An Act of Death [William T. Spears x Reader]

06 White Day pt.2

"What is it?" 

    She blinked. "Huh?"

"You've checked the time at least twenty times in the past hour."

    "It's nothing." 

"I insist. You can’t be distracted when we arrive. "

    "I'm waiting for it to be midnight." 

Under normal circumstances, ______ would've been beaming. After all, this was arguably the highlight of her new life: breath-taking scenery and awe-inspiring sights. But no matter how difficult she tried to take it all in, she couldn't defeat the compulsion of checking her watch. It was a year ago today that her brother died and she lived. It was a day that would be forever ingrained into her mind, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to not break down on the spot. It was for this reason that she was relieved to be out in the field as opposed to alone in her apartment, her dignity being the glue that was holding her together. Desperately she wanted the clock to strike midnight and the day to come to an end, and for her to get swept back into routine. 

"You shouldn't allow a mere date to trouble you." William said. “You should grieve and honor one’s memory in its entirety, not their last moments.”

‘Its entirety...’ She considered, closing her eyes and inhaling. She remembered the way they were laughing that morning, the way her brother’s eyes would glimmer when he talked about the pretty girl from the bakery. A smile threatened to appear on her face as she recalled these memories. 

She opened her eyes, looking at the back of William, who was a few paces ahead of her as they ran at speeds that would make a human double-take. 

She nodded, even though he couldn’t possibly see. “You’re right. Besides, one good thing happened that day.”  

“And that is?” He asked.

“... Nevermind.” She dismissed, the smile surfacing. ‘I met you,’ She wanted to say. 

When they came to a stop in the garden of a colossal mansion, the rain was over. She rolled up her sleeves and drew her death scythe. William gave her a sideways glance, as if about to comment on the fact that she still had a trainee sickle, but must’ve decided to let it rest. “We’re late by an hour. Make haste.”

“Got it.” She said, locating the basement entrance. She took the lead, descending the crumbling stairs with resounding footsteps. There were no traces of life, only the pungent smell of blood. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, all that was left between them and the cases was a heavy door. Even with her strength, it took some time to force open. 

Just as it was giving way, she heard William sharply inhale. “Wait, _______--”

But it was too late.

One instant, she was looking at an overwhelming amount of flesh. The next, she was staring wide-eyed into William’s chest and couldn’t breathe. 

“______, are you...? ______?”

“I… um… yes, I’m just… I--” She couldn’t find the words to speak coherently. Her mind was lagging, still trying to process what she had just seen. She felt utterly incapable of moving, let alone pushing past the man obstructing her view. 

“Look at me. Breathe.” William said, taking hold of her shoulder. 

She nodded, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m--”

“Don’t apologize; compose yourself.” William said. “I’m going to move, and you’re going to help me collect these souls."

“Okay.” 

William moved, and she felt her stomach lurch. He took it upon himself to start on the most gruesome of the corpses, a cinematic record pouring out of what was once a woman. "Cynthia Babineaux, born on the 20th of June, 1868..."

She began her work on the other side of the room on a mere gunshot victim. "Adalene Solomon, born on the 1st of May, 1866. Died today on March 14th, 1889 from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. Remarks: None."

Many of the twenty-two victims were barely distinguishable from another. Some had been thoroughly indulged by the psychopaths that had captured them, whilst others were lucky enough to have been given a swifter end. Judging by the cinematic records, something must've interrupted the perpetrators in the middle of the killings, forcing them to finish off a bulk of the women with bullets instead of knives before a swift exit. While she had known that as a Shinigami, she was bound to see the worst of the human race, she was not prepared for this. 

She was moving robotically: Approach the body. Provoke the cinematic records. Watch their tales turn from sparkling to rusted. Read out the proclamation of death. Sign and seal. Repeat. 

These were people with real lives, real loved ones, and real dreams. All abducted and murdered for the mere entertainment of others. But it wasn't her job to identify how sick, twisted, horrific, or infuriating a case was. She was to collect the soul and move on to the next. "Rachel Durant, born on the 11th of October. Died today on March 14th, 1889 from blood loss."

