Chapter 74 - Drag Me to Hell
Russel sprinted as fast as he could, his heavy boots silent as they slammed against the ground. The strangeness of it all bewildered him. He didn’t feel his breath catching or his muscles straining from exertion. It was as if he was made of air, and for all he knew, that might be close to the truth. He could see his body, his shirt stained with blood, and he remembered being shot—the pain and desperation as he tried to run, prioritizing escape while knowing he needed medical treatment.
He had planned to get away and tend to the wound, but he never got that far. He knew that now. It was all so surreal, yet undeniable. He was dead, now a spirit, and something was chasing him. It looked like a girl at first glance, but everything about her was wrong.
He glanced over his shoulder, confirming she was still after him, scythe held at her side. Her eyes glowed red, her white hair flowed like mist, and her skin was so pale it seemed to reject color altogether. The dark clothing she wore was blacker than any black he had ever seen, adding to her eerie presence.
Russel’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. What had he done to deserve this? Was this some kind of punishment? As he rounded a corner, he collided with a group of teenagers hanging out near a graffiti-covered wall, except he went right through them. He slowed down, turning as he tried to comprehend it. They didn’t even flinch, with the most reaction being a shiver. That only confirmed what he had already realized—he was truly a ghost.
The girl came around the corner, walking calmly. “Excuse me,” she said softly to the teens as she stepped around them. They moved, so they did notice her, except they hardly paid her any mind. How could they not react to seeing this red-eyed freak!? Her glowing eyes locked with Russel’s, and he stepped backward, poised to fight.
“Stay away from me!” Russel shouted, his voice trembling. “I don’t know what you are, but you’re not taking me!” For the first time in many years, he was afraid. He thought he had conquered fear long ago, during those days when he trembled and prayed his father would forget his presence while screaming and throwing things around. That fearful little boy had disappeared long ago. But now, as this spectral girl walked toward him, he felt it again—fear.
She gripped the scythe with both hands and raised it, the blade suddenly taking on a red aura. It drew his gaze, a horrifying presence, and somehow he knew things about it. He didn’t know how, but he just knew if that blade touched him, he would go somewhere far worse than prison.
“You can try running if you want,” the girl said, “but please don’t. You can’t get away. I’m sorry… I don’t know who you are or how you ended up like this, but your fate is sealed.”
He gritted his teeth and reached to his side, feeling his pistol, holstered where his shirt covered it. “Oh yeah? Is that what you think?” he asked.
With a motion he’d practiced a thousand times, he unholstered the gun, swinging it into position, his finger curling around the trigger. “DIE! You fucking creepy bitch!” He fired repeatedly, feeling the familiar recoil send a shock through his arm. The earsplitting bang always comforted him, making him feel powerful, elevating him from a weak man to someone who could have anything he wanted.
He kept the girl between the sights of the gun, firing again and again. But something was wrong. She wasn’t falling, she wasn’t turning to run—she wasn’t even flinching! His eyes widened in horror as he stared at the spectral girl.
Her expression changed, her passive stare turning to anger. “I see,” she said. “You’re the type who solves problems with force. I want to feel bad for you. I don’t know what hell is like, and I don’t know if spirits have any chance for redemption there. But you shot at a pregnant woman! She wasn’t even a threat! What if you had hit her?”
What could he say? He hadn’t really thought about it. Whether he hit John’s girl or not, it didn’t matter. He knew he was screwed. He let the situation get out of hand, and there was no way out. When she followed him, screaming at him, it pissed him off, and he just wanted to shut her up. He was bleeding out, and she couldn’t just shut her damn mouth.
The spectral girl took another step forward. “You deserve hell. I bet you didn’t even think about it. I bet you didn’t consider the pain her loved ones would feel, let alone the man you actually killed.”
He backed away, his mind racing, trying to grasp any justification, any excuse. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!” he shouted. His gun felt like dead weight in his hand. “I was desperate! I had no other choice!”
“Exactly. You’re not sorry at all. You’re only thinking of yourself. I’ve reaped many spirits this last summer. Some are more selfish than others, but they all worry about who they are leaving behind and what will happen now that they’re gone. But you don’t care about that. You only care about what’s affecting you.”
“SO WHAT! You think that punk I shot was any better? That guy was a real scumbag. He—”
“He begged me to ask his girlfriend for forgiveness!” the girl shouted. “He expressed remorse that he wouldn’t be there for his child! Do you know how much it hurts to reap someone like that, knowing all you can do is offer a few kind words? No, you wouldn’t get it.”
Russel raised an eyebrow, watching as the scythe lowered slightly. This girl’s hands were shaking, and there were tears in her eyes. He didn’t get it. Was she crying for John or something else? Suddenly, she didn’t look so intimidating. She looked like a teenage girl. Granted, she had red eyes and white skin, but her posture, her demeanor—this was just a kid. Was he really going to be lectured by a kid?
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
He shook his head and laughed, masking his fear with bravado. “You really are just a kid, huh? What do you know about my life? You have no idea what I’ve been through!” Her eyes narrowed, though she seemed unsure of herself, so he continued. “It’s an unforgiving world. You either watch your own back and do what you have to do to survive, or you let the world walk all over you. What right do you have to judge me?”
