Chapter Fifteen – Grim
Chapter Fifteen
Grim
My first destination was Isabelle, Norman’s ex-wife, the woman he’d left when she needed him most. Norman, my handler at Monster Security Agency, didn’t know I was visiting her. He’d probably have a fit if he found out. Not that I cared much about Norman’s feelings these days.
I’d become friends with Isabelle after their divorce. It happened by chance, really. I’d overheard Norman talking about her illness one day at the office, his voice lacking any real concern. It bothered me more than I cared to admit. So, I decided to check on her myself.
The first visit was awkward. I mean, how do you introduce yourself as your ex-husband’s undead coworker? But Isabelle surprised me. She laughed, invited me in for tea, and we talked for hours. About life, death, and everything in between. Something about her spirit, her resilience in the face of terminal illness, drew me to her. Maybe it was because I’d seen so much death, so much suffering in my long existence. Isabelle faced hers with a grace I rarely encountered.
As I made my way to her house now, my thoughts drifted to Millie. The feelings I had for her were complicated. Unfamiliar. I needed advice, and Isabelle was the wisest person I knew. Over the past months, our friendship had grown. I found myself visiting her whenever I could, between jobs, or late at night when the pain kept her awake. Isabelle never judged me for what I was. She saw past the skeleton, the darkness, the decades of baggage I carried. In her eyes, I was just Grim, her friend. It was refreshing, and it reminded me of how Millie looked at me.
I reached Isabelle’s front door, hesitating for a moment. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been having a rough day. The cancer was spreading, and the pain was getting worse. I hoped today was a good day. I knocked on the door, expecting Isabelle’s warm welcome. Instead, I found myself face-to-face with her daughter, Janine. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she looked exhausted. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her usually neat hair was disheveled. The sight of her sent a jolt of worry through me.
“Grim,” she said. “I’m glad you’re here.” Her words trembled slightly, and I could see she was struggling to keep her composure.
My non-existent stomach dropped. A feeling of dread washed over me, making my bones feel heavier than usual.
“Is everything alright?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
Janine shook her head. “Mom’s in the hospital. Her condition got worse overnight.” She paused, taking a shaky breath. “We thought... We thought we had more time.”
I stood there, frozen. Isabelle had been doing better the last time I saw her, even if she was having a difficult day. We’d laughed together, talked about her plans for the garden she wanted to plant in spring. How quickly things changed. It was a harsh reminder of the fragility of human life, something I’d witnessed countless times but never got used to.
“I’m heading there later,” Janine continued, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her shirt. “But you should go now. She’d want to see you.” Her eyes met mine, a mixture of sadness and gratitude in them. “She always brightens up when she talks about you, you know.”
I nodded, unable to form words. The thought of Isabelle, vibrant and full of life despite her illness, lying in a hospital bed stirred something deep within me. A feeling I hadn’t experienced in a long time. Fear. Not for myself, but for someone I cared about.
Janine gave me a weak smile and closed the door. I could hear her soft sobs as she walked away, and it only strengthened my resolve. I didn’t waste any time. In a blink, I was gone, teleporting straight to the hospital.
The hospital room smelled sterile, like bleach and regret. Isabelle lay in her bed, her skin almost translucent against the white sheets. Tubes snaked around her, connected to machines that beeped and hissed, a mechanical symphony of life clinging to its last breath. Seeing her like this, so frail and diminished, was like watching a gruesome parody of life itself. The vibrancy, the fire that had always burned so brightly in her eyes, was now reduced to a flicker. The sight twisted something inside me, a dull ache in the space where my heart used to be. It was worse than witnessing any battlefield, more agonizing than the endless procession of souls I had ushered into the beyond.
“Grim?” A raspy voice broke through my thoughts. Isabelle’s eyelids fluttered open, and a weak smile touched her lips. “Did you come to collect me already?”
“Not yet, Isabelle,” I said.
A knowing look entered her eyes. “Don’t lie to a sick woman, Grim. I know my journey is nearing its end.”
