Chapter Three

"Incomplete soul collection, I'm here to announce the list is wrong," Undertaker waltzed his way into the library where the reaper currently on staff gave him a strange look.

"How so?"

"The target was not in position as what written in her place on the To Die list," Undertaker pointed to the girl's name and explained she had not committed suicide but was rather unharmed, sleeping in her bed five minutes passed the time of her collection.

"Do you have proof she's alive or that she was not there?" the lady asked. Undertaker thought for a moment, then let down the piece of his hair she braided in.

"I had a complete conversation with her," Undertaker replied, showing off her work upon his white hair. The lady looked at the braid and took out a form for him to fill out, which he did so right away so he could finally clock out for the night. The rest of the records were there as expected, and this was the first time he'd stated there was a problem.

"Any divine interventions?" the lady asked before he handed her the form.

"None other than myself, at least none that I'm aware of. She has a pulse, Miss Veronica. She's not dead, she changed her mind about the suicide, and not by my intervention. The mortal did this on her own. You would think those on high would have included this twist of her fate..."

"We do not ask questions," the receptionist said, taking the form. "Good night to you."

"Bye," Undertaker said, retiring for the night.

Vivian sat upon her bed, wondering just how great of an impact she'd had upon her own fates. A grim reaper had come for her! She was supposed to die. Was it only a change of thought that had prevented God's great tapestry of all things living? For so long, she'd suspected God expected her to change her mind or knew she would not commit suicide tonight. There were greater forces, she knew, but to have met a reaper and tell the tale, well, that was entirely different matter.

The grim reaper was not at all what she'd expected. A large figure in a black cloak with a hood and an old, rusted scythe seemed to be the popular picture. His scythe was different, sure it was a scythe but it wasn't like she expected it to look. It was old, but by no means was it rusted out. In fact, it had been the opposite, a rather glimmering shine next to the fire with old bones as a decoration.

Sighing numerous times, Vivian had realized she'd already become quite attached to the one who was here to collect her soul, and she didn't even know his name. His stay was been longer than previously anticipated, that is, if she could ever anticipate a deity such as himself in her own home. For a few moments, she denied the meeting ever happened, but after her touching his hair, braiding it all the way down to where his stomach would be (if grim reapers even had to eat), Vivian convinced herself the entire thing was real.

Not a single hair remained, but vaguely his presence began to linger, even as the wind graced through her bedroom. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Vivian tightened her stitchings, barely flinching. He too, had acquired a scar upon his face, but his hair was hiding the rest of what could be shown. Then again, had it been up for show, would Vivian even have the guts to look him in the eyes? To literally stare Death in the face and tell him she would not die yet and that the entire system of his To Die list, that was built into her beliefs as well, was wrong?

The question brooded within her mind, consuming her entire night as she stared out the window, wondering if she'd ever see the grim reaper again.

The shop was coming along most nicely, even Undertaker had to admit as he admired its beauty. The coffins were to arrive the next week and he would be open for part time business. Besides reaping, Undertaker knew there was a long way left and there was plenty of life to live, at least for himself. He could not say the same for his guests, whom would be arriving next week as well.

The Underworld is a mysterious place for those who are unfamiliar, but this job would surely satisfy him in his retirement. Working for the dead was what Undertaker did best, and as he shuffled his way through the door, he set up the desktop, placing upon it a nice old skull and a few ink bottles with black quills. Certainly, this was going to be so much fun!

A good night's reaping continued for the following weeks. The list was flawless, but Undertaker found himself questioning upon nearly every soul. Something wasn't right, and for once, the system was not absolute. Jams and tough decisions were normally a regular circumstance, but none of those complications pertained to an incorrect listing. Never. As he walked through the streets, cinematic records in hand, a splashing sound captured his complete attention.

Looking up, he realized who he was near.

"The soul whose fate remains unseen," Undertaker said. "You've finally come out from your hiding place." He turned around to face the girl, her hair still dark at the raven's feather and her eyes a piercing blue, reaching through his bangs and straight into his eyes, all without her knowing the power she seemed to wield.

"I didn't expect to see you."

"I didn't expect you to see me either, but here we are," Undertaker replied. "What is it you want?"

"I wanted to see you," Vivian said, unable to find the courage to take another step.

"Then I think," Undertaker said. "You got your wish." He began to walk away, get on with his night, and forget about this whole thing. Despite Vivian's constant presence in his mind since that dreadfully wonderful night, Undertaker knew this could never be, even if he wanted it to. Mortals and reapers can not coexist, it would be the very downfall of Death itself. There were no exceptions.

"That isn't what I meant," Vivian said, ever surprising him as he found himself once again turning back to face the girl.