He wasn’t sure how he would get out of this, but he saw an opening. As long as she kept that uncertain gaze in her eyes, perhaps he could find a way out.
“I know…” the girl said. He had thought she was responding to him, but she looked down and to her left. “I never had to do this before… so just give me a second.”
Russel raised an eyebrow. Was she just talking to herself now? Did she hear voices? Great, now to top everything off, his pursuer wasn’t even mentally stable. But maybe he could use that to his advantage.
“That’s right…” she exhaled. “I’m just the clean-up crew… it’s just my job.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Russel said. “Look, I can see you don’t want to… uh… do this. So why don’t you just go the other way and…” His words trailed off when her gaze returned to him, her glowing red eyes much more intense and determined. She took a step forward, and he took a step back, gripping the useless gun in his hand. “H-hey, come on, back off. You don’t want to do this, right? Right?”
“No… I don’t. But let me tell you something. I’m like this because I was the victim of someone else who didn’t give a damn about who they hurt. It takes someone like you to cause pain while lacking empathy. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be like you. This isn’t just a job, but I still have to do it.”
“Whoa, whoa, hang on! I have no idea what you’re talking about, kid!”
“Goodbye, Russel De’Grasse. Whatever happens to you in the next life, I hope it’s just.”
Then she sprinted toward him. Before he could think of anything to say or even turn to run, she was on him. The scythe passed through him, a cold, unnerving sensation, and suddenly his body felt like it was disintegrating, piece by piece. His form started to lose cohesion. His fingers and toes were the first to go, dissolving into wisps of smoke. A chill spread up his arms and legs, leaving nothing but a ghostly numbness in its wake.
He screamed, his voice echoing in his own head. The girl became taller, or rather, he became smaller as he was dragged into the ground by some strange, oppressive force. He struggled, but it was futile. The more he fought, the faster he sank until he was pulled into utter darkness. The darkness below was absolute, a void that swallowed all light and sound. He didn’t know what awaited him, but he screamed with regret, knowing that if there was ever a chance to avoid this fate, it was long gone, and he had missed it.
Before the darkness consumed him entirely, the last thing he saw was the spectral girl, staring down at him with those haunting red eyes.
***
Morrigan exhaled, letting the scythe slip from her fingers and dissolve into red flame as it hit the ground. Her stomach churned. She knew that spirit was evil and deserved eternal damnation, but he had looked so scared and anguished in his last moments, and she was the one who sent him there.
“Thank god that’s over…” she muttered, shuddering. She knew it wouldn’t be the last time she’d have to send someone to hell. Maybe she’d get used to it over time. “Well, that’s the last one for today—” She turned and jumped back when she saw someone standing over her shoulder.
It was the person she had spotted across the street earlier, wearing a black cloak, their face completely shrouded under the hood. Up close, Morrigan was fairly sure it was a woman; even through the loose cloak, there were subtle hints in her posture and body shape that gave it away.
“Um… hi?” Morrigan asked.
If there were any doubts about the stranger’s gender, they ended once she spoke. “Hm, you really are quite slow, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me…?” Morrigan said dryly as the cloaked girl walked past her. She stood at the spot where Russel had been dragged to hell and seemed to examine it. Morrigan glanced down to the end of the girl’s sleeves just to confirm something. They were not skeletal hands, but they were unnaturally white, just like Morrigan’s own.
“For a moment, it seemed you were not going to reap him after all. Lucky for you, I can mark that you’ve completed your task successfully… though it was handled quite inefficiently. I suppose I’ll have to make a few negative comments in my report.”
Morrigan blinked as it came together. “Report? So you’re… Reaper I.A?” She still hadn’t gotten a good look at the girl’s face.
The cloaked figure turned slightly. Her face was still heavily shrouded in the darkness of her hood, but Morrigan could see the glow of her red eyes as she stared back at her. “I’ve been tasked with evaluating your performance. Unfortunately, I’m not too impressed. You showed hesitation.”
“Hesitation?” Morrigan’s irritation flared. “I did the job, didn’t I? The spirit was sent to hell, as it was supposed to be.”
“Mmmm, it seemed he almost talked you out of it. Tell me something—why spare empathy for scum like him? He would have killed a pregnant woman without a second thought and likewise would have killed you if he were able to.”
“W-well… because he’s human. I’m sure he wasn’t a great guy, but I can’t just let myself be heartless about something like that. I don’t want to get into the mindset of not seeing these spirits as human, no matter the situation.”
The other reaper girl bent over slightly and laughed. “Oh, yes, you certainly are his apprentice. That takes me back.”
Then, Noir finally spoke up. “It is you!” he said with an angry hiss in his voice.
The girl turned and lifted her hood, and finally, Morrigan saw her. Red eyes, pale white skin, and something else stood out. Around her eyes and mouth, there were dotted scars, the remnants of stitches that had once sealed them shut. The scars crisscrossed her lips and eyelids, creating a haunting pattern of dark, puckered skin against her otherwise smooth complexion.
She smirked, the motion making the scars on her lips stretch unnervingly. “It’s been a while, Noir. So, how has Master been?”
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