Topic: Death & Mr. Holiday

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:22 EST

Milo Holiday had started out as a simple name on a plain, coffee stained piece of notebook paper. Names and dates were all that ever mattered to a person in Orchid?s profession. They were never paupers and kings and mothers and fathers; they were just names and dates in the end.

?Congratulations, Mr. Holiday,? she whispered, dragging an inky black line through the hastily written name, ?you?re my last job for the day.?

To anyone else in the greasy spoon caf? that night, Orchid seemed like just another pretty girl out way too late in a bad part of town. She was of average height and curvy in all of the right places with a messy red shock of hair hidden beneath a tattered black knit toboggan. Dressed in a baggy purple t-shirt hidden beneath an oversized black hooded sweatshirt, a pair of ripped blue jeans and old black trainers, Orchid was everything but threatening.

For the most part, Orchid was left to her own devices in the little diner and even she had to admit that the low hum of the patrons around her proved quite comforting, but she couldn?t quite shake the feeling of eyes boring into the back of her skull. .

Sighing, she took a sip of the cold, thick coffee that she had been nursing for half an hour and narrowed her eyes before speaking.

?Yeah, can I help you??

The waitress scurried around the table then, makeup caked face distorting into a smile that made Orchid?s skin crawl.

?Honey, I couldn?t help but notice that you got a lot of names on that list.?
The woman?s voice was syrupy sweet, fake and made Orchid wonder if there was a lot of things that she ?couldn?t help but? noticing.

To her credit and her patience, Orchid shot the woman a smile and shrugged.

?It?s for my job.?

The waitress, Judith (from the name on the tag pinned to her pink uniform), just laughed and topped off the cold cup of coffee-flavored mud.

?Say no more, sugar. I see girls like you in here all of the time makin? lists so they can figure out who the daddy is.?

Mortified to the point of muteness, Orchid could only watch as Judith pressed one fat finger to her lips and gave a wink.

?Don?t you worry that pretty little head, ? she continued, ? your secret is safe with me.?

With that the plump little waitress scurried off to another table with that Bozo the clown smile never leaving her face while Orchid sat, wide eyed with her jaw on the table.

?She actually thinks I?m a whore, ? she whispered, hand digging around her purse for a five dollar bill. Five dollars was a lot for a cup of coffee that left her mouth tasting like cement, but she was far too uncomfortable to stick around for change.

Soon Orchid was shouldering the door of the caf? open and fishing around in her bag for the keys to her scooter. She shuddered as she saw Judith waving to her from the corner of her eye. Sucking in a deep breath of blissfully cool night air, Orchid?s cloudy blue hues scoped out the cracked tar parking lot, coming to rest on a dented and scuffed yellow Vespa.

Grinning from ear to ear, she tossed her keys into the air and the telltale jingle mingled with the soft, crunchy padding of ratty old sneakers against asphalt.

?People,? she growled between clinched teeth to the blank-slate night sky, ?are oblivious. A whore, huh? If she hadn?t caught me off guard then maybe I would have informed her that I haven?t been laid since World War 2?.

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:23 EST

Milo Holiday, 27, of Rural Haven, South Carolina was among the recently deceased. Most people resigned to the fact that they were dead, but not Milo. The startling revelation of his own demise sat on him like a ton of bricks, but no matter how hard he had tried and even though there were currently one hundred angry messages on his answering machine from his irate boss, he couldn?t convince himself otherwise.

It had happened the night before, he gathered, when instead of working on his newspaper assignment he had been out partying with the boys from Lyon?s Construction. Just some good old boys drinking beers and entertaining one another with stories relating to the ongoing game of chasing tail.

Most of the night had been a liquor soaked blur and Milo had awoken the next morning cold, scared, and alone. He was soaking wet from head to toe, covered in silt, fish shit and sand. Sucking in a deep breath had proved fruitless, save for a horrible rattle deep in his chest.

Coughing and straining, Milo rolled onto his hands and knees, trying to force whatever it was up and out of his lungs. An hour and a half had passed and the man, confused as to why he hadn?t suffocated, had managed to form a large puddle of water beneath his body.

?How in the hell is this happening?? he croaked out, his voice raspy and low, as if from years of disuse.

And then it had flooded back to him, as hard-hitting to his mind as a punch to the gut. Crawling on all fours to a decaying tree stump, Milo had struggled to pull himself up and onto the rotting wood.

?We were on the dock, ? he patted his pockets down, searching for a cigarette and it occurred to him that even if he was to find them, they would be just as wet and waterlogged as the rest of him. Sighing, he rested his face in his hands.

?I remember a splash, ? he said, his words slow and drawn out, ?and then it was dark.?

No heartbeat, no lung functions and he was pretty damned sure that he had shit himself; all of these things pointed to the most impossible of occurrences. Milo Holiday had died, but dead people to his knowledge did not walk around and think and talk.

Stumbling along the broken bottle-riddled trail back to town, Milo?s panic gave way to sheer and unbridled terror.

?I could go to the hospital?, he said, and no sooner did the words pass his lips did he burst into a fit of laughter.

?Oh yeah, ? he continued, ? ?Doc, I?m pretty sure I died last night. How ya say? Well, I got plastered beyond belief and drowned. Witnesses? Oh yeah! The McClure boys down at Lyons, but don?t get too mad at ?em because they?re,? ? and he laughed again,? ?well doc, they?re good ol? boys.??

Milo stopped laughing when it dawned on him that none of it was very funny at all.

