I haven't written in this thing in a couple of days. Rube hasn't been around, so I didn't think I needed to. I went to the library yesterday and got a library card, my first one since I was like eight years old. Back then I checked out Amelia Badelia so many times that I had the words memorized and could recite it just by looking at the pictures. I checked out a couple of books about monsters, one of them by the guy who wrote the Bigfoot book Rube gave me. I also checked out The Stand. I've never read it. I tried to watch part of the miniseries once, and I got to the part where the trash can man blows up a refinery, and all I could think was who would wear a trench coat in July? Maybe the book is better.

Anyway, Rube figured out that I haven't been writing in this thing and he said I still had to, that it was part of my punishment. And I said, part of? What's the rest of it? He didn't answer. It's not really that horrible, though. I'm not sure if I should write that, since Rube will read it and come up with something worse. I've gotten used to writing more and my hand doesn't cramp as much. Rube said that I'm getting better at writing, too. That I do dialogue better. But he thinks I spend too much time writing about the times he's chewed me out and whipped me. Well, that's what my life is these days. Plus, I'm getting to the other stuff. It's not like I can just skip to the important parts. That wouldn't be an autobiography. That would be like a summary of your life that you'd put up on myspace or your livejournal. Twenty facts about Jane.

So if that's what Rube wants, fine. I can play that game. Here's a fact. I remember every phone number I've ever learned. My first phone number, when we lived in Bishop, the next five phone numbers we had, all of the phone numbers of my friends growing up and of course the phone numbers of my old crew in Vegas. I can't forget them. Some people have photographic memories; I guess I would have a tape recorder memory. I remember almost everything I hear, unless I'm distracted. It used to get me in so much trouble, because so many people say something they don't mean or that they want to forget they said, and there I am like a fucking tape recorder to play it back for them. One time Santos wouldn't talk to me for four days because we had a fight and he threatened to kill me, and later he said he never threatened to kill me, and how could I think that about him, and that I was ungrateful bitch who didn't deserve him. I had to tell him that he never said it before he'd talk to me again. It sucked.

The whole point of trying to get my cell phone back was so that I could answer when Santos called, but now that Rube gave me a phone I didn't think it was a good idea to try to call him. I didn't necessarily want Rube to check out the bill and ask me who I was calling in Vegas. I thought about texting him, but that would have just made him call me. So I didn't do anything. I was still trying to find a good opportunity to talk to Rube about getting a transfer.

He was being really nice, almost pleasant since he'd beaten my ass for having weed. It was like whipping me put him in a good mood. I was on my best behavior for a couple of days, and we got along in some kind of weird balance. Go to work, come home, go to bed, don't say anything to upset him. I still hadn't gone on any solo reaps. I was under constant supervision.

Nothing really memorable happened until a couple of days passed. We went to Der Waffle Haus, as usual. He was cheerful at breakfast. He ordered me oatmeal. I hate oatmeal (too slimy), but I ate it because I wanted Rube to stay in a good mood. Mason, Daisy and George were at breakfast too. It was hard to get everyone together at the same time, since George and Roxy both had jobs. I knew Rube didn't like that. He liked to have everyone together at once to invade their personal space and make sure they weren't having too much fun. That's what I think anyway.

George was wearing her work clothes, which Mason refers to as her monkey suit, and she ordered hot chocolate. She said it reminded her of Christmas. She said it with nostalgia, if that's the right word for thinking about old memories that make you happy. Mason pointed out that Christmas was only a month and half ago.

"That's right, only three hundred and twenty shopping days left." Daisy said. "Better get a move on, Georgia."

"Who do I have to buy presents for?" George said glumly. "I haven't had a date in months, and it doesn't look like that's going to change anytime soon."

"Oh come on, Georgie," Mason said. "If you don't have a date by then I'll kiss you under the mistletoe. If we can find any mistletoe."

"Oh, Christmas was always my favorite time of the year," Daisy said. "I just loved it. All the presents, egg nog, caroling. On Christmas morning we'd get stockings full of oranges and grapefruit, which might not sound like much to you, but back then it was special treat. And of course, the presents."

