IMMORTAL REMAINS - A TIM REAPER NOVEL

Chapter Two

I like cats.

They have a calming effect on me even though I know full well that every feline out there has an agenda and they pull stupid crap like knocking a half-full glass of water off the coffee table and onto your hardwood floor at three in the morning. I've tried to keep a cat or two over the years, but because of what I am or possibly what I've done, whenever I get within ten feet of a cat, it'll go into a violent display of hissing and spitting and stress shedding.

A few even shit themselves.

I'm serious.

There are reasons why this happens and I'm not going to get into that right now because despite the fact that cats generally dislike me, I still retain a measure of admiration for them due to their uncomplicated nature.

Human beings, on the other hand? Well, that's another story entirely.

I'm going to throw out a word that you might consider to be archaic. But I can't really find a better term to describe the true nature of those who slink about in the shadows, brandishing a shining steel blade or a garrotting wire. Those twisted individuals that like to prey on women with the same predatory qualities as the best killing machines in the animal kingdom. Let's just call them, evildoers. I make it my business to hunt those without a soul because the evil they carry with them is a cosmic abomination and all those assholes in heaven above and hell below know it. It's open season on serial killers and really, it should be for everyone when you think about it. No manner of psychiatric treatment or chemical castration is going to stop them from doing what they do, so why not hit them before they hit you? Don't get me wrong either; I enjoy removing their stain from this earth not because of any personal sense of duty to protect women or to mete out justice – far from it.

Most of the time women piss me off; freak me out, or both.

That's why in addition to cats, I also retain a certain fondness for hookers. I get what I want, they get paid and everyone's happy, right? It's a simple business transaction.

Still, someone has to put soulless serial killing assholes down because they truly are monsters. So when it comes to dealing with monsters, I like to think of myself as the guy at the grocery store produce department who sifts through hundreds of wax covered crates of red peppers, separating the cosmetically perfect ones from those that look like some kind of weird-ass genetic mutation. (The vast majority of humanity is far from perfect, incidentally, but whack-job serial killers like to think they're perfect in every conceivable way, and nobody likes a narcissist, especially if he's armed.)

No, I'm not like that guy on cable TV. If he were, in fact, a real human being, I'd pay him a visit, too. I'd probably show up when he's about to kill one of his own kind because there are few things better in this world than a two-for-one deal, am I right?

My name is Tim Reaper by the way, so, by now you've figured out what I am. I've been carrying out my little hobby for nearly a century and I'm good at it. I'm good at a lot of things you might frown on so I'll make it easy for you: try to think of me as a guy who does odd jobs for money. You may be in need of my services one day, so don't get all judgemental by what I do because a guy has to make a living.

The murderous prick I'd been alerted to had an interesting modus operandi. While serial killers like Ted Bundy would lure a potential victim to their vehicle and bash the person on the head to facilitate an abduction, this monster liked to use cats to lure his prey, and more precisely, kittens.

I cannot abide anyone hurting a frigging kitten. If I see cat abuse, I'll open a can of elemental whoop-ass all over the abuser. My concern for the overall welfare of local felines had intensified after I read in the paper about some maimed kittens that had been found alongside the dismembered remains of a pair of women. The cops weren't yet ready to say that a serial killer was on the loose, but the press sure as hell was. Normally I let these kinds of things find resolution without my involvement when I know there are cops already on the case. While I knew I would have little difficulty in finding the bastard who committed these heinous acts, there's this old saying you might be familiar with that governs my actions for better or worse. While it sucks in the human scheme of things, it's a necessary element in the cosmic grand design. In a nutshell: everyone has their time.