Reaper (18 page)

He’d bet his fate that Oz was the reason.

* * *

Without his anonymity, Oz wouldn’t starve,
but he’d grown so used to eating again that his body tricked him
into thinking he required it. He had no money and owned nothing
aside from the clothes on his back. He had the typewriter, too, but
that was back at the apartment. Oz imagined a legion of reapers
waiting just inside the door for him to return so they could—kill
him? He was already dead, but he knew from rumors and spending time
with Bard that there were things worse than death.

During a stroke of hopeful naiveté, Oz
entered a busy coffee shop looking for some caffeine to shake his
system awake, but as he reached for another patron’s order, he
found his hand slapped, viciously, by a middle-aged woman in sweat
pants. Angry looks from the barista and other customers shamed him
back onto the street.

People were serious about their coffee,
apparently.

Oz didn’t dare attempt the same at a
restaurant.

His stomach gurgled and ached. He was tired;
his back stiff from sleeping on a cold bench, and if he didn’t eat
soon his stomach might cave in on itself.

After a long day of walking and grumbling Oz
finally found the highway. He trudged alongside the concrete
guardrail. Just when he was certain his legs would drop off, he
reached the exit for downtown. Although this put him in dangerous
proximity to where Bard and Cora were probably looking for him with
torches and pitchforks, he didn’t have a choice. At least that
instinct still functioned. He worried that he’d be disconnected
from whatever powers were at work and never be able to put his
(possibly) redeeming plan into action.

At the bottom of the exit ramp a thin man
coated in stink and patches of grime held a sign over his chest
that read,
Anything helps. Even your indifference.

When he was alive, Oz was fickly charitable,
only giving to beggars if they displayed clever slogans on their
cardboard signs. He regretted having nothing to put in this man’s
SOLO cup.

Oz met his eyes and gave him a nod of
acknowledgement. The man waved him over.

“You look rough,” the man said.

Oz couldn’t tell if he was being ironic.
“It’s been a long day.”

“Ain’t even lunch time yet and it’s that bad
already? Man, I don’t envy you.”

Oz nodded.

“You fucked up.”

“Glad everyone got the memo.”

The man chuckled, fanning himself with his
sign. “Good that you’re keeping your sense of humor. Good thing to
have when you’ve got nothing else.”

“Well, I’m fixing it.”

“Sure, buddy. Here.” The man dug a small,
zippered pouch from his back pocket and pulled a ten dollar bill
from it. “You look like you need this more than me.”

Written across the top of the bill in bold,
block letters:
get a job
.

“Talk about mixed signals,” Oz said.

“That’s the truth. I don’t need that
negativity. Go get something to eat. Wash up in the bathroom or
something before you fix whatever needs fixing.”

“Thank you,” Oz said, slipping the bill into
his pocket.

The Universe, it seemed, was working with
him, rather than against him. He had hope.

Oz continued along a bland road into town and
the sky darkened.

He stopped once for a bagel and large coffee.
As he waited in line with his sweaty, crumpled ten dollar bill he
felt the urge pulling at the back of his brain to continue into
town. It seemed he could deviate from the joystick pull, but only
for so long before it became physically painful. At the register,
he added an individual packet of Aspirin to his breakfast.

The bagel tasted like pale nothing but it
took up space in his stomach, which helped. The caffeine focused
his mind enough that he could ignore the hammering of his heart as
he crossed into the one-way grid of downtown.

It was a strange feeling going from knowing
that no one could see him to knowing that everyone could see him.
The sidewalks were mostly deserted, but Oz couldn’t help feeling
that every person he passed followed him with their eyes. He might
have been paranoid. Or it might have been the fact that he looked
and smelled like he’d woken up in a ditch.

Oz wasn’t comforted by the fact that the
wolves weren’t following him. It could’ve meant that they already
arrived to wherever he was being lead, and if they had, he wouldn’t
be able to stop them. Didn’t even know if they
could
be
stopped.