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:28 EST

Orchid glared at the mechanic, her lip curled into a disgusted sneer.

?Son of a bitch! How much did you just say??

The mechanic snorted, not in the least bit phased, and wiped his greasy hands on the oil spill that coated his pants.

?500 dollars,? he replied, ?but I gotta tell ya cookie, that hunk-a-junk out there ain?t even worth half of that.?

Nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, Orchid leaped from the stack of tires that she had been perched upon.

?That ?hunk-a-junk?, ? she spat, ? is a vintage 1970 Vespa! Have some respect!?

She hated it when anyone put down her scooter. In almost forty years there had never been a problem with it and the fact that there was now unnerved Orchid.

?I?ll tell you what cookie,? the mechanic?s words knocked Orchid from her reverie, ?how ?bout you and me go upstairs and work out a little deal huh? Consider it services rendered.?

Another pig-like snort and Orchid felt her stomach lurch. When she didn?t answer, the man continued.

?What do ya say? Five minutes in my room and you and me can call it even.?

?And the police will call it homicide,? Orchid balled her hands into fists so tight that her knuckles turned the same shade as a catfish belly.

?Look, deliverance, I was supposed to be in South Carolina fucking two hours ago. My bosses are not going to be happy with me, so how ?bout you just cut the crap so I can get back to my job and you can get back to porking your cousin, huh??

The mechanic?s hare-lipped smile only grew wider, revealing teeth so green that Orchid was sure there could have been a defunct crayon named after the color.

?I completely understand ma?am,? he said after a long, awkward silence, his voice calm and all too off-putting. ?Would you like to settle the bill now??

Orchid plastered her best forced smile onto her face and began pawing around her purse.

?Certainly,? she said, her own voice sugary sweet and dripping with venom, ? and that was 500 dollars??

?Oh no ma?am, ? came the reply, ? the charge is 700 dollars.?
That was when Orchid lost it.

?700 fricking dollars!??

Anger spread through her like white hot heat and she ripped seven one hundred dollar bills from her purse before throwing them, crumpled, at his feet.

?Yeah cookie, ? he grunted, still chuckling as he bent down to collect the money, ? ain?t me, ya see, it?s just the state requires a two hundred dollar tax to the customer for being an insufferable little b*tch.?

The most logical response, had it been any other time, would have been to sink one of her ratty sneakers into his visibly bulging crotch. But as much as she hated to admit it, he was the only mechanic she?d wandered upon since that would even look at her scooter. So, defeated, Orchid fell back into a duct-taped black leather chair by the cashier?s desk.

She watched, tightlipped, as the man disappeared back into the garage, sighing only when she was sure he was out of earshot. Orchid had just stretched her legs out when the cell phone in her back pocket began to vibrate. Only one person ever called her, and swallowing hard, she placed the phone to her ear.

?Orchid Jones here, repossessions specialist.?

?Why must you insist on using that ridiculous last name?? the being on the other end boomed, its voice a mixture of a man?s tenor and a woman?s soprano.

It was The Composite; the middle man (or woman, Orchid was never quite sure which) to the End-All, Be-All sadists that were her bosses.

?Uhh, hey Composite. I don?t know, everyone nowadays has a last name. Besides, I think it adds character.?

There was a pause and then, ?Yes, a grim reaper in need of more character. Well, I assume you know why I?m calling. The End-All are a tad bit upset about your little mistake.?

Orchid slumped further into the squeaky chair, phone cradled against her shoulder while her fingers dug into her temples.

?Let me guess. Could it be Milo Holiday??

?Orchid, you know very well that it has to do with Holiday. Smartass is not attractive on you. The End-All want you to know that either you fix this, or you can look forward to a very early, very forced retirement.?

Orchid ran a hand through her frizzy red bob, her left foot tapping nervously against the cracked tile floor. All of her nerve had left her, leaving a fist-sized ball of anxiety and fear buried in the pit of her stomach.

?Composite, ? she whispered between clenched teeth, ? would you say that I have a pretty good track record??

?Indeed. What does that have to with anything?? It was beginning to sound incredibly impatient, which struck Orchid as funny considering it had called her.

?Well, if you recall, the only other blip on my record was Rasputin. The only reason I even had to reap ol? Raspy was because you guys were searching for someone to replace that Russian reaper.?
Another bout of uncomfortable silence and then,

?Yes Orchid, we understand the conditions that involved Rasputin, but this is different.?

Orchid?s eyes followed the mechanic and her scooter out of the garage and into the parking lot.

?Different how? Two corpses walkin? around and the only different I see is that one was infamous and the other ain?t. Now I fixed that fuck up, and I?ll fix this one.?

Before the Composite could utter another nerve-tearing sentence, Orchid hung up and stuffed the phone back into her pocket. The bell over the fingerprint-streaked door rang and Orchid?s pasty blue eyes moved to meet the gaze of the mechanic, who was holding out an oil covered receipt.

?Hunk-a-junk is ready.?

?Yeah, thanks a lot jackass.?

She jerked the paper from his hand, crammed it into her bag and stomped passed him and out of the shop. The grease monkey stood at the door, watching Orchid?s every move as if he could picture exactly how she looked naked. Shuddering, Orchid slung her bag over the beat up yellow scooter and climbed onto the torn, blue bandanna-wrapped seat.

Much to Orchid?s delight and disdain the Vespa started without a hitch, and still trembling from a mixture of fear and anger, Orchid sped out of the parking lot.

?Oh Holiday!? she shouted, exasperated, into the wind.

