a pale pink. The furniture I had left there – my bed, dressers, desk, and a few other things – was gone, replaced by smaller, more childish looking versions. There were dolls and toys littered all over, together with clothes, ribbons, and shoes. In one corner of the girlish mess was a bed with bright pink sheets.

I felt my blood boiling inside me. This room used to be my only sanctuary in the house, now it was an ugly pink mess. I was disgusted, offended even, that my privacy had been invaded like this. I glared at the small girl tucked in her bed as if it were her fault, though I knew it wasn’t.

I sneaked across the room, kicking toys out of my path as I went, passing a dresser and a double-door closet on my left. Cole was just ahead of me, picking his own path to the bedroom door. I glanced over at the girl. Sharon. She was born a few years after my Aunt and Uncle moved in. If I knew her under other circumstances, I’d probably think she was a sweet little girl, except for that I’d spent her entire life cleaning up after her. She was only six years old, but she already hated me. It was as if she was born with it, like it was in her blood.

Suddenly a sharp hiss tore through the stillness of the room as Cole unloaded black spray paint onto the walls. I sprang across the room and yanked the can out of his hand. “You idiot!” I whispered, “You’re gonna wake her up!” I pointed to Sharon, who mumbled and rolled over.

“Go, go!” I shoved the can into Cole’s chest. Cole took the can and bolted for the door, and I followed close behind. I grabbed the door and turned to pull it shut, only to look straight back into the eyes of a wide-awake little girl.

“Alex?” Sharon croaked as she stretched her little arms over her head. “Why are you here?” Her eyebrows curved downward in a frown. “You’re not supposed to be here,” she accused sleepily. I froze. We’d been caught by a six year old. She groggily sat up and rubbed her eyes.  “I’m gonna tell my daddy!”

I jumped forward and pinned her shoulders back on her bed. “Oh no, no, no,” I whispered to her. I had to stop her, but what could I do?

“Let go of me!” She squealed. My hand, almost on its own, clapped over her mouth, hushing her scream. She kicked and flung her arms at me angrily, huffing and screaming through my fingers. I could feel my breath catch in my throat as I held her down. I was digging myself into a hole. I knew I couldn’t let her go tell Scott, but at the same time I was only making things worse by holding her down. Desperate, I pressed my hand harder over her mouth.

“Sharon!” I half-whispered, “Sharon, listen!” She only fought more. “Listen to me!” She stopped kicking and looked up at me, her expression scrunched into the angriest scowl that her six year old face could muster. My mind raced for something to say, some way to fix the situation. I loosened my grip a little, an idea forming in my head. “You have to be quiet, okay?” I urged as I slowly took my hand away from her mouth.

“Why?” Her angry little voice seemed as loud as thunder compared to my whisper.

“Because,” I paused, looking in to her blue eyes, “I’m not here alone. Cole is here with me.” I could almost see the color drain from her face as I said it. Sharon was terrified of Cole, and she had every right to be. Cole and I were constantly feeding her made up stories about how Cole was a mass murderer, drug dealer, and kidnapper. Every time Cole saw her, he’d make sure to freak her out in some way or another. It started out as a way to keep her away from Cole and me, but had since become something of a cruel joke between us.

“Cole?” her voice was barely more than a squeak.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “but I don’t think he saw you yet.” I softened my tone in an attempt to sound like I was on her side. “Here’s what we’ll do.” I sat her up in front of me, trying to seem calm and kind, though my heart was practically beating through my ribs. I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for what I was about to do, but I felt that I had no choice. “You’re gonna have to hide so he can’t find you, okay?” She nodded nervously. It was working. “You go hide in that closet,” I nodded toward the double-door across from her bed, “and be as quiet as you can. I won’t tell Cole where you are. Got it?”

She nodded again. “Yeah,” I could barely hear her whisper.

I stood up and backed away a little, my finger pressed to my lips. She slid off of her bed, eyes wide and face turned down in a nervous frown, and hurried to the closet. Shakily, she pulled the double doors open and slipped inside. I followed her and held the doors. “Remember,” I whispered, “stay quiet. And don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.” She looked up at me, her eyes filling with terrified tears, and mouthed, “okay.” I forced a pathetic smile, as if to reassure her, then silently swung the doors closed.

I turned and snatched a hair ribbon off of the floor and hastily tied the closet’s two doorknobs together, locking Sharon inside. I leaned backwards against the doors. I felt awful for what I was doing, and the helpless whimpering coming from behind me only made it worse. I dragged my arm across my forehead, wiping away the sweat that had dampened my face, and stepped away from the closet.

The faster we get this over with, the better, I thought, and left the room to find Cole.

