Chapter Seven #2
Because in an instant, he is gone. Just gone. No longer in this room.
He did not explode. He did not wink out either. He dematerialized. It was like watching a soul become unmade, like watching a sculpture return to being nothing more than a lump of clay or slab of marble.
One second, Quinn was standing beside me—solid, real, and terrified. The next, he is particles—dust, less than dust. A faint shimmer lingers in the air where Quinn used to be and then nothing. Not even a fingernail left behind.
D stands there for a moment, his hand still outstretched, his expression unreadable. Is he proud? Terrified? I cannot read the look behind his glowing eyes or read the meaning behind the lines on his furrowed face.
Then he snaps his fingers. “Vaporize. Now there’s a great scrabble word. Eight letters. That’s using the Z, and all my letters. A fifty-point bonus!”
A thousand questions about what I just witnessed run through my mind. I have no idea what just happened, but my gut tells me that Quinn was removed from more than just this room.
I ask the simplest question my lips can form. “What did you do?”
“I …” D hesitates to answer. The longer I look at him, the more I can’t help but wonder if he is as surprised by what happened as I am. He composes himself and finishes the sentence cryptically. “Set a boundary, reaper. I reaffirmed the hierarchy around here.”
“What does that mean? We all know you’re in charge.”
“Sometimes, reminders are useful.”
“What happened to Quinn? Where is he?”
“Quinn is gone. His soul is no more.”
“What part of the OtherWorld did you send him to?”
“No part. He belongs to no place now. He has been unmade.”
I had no idea D had the power to extinguish souls. That is a level of destruction I’ve never even contemplated before.
My growing terror does nothing to stop the next words from escaping my lips though. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You both did something wrong.” D’s voice is eerily calm now as he picks up his letter tiles and places them back on his desk. “I’m just balancing the scales. A soul for a soul.”
“But we came back short a soul, and now you’ve unmade Quinn, or whatever you call it. That’s two souls gone.”
“Don’t talk back to me, fool. That just means you owe me twice as many back again.”
“He was defending me,” I insist, still struggling to comprehend how quickly D dispatched Quinn. To have someone’s story written off so callously …
“Well, you know what they say,” D replies, returning to his chair and settling back into it as if he hadn’t just flexed a power that could end humanity in all its forms.
How has no one ever talked about this before? D has abilities that reach far beyond what has been spoken of in the OtherWorld.
His continued speaking stops my thoughts in their tracks. “Stand for something, or you’ll fall into The Nothing.”
“That’s not how the quote goes.”
“It is now, I’d say.”
“You had no right to do that.”
“I have every right to do whatever the fuck I please, Ash-hole.” His voice is dangerously quiet. “And you’d do best not to forget that. Quinn didn’t have what it takes to make it as a reaper.”
“He was loyal and kind.”
“Exactly. This job requires ruthlessness and cunning—a coldness of character. Catastrophes overwhelm all but the most detached among us.”
“Like me,” I mumble to myself.
“Like you used to be anyway. Now I have another soul lost to the ether. A wandering spirit that we could have had among our OtherWorldly ranks, but instead, it flits about the mortal realm aimlessly. Do you understand how that affects my quarterly projections?”
“If you are so concerned about your numbers, then why unmake Quinn?”
D sighs. It’s a long, complicated sound—a mix of frustration, regret, and possibly exhaustion.
When he speaks again, there’s an unexpected level of self-awareness.
“I was angry, Asher. And I tend to make hasty decisions when I am not thinking clearly. It’s a character flaw, and I’m trying to work on it.
My therapist says … well, said—I fired him.
Anyway, I’m supposed to count backward from ten, but do you know how fucking long a ten count takes? ”
“I think that’s the point.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“Why not me?” I ask, surprised by how much I mean it.
A wave of relief floods through me at the mere idea of letting go of all the loss and regret I’ve carried for centuries.
A cessation of all feelings would be a welcome reprieve from this pain.
“If you’re balancing the scales, why leave me here and not Quinn? I’m the one who fucked up the reap.”
D studies me with something that might be mistaken for pity if you didn’t know the man. “Because vapor would be too easy an end for you. Besides, Asher, I’m no fool. You’ve served admirably, and I believe you’ve still got plenty to offer the OtherWorld.”
“I’ve got nothing to give you. I’ve got nothing to give anyone.”
“Well, Asher … Nothing from nothing leaves you in The Nothing. So, you will do as I say, or you will be trapped inside that pesky little head of yours for longer than it takes a seven-year-old to pound out ‘Chopsticks’ on the piano.”
“The Nothing can’t be much worse than this, boss.”
“Oh, trust me, Asher. It can, and it is.” D’s voice carries an edge of knowing, as if he has firsthand experience of what The Nothing does to souls.
“Only three souls have ever returned from The Nothing. The only evidence of what that place does to a soul. One came back after eight months. She doesn’t speak anymore—just sorts intake forms in Processing, day after day, silent as a grave.
Seems to have lost the ability to speak entirely. Or at least the desire.”
I shudder at the thought.
D continues his reflection. “The second one lasted three years before I pulled him out. For research purposes. He begged me to end him permanently instead. I obliged. You should have heard how pathetic his begging was. The look of gratitude on his face the moment before I unmade him haunts my dreams still.”
“And the third?”
“Went back.” D’s expression darkens. “He was so broken, so changed from his time there, that he returned to a world he no longer understood. He couldn’t find any comfort or purpose in the OtherWorld anymore. He developed a form of Stockholm syndrome.”
“For a place,” I grumble fearfully.
“Quite right, reaper. For a place.”
The implication hangs in the air. That could be me. That could easily be me.
“But!” D’s mood shifts abruptly, from grim to cheerful in the span of a heartbeat.
“You’re not going to The Nothing. You need a change of scenery.
We can all get a little overwhelmed in the same position for years on end.
Variety is the spice of life—and more so in the afterlife! Keeps the mind from wandering.”
Oh fuck.
“So, since you’ve proven yourself unfit for soul collection in the Catastrophes Division, I am reassigning you.”
Please don’t say to Lost Souls. Please don’t say to Lost Souls.
“To the Lost Souls Division.”
There it is.
“Sir, anything but that, sir.” The words come out in a rush. “It was a momentary lapse. I can do better. Put me in Natural Causes, Accidents … fuck, put me in Atrocities. I don’t care—”
“So, you do admit that you lost your focus!”
Shit.
“Yes, sir. But it won’t happen again.”
“On that, you are correct. Because until I deem you fit for the field, you will be working on shepherding forgotten entities into our world. You’ll be responsible for offering souls second chances …” He pauses, presumably for dramatic effect. “Until I decide to give you one.”