?If you haven?t already died then I might just kill you my damned self!?

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:32 EST

His 5 o?clock deadline had come and gone and Milo, still ignoring the messages from his boss, sat in front of his computer. The screen blinked a bright blue and the blips and beeps of technology gone haywire should have upset him, but Milo?s mind was thousands of miles away in a fog-choked valley somewhere in the Andes Mountains.

That had been back when Milo had been proud of his name, and why not? He had been a world famous travel journalist, with a beautiful wife and two twin little boys. Back before too much booze and too many mistakes had sent him packing to Rural Haven alone.

It had been a once-in-a-lifetime assignment, and he recalled that he had almost literally jumped at the chance. The Hivari were an elusive tribe of natives, older than the Aztec, Mayans, and Incas; this being due to the fact that only very few people had heard of them.

When they had agreed to allow World Sophisticate magazine to send a reporter to observe them, Milo had found himself on a plane bound for South America.

His guide had been a very plain looking young Hivari girl who knew enough English to prove useful to him. While she lead him through the dense underbrush of a vast and quickly disappearing forest, the girl had explained that her people knew all of the secrets to immortality. Her grandfather, she had said hesitantly, was nearly 500 years old.

?Bullhockey,? had been Milo?s response, and the girl had frozen in her tracks, turning to him with cold dark eyes.

?You are a very insolent man,? she had whispered and Milo felt every vein in his body freeze. ?I do hope,? she continued, ?that you show more respect for our beliefs in front of my grandfather.?

Milo had agreed with a simple nod of his head, but as soon as the girl?s back was turned he shrugged.

He found her grandfather to be very hospitable, if not a bit nervous. The old man?s skin was as yellow as it had once been red and there was barely a tooth to be found in his withered, lipless mouth. He was old, on that Milo had no doubt, but he couldn?t have been as ancient as his granddaughter had let on.

To his credit, Milo had managed not to step on any toes during his stay, and because of this he was allowed to listen to their stories.

The Hivari believed that Death, (the human variety, for they believed that all creatures had an individual death), had once been one man. As humankind spread and grew throughout the world, the job became far too much for him to do alone. The lone reaper gained an audience with the death gods and gained permission to pass along his burden.

Twelve men and women were chosen by Death and his powers divided amongst them. The names of these higher gods were never indulged to Milo, and were perhaps so old that even the Hivari had forgotten what to call them. The story rolled on in the old woman?s raspy, gargled, mysterious voice, overlapped with the quicker English speaking soprano of his little guide.

These new grim reapers were allowed to interact with the human world, and some even started families with mortals that, sooner or later, would die as well. To Milo, that seemed the saddest aspect of the entire legend; watching those you love grow old, become sick and die while you moved on. It?s struck Milo as the most tragic thing in the world. He drifted off into his thoughts, over rationalizing the irrational only to jerk back to reality as the old storyteller?s words burrowed him out of his reverie.

After the original thirteen reapers had long left the Earth, they could no longer be appointed but rather were born.

The rule seemed to be, at least to Milo?s shoddy translations, that one reaper child was born to one reaper, but even this was no guarantee. A reaper could go on to produce hundreds, or even thousands of children and never give birth to another reaper.

Among the tales of forgotten gods, serpents encrusted with diamonds and men as tall as trees, Milo had found their tales about death to be among his favorites. Nonsense or not, combined with the candid pictures he?d taken, the stories simply added a flourish to his article.

Questions were swimming around his mind like millions of tiny fish; everything from reaper retirement to grim coital habits, but Milo could only grasp at one single enquiry.
?How do you know death when you see it??

Wide eyed, the girl guide translated his words into her own bizarre language and in response the ancient storyteller had simply grinned and nodded her pinched raisin head. Leaning in towards Milo and his little tape recorder, the old woman spoke in a low, gravel rasp. As the words dripped from her mouth, the girl simultaneously translated the story into her broken English, her face as white as a sheet.

?Soul takers are beautiful. Bluest eyes in the world, and they are bright, glassy and broken like ice. Soul takers have a pull on their victim, like fish on a line.?

She paused for a moment, leaning her glossy, raven colored head closer to the older woman. Despite the goose bumps dotting his flesh, Milo still saw no truth to the tale. Just a story to scare misbehaving children and nothing more.

And yet he never understood why that final question had rolled off of his tongue, and he had never forgotten the answer.

?So, why hasn?t death come for your people??

The answer floated a top the raspy, ancient voice in crystal clear English.

?Because, praise to the Gods, they have forgotten us.?

Milo was never quite sure if the old woman had actually answered, or if he had simply imagined it.

A loud knock on the door drug Milo back to the present. He had shed his lake sodden clothes earlier and wearing just a white t-shirt and a pair of plaid boxers, he stumbled towards the door.

?Hold it Paul,? he grumbled, ?I?m letting? you in. Don?t knock my damned door down.?

He opened the door wide and glanced down at his boss. The anger in the other man?s narrow brown eyes melted into worry and Paul pushed himself passed Milo and into the apartment.

?Jesus, Holiday, you look like more of a mess then this pig sty you live in.?

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:34 EST

The rest of the ride to Rural Haven proved uneventful, save for one foolishly brave opossum that ,with the help of Orchid?s Vespa, had become a speed bump. Orchid hadn?t slept in more than two days, but any thoughts of resting were dashed by equally frustrating thoughts of Milo Holiday.