George rolled her eyes. "You already said presents."

"Well, there were presents and there were presents. Presents under the tree and the bouquets of white lilies and holly, chocolates, jewelry, furs. I remember one Christmas this producer I was blowing gave me a choker made of the biggest, most perfect snow-white pearls that you have ever seen. I pawned it, of course, for one hundred and eighty dollars." She waited for a reaction. "Well, it couldn't last forever. Do you know how much one hundred and eighty dollars was in 1934?"

We all just stared at her. She sighed. "That was a wonderful Christmas."

I asked if we could talk about something else, and Daisy gave me a prissy look.

"What's the matter? Didn't you get what you wanted last year?"

I just said that I didn't do Christmas, which didn't seem to impress anyone. Rube handed out the assignments, post-its for everyone. I looked at mine and I guess I made a face because he asked me if something was wrong. I said no, but I was a little creeped out. The name on my post-it was K. Wollrath. That's my mom's name. Well, her name isn't K., it's Kathy. But Wollrath is a really uncommon last name. I'd never met a Wollrath besides my mom, not even her parents. I was pretty sure she wouldn't have moved to Seattle, but I was thinking, trying to remember if she'd ever mentioned any relatives in Washington. I didn't think she ever had.

The slim chance that this K. Wollrath might be my mom made me go all clammy and feel kind of sick. I had to keep my hand from shaking. Why would she have moved here, if it was here? What would she be doing here? And why would I be the one to reap her? This was too much to just be a coincidence. My reap wasn't until later that night. 9:14. I would have all day to wait and see what would happen.

Mason was describing his most memorable Christmas - when he ate a shitload of LSD and got so hot that he ran through the streets of west London in his underwear, even though there was snow on the ground. He was describing how when his mom, only he said mum, saw him come in the house like that she threw a frying pan at him, and somehow he made some kind of sweeping gesture that sent George's hot chocolate all over the front of her suit.

She of course threw a fucking fit, because there's nothing that George can't get angry about.

I was still thinking about my upcoming reap and I didn't realize that everyone had left until Rube whistled to get my attention. He looked at me suspiciously.

"Are you sure nothing is wrong?"

I guess I answered no too fast, because he didn't look like he was convinced. He told me to finish eating, that we had somewhere to be. I choked down the rest of my breakfast and we drove out to Green Lake Park, where Rube reaped a parking lot attendant who choked on a cough drop. I guess it was flu and cold season. I bought some cigarettes from a news stand across the street and then sat on a park bench while Rube escorted the newlydead to his pretty lights, which ironically looked like a country road and some kind of luxury car. I watched the dead guy's soul take off down the road while a couple of little old ladies fed ducks in the lake.

When the soul was gone, Rube sat down next to me. The parking lot attendant's body was slumped in a folding chair, and I knew it was just a matter of time before someone noticed and called an ambulance. We watched and waited. Rube took out his newspaper and read. After a few minutes he spoke.

"Are you going to tell me what's bothering you?"

"No."

"If this is you sulking for some reason, you can just..."

"I'm not sulking."

"So what's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

He gave me a sideways look. "What if I told you that you had to tell me?"

"I still wouldn't."

"All right, then I won't."

He looked at the overcast sky and he said that he read in the paper that the university was supposed to be having a film festival of some guy named George Cukor, who was a director. I made the mistake of asking Rube what movies he'd done, and he looked at me like I was an idiot. Then he said a long list of movies, most of which I'd never heard of. Anyway, we ended up going. It was only a few blocks away in a small, stuffy auditorium full of broken theater seats. There were like ten other people there. We came in during the middle of The Philadelphia Story, which I think is supposed to be about how funny alcoholism is? I don't know. Rube laughed a few times, so I know it couldn't have been that good.

