Chapter 11
Dustin’s bare feet stung against the cold asphalt as he walked back to his room. He'd chased Greg out here without shoes, without a shirt, without thinking. Fueled by nothing but rage and adrenaline and the image of Greg's hands on his gear.
His sabotaged gear.
The door to his room was still open. Dustin stepped inside and stopped.
He’d thought Greg was delusional.
But delusional people didn’t walk through walls.
You were supposed to die today.
I'm a reaper.
The inflatable duck was supposed to kill you.
Dustin's hands were shaking. He shoved them in his pockets.
And then he spotted Greg’s clipboard, sitting on the chair in the corner.
Dustin stared at it.
The little reaper had left his precious clipboard here.
It looked ordinary enough. A brown clipboard with a metal clasp and a stack of papers. Nothing about it screamed “supernatural artifact.”
Dustin picked it up.
The first page was a form. His name was at the top—DUSTIN, in neat capital letters—followed by a string of information. Male. Twenty-six. The location of the Apex Energy shoot. And a short time window, matching the time the duck had collapsed on him.
Status: PENDING
Collection window: CLOSED
Notes: Subject survived scheduled death. Cause unclear. Investigation ongoing.
Dustin's stomach turned.
Investigation ongoing.
He was a problem to be solved. A glitch in the system.
He flipped to the next page. Blank. The one after that, blank too. He fanned through the rest of the clipboard—nothing.
He was about to set it down when new text began appearing on the second page.
Dustin blinked as words appeared like magic.
NEW ASSIGNMENT
SARAH JANE MEADOWS. Female. 23. Riverside Park, Boulder, CO Tuesday, October 15, Collection window: 3:47 PM - 3:51 PM
What the hell?
Another form appeared below it:
NEW ASSIGNMENT
MARCO ADELMO REYES-YBARRA Male. 67. St. Anthony's Hospital, Room 4W-12, Denver, CO Wednesday, October 16, Collection window: 11:23 AM - 11:30 AM
And another:
NEW ASSIGNMENT
JESSICA MARIA TORRES. Female. 19. Southbound I-25, Mile Marker 114, CO Thursday, October 17, Collection window: 8:15 PM - 8:17 PM
Then a message, appended at the bottom:
Grigoreth—
Since you can't seem to close your first assignment, I'm giving you these.
They’re easy collections. I don’t want to hear excuses from you.
Get these done before the quarterly review so I have SOMETHING to show Oversight.
Consider this your chance to prove you belong in this department.
Don't make me regret vouching for you.
—Morrith
Dustin read it twice.
Morrith thought he was talking to Greg. Morrith had no idea the clipboard was sitting in the hands of the guy Greg had tried to kill.
And he'd just sent a list of people who were going to die.
Easy collections.
But these were real people with real lives. And some guy called Morrith was assigning them like tasks on a to-do list.
Dustin's hands had stopped shaking.
Now they were very, very still.
A new message appeared.
Grigoreth.
Confirm receipt of assignments.
Dustin watched the words form. He didn't move.
Another message:
Grigoreth?
Then:
I know you’re seeing this, the read receipts are on.
Dustin picked up the pen clipped to the board.
He shouldn't. Antagonizing a supernatural bureaucracy seemed like a terrible idea, long-term.
But terrible ideas were sort of his whole thing.
So naturally he pressed the pen to the paper: New clipboard, who dis?
A long pause.
Then:
WHO IS THIS?
This is OFFICIAL REAPER COMMUNICATION. Identify yourself IMMEDIATELY.
Dustin grinned. He couldn’t help himself.
Wouldn't you like to know, he wrote.
HOW DO YOU HAVE THIS CLIPBOARD?
WHERE IS GRIGORETH?
Dustin thought for a moment, then he wrote: I heard he quit. Something about the healthcare being terrible.
The pause this time was even longer.
This is not funny.
I think it’s hilarious.
I am going to find out who you are and there WILL be consequences.
Good luck with your quarterly review, Morrith.
He flipped the clipboard face-down before Morrith could respond.
His phone was on the nightstand. Dustin grabbed it, opened the camera, and flipped the clipboard back over and to the page with the new assignments.
He photographed all of them.
If Greg's boss wanted to treat human lives like a to-do list, fine.
Dustin was going to make it the most difficult to-do list in existence.
Greg emerged from the storage closet forty-five minutes later.
His initial plan had been to wait long enough that Dustin might leave his motel room so that Greg could sneak back in and retrieve the clipboard, but…
Dissolution set in much faster when he was separated from his clipboard.
It had started as a faint fuzziness at the edges of his vision. Then his hands had started flickering—there one moment, translucent the next. Now there was a persistent ringing in his ears and his thoughts kept scattering like startled birds.
He had only two options; he could go get the clipboard, his anchor, back or he could retreat to HQ—and face everything that was waiting for him there… and also explain why he’d come back without his company issue documentation device.
Stuck between two impossible choices, Greg chose Dustin.
With some trepidation, he made his way over to the motel room, raised his hand and knocked.