It was a fluke, she decided; and honest to End All error in the bureaucracy that was life. Usually it was cut and dry, as simple as pie. Get your list, find the people on it, reap their souls and do it all by the times indicated. Life was financed as far as Orchid was concerned, and it was up to her people to play the repo men.

The time that one?s soul was to be taken was as varied as the people she reaped. Hours, days, weeks, even years in some cases. If the grim reaper missed the deadline, than the body, soul intact, would get up and wander around with no one the wiser until the corpse began to decompose.

It mainly happened during times of war and plague, when even the most diligent of soul takers had their hands full. All it took was for one rogue soul to unhinge the balance of life and death. With death tied up, people didn?t die and Orchid?s hands were, for the moment, bound behind her back.

It was a thankless job, she mused, but it was times like these that made her happy to only be assigned to North America. It was chaotic, sure, but she had found out long ago that there were worse places to be a grim reaper.

Orchid slammed her foot against the gas pedal. No death simply meant that no one died. But no death meant no end to suffering. This thought sent chills up Orchid?s spine and she rested her head against the hand grips of the ragamuffin scooter. The only thing that brought her solace was that, after such a giant SNAFU, The End All had a way of making humans forget; a technique that left even the most brilliant of mortal minds confused and slack jawed.

With that guilt ebbing and flowing in waves through her gut, Orchid continued down the road; a small pinpoint of yellow headlights and wild, red hair illuminating the slate black stretch of southern night.

As much as she cursed the ground that Milo Holiday walked on, part of her felt sorry for him. Hell, part of her (that immature, temper tantrum throwing toddler in all of us,) was actually rooting for him. The revelation that he wasn?t doing this to spite her did little to calm Orchid?s rope frayed nerves.

Milo Holiday was still a person; not a name and not a number. He cried, she was sure, and laughed and screwed and loved and right now he was probably scared sh*tless.

Indeed, Milo was a person, but a person inadvertently responsible for the suffering of thousands upon thousands upon thousands of people.

As white line fever began to lull her in and out of consciousness, Orchid began to imagine what he looked like. She never knew what her marks looked like before she met them and only saw them twice after that; once as a corpse and once as a puzzled soul. Then a loud crack followed by a bright white light and in a camera flash, Orchid was left confused and without a lingering picture of the deceased?s appearance.

It was a reaper coping mechanism. The point was to leave as little impression on the reaper as possible. Dehumanize the human. It was so simple that it was almost cruel.

Being a grim reaper gave a girl a lot to think about and to her shock and dismay, quite a few of those thoughts centered around Milo; and then it hit her like a ton of bricks.

?Holy sh*t!? she cried into the wind, ?what if he ain?t even in fucking Rural Haven anymore!??

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind did the huge faded white sign welcoming her to Rural Haven come into view. Below that was a small, homemade wooden placard that declared in bold red letters, ?population 2459.?

Orchid lowered her head and growled, ?Better make that 2458.?

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:37 EST

?Holiday, buddy,? said Paul in his low southern drawl, ?why didn?t you just tell me you were sick? I ain?t some sort of monster. If you?re not feeling well, I understand.?

Milo watched as the man knocked an empty pizza box from the couch and set down. Everyone knew about Paul; he was quick tempered, easily calmed and gayer than a box of bananas. His hands running through the spiky blond stubble on top of his head, Milo sighed.

?It ain?t that I?m sick, Paulie. You won?t believe me, but I think I died last night.?

As his words registered with Paul, Milo couldn?t help but flinch. Awkward silences had never been his forte but before he could open his mouth Paul burst into a fit of laughter.

?Died? Holiday, are you drunk? Better yet, you still drunk? Is your fever that high??

He cleared his throat and shuffled to his feet.

?Tell you what, one friend to another, I want you to take the day off. Don?t worry about that plane crash story, okay? It?s as good as taken care of.?

He had been walking as he talked and only stopped for a brief pause in the doorway.

?And Milo??

Perplexed, embarrassed and amazingly grateful, Milo peered at him through splayed fingers. ?Yeah Paulie??

?Take a bath, rest and lay off the hooch. You smell as bad as you look.?

Paul closed the door behind him, leaving Milo with only the dead bugs in the lampshade for company. It was then that it occurred to him that his sense of smell was almost completely gone, but given the present circumstances he found it hard to doubt Paul?s words.

A few minutes later and Milo found himself in front of the cracked medicine cabinet mirror. Reaching over, he flipped the light switch and one bare bulb sputtered and flickered to life. As the room filled with an eerie glow, Milo caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Be it out of shock or fear, he had yet to even look at himself since the accident.

He barely recognized the man staring back at him. Milo had never considered himself ugly, and at 5?9 he wasn?t exactly a tall man. A receding hairline at the age of twenty three meant that he had kept his sandy blond hair closely cropped to his skull. But the one thing that he had always been proud of were his eyes; salamander green was what his mother had called the color.

The stranger looking back at Milo had none of the cocky arrogance or charm that he had always prided himself upon. His skin was tinted with a sick, horror movie gray now, sallow and sunken into his eye sockets. Beads of putrid smelling perspiration, opaque orange in color, dotted his cool flesh and he soon found that no matter how he tried to remove it, the grave sweat would return in a matter of seconds.

This wasn?t normal decomposition, on that he had no doubt, but most corpses stayed put. Had his stomach been working, it would have somersaulted at the sight of his eyes. Those ?salamander green? orbs had become clouded, pale and almost cyan in color.