At the end of the movie, some professor of something got up to talk. I went to the bathroom and to smoke, and when I came back they were just starting Born Yesterday starring Judy Holliday as a blonde airhead who's the girlfriend of a crooked millionaire. When her boyfriend wants to get into politics, he hires a reporter who's played by William Holden to tutor her about history and politics to make her acceptable into society. It's kind of cheesy, but pretty funny. And I guess it's supposed to be heartwarming and patriotic, but I could tell that most of the other people there thought it was lame. Of course, William Holden teaches Judy Holliday to be empowered and believe in herself and the American way of life (whatever that is), and they fall in love and get married at the end. I guess it's some kind of classic. Judy Holliday got an oscar for it.

Those stories about women being coached into a better way of life by some guy who falls in love with her - they're all bullshit. They're all based on the same formula, and only a few things are different. The woman is always unrefined and has a bad attitude, and the man always either hates all women until he meets her, or he is just too busy with work or science or politics or whatever to care that he's getting to talk to a real live girl! And then he usually yells at her for a while and makes her feel like shit, and then they fall in love. Bullshit. I can tell the world right now that there is nothing sexy about being yelled at all the time.

After the movie, Rube was hungry so we got some hot dogs in the park, and then we went back to watch A Star is Born. I fell asleep, so I don't really know what happened in that movie.

We spent the rest of the day watching movies. When they were over, we went back to Der Waffle Haus to meet George, who was supposed to take me to my reap. Rube said he had something else to do, but he said that he expected me back by ten o' clock, and that if he called my phone he expected me to answer, no matter what. I said okay, but I was still thinking about the name on my post-it and what was coming. What was I going to say to whoever K. Wollrath turned out to be? Hello, I might be related to you? Maybe you know my mom, and by the way sorry but you're going to die tonight?

George was in a BAD mood when she picked me up. She was still covered in chocolate. She was practically snarling. All I understood was that it had something to do with a boy. I asked her about it and she nearly took my head off, so I didn't bring it up after that.

My reap was in a big house in a nice neighborhood. George parked down the street and I walked to the house number on my post-it. It was pitch dark and icy rain was coming down. This was perfect weather for someone to bite it in. Lights were on all over the neighborhood, except for the house on my post-it. The front of the house was so dark that I couldn't tell where the front door was at first. I couldn't tell if anyone was even at home.

I rang the doorbell and waited for what seemed like forever. I was worried that I somehow had the wrong address or maybe my watch was wrong. Finally I heard someone walking around and the door opened a crack. The room was dark, and I couldn't see who had answered the door.

"Um... hello." I said. "My, uh, car broke down in front of your house. Can I use your phone to call triple A?"

A woman's voice answered me. "I'm sorry, but that won't be possible."

"Oh. Uh. Okay, can I at least use your bathroom?" I tried.

The woman mumbled something to herself and suddenly a light turned on from inside. Then I could see the woman who'd answered the door. She definitely wasn't my mother. She was short and older, and she was wearing big dark glasses. That explained why no lights were on.

"I'm sorry," She said. "You must think that it's strange for me to refuse to help you in this weather, but I'm blind. I don't have a normal telephone, I have a braille phone. You wouldn't know how to use it."

"You can dial for me," I said.

The woman looked like she was considering this, and then my cell phone rang from my pocket. The look of suspicion on the woman's face turned into fear. She slammed the door. I wanted to kill Rube. I ignored the ring in my pocket and pounded on the door.

I had to get in there, and I had to think of something that sounded realistic. The only thing I could think of was the truth. "I didn't mean to lie to you! I just wanted to see who lived here! I looked you up in the phonebook! Ms. Wollrath! I think we might be related!"

I waited but I didn't hear anything.

"Maybe you know my mother? Her name is Kathy Wollrath. She lives in Las Vegas. I'm looking for her relatives." I could hear her breathing now.

"Why didn't you say that first?" She said from behind the door. It was a good question. Why hadn't I just said that, instead of coming up with some lame story about my car breaking down?

"I wanted to know if you were nice," I lied. "Mom doesn't talk to any of her family she was disowned because she married my dad. He's black."

She couldn't tell that I was lying about that.

"And now she's dying of cancer, and I just wanted her to see some family before she died." That was some weird lie. I had no idea where that shit was coming from. I only knew one person who ever had cancer, and it wasn't my mom.