“Don’t get all morbid on me now.” I pulled up a chair beside her bed, the metal legs scraping against the linoleum floor.
Isabelle chuckled. “Why not? It’s the only journey we all have left to take. But enough about me. How are you doing, Grim? Still saving damsels in distress?”
It was her way, always looking out for others, even on her deathbed. So, I told her about Millie, about the way her laughter could chase away the shadows that clung to me. I told her how Millie looked at me, not with fear or disgust, but with something akin to… wonder.
“She sounds fascinating,” Isabelle whispered, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the sterile walls of the hospital room. “And are you falling in love with her, Grim?”
I shifted uncomfortably, surprised by her directness. “Love? I don’t know about that.”
Isabelle let out a soft sigh, a tired sound. “Follow your heart, Grim.”
“I don’t have a heart, Isabelle. You know that.”
“Not that heart,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes, a flicker of her old spirit returning. “You know, Grim, for a monster of such power and wisdom, you are incredibly obtuse sometimes. You don’t need actual organs to love someone.”
Her words caught me off guard. Was it really that simple? Could I, a creature of darkness and shadows, experience love after all these decades? I pushed the thought away, uncomfortable with its implications.
“Grim,” Isabelle’s voice was weaker now, a threadbare whisper against the hum of the machines. “When it’s my time… will you be the one?”
I met her gaze. “You want me here?”
“You’re my friend,” she said. “I want to see a friendly face when I cross over.”
Her request, so simple yet so profound, unleashed a torrent of emotions within me. I felt rage at the injustice of it all, at the way her life was being stolen from her. I felt a surge of protectiveness, a primal urge to shield her from the inevitable. I felt… grief.
“I can make him pay, you know,” I found myself saying, my voice tight with suppressed fury. “For what he did to you.”
Isabelle shook her head. “There’s no need for that. Norman and I… We’ve made our peace.” She paused, her breath shallow and raspy. “These days, I don’t think about Norman anymore.”
I knew better than to argue. Although a part of me – a dark and vengeful part – craved to unleash its fury upon Norman for his cruelty, I would respect Isabelle’s wishes.
“As you wish, my friend,” I said.
A weak smile touched her lips. “Thank you, Grim. And promise me you’ll look after Janine when I’m gone. She needs someone to watch over her, someone who understands...” Her voice trailed off, her eyelids fluttering closed.
“I promise,” I whispered, my gaze fixed on her pale face. I would keep my word, even if it was the last thing I did.
But as I watched her drift into a restless sleep, a terrifying thought occurred to me. What if my promise to Isabelle conflicted with my feelings for Millie? What if keeping one promise meant breaking the other? Because to save Millie, it was entirely possible I would have to do something completely crazy, something that defied the nature of my own immortality. I could only look after Isabelle’s daughter if I remained the same – eternal, roaming the earth, doing my job as a reaper. Millie was changing me already, though. She was changing my future.
I couldn’t think about this now. I had work to do. I stood up, ran the back of my hand over Isabelle’s cheek in a silent goodbye, then grabbed my scythe from where I’d left it propped against the metal bed frame.
My second destination – the Halls of Death.
***
The Halls of Death were a real pain in the neck. Always cold, always echoing with the whispers of departing souls. I hated coming here. It felt like stepping back into a life I’d rather forget. The place was a labyrinth of endless corridors, each turn leading to another chamber of bureaucratic nonsense. Clerks with vacant eyes shuffled papers, their faces etched with the boredom of eternity. Scribes hunched over glowing tablets, recording names and dates in an endless, morbid census. It was enough to make even a Grim Reaper long for the sweet oblivion of non-existence. Almost.
I navigated the winding passages, my destination the chamber of the Fates. They were the three sisters who held the threads of life in their hands. Powerful beings, even by my standards. Not the kind you wanted to cross, especially if you valued your existence. And right now, I was teetering on the precipice of a decision that could disrupt the cosmic order. Or at least earn me a stern talking-to from Death themselves.
