A full week had passed since the whole incident with Alfred’s family. Alfred had started to relax about the whole situation, and things returned to normal. Alfred and Melanie were walking home from the convenience store and were discussing plans for next week.

“The new bowling alley on 17th Street is going to open on Thursday, we should go check it out.” Melanie said as she grabbed Alfred’s arm and clung to his side. She started doing this when she wanted to convince him to do things with her. He didn’t mind it, but found it unfair that she’d manipulate him in a loving way.

“If you want to go, I’ll gladly join you.” Alfred said, falling victim to Melanie’s words and arm hug once again. Melanie responded with a wide smile and a tighter hug.

They had rounded a corner on 5th Avenue when Alfred heard a loud bang, like a gunshot, behind him a ways away. Time seemed to stop, then resumed as someone yelled about a gun and everyone in the area started to panic.

Alfred looked over at Melanie, who’d gone silent and still. She stood rigid, with a growing stain of red on her chest. Whoever shot that gun had sent the bullet straight through her.

“Mel? MEL?! NO! NO, WHAT HAPPENED?!” Alfred screamed as Melanie fell to the ground, breathing shallowly. He held onto her and started to cry as someone in front of him started yelling for a doctor.

“Al… it’s ok. I-I’m ok… I love… you…” Melanie whispered as her eyes started to roll into her head and her eyelids closed. Alfred started to shake as her now dead body laid in his lap. Then realization flooded his mind.

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It was his family. Whether they hired someone or one of his relatives did it themselves, he didn’t know, but he knew his family did this. Then Alfred had a flash of a memory of a long steel scythe his uncle had given him as a gift when he was younger as a wall decoration.

A scythe as real as any, and sharp enough to slice a person in half with enough force. Alfred stood up, allowing Melanie’s corpse to fall to the ground. All the sound around him had faded from his ears and he started running.

He ran towards his ruined apartment he used to live in, inside, to his room, under his bed, and grabbed the long suitcase. The silver outside plate of the suitcase shined in his face as he opened it. The scythe laid inside, three spots on the shaft converted to wheels so it could be folded to a smaller size so it can fit in the suitcase.

Alfred pulled out the scythe and released the restraining pin, allowing the scythe to unfold to its original shape and size, a weapon wielded by the Grim Reaper, and a sign of death, perfect.

Rage flooded Alfred’s mind and roared in his ears as he gripped the scythe shaft, folded it back up, put it in the suitcase, locked the case, then made his way back to his family penthouse.

He remembered he had a small dart gun that he used to carry with tranq darts in case he was mugged on the street and was grateful he put that in the suitcase too, under the scythe’s storage foam he had put in the suitcase.

. . . . .

Alfred reached his parent’s building, made his way up to the top floor, and stood outside the penthouse door. He opened the suitcase quietly, pulled out the scythe, and removed the foam under it from the case, revealing the dart gun.

He then put the dart gun in his belt and unfolded the scythe. He reached for the door handle and opened the door. As he stepped into the penthouse, the main foyer was empty, meaning everyone was in a different room.

“Good, then I can take each of them by surprise.” He thought as he closed the door behind him and quietly made his way to the library, where he knew his father would be alone.

He slipped into the library, and there was his father, in a chair facing away from the door, reading something. Alfred crept towards him and stood behind him, scythe in hand, like a Grim Reaper over the soul of a fallen person. He raised his scythe, then aimed for his father’s neck.

“Goodbye, murderer.” He whispered as he swung the blade down on his father’s throat. Before his blade made contact, his father had just enough time to hear him, turn his head, and look at his son as his life came to an end.