* * *

Cole had gone down the stairs and was admiring Officer Harris’ private office. As he walked over to the large oak desk, spray painting as he went, he slipped out of his backpack and retrieved a beer. He carelessly opened it up and set it on the desk next to an expensive looking laptop. Curious, Cole opened the computer and turned it on. While waiting for the machine to boot up, he occupied himself by browsing through the drawers in the desk and the cabinet behind him.

“Well, looky here.” Cole said as he rummaged through a drawer, finding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

Suddenly the laptop blared a loud sound effect as the welcome screen appeared. Cole spun around at the sound, knocking the beer can onto the keyboard as he did. The screen flickered and buzzed for a moment, and then went dark.

“Oops.” Cole murmured casually, and to top off the damage, blasted a stream of spray paint onto the laptop’s screen. He then turned back to the lighter and cigarettes and took them from the drawer. After placing a cigarette between his lips he flipped the lighter open and ignited the flame. He looked at the fire for a moment, an idea coming to him. Eagerly, he lifted the nozzle of his can of spray paint up to the flame and released a burst of paint.

“Whoa!” Cole whispered excitedly, letting the cigarette fall out of his mouth as the room lit up briefly from the fiery stream of paint. A smile spread across his lips at the pyrotechnics he had just created. He positioned the lighter and can again, this time aiming the blast at the bookshelf behind him. A childish grin spread across his face as he fired stream after stream at the cabinets, leaving scorch marks and paint everywhere he sprayed. He fired a long burst at the desk, trying to write his name into the cured wood, and the room lit up even more as the loose papers that littered the desk caught fire.

He looked around nervously for a second, grabbed the can he had tipped over and, finding it empty, tossed it aside. He reached into his backpack, found the other beer, opened it, and dumped it onto the fire. The flames crackled and hissed, a few pages going out and others falling to the floor as the alcohol splashed around, but the flames had already spread too far. In seconds the fire spread to the carpet, and the desk started to smoke.

Cole looked wide-eyed at the growing fire that he had created. “Time to go,” he said to himself, and ran for the stairs.

* * *

I knew that I was supposed to be stealing things, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to take anything. I kept on telling myself that it was my house anyway, that the will said that the house and everything in it was mine, but I couldn’t do it. I only stood in the living room, inspecting some of the Blu-Ray movies next to the television when I heard a noise from the next room over. I hunched over, panicked, searching for a hiding place. My options were slim – behind the couch or under the coffee table. I hesitated for a moment until I saw a shadow walking toward me from the hallway. Instinctively, I dove for the ground next to the couch, trying vainly to hide myself from whoever was coming my way, but it was too late.

“Alex!” the shadow whispered.

“Cole?” I exhaled a sigh of relief and stood up. “Man, you scared the crap outta-“
            “We’ve gotta go.” Cole interrupted. “Now.” He immediately started toward Sharon’s bedroom.

I grabbed my full can of spray paint from the coffee table and followed cautiously, “Why? What’s up?” I asked. Cole’s carefree demeanor was gone, and it was concerning me.

“I’ll tell you when we’re out. Now, come on!” Cole urged, half sprinting back down the hallway.

We hurried through the house and back to Sharon’s room to escape through the window. Cole pushed the door open and paused for a moment.

“Where’s the girl?” Cole asked, confused.

I hesitated for a moment, a train of thoughts flashing through my head in less than a second. Should I let her out? No, I can’t. But it wouldn’t look good if Scott found her tomorrow locked in her own closet like that. But Cole’s moving pretty fast. Was he caught? If he was caught then there’s no time to open it. Do I even care to open it? Should I tell Cole? Finally, I made up my mind. “Tell you later!” I said, echoing his own response to me as I took the lead and bolted toward the window. “Come on!”

We stumbled out the open window and onto the cold lawn. I reached up to close the window, but Cole was already halfway to the orchard. I left the window as it was and sprinted after him, glimpsing back at the house as I went. One of the windows of the house was lit from the inside.

“You were caught?” I yelled to Cole as we barreled through the orchard.

“No,” Cole huffed back, the Jeep now in sight, “but if we had stayed there any longer we would’ve been toast!” He pulled the keys out of his pocket, laughing hysterically at some joke I apparently didn't get.

We hurdled into the roofless Jeep, started the engine and sped out of the orchard, tearing up the fertile ground as we went. Cole quickly found our way to the main road and recklessly sped across the asphalt. Is he crazy? He’s gonna kill us! I thought

“How drunk are you, Cole?” I yelled over the wind whipping past us.

“Not at all!” Cole yelled back, grinning wildly. “I only had one beer!”

“One?” I pressed. “What about the other three?” I could tell that Cole wasn’t telling me something.

“Okay, two!” Something about his smile sickened me. “I had those two at the fire, and the other two,” he shot me a mischievous look, “I...  well I didn't drink them.”