The door opened a crack again. "I'm sorry," The lady said again. "I don't think we could be related. My husband didn't have any relatives in Las Vegas."

"Oh, we're originally from California."

She paused. "You know, I think he did have some relatives in California. Wait here and I'll get my address book." She started to close the door. I asked if I could come in, since it was so cold and rainy. She thought about it for a second, then let me in. I don't understand people. Just because I'm young and a girl, people think I'm not going to hurt them or rip them off. If there's one thing being in this business has taught me, it's to not open the fucking door and definitely don't let anyone in.

I came inside, and I looked around in shock. I thought Rube's place was cluttered. This shit was out of control. She had piles of things. Piles of plastic bags, piles of clothes, and stacks of newspapers reaching up to the ceiling. There was a path through the piles of stuff, but otherwise there's no way you'd be able to get from one room to another. And she did it all without being able to see. She was rummaging through a drawer and came out with a little book. I guess it was in braille. She read it for a minute and shook her head.

"What did you say your mother's name was?"

"Kathy. With a K." That's the way I always said it. I hadn't thought about her in a long time. I changed schools a lot because my mom's job had us moving until I was in ninth grade, and she got a permanent job in Las Vegas. Every time I started at a new school I had to explain to the office that my last name was Raley, but my mom's was Wollrath. No, I wasn't Raley-Wollrath, and my mom wasn't Kathy Wollrath Raley. Then one of the office ladies would say Cathy with a C? And I would say, no, Kathy with a K.

"It looks like I'm the only K. in the family." She put the book away again.

"That's okay. Thanks for checking." I stood there awkwardly, not sure how I was going to pop her soul. I didn't want to just sneak up on her and touch her. That wouldn't be nice. Not that I cared about being nice. I just didn't want to give an old blind lady the creeps, even if she was as weird as this one seemed to be. She came to open the door again, and I reached for her hand, like I was going to shake it. I surprised her.

"I'm Jane," I said suddenly.

"Oh. Well, I'm sorry I couldn't help you, Jane. I hope you find who you're looking for."

"Thanks." I took her soul while I was shaking her hand, and she gave me a funny look.

"You be careful driving in this weather," She said quietly. I said I would, and then I was outside again on the porch and the door was closed and locked behind me. I waited for a few minutes, smoking a cigarette. Then I heard the sound I was waiting for: A crash, like something had fallen from the ceiling. Then I heard moaning. If there's something I can't stand, it's deaths that get drawn out. K. Wollrath had been crushed by her own piles of trash, but she wasn't dead yet. I know that taking the soul before death kept them from remembering any of the painful details, but it didn't keep me from remembering. I could imagine this going one way: Badly. Souls don't have the handicaps that their bodies did, and they see things a lot more clearly than they did when they were alive. She'd look at me and know I had been lying, and I'd have to explain that I had to say whatever would let me get close enough to reap her. Then she'd say, didn't you hear me in there, why didn't you call an ambulance? And I would have to say that I couldn't. It was part of the job, no interfering in life and death.

I couldn't deal with it. I didn't want to wait around for her to suffocate or bleed to death or whatever was about to happen. I didn't want to explain everything and then wait to escort her soul to the pretty lights, so I didn't. I left. I got back in George's car, which was warm because she'd left the heater running. She asked if everything went okay, and I said it had. Then my phone rang again, and I looked at it. Rube was calling again. I hit ignore. Then I called 911. I told the operator that I hadn't seen K. Wollrath in a few weeks, and that I heard some suspicious noises coming from her house, and could someone please come out and check on her? I knew she'd be dead by the time anyone came out, but I wanted someone to know she'd died, besides me.

When I hung up George was giving me a look but she didn't ask any questions. I asked if I could smoke in her car and she said okay. Then she declared that she needed to get drunk, and would I be interested in getting drunk with her? I looked at my watch. It was 9:29. I was supposed to be back at the apartment at ten, but I guess George didn't know that. I said sure. George wanted to check out a band that was playing at the Crocodile Cafe, which was supposed to be some kind of grunge landmark. So we went. I didn't think about what would happen when I didn't come home by curfew. I just wanted to drink and forget about had happened.