Nothing.
He knocked again.
The door swung open.
Dustin stood in the doorway, fully dressed now, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.
“You look like shit,” he said.
“I'm dissolving.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” Dustin's voice was flat. “You tried to kill me.”
“I know.” Greg could hear how weak he sounded. He hated it. “I know, and I'm sorry, but I need my clipboard back.”
“Yeah, Morrith seems pretty worried about you.” Dustin's mouth curved. It wasn't quite a smile. “I've been having a nice chat with him.”
Greg's heart seized. “You've been—what did you—”
“Relax. I didn't tell him anything useful.” Dustin tilted his head. “Grigoreth, huh?”
“Please.” Greg was not above begging. “I need it back. I'll leave you alone. I'll tell Morrith the assignment can't be completed. I'll—”
“Who's Sarah Jane Meadows?”
“What?”
“Sarah Meadows. Twenty-three years old. Riverside Park, Boulder. Collection window tomorrow at 3:47 PM.” Dustin’s gaze was fixed on Greg in a way that made Greg want to take a step back.
He resisted. Dustin went on. “Morrith sent you a whole list of new assignments while you were hiding in that storage closet.
Easy collections, he said. So you'd have something to show for quarterly review.”
No.
No, no, no.
“He sent those to—you saw—”
“I saw all of it.” Dustin's voice was hard. “I saw the deaths your boss assigned to you like homework.”
“It's not—that's not how—”
“What's going to kill Sarah Meadows?”
“I don't know.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don't.” Greg's voice cracked. “I don't get that information. I just get the window. I show up, and I wait, and when it happens, I'm there to guide them through. That’s what I do. I’m a guide.”
“And occasionally you try to murder people.”
“That’s not—” Greg struggled to find the words. There was no way he could defend himself from that accusation because it was true. “People shouldn’t die by themselves,” he said lamely. “It’s very difficult for most of them.”
“Of course it’s difficult. Sarah’s twenty-three,” Dustin said with emphasis. “Jessica Torres is nineteen. These are people with lives and families and futures, and you're going to stand there and watch them die because Morrith needs to impress Oversight?”
“I don't choose who dies. I just—”
“You just follow orders, right.” Dustin scoffed. “Yeah. I've seen how well that works out.”
Greg flinched.
Dustin stepped back from the doorway. For a moment, Greg thought he was going to slam the door in his face.
Instead, Dustin turned and walked into the room, leaving the door open.
Was that… an invitation?
Greg hesitated. Then followed.
The clipboard was on the bed. Greg reached for it—and Dustin's hand closed around his wrist.
“Not yet.”
“Please. I'm running out of time.”
“Then talk fast.” Dustin's grip was firm. It was the most solid thing, in fact, in a world that seemed to be dissolving along with Greg. “You were ordered to kill me. By Morrith. Right?”
Greg closed his eyes. “The file was still open. The collection hadn't happened. He said sometimes death needs help. I didn't want to, but…”
“But you did it anyway.”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Dustin let go of his wrist.
“You're pathetic,” he said. “You know that? You talk about death being sacred and then you cut a guy's parachute because your boss told you to.”
Greg said nothing. What was there to say?
“I’m going to Boulder tomorrow,” Dustin said.
Greg's head snapped up. “What?”
“Whatever’s going to kill Sarah,” Dustin's expression was hard, “I'm going to stop it.”
“You can't. That's interfering with the natural order—”
“We’ve already established that I’m good at that. That’s why you tried to murder me.” Dustin picked up the clipboard and held it just out of Greg's reach. “Consider this payback.”
“Dustin—”
“You wanted to have a piece of me so badly. Now you have it.” Dustin’s lips twitched. “But I'm going to make your job a living hell.”
“You don't understand.” Greg's voice was rising, desperate. “These deaths are supposed to happen. They're part of the order. If you interfere—”
“Then you'll have a lot of explaining to do to your boss.” Dustin tossed the clipboard at Greg's chest. “Better start practicing your excuses.”
Greg caught it reflexively. The moment his hands made contact, he felt the tether snap back into place—the connection to headquarters, the anchor holding him in existence. The fuzziness at the edges of his vision began to clear.
He should leave. He should take the clipboard and go. Report to Morrith. Figure out how to salvage this disaster.
Instead, he said, “You'll get yourself killed.”
Dustin laughed. It was a wild, manic sound. “Yeah, well.” He opened the motel room door and held it wide. “Wouldn’t you just love that.”
Greg clutched the clipboard to his chest. “If you go to Boulder and she's supposed to die—”
“Then I'll stop it.”
“You might not be able to. You don't know what's going to happen when you mess with events. You might misinterpret things. You might get yourself hurt. You might catch the attention of really unpleasant people.”
“Maybe.” Dustin's smile was sharp and reckless and nothing like the easy charm Greg had seen in his videos. “But you won't know until I try.”
He gestured at the open door.
Greg walked through it. He knew when a battle was lost.
Behind him, he heard Dustin's voice one more time:
“See you in Boulder, Grigoreth.”