The Grim

Chapter Two

Chapter Two:

Traveling through a Realm Portal has always been a strange sensation to me. Almost like swimming in a weightless, airless place, then suddenly gravity is switched back on and you’re in a different realm. I’m fairly sure death—or the transition to the Realm of the Dead—feels the same. 

I feel my feet slam into pavement.

“We’re here,” I heard Alastor’s cocky voice; I sensed his gaze shift to the many people hustling around us, particularly to the women. Scowling, I elbowed him in the stomach. Opening my eyes, I finally saw that we were in New York City. I sighed in relief, I really don’t like humans, but it seems when you have snowy hair and lavender eyes, you get the least amount of attention here; probably because there are odder things to be seen. I winced to myself as a group of odd, colorful mascots passed by. This is a very strange city, I thought carefully to myself. I looked over to Bayne, who seemed to be having similar realizations. I nudged him gently, in effort to get him back from his mind. He mumbled something unintelligible—but seemed to be a remark about the flock of colorful wolf costume—and proceeded to pull a folded piece of paper from his jacket’s pocket. I could tell he was analyzing each name, scanning through their backgrounds and cautiously deciding whom we should reap and whom we should leave alone for the time being.

“Cassidy Smith,” his voice came out low and difficult to comprehend. After hearing the name I carefully sorted through my own mental archive. She is thirty-four years old with two children, a nine year old and a six year old. She had been a relatively good mother for being without a significant other for five years. Never finished high school, and works two part-time jobs. I’m not seeing why she deserves to die, unless we’ve suddenly increased the expectations for one to be worthy of living. Then I hit year thirty-two. Her children, covered in bruises. The woman had lost control, going on a drinking tyrant then coming home as an angry drunk. I stopped searching, bringing my mind back to reality. As Death Lords we have the ability to know everything about a person, simply by hearing their name. This is a blessing, yet a curse. On the positive aspect, it is a simple, convenient way to reap how we choose; on the negative side though, this knowledge is haunting, the sick and twisted things some people do will invade your dreams and morph them into nightmares.

I was snapped away from my thinking when Alastor tugged my forward, Bayne and Argo already ahead. I hurried along, which is difficult when you have the shortest kegs if the group. We began to pass red brick building splotched with spray paint, signifying we had reached the slums of the area. Eventually, after three blocks and passing by two threatening looking groups, we reached Lincoln Apartments, where Cassidy Smith resided. The apartments didn’t have a security system, so it was easy to travel up the concrete steps to apartment 12. Agro only had to touch the locks for them to disable and us walk leisurely in. As expected, Cassidy Smith was asleep on her bed, the children being at school, and a strong scent of liquor in the air.

“I guess it won’t be too difficult to fake a heart attack then,” I heard Bayne’s solemn voice from the corner; looking over I saw him fondling a prescription pill bottle, likely anti-depressants.

“Seems like she was trying to beat us to the punch,” Alastor remarked, his arms crossed in distain.

“Or she was just being reckless; she has a track record of that.” I commented quietly, accessing the snoozing figure. “Can we please just get this over with?”  My gaze shifted away swiftly. I heard a faint noise of agreement from Bayne. There was a bright flash, then a coat of mist coming from Bayne’s hand, ending with a black medieval long sword in his hand. The entire thing glistened, from the sleek blade to the chain that kept Bayne attached.

“You may pardon yourself if you’d prefer,” he noticed my discomfort. I nodded gratefully and exited, Alastor following close behind.

“You okay?” his voice was filled with concern. I gave him a curt nod, now standing fully tensed. “I understand you hate humans, Kylie, but they can’t hurt you.” I had the urge to tell him he’s wrong, that they can and they already have, but this was only an urge and he didn’t need to know the truth. It took all my power to resist the flashbacks that threatened to resurface. Alastor saw my strained expression and gently put a large hand on my cheek. I suppose he knew this always had a calming effect on me; so I leaned my head into his hand, relaxing. I sensed his soft smile as he used his rough thumb to slowly rub my jaw. I didn’t even hear the door click open, but Argo’s voice was very obvious.

“Am I interrupting a moment?” if I didn’t know any better, I swear I would’ve heard a tint of jealousy in his voice. Alastor’s voice turned from genuine to teasing as he picked up on Argo’s inflection as well. 

“Maybe, but why are you so curious?” he didn’t bother to move his hand from my face. Hastily, I took the initiative and pushed his hand away, my face becoming a scarlet color.

Luckily, Bayne stepped out of the doorway, saving me from a painfully awkward conversation. “No time for bickering you two, we have another job.” He was very professional, even as he swatted the back of Argo’s head. “Louis Johnson, deserving to suffer.” I always dread those words, deserve to suffer, not because I feel compassion for the being, but it meant I had to take care of it. Nightmare's purpose is to cause one pain or intense fear; the worst punishment. That’s the difference between Bayne and i; his execution is quick and of "natural" causes, whereas mine caused terrifying hallucinations and agonizing pain, until finally I’ve found they had enough and end them like a medieval criminal. This is why I am only told to execute the major criminals, serial killers or any other murderer for that matter. Louis Johnson. I thought through my archives carefully, learning every detail of this man's life. By the time I was finished, I was boiling with anger. he aimed for the teen girls that were troubled, the ones that people would just assume had ran away if they suddenly disappeared. Eighteen girls tortured to death in his cellar; he would starve one until desperation then have her eat the mangled remains of the one before her, proceeding to torture her to death. it was a cycle, one that had been going on for nearly a year. I couldn’t see if he currently had an abducted teen girl in his grasp, something I assume Bayne kept away the information in case she was too torn up and needed to be euthanized, Argo’s specialty. I focused back on Louis Johnson, pinpointing his location.