"What did you do with them?” I asked, worried.

“Forget about it.” Cole rolled his eyes. “Hey, did you get anything?” He was trying to change the subject. I decided to let him for now.

“No,” I responded.

“Paint anything?” Cole tried.

“No, I hardly had time to do anything at all with you rushing us out like that!” I defended, hoping that he’d give me some answer as to why he did rush us out.

The Jeep was closing in on a large white truck. Cole punched the gas and, while thoughtlessly tailgating the truck, said, “It’s cool. I think I did enough for the both of us.” He winked. “I found a one-stop-steal: the officer’s office.”

Cole nudged his backpack over to me, and I took a look inside. “Cell phone, tablet, money, smokes,” I said as I shuffled through the contents. “Looks like you only missed the laptop.” I tried at a joke to relax myself a little. It didn’t work.

“Yeah, I had a bit of a problem with that part.” Cole said while pushing closer and closer to the white truck’s bumper. “Could this guy drive any slower?” he yelled as he swung the Jeep to the left side of the road and roared passed the truck, honking as he went.

I leaned across the seat and pushed Cole’s hand off of the horn. “Shut up, Cole!” I shouted. “You’re not exactly helping us get away clean here!”

“Relax, Al!” Cole yelled back, slightly irritated.

I shot Cole a rude look and turned around in my seat to look at the truck. It was coming up on our bumper fast with its horn blaring.

“Ha, looks like I pissed him off.” Cole laughed.

“Yeah, looks like you did.” I responded, loading my voice with as much sarcasm as I could. I started to turn back toward the front when something caught my eye. Behind the truck in the distance, in the direction of the house we had just left, was a pillar of smoke billowing up into the night sky.

“Cole,” I said flatly, the sight still not fully registering to me, “What did you do?”

“What?” I just cut the guy off!” Cole spat, obviously annoyed.

“No!” I yelled, almost hysterically. “The house! Is that smoke?” I could feel my voice shaking as I pointed at the gray cloud rising above the horizon.

Cole pressed his foot a little harder on the gas pedal, letting the speedometer rise past 80 miles per hour. “Sit down Alex. Relax.” I didn’t realize that I had stood up in my seat, my hands on the Jeep’s crossbars for support, but I didn’t sit back down. “Okay.” Cole confessed. “I got a little carried away,” he paused, “but it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it!”

“It’s not about him!” I yelled, the wind whipping in my ears as I stood in the roofless Jeep, my eyes still trained on the smoke.

“Then who is it about, huh?” Cole shouted, “You? You and your stupid inheritance?”

Under any other circumstance, that comment might’ve offended me, but I hardly even heard it. “No!” I screamed, my voice frantic, “It’s…” I froze, the sick realization hitting me. “Sharon.”

“What about Sharon?” Cole shot, his voice raising. Ahead of us two large headlights appeared from around a distant corner.

“They won’t find her, Cole!” I was in a full panic. “She won’t get out!”

“What? Why?” Cole asked, shocked by my terror.

I ducked back into the Jeep, still on my feet, but out of the wind. “We’ve gotta turn around, now.” I commanded. “NOW!” I reached for the steering wheel.

“Hey!” Cole pushed me away. “No! Are you crazy? We’ll be caught!” The headlights grew closer as the truck behind us continued honking.

“No, you’re crazy!” I screamed uncontrollably. “We have to go back now! They won’t find her! She won’t get out!”

“Why?” Cole yelled. The headlights were almost in front of us.

“Because she’s in the-“ Suddenly the headlights swerved sharply into our lane.

“SON OF A-“ Cole was cut short by the sound of thousands of pounds of metal shredding into each other. The huge yellow Hummer H3 collided violently with our Jeep at deadly speed, crushing the two cars, especially the Jeep, into unrecognizable chunks of steel.

Suddenly I was being hurled through the air, the impact throwing me from my seat. The world seemed to move in slow motion as I soared headfirst toward the asphalt. I heard a crack, I felt my skull shatter, my neck and back break. My body exploded in pain as I skidded across the rough ground, my skin tearing open. I tried to scream, but all I could manage was a weak groan. As my body rolled to a stop, I could feel something warm and wet spreading across the ground, soaking my clothes and hair. Blood. As my vision dimmed I saw Cole bleeding in the wreckage. Through the broken windows of the H3 was a bloody dead man hunched over the steering wheel.

From behind the Jeep the white truck dodged around the wreck, its brakes screeching. It had missed the wreck, but now the enormous tires were heading straight for my limp body. I closed my eyes, took a last breath and then heard two brief thumps accompanied by the crunching of bones.

The smell of burnt rubber filled my nostrils as my body fell lifeless.