Reaper

Prologue

 The following is a recording of the interactions between Federal Investigator John Sullivan and Ralph Miller, on the supposed disappearance of his wife, Katie Dawes Miller, last seen by her husband on the night of June 7, 2043. This recording takes place on June 15, 2043.

"You know, I've heard things. People disappearing here and there, all their stuff gone, as if they never existed. That's what happened with Katie. Her and I, we were solid. She would never leave me, she couldn't. She knew I'd find her, anyway."

"Mr. Miller, were you and Mrs. Miller having marital problems? You abusing her, maybe?"

"Nah, man, I would never lay a finger on her. Like I said, we were...are solid."

"Mr. Miller, local police received a call from your wife two months ago. She said she was hurt and she needed help."

"Oh, that? Yeah, I remember. The police showed up. She'd hit her head on the coffee table. She was always such a klutz."

"She said you did it."

"Well, she must've had some amnesia or something. She whacked herself pretty bad, I wouldn't put it past her."

"Mr. Miller, is it reasonable to assume that you were abusing your wife?"

"Man, why do you keep asking me that? Katie and I were fine, nothing was wrong, you understand me? She tripped a lot, had two left feet and all, alright?"

"My apologies, Mr. Miller. Please continue."

"Anyway. We went to bed the night before. Morning came around, I turned over to give her a good-morning kiss, and she had split. All her stuff was gone. I actually woke up in my apartment, in a single bed, the same apartment I used to live in during college, before I married her. All our pictures were gone, all our receipts too; Katie always liked to keep them. Man, it was like waking up from a... a very long dream. My old couch was back: the maroon, moth-eaten one that she made me get rid of because it didn't match our carpet, and it smelled like old beer. We'd had some unpaid mortgage bills on our house too, those were gone, and when I called my realtor, she said that a family of four had been living in our house, going on fourteen years."

"Mr. Miller, are you telling me that after being married to your wife for five years, you woke up in an exact replica of your apartment building from before your marriage?"

"Yes, sir. I called up my mom, and she was all like, 'Katie who?' I called up all my friends, all her friends, and they all had no idea who Katie Dawes was. It was like I time traveled back to 2037. My friend from college showed up at my door talking about how much fun we had at the strip club last night. I remember the strip club - the girls were fantastic - but I hadn't seen or talked the guy in six years."

"Mr. Miller, do you realize how unbelievable your story is?"

"Yes, sir, I do. But, I've done my research. Like I said, I've heard things. Found them on an online forum. Five people there had gone through the same exact thing, but it was their coworker, or their friend or something, or a girl they knew from college. They all remember who they lost, and they weren't even that close to the person. The guy that knew the girl from college called her home phone to catch up 'cause he he still had game, or something, and got her husband, 'cept, it wasn't her husband. He had never even heard of a Matilda Rickshaw - that was the girl - swore on his mother's grave."

"Mr. Miller, there are no records of a Katie Dawes Miller in our database."

"...That-that's impossible... She was born on June 16, 2014. Went to Boca Ciega High School, class of 32'. She ranked 3rd in her class at Georgia Tech; she majored in aeronautics engineering; met me at a convention and married me one year later on April 21, 2037. She wanted two kids and three dogs; she was a natural redhead; she played the violin for sixteen years before dropping it, because I thought it sounded stupid, and you're telling me that my wife never existed?"

"Not necessarily, Mr. Miller."

"What do you mean?"

"There was a discrepancy."

"What was it?"

"It said that you graduated from Lake View High School on May 24, 2034."

"Wait... I graduated in 2033. I'm a year older than Katie, not two."

"Exactly, Mr. Miller. I assume you bought a new couch to replace your old one? Black leather? Big gaping hole in the side?"

"Yeah, the guy we bought it from was a real sleaze. What's that got to do with anything?"

"We found your partially burned high school diploma tucked in the scorched folds of your holey couch in a dump in the middle of Kansas. Ralph Marcus Miller, class of 33'."

"That's right... But how'd you find it?"

"Locals called in a suspicious looking guy setting fire to a bunch of junk. Figured it was a reckless teenager causing trouble. They didn't get a good look at him, but they got the plates. Tracked it through satellite imaging, found it in front of an old lady's house forty-seven miles from the drop. Said she's had that car for ten years, and just drove to pick up groceries two hours earlier."

"But that's impossible, if the guy had it, right?"

"Supposedly. We're looking into it."

"So you found my diploma. You think the Reaper made a mistake?"

"The Reaper?"

"Yeah. It's what we call him. The five of us. Cause he takes stuff."

"Well, that's stupid."

"Can you just answer my question, please?"

"So, the so-called 'Reaper' somehow hacked into the database, theoretically erased Katie Dawes' file, supposedly rewrote yours, and maybe made a slight error. It seems like a pretty large leap to me. Maybe you're all just a cult of overgrown teenagers looking for a good time at the sake of mine."

"But, we're not."

"Leave that up to me. In the meantime, I'm going to need a list of those five people."

"Anything to find Katie. I want her back, Detective Sullivan. She's mine, and I want her back."

"I'll do my best, kid."

 End of recording.