It was simultaneously reassuring and
frustrating that the urging pushed him to St. Joseph’s Hospital. On
the one hand, it would be difficult to get into the room he needed
to be in without drawing unwanted attention. On the other, at least
he wouldn’t have to watch a woman poison her husband again. Maybe,
just this once, it wouldn’t be a violent, bloody ordeal. He
silently wished for someone who would pass in their sleep.

He walked toward the Emergency Room door, but
was steered the opposite direction, to the Starlight Children’s
Wing. Oz stared at the automatic doors from a distance for what
felt like an eternity.

This is what I get, Oz thought. A kid. Talk
about karma.

He was doing the right thing, though. He had
to keep thinking it or this would never work.

Inside, a woman in scrubs typed behind a desk
and violins played Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star softly over the
speakers. Orchid plants dotted small waiting room tables but they
did nothing to cut the sting of disinfectant permeating the
air.

The woman didn’t look up when Oz sneaked past
her toward the bank of elevators.

The doors closed in front of him. Oz had no
idea which floor button to push.

He waited for a hint, but received none. His
lucky number was six. Oz jabbed the button for the sixth floor and
the elevator jolted to life. The doors opened at the Intensive Care
Unit.

A large desk took up half the length of the
hallway, occupied by one medical assistant and several nurses doing
nurse-things. The doors to the ward were closed tightly. To get in,
Oz would have to find an ID badge or wait for someone to leave.

The woman at the bottom of the tower hadn’t
even looked at him. His new intentions might have returned his
ability to fly below the radar.

He walked with an intense straightness, eyes
fixed forward, hoping that if he drew as little attention to
himself as possible, he could pass through. Just as he laid his
palm against the door he was stopped by a nurse. She was taller
than Oz and held herself like she’d been a gladiator in a past
life.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?”

The road to Hell is paved with good
intentions
.

Oz suddenly became aware of how awful he
looked. Awful and conspicuous. He was dirty and was sure he smelled
like BO and old food. Why can’t people smell their own stench?

“Me?” he asked.

The woman raised an eyebrow. He lost points
with one word.

“Yes. You. Do you have a visitor’s pass?”

“No. Do I need one?”

“If you want to go into the ICU, then
yes.”

“I see.”

Oz approached the desk and attempted a
winning smile. Charm was not something he was ever good at. She
wasn’t swayed.

“Name?”

He blanked. “I’m here to see... my nephew.
John?”

It was a common enough name. There had to be
a John on the floor somewhere.

“John what?”

“John Smith.”

John Smith, world’s most common name and the
first name he could summon under pressure.

“There’s no John Smith on this floor. Perhaps
you want to try with the receptionist downstairs?”

Seriously?

Like a ghost, a wolf flickered in Oz’s
peripheral vision.

“Look, you have to let me in,” Oz said, a
little too urgently. The woman placed a hand on the phone next to
her computer screen.

“Try downstairs, sir.”

The wolf sniffed at the door. Yellow smoke
erupted from its nostrils.

Oz considered his next move. It looked like
he and the wolf were at the same disadvantage – neither could walk
through walls. But the wolf was still invisible to the nurse, whose
hand hovered over the phone, waiting for some sign that she ought
to call security. He was using all of his brain power to concoct a
very good reason why she should let him through when the doors
swung open and a very tired looking couple exited the ICU. The wolf
bounded inside, and faced with no alternative Oz followed as fast
as his legs could carry him. The woman screamed for security as the
doors closed.

Oz had one chance. He could not afford to
screw it up. Oz ran even as his calves screamed for rest. The wolf
was fast, but Oz was fast enough not to lose it. He rounded a
corner into a long hallway, dodging medicinal carts and confused
nurses. Only one door was open on that floor.

But he wasn’t fast enough. Oz skittered into
the doorway just in time to see the wolf rip the Ba from Jamie’s
body. And as quickly as it’d appeared, it was gone, leaving Jamie’s
bent corpse behind.

Oz collapsed in a heap in the doorway. He
blacked out just as a herd of footsteps surrounded him.

Chapter
Nineteen

Oz’s eyelids hung heavily. It was too
difficult to open them, so he didn’t for a while. He stretched and
paper crinkled beneath him. He tried to lift his arms, but they
were bound.