So she did the next. And the next. And at some point, William caught her arm mid-swing. "I already collected this one. We're done."

It wasn't until that instant that she realized she was trembling. She didn’t care how weak it appeared or how her boss would interpret it: she just moved closer and leaned her head onto his chest. He flinched as he always did when someone dared touch him. “William?”

“Yes?” He replied.

“Can you just... stand here for a second?”

“I can.” He said, voice low. Was he angry at her? How couldn’t he be, having warned her time and time again to not bring unnecessary emotions to the job? She imagined she looked utterly foolish now, a mere human trying to play shinigami! But before she could allow this toxic thought to engulf her, William cleared his throat. “When I supervised Ronald Knox on one of his first cases, he lost his stomach at the sight of a flaying.”

______ looked up in surprise.

“During the Napoleonic Wars, both Eric Slingby and Alan Humphries avoided domestic commissions like the plague because they couldn’t bear to see so many children killed in the crossfire.”

“And when I went on my first assignment alone, I nearly put my job in jeopardy after seeing the results of crass human experimentation.” William said, reaching his conclusion. “Being born shinigami has little significance. We are not exempt from the horror and the distress that you are feeling now; however, many of us have witnessed far worse. We come to terms with the fact that we cannot play God, and discover our own methods to internalize our emotions.”

“Thank you, William. I apologize for being unprofessional.”

“It’s only to be expected when you haven’t been at this for very long.” He said, the two parting. They ascended the stairs from whence they came and began the long journey home. 

* * *

“You don’t have to walk me home.” 

    “I’m not walking you home. This is the way to my apartment.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

    “...”

Exhausted wasn’t nearly sufficient in describing how she felt. Looking at William, she could tell that she wasn’t the only one ready to drop dead. By now it was the early morning, and _____ was desperate to hit the pillow before the sun rose. However, when they reached her street, walking past the familiar park benches, it was evident that something was wrong. On the second floor where her apartment door was, there was a small crowd of people from the office. Among them was a familiar streak of blonde. After exchanging glances with William, they leapt up the stairs. 

Ronald Knox was scratching the back of his head. “Huh? What are you two doing together so late?”

“We just got back from some collections in France.” ______ said, annoyed. “What the hell happened? Who kicked down my front door?”

“We haven’t the foggiest. One of your neighbors saw that the door was busted and called the authorities, and they passed on the case to us once they realized who lived here. It looks like someone broke down your door, searched the apartment, and left the way they came. No prints, just a bloody mess.” Ronald said, stepping aside and allowing her to walk through. Surely enough, the place was trashed. Even though it was a pretty bare living space to begin with, whoever had broken in had been anything but discreet. Knox continued, “Have any idea what they were looking for?”

“I don’t have anything from the office in here.” ______ said, looking around. “Nor do I have anything of real value… I--”

She went silent. ‘No… it couldn’t be.’

She dashed to her bedroom, eyes wide as she saw that her drawers were all ripped from her dresser. Sure enough, the very object she feared was taken was nowhere to be seen. “This doesn’t make any sense... Why would someone...?”

“What’s missing?” Ronald asked.

“They took my... um...” She began with uncertainty. Was it alright for her to admit what it was. She looked straight at William as he followed them in, and he grimaced, knowing exactly what was causing her such a fuss.

“They stole ______’s family photograph.”

If Ronald was confused before, now he was completely bewildered. “The hell would someone want that for?”

“Someone is trying to get to ______ on a personal level.” William said, breathing a sigh. “We can investigate further later. Gather your things.”

“I don't really get what's going on, but you can crash at my place if you like.” Ronald offered with a wink. 

William looked at him callously. “Knox…”

“Don’t worry, Senpai. I’ve got a spare futon.” Ronald said, before adding, “Unless ______ says otherwise, of course.”

She cut in, feeling as if they were making all the important decisions for her. “Hey, wait a sec--”

“Very well. You can take tomorrow off, ______.” William said, leaving her standing there with a grinning Ronald Knox. 

“You heard the man. Get your things.” Ronald said, grinning at her.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to say ‘otherwise,’ Knox.”

“Oi, I told you it’s ‘Senpai!'”