?Death blue,? he whispered, his mind drifting back to his time with the Hivari. The old storyteller?s face flashed in the back of his head for a moment, leaving behind a numbing anger that shot a temporary heat through his body.

That was it for Milo. Confused and all too dead for his liking, he slammed a fist into the mirror. For Milo there was no throbbing, stinging pain that reminded him that he was just as much alive as he was a moron. For Milo there was merely the pressure of glass tearing through his hand; disappointing and dull.

Staggering back into the living room, he fell backwards onto the couch with his eyes glued to his hand. The dim light that poured in from the bathroom reflected off of the shards still lodged in his knuckles, causing them to glisten and shine. They might as well have been buried in a wax statue.

?Death,? he whispered hoarsely, ?skeleton man or whatever the hell you are, you?re not getting me that easy.?

With each word, Milo removed a sliver of glass, watching the sluggish blood fill the gashes and go no further.. Grabbing a t-shirt from the pile of dirty laundry beside of the couch, Milo tore the cloth into strips between his teeth and wrapped his hand.

Snickering, he tied the end of his ragamuffin bandage into a bow and tucked it beneath his water damaged wrist watch.

?Oh no. It?s the principle of the thing, ya see. I know I?m less then fresh, but I must be alive for some reason,? he reached over and grabbed a half empty bottle of bourbon from the coffee table, ?my life may be a pile of sh*t, but I?ll be damned if some robed pile of bones if going to take it from me.?

Turning the bottle up, he gulped down half of its contents without so much as wincing. He wandered then as he tended to do, if the alcohol would even do anything now.

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:40 EST

Currently the Death in question, who was a bit curvier than Milo would ever have expected, had parked her scooter next to the weathered and worn sign that welcomed her to Haven Lake. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her hooded jacket and with a smile plastered on her face, Orchid half walked and half jogged down the dirt path that lead to the lake.

If things went well and Milo Holiday had the decency to stay put, than Orchid reasoned she would be at home in time to watch ?Jesse James Meets Godzilla? with a bowl of popcorn and her cat at her feet in no time.

But as the cool, dark waters of Haven Lake came into view, all of Orchids hopes were crushed.

?Damn it! Damn it!,? she cried out, kicking sand, bottles and whatever else her foot managed to come into contact with as she circled the lake,

?Damn it!?

No sign of Milo Holiday could be found and Orchid, in her opinion, was having two of the worst days of her life. To top it all off she was sure that whoever was making her phone vibrate had less than good news for her. Frozen in place, Orchid held the phone up to her ear, one trembling finger falling like lead against the talk button.

?Orchid Hollings, repossessions specialist. You kill ?em and maim ?em, we reclaim ?em.?

There was silence and with sweat trickling down the sides of her face, Orchid cleared her throat. She was answered by a loud, shrill, nails against hells chalkboard screech that caused her to squeal and drop the phone.

?This is not good,? she thought, wishing for a moment that she could curl into a ball and die right there.

A few minutes passed and Orchid, very carefully, bent down and grabbed the phone.
Pressing it against her ear she croaked out, ?Hello??

?Do you think this is a game?? shouted the beings that made of The Composite.

?No. See my scooter broke down and I?m here already, but Holiday kind of?isn?t.?

?Orchid,? it replied, it?s voice mocking the southern accent that she had picked up from centuries of making her home in the South, ?listen here, either you make sure Milo Holiday is in the ground by morning, or you?ll be forced to retire so quick that you won?t have time to even DVR those stupid movies you insist on watching. Clear??

Orchid winced and bit into her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. She hated The End All and despite The Composite being the only constant in her life, she hated him/her/it too.

There was a collective sigh, like the hum of a swarm of bees and The Composite spoke again.

?Orchid, your father was the original reaper. Many, many years he did his job and never messed up, even after he split his powers with The Dozen.?

Orchid set down on a log near the water and glanced down at her reflection beneath the surface. As The Composite rambled on, Orchid became hypnotized by the rise and fall of the little rippling waves. All that she remembered of her father was the Summer haze image of a huge, all too serious man with black hair, blue eyes and, Orchid was sure, a black heart.

Her father had been a reaper for 98,000 years before Orchid was born, and what compassion that time didn?t demolish, he had been quick to try and beat out of her. As the Composite continued to rant, Orchid became increasingly angrier.

?My. Scooter. Broke. Down.? she finally whispered out, her voice uncomfortably calm.

?We know, Orchid. Why do you think that is? Would you like to know, or do you have more snark for us? It?s like the emergency broadcast system; this is only a test.?

?A test! Really? Is that all?,? she laughed so hard that tears ran down her cheeks. ?This is ridiculous! You do know that these kinds of games end in human suffering, right? Are you all that blockheaded? Why would I need to be tested? I?ve told you before I have a near perfect track record!?

There was silence, static, and then, ?We?re aware, but the End All need to see who takes this job seriously and who, well, end up in redneck towns chasing corpses.?

Orchid ran a hand through her already tussled red curls and growled,

?Really? Is that all? You?re all a*sholes.?

With that, she hung up the phone and tossed it across the lake, smiling when she heard a satisfying splash. She turned then trembling from head to toe and made her way up the path to town and, she hoped, Milo Holiday.

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:42 EST

The hot and humid night air did little to warm Milo?s cold, damp flesh. Mentally flipping through the card catalog of his life, he stumbled along the streets in a t-shirt, jeans and baseball cap that he kept pulled over his eyes.