The Fates were more than just mythical figures; they were the cogs in the machinery of life and death. The First Sister spun the threads of existence with her spindle, each one representing a life about to begin. The Second Sister measured them, her fingers deciding the length and breadth of each journey. But it was the Third Sister, the one with the shears, who truly fascinated and terrified me. Her touch was final. She snipped a thread of life, and somewhere in the land of the living, a life ended. Then it was my job to find the severed thread that blew in the wind on earth, follow it to its source, and finish what she’d started. With my scythe, I cut the thread a second time from where it was knotted around the dying human’s – or monster’s – breastbone. Finally, I guided their soul to the door beyond which their afterlife awaited. I never knew what someone’s afterlife looked like. All I knew was that beyond the door, they would find what they needed at that moment.
The air grew colder as I approached the Fates’ chamber. The whispers faded, replaced by a silence so profound it felt like a physical presence. A sense of anticipation, of ancient power, hung heavy in the air. The chamber doors, crafted from obsidian and etched with swirling symbols of life and death, stood slightly ajar, as if beckoning me inside.
I stepped into the chamber with a slow, measured pace, my gaze immediately drawn to the three sisters who were engrossed in their work. The room felt cavernous despite being filled with the weight of their presence. The First Sister sat hunched over a spindle, her fingers moving with the precision of muscle memory as she spun gleaming threads of life. Each one pulsed with a faint light. The Second Sister was just as focused, her hands moving in a rhythm that spoke of millennia of practice as she measured each thread with meticulous care. She murmured to herself, as if counting in a language I could never hope to understand. And there, at the far end, the Third Sister waited, her shears glinting ominously under the dim, otherworldly light, ready to make the final cut.
I could feel their power thrumming in the air. For a moment, I hesitated, just long enough to feel the tension coil in my shoulders as I realized how much was riding on this meeting.
“Ladies,” I finally said, clearing my throat. The echo of my voice sounded like an intrusion in this sacred space. “I need your help.”
Their movements never faltered, but acknowledging my presence shifted the atmosphere. There was a brittle coldness in the air now, colder even than the endless corridors I had just navigated.
“One of my clients made a deal with Ma-Vasha,” I continued. “Is there any way to break it?”
The silence that followed was suffocating. They didn’t stop their work – didn’t even look up at me – but I felt their disapproval like a boulder pressing on my chest. It was the Second Sister who broke the silence.
“The Breathless are not pleased with you, Grim.”
I’d known that but hearing it said out loud still made me feel uncomfortable. Before I could think of a response, the First Sister spoke, her fingers never pausing as she spun another thread of life with effortless grace.
“You’ve gone rogue,” she said. “Refusing your duties as a reaper to play bodyguard. It’s disgraceful.”
They had a point, but this wasn’t just any bodyguard job.
“Look,” I said, “If you won’t help me, I need to see the Breathless. You’re in charge of appointments with Death, right?”
Still, they worked in unison, an eerie, coordinated dance I found disturbing. The Third Sister lifted her gaze, and I nearly flinched at the sight of her eyes – voids that seemed to suck the light out of the room.
“The Breathless won’t see you,” she said. “They’re too upset.”
I clenched my hand into a fist. “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth, “Then show me Camellia Aster’s thread of life.”
That got their attention. All three sisters stopped their work abruptly. Their heads turned towards me.
“Unacceptable,” the First Sister hissed. “Mind your own business, Grim. Do not meddle in the affairs of foolish humans and their deals.”
I took a step forward, defiance simmering just beneath my anger. “I can’t walk away from this,” I insisted. “Then I need to see the Breathless. Right now.”
They shared a glance with one another. It was a silent conversation, something ancient and telepathic that I would never be privy to. When they finally turned back to me, the Second Sister spoke.
“We’ll speak to the Breathless. But for now, you should leave. Your presence here is unwelcome.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the look in their eyes told me it would be pointless.
As I turned to go, the Third Sister’s voice stopped me. “Grim,” she said, her tone oddly gentle. “Be careful. The path you’re walking leads to places even we can’t see.”