Notes on Death #B00054
- Gender: Female
- Hair color: Black
- Eye color: Brown
- Age: 17
- Species: Human
I saw him again. Not the person I came to release. No it was her killer. I don’t get to intervene. I am not allowed to interact with the scene. The first time I came face to face with a murderer I cried for days. Now, now I have become numb to reality of my job. Death happens, and I will be there.
This one, the killer, I watched die. I stood over his corpse for a second as fate, or something much more twisted, intervened and claimed his soul. #A090440. I didn’t stay long. The thing that claimed him was strong. More powerful that I had seen before and I did not wish to test my powers longer than needed. When I went back to Lady Anna with my report on the situation, there was a look on her face I never saw before. I might suggest it fear if I thought Lady Anna had that ability. She is the oldest Reaper I have met, but she tells me there are ones much much older. I guess my circle of reapers is small.
I’ve seen him once since his death. Something tells me that there will be a day that I come to reap him, and when that day happens he won’t have the facial expression I like. I will see the fear that I’ve only saw once before that what greets him on the other side wasn’t going into be peaceful.
The blood on #A090440 hands were both his and the man that laid at his feet. And I struggled. I struggled not to scream at the killer. I struggled not to intervene. To yell at the top of my lungs about how he was once one of them, and ask him why he was doing this now.
It has been a lifetime since I felt that. To feel alive enough to want to be anger. It must been that anger that messed with my shields. No one see me when I was there working. Only the soul I am there for. Not even the God that claimed #A090440 for his own.
So when the pretty man in front of me, #A090440, spoke directly to me I had the desire to run. I was there for a job. A job that normally bored me, but at that moment as I stared through the space between me and the Killer, I felt the hairs on my body raise as goosebumps formed over my skin. I know I will hear his voice in my sleep tonight.
“I don’t know who you are, but I want your talent.”
What does this even mean? Talent? I have to assume he speaks of my ability to stand here in the middle of a house and not be noticed by the world. To not leave behind a sound or a fingerprint. For this time, while the spell I weaved before coming upon the street of the house that #B00054 body lied, kept my existences out of reality. I was as much of a soul as the one lingering in the body laying between us.
The releasing of the soul, #B00054, was easy. She didn’t want to stay. She looked up at her Killer, than at me, and once more looked back her Killer before fading from this world. So quickly her face still held a look of shock over the moment.
And I was there staring at this man. His dark hair hung slightly on his face. A cocky smile filled his mouth as he looked directly at me. He didn’t know who I was. At least there was a plus, and the way he said it suggest he really couldn’t see me. Didn’t know my black hair or my average height. The way he spoke, he didn’t know if I was male or female. My identity, at least for the moment, was protected. I still lived a normal life during the day. I had a job as a small bookstore that specialized in occult and used books. I ate more junk food than needed. I didn’t know what happen to reaper’s who identities were compromised. I assumed that supernatural knew I was more than human when I came across them within the real world. Was there a witness protection for reapers? Would I need to leave my small cramped apartment and my roommate Hartley? While we might not have been the best of friends, she and I had become sisters in the last 10 years. We both understand the heartbroken aspect of reality.
I have no true information when I arrive at the scene for a release. I don’t know who I will be helping, or what might happen. This means I don’t know when the next time I will see him. I have a fear now that I may walk past him on the street and be forced to pretend I don’t know him. Can I do that? Do the rules apply to my real life? I know they do. My human-like days are only filler. I don’t think I will find love. How do you love someone that can look a Killer in the face and not blink? I see what love creates. It creates deaths and murders. And Work-a-holic would be an understatement. This body, though it does need sleep and food, will no longer create children. It is a golem to hold my soul while I continue to work in a world I removed myself from.
For once, when the soul was gone, I was. I looked once more in the face of Killer. He was beautiful. That unhealthy kind of beautiful that suggest it didn’t come without a price to pay. I am sure it is part of the reason why he kills. There is something more about him, that the deaths by his hands are not simple for the thrill of the moment. There is more. I’m just not sure I want to know.