Had the stray dog not bolted out in front of him, he never would have looked up and never would have spotted the beat up yellow scooter propped up against the Haven Lake sign.

And he most certainly would never have seen the girl emerge from the woods, her face tear stained and bottom lip bruised and bloodied. Part of him wanted to rush up to this new stranger and ask what had happened and comfort her and tell her that everything would be okay and that no matter what, she was still alive right?

Yet another part of him, the rational side of Milo Holiday that kept him glued to the sidewalk had noticed her eyes. Blue, unearthly blue; supernatural blue. They were almost the exact same color that had seen that night looking at back at him from a cruddy bathroom mirror. It was that same rational Milo that told him in hushed tones, in case she could read minds, that the girl was there for him and that she was staring straight at him.

Milo took to the sidewalk running; sneaker clad feet carrying him as fast as they could. Thoughts fluttered in and out of his mind, but the one that stuck out the most was the one that bombarded the back of his eyeballs until he could almost see himself rotting in Haven Rest Cemetery; somehow, he had to get away from her.

In his haste, Milo nearly tripped over Little Earl McClures legs. Little Earl, who was sitting on the ground with his back against the brick wall of Lyons Construction, was a scrawny and wire haired fellow who?s beady eyes and jagged overbite had always reminded Milo of a ferret.

Jerking his legs to his chest, Little Earl cursed, obviously drunk and looked to see what fool had tripped over him.

?Somabitch!? he spat, getting to his feet, ?who in the hell do you think you are!??

He reached out and grabbed Milos shoulder, spinning him around and when he saw who it was the color drained from his face faster then his bladder emptied the piss into his pants.

?Holy cow sh*t! Muh-muh-Milo Holiday! But you is, you was, you?re??

He howled out like a wounded cat as Milo?s hand shot out and pinned him against the wall with strength that didn?t seem right to Little Earl. A grin lit up Milo?s face and he laughed as if all sanity had left him on his dash to meet with those ?good ol? boys.?

?I am, I was?what? Dead??

He looked around nervously, trying to see if he could spot the girl, but to his relief she was nowhere in sight. One hand now gripping a large clump of Little Earl?s hair, Milo jerked him through the door of the building and slammed him against a rack of Car and Bus magazines.

?Yeah, I?m dead. Drowned in fact, Little Earl! You and those stupid brothers of yours left me there like I was little more than a gutted fish to you.?

Slinging the bloodied, sobbing man into everything from the cash register to the gumball machine had caused such a commotion that a light flickered on upstairs.

?What in the hell is goin? on!? Little Earl, we done told you that if you?re goin? to dip your little wick, you ain?t goin? to be doin? it in the shop!?

Big Earl, dragging his groggy and cursing brother Teddy behind him, stomped down the stairs. Murky brown eyes scanned the darkness, ready, willing and able to knock the living daylights out of whoever was stupid enough to wake him up.

Big Earl stopped cold on the bottom step when he saw Milo, causing Teddy to barrel into his back.

?Jesus, Mary and Joseph??

Milo loosened his grip on Little Earl, sending the battered man to the floor with a nice, solid thud. He grinned from ear to ear when he saw the startled look on the other McLure boys faces.

?What?s the matter, boys? You look like you?ve seen a ghost.?

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:44 EST

?He?s spry for a corpse, I?ll at least give him that,? Orchid whispered into the night and her words were picked up by a breeze and carried into oblivion.

The conversation with The Composite had left her shaken and feeling all too vulnerable. It had made her feel human. Orchid hated that feeling; it left her sad and sobbing and most of all retrospective. Grim Reapers were not well equipped for ?what ifs?, but the night was young and Orchid, for once, felt her age. She had until sunrise, after all.

She walked passed Lyons Construction, well aware that someone or something inside had a pull on her; as if Holidays very being had embedded itself in every nerve and sinew in Orchids body.

?We?ll be done with this soon, you little twerp?, whispered Orchid as she sauntered down the sidewalk, only to stop in front of a newspaper stand. After she had fished fifty cents from her pocket, she freed a paper from the blue metal box.

Curiosity drew her to the obituaries page, which simply explained in big, black letters,
NO DEATHS TO BE REPORTED

Rationale crept back to her and Orchid sunk down onto a beaten and splinter ridden peach crate next to some equally abused trashcans.

?No deaths,? she repeated and she could only imagine that papers all over the country featured the same message.

With her heart beating wildly in her chest, Orchid flipped to the front page.

?School bus crashes on Honeythorn Rd,? she read aloud, her bottom lip trembling, ? Ten of the seventeen students on board received severe injuries. Experts are puzzled but local evangelist calls it a miracle.?

She slammed the newspaper into one of the trashcans, and screamed at the top of her lungs only to have the sound go unnoticed and trail off down the empty, dusty streets of Rural Haven. With her knapsack slung over her shoulder, Orchid headed back towards Lyons Construction and to the dead man who?s very being reeled her back to him.

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:47 EST

The cold chills that ripped through his body only intensified as the seconds bled into minutes, and Milo knew that the strange girl was getting closer. He glanced up from his hiding place behind the cashier?s desk and into the wide, puzzled eyes of the McClure boys.

?What?? he growled, eyes landing on Big Earl. The rednecks fat, sausage fingers were wrapped tightly around a crowbar and his nervousness at being stared at roused curious looks from his two brothers.

?Milo, I was thinking and I think Teddy and Little Earl?ll agree, but what makes you think we should help you??

After a long pause, a smile lit up Milo?s face and he laughed; the sound quickly drawing nervous chuckles from the three brothers.