Machines beeped somewhere beyond his vision
and patients coughed and gagged. He didn’t bother trying to
convince himself that it’d been a nightmare. The scene played over
and over again, each time Jamie’s face became more vivid, more
terrified.

He tried to sit up but a sharp pinch in his
arm and the tug of the handcuffs pulled him back. An IV dripped
clear liquid into his vein.

A nurse walked past the foot of the bed, nose
buried in a chart.

“Nurse!”

She didn’t look up.

“God dammit.”

“I’ll ask you to watch your language. There
are children on this floor,” a man said. He was short and squirrely
with a head like a cue ball. If it wasn’t for his stethoscope and
lab coat, Oz would’ve had an easier time believing he was a
taxidermist.

“I have to leave,” Oz said. “There’s nothing
wrong with me. Take these cuffs off. I haven’t done anything
wrong.”

The doctor wrote on his clipboard and fiddled
with Oz’s IV without looking at him. “You broke into the ICU and
passed out. You’re severely dehydrated. Once you’re up and at ‘em,
the police are going to retrieve you.” He made a note. “Which
should be soon,” and turned to leave.

“Wait.”

The doctor raised his eyebrow.

“The boy in that room. Is he okay?”

A brief shadow fell over the doctor’s face
before he shook his head once and disappeared in front of the
curtain dividing Oz’s bed from the rest of the ward.

He felt the blood drain from his face. His
head spun. The room slowly melted away until once again blackness
cradled his mind.

* * *

When he woke, Oz was not the least bit
surprised, but strangely relieved, to see Bard straddling a chair,
smoking the last puffs of a cigarette. He stared through Oz, as
though trying to penetrate the wall behind him. Bard looked older,
which Oz knew was impossible. Reapers didn’t age. Or did they? He
really didn’t know much of anything about reapers outside of their
reaping. He didn’t look angry, but his jaw hung loose like it was
too much effort to force his teeth to meet. And his eyes were
shadowed. Greyer.

Oz didn’t know what to say, so he remained
silent, propped against the poorly stuffed hospital pillows, and
waited for Bard to say something.

A long time passed, before Bard finished and
stubbed out his cigarette, and then spoke. “You get what you
wanted?”

“Jamie’s gone.”

Bard nodded. “So that’d be a ‘no,’ then?”

“I messed up. I know that. But you have to
help me fix it.”

“And how exactly do you suggest I do that?
From the looks of it, you’ve all but lost everything being a reaper
gave you, and then some. You probably don’t realize it, but the
wolves are stalking this place at this very moment. They haven’t
taken anyone yet, but that doesn’t mean they won’t. You’ve thrown
everyone off with your little stunt. Imagine Cora’s surprise when
she was all but run over by a candy-striper.”

“I know.”

“The kid was getting better. Pneumonia nearly
tore his lungs to shreds, but he was getting there. He wasn’t
supposed to die, Oz.”

“I don’t—”

“And let’s not even mention the other Bas
you’ve let the wolves sink their putrid teeth into. Bas that will
never cross over. Never get another shot at life. Because of you,
their fate has changed. You don’t fuck with Fate, Oz, because
she’ll ass-rape you with no lube, wearing a spiked dildo.”

“Jamie—”

“Forget it. You’re out of commission,
Princess. The wolves can have you for all I care.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Can’t I?”

Cora appeared from behind the curtain. “Give
us a minute, Bard?”

Bard rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” He turned
to Oz. “Your ass is mine once this little powwow is over.”

Cora waited for Bard’s footsteps to fade
before sitting on the edge of Oz’s bed. She held a plain manila
folder.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

“I know.”

“I’ve never seen anyone screw up as badly as
you. What were you even thinking?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should’ve listened to me in the
beginning. I knew you were having trouble but you were too
self-pitying to ask for help. I’ve been where you were, Oz. We all
have. Do you think this is easy for any of us?”

Oz closed his eyes. “Just spare me the
fucking lecture and let it happen already.”