?I might be dead boys, but how would it look for the cops to walk in and find my sorry carcass lying as dead as a doornail on your floor? Maybe with a note sayin? you all had kidnapped and tortured me over gambling debts to spice it up a bit??

With the boys scared speechless, Milo clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and laughed once again.

?Not very good I reckon,? rattled out scrawny, hawk faced Teddy to which Milo gave a nod of his head.

?Very good Theodore. I?d say you?d all be in a huge, scary amount of trouble.?

Little Earl, holding a package of frozen peas against his swollen left eye cleared his throat.

?Uh, Milo, are you a zombie or something? We ain?t never met a zombie before. Are you goin? to want to eat our brains or something??

Milo shrugged his shoulders, secretly hoping that this sudden spurt of cool would override the mounting terror in his gut.

?Don?t think I?m a zombie, Little Earl and besides, if I wanted to eat brains I think you guys would be safe.?

?Milo,? this time it was Big Earl?s baritone, ? what you want us to do? We ain?t no match for zombies and Grim Reapers. Hell, as it stands, we ain?t even good construction workers.?

Mutters of agreement from his brothers followed and Milo ran a nervous hand through his hair. He hadn?t thought that far ahead and it didn?t help that it was becoming harder, cloudier to think. When he tried to think back to the Hivari, all that he could imagine were wisps of foggy thoughts that expanded and dispersed before he could recognize what they were.

?I?I don?t know,? whispered Milo as he moved to his feet.

Every bone in his body crackled and popped, and he was beginning to feel more tired then he could ever remember feeling. It was a deep down fatigue that told him that everything would be alright if he would just sleep.

?Milo man? You okay??

Little Earl waved a hand in front of the dead man?s face only to jump when Milos head jolted up.

?Hide me,? he pleaded, that reserve of cool officially drained, ?hide me for as long as you can!?

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:50 EST

Orchid couldn?t help but smile when the tiny, golden bell above the door jingled when she opened it.

?Every time a bell rings,? she whispered, ?an angel gets it?s wings.?

The building that housed Lyons Construction was dark and seemingly deserted inside, but the sounds of hushed voices upstairs told the reaper otherwise. She knew one of those people was Milo; that was something she felt like a chill in her bones.

She rapped her fist against the cashiers desk, hard enough to quiet the voices upstairs.

"You should really lock your doors when you close up. There are some really bad people out there!,? Orchid shouted while pocketing a few peppermint patties.

Teddy, who had drawn the short straw, slowly made his way down the steps; shaking in his dingy tan work boots.

?Ma?am if you don?t mind me askin?, who are ya? Stores closed.?

One bloodrust colored brow perked up and Orchid crossed her arms over her chest. She inched her way slowly towards the stairs, that smile growing wider.

?Teddy, Teddy, Teddy,? she said in a soft, soothing tone meant for children, and she watched as his eyes grew wide and nostrils flared. It was no mystery that she knew his name because it was sewn on the front of his work shirt.

?I think ya know who I am.?

She came to a stop at the bottom step and looked up at him, blue eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and, oddly enough, sadness.

?I?m the Grim Reaper. I?m Death incarnate. I take the young, the old, the rich and the poor,? with each word she climbed a step, her voice low and calm, ? I?ve taken presidents, warriors and I?ve seen soldiers fall by the thousands.?

Orchid now stood just a foot from the trembling man and had her resolve not been so strong then her eyes would have watered at the smell of his breath.

Standing on her tiptoes, nose to nose, Orchid?s smile became a grin.

?I?m everyone?s worst fear and biggest mercy, but most people just call me Orchid.?

She laughed and pushed her way passed the petrified man and only stopped when she found herself standing in front of what appeared to be a studio apartment?s door.

The knock on the door sent chills up Milos spine. From his hiding place in the closet he whispered, ?It?s her! It?s her!?

?What ya want us to do, Milo?? asked Big Earl, his hands still holding onto that crowbar as if his life depended on it.

?First zombies, now grim reapers. Here I was thinking that all I?d have to worry ?bout today was Teddy startin? a fight at the tavern tonight.?

?Shut up Earl and distract her! Talk to her. Hell, I don?t care if you have a tea party with the bitch, just stall her!?

Milo had never been this frightened before in his life. Never in a million years would he have thought that he would be afraid of a curvy little redhead. Had this been under normal circumstances, he would have even thought that she was hot, but that?s what always got Milo into trouble; thinking with the head in his pants and not the one on his shoulders.

He heard the door open, followed by the sounds of heavy footsteps that tapered off in a matter of seconds. Then there was silence.

?Big Earl?,? he croaked, ?Little Earl? Teddy??

Laughter that reminded Milo of wind chimes echoed through the empty room, and had he had still been capable, Milo was sure that he would have had goose bumps.

?Milo Holiday, we really need to talk. The jig is up pal.?
Orchid slumped down against the closet door, one hand flat against the cheap pressed wood.

?Look I know you?re in there. Don?t ask me how, but I know. I could follow you to the end of the Earth if I wanted to. It?s like playing tag, but a lot creepier.?

Silence and then, in a very soft voice, Milo replied, ? What did you do tothe guys??

?Nothing at all, but maybe you should invest in better friends next time. They bolted as soon as I opened the door.?

Something about that made her laugh, but the sound was far from gleeful; it was strained and, from what Milo could tell, a bit defeated.

?Ma?am,? he choked out, ?I don?t think this is all that funny.?

Orchid sighed. ?No, no it isn?t is it??

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:52 EST

Milo had so many questions to ask her, so many things he wanted to say, but only one word seemed able to travel from his brain to his tongue;

?Why??

It was so incredibly simple, but at the same time meant so much.

?Why?,? Orchid repeated.

It had been that very question that she had turned over and over again in her mind for eons now and she still didn?t have the answer, but for some reason the reaper felt that the dead boy deserved an explanation.

?Mr. Holiday, the best I can tell you is this and I dunno if it?s true or not. But I think that the End All, Be All made this world and made the people in it eternal. Either they got bored or you all became ungrateful so you were made mortal, and besides if no one died, the world would be way too crowded.?

She was met with stone cold silence and she sighed.

?Holiday, if everyone knew the secrets to life then I doubt they?d be any wiser.?

As quiet as Milo was, the fact that she knew he was on the other side of that closet door was oddly comforting.

?I?ve done this job for 2,000 years now and I still don?t completely get it but everyone and everything, Mr. Holiday, has to die. It?s not fair, I get that, but we have to make people believe that death is infallible; that just because you?re in your twenties doesn?t give you carte blanch to carry on. Doesn?t matter if you?re 2 or 200, it?s your time when you make it on my list.?

If Milo's tear ducks hadn?t dried up, he was sure he would have cried. In some weird way he felt like the girl was a kindred soul; just as confused and hurt as everyone else on the planet. Taking a deep, unneeded breath, Milo pressed his forehead to the door.

?Couldn?t you just tell ?em that you couldn?t find me??

?Listen kid, it really ain?t that easy. Me sittin? here, talking to you like I am right now means people that should be dead are sufferin?. I?m not cruel, Milo, I don?t kill. But I have a job to do.?

Orchid drew her knees to her chest, her arms wrapping around her legs.

?Besides, you?d just keep decomposing until nothing but a skeleton is left.?

The finality of that statement laid heavy on Milo's conscience. It had all just been a fluke, a mistake. It hadn?t been some divine miracle from a deity that he had never even thought twice about.

Orchid wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. She had Milo where she wanted him; she had won but it was a hollow victory. She had seen Milo only once before, and already the picture in her head of him was blurring and shifting and the same time tomorrow it would be gone completely.

?Holiday?Milo. This ain?t easy for me, and believe me when I say that isn?t something I admit to everyday. If this had been an ordinary reap then you would have been in the ground before you?d ever known you were dead. Like you were supposed to be. I?m sorry that it?s come to this; that my dick weed bosses decided that you were little more than a test subject to try and make me retire.?

?Then why didn?t you take me when you saw me that first time??

She picked through her thoughts, looking for the right words.

?Because I think part of me wanted you to cheat me. When it?s all said and done I guess it would be easy for someone to call me a punk, but truth be told I wanted you to prove that even death can fuck up.?

Milo sighed then and shuffled to his feet. He wasn?t nearly as scared as he had been . That was enough for him to stop doubting her words.

Orchid crawled away from the door as the handle jiggled and turned, and in a matter of moments she was staring into the glassy eyes of her quarry.

Moving to her feet, she offered a smile to him; a humble gesture to the man who had given her such a good chase.

?If it could be any other way Holiday,? she murmured, sadly, that smile still plastered to her face.

?So, what happens? You touch me or something??

Orchid gave a nod of her head and leaned up on her tiptoes, her eyes closing as she inched her face closer to his until their lips touched.

It was a chaste kiss, but to Milo it was something much deeper. Warm summer nights, mercy and peace.

As his hands moved to rest on the small of her back and his thoughts drifted into oblivion, he couldn?t help but think of what would have happened had he met her under different circumstances.

It was that very thought that Milo Holiday was left with as his mind went blank, his soul clawing its way out even as his corpse tumbled to the ground.

Milo's soul gave Orchid a nod of his head and with a bright flash of light, it was gone. Orchid knelt down beside of Milo's supine body and closed his eyes for him.

Orchid Jones · Date: 2010-10-06 16:53 EST

Epilogue

It had been two seemingly endless days of dashing here and there to clean up the mess that Milo Holiday?s non-death had created. Finally, exhausted, Orchid Jones found herself back in Rural Haven, this time to help out a kindred soul.

It had only taken a soft smile and a lie about her being Milos sister for Orchid to get a copy of his apartment keys. Seventeen bags of trash and a whole box of cleaning products later and she had the apartment resembling something close to livable.

It seemed only right, after all, that he be remembered as more then some lowlife has been who hadn?t hit a lick at sh*t in five years. Smiling ear to ear with her hands on her hips, Orchid surveyed her job well done with pride.

As those crystal blue eyes scanned the room, she couldn?t help but linger on a photo of a young man propped up on the mantel above the fireplace. Taking it in her hands, Orchid studied the boy in the picture. He couldn?t have been twenty then, with curly blond hair and big green eyes filled with hope and promise. Eyes not yet haunted by bad decision after bad decision.

Slipping the photo of Milo into the back pocket of her pants and the key into the other, she left Rural Haven five hours after she had arrived. Orchid would be back; of that she was sure but for now it was time for her to go home.

The scooter putt-putt-putted down the rain soaked asphalt and Orchid breathed in a giant gulp of air. Hot asphalt after a nice rain had always been one of her favorite scents and forever after it would remind her of a young man who despite thinking that he had done nothing worthwhile in life had left an indelible imprint on the very soul of a grim reaper.