"I want to see you," she repeated. "I want...to look you in the eyes."

"Now you want to stare Death in the face? Don't mock me," Undertaker stated, turning away once again. It was best to let this down now. It was obvious she didn't mean to mock him, it was in her tone and Undertaker knew that. He'd chosen to take this the wrong way on purpose, however he was unsure if she'd take this bait.

"I'm not the one who came into someone else's bedroom, telling them they were supposed to die and how to do it for the purpose of an occupational description of soul collection," Vivian said. "If that's not mocking Death I don't know what is."

His white hair swung forth in front of his shoulders as he violently turned to face her for what he wanted to be the last time. Pushing up his spectacles, he whipped his bangs back, but he held his death scythe to her throat. Their eyes met, finally for her first time! She did not quarrel or even melt down, willing to give up her soul. Vivian's stare pierced him, but his eyes met her with the same challenge. She knew he would not swing his scythe. His bangs fell to the sides of his face, parting, but Vivian noted the braid still resting within the rest of his hair. It hung for all before him to see, and a small smile came upon her face.

Vivian knew what was going on. Divine beings or not, the looks upon their faces didn't seem too different from a human's. With her left hand, she slowly lowered his death scythe and walked past it.

"You continually defy the systems the govern your everyday life before me, yet any other day, you follow them as expected," Undertaker said. "Why would you do such a thing?"

"You know what I think about those systems. No one tells me how I'm going to die," Vivian replied, smirking as her black hair whisked back in the wind. "Get over it."

"If only I could," he replied, dropping the scythe so it clanked against the rubble of the back alley street. The cloudy night formed itself into rain droplets, but before the first drop could hit her face, Undertaker took hold of her waistline with one arm and wrapped his other hand around her face, kissing her so fiercely he nearly had to hold her in place.

Vivian herself wrapped her arms around his neck, completely losing herself in this moment. She could taste the cold rain as it moistened Undertaker's dry lips, and the rain had never tasted better!

Her flesh was surprisingly cold for a mortal's, tasting of peppermints and refreshing rainwater as it hit her face, trying to cut between them and failing until they chose to break apart. The mind of Undertaker swung violently back and forth, contemplating the next move, if there was a next move. He'd just succumb to all urges, despite the knowledge of his demise if anyone found out. Well, perhaps not. It wasn't as if she were another immortal or they were married legally. Nothing would come of this, nothing could for the sake of these final few years.

But that kiss could not have been any more stimulating or revering. Breaking apart seemed unbearable but necessary for the first few moments. Vivian's eyes narrowed and he saw the smile creeping, tugging at the corners of her lips.

"I knew it," she said confidently, pulling back a portion of his white bangs to reveal his fluorescent green eyes.

Undertaker pushed back, letting his hair fall back into its place and he picked up his death scythe, leaving it to rest at his side. The sensation felt natural and most familiar. Sighing, he knew there was no running now. The chances of running into this girl on soul collections was slim, but if she'd already found him once, what was to stop her from doing so again? Vivian was most interesting.

"You defied your beliefs the moment you were given proof of error. You recognize the ways are not perfect, even in death," Undertaker stated. "Since I confirmed it for you, you've done nothing but change your outlook. I say, most impressive."

Vivian stood firm, suppressing the urge in her body and soul to jump back into his arms.

"I don't even know your name," Vivian said. "I suppose your name is insignificant so long as I have something to call you. Any preferences?" She was already assuming their meetings would not stop here. Surely, if this continued, Vivian's prophecy may actually come to pass.

"Andiekia," he stated. Vivian's eyebrow rose.

"Undertaker?" she replied. She was quick. "That makes sense, if I need to call out to you."

"What kind of human are you? Defying your religion, seeking those who bring death-"

"I do not seek those who bring death," Vivian interrupted. "I seek you."

"I bring death."

"Not to me," she said. "I broke your system. And if that braid does not mean you seek me, it must mean I'm not the only one wanting something that a law I've already defied says I cannot have." Undertaker knew of ways she could have this, but those doors would remain closed to Vivian.

"That is why I like you," Undertaker confessed. Vivian walked closer to him, leaning against his shoulder as a strike of thunder pierced the clouds. She put her arms around his form, this time with no reciprocation.

"I feel safe with you," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"Now that my dear, is dangerous," he warned, wrapping his left arm around her form.

"Good night," Vivian said. "I hope I'll see you again." She broke their contact, walking through the back door of her home, leaving him to finish collections for the night.

The collections, after compilation and checking them into the library, brought Undertaker's shift to a close. On his way to the shop to make a few final touches, he peered through Vivian's bedroom window where she sat by the burning embers, staring blankly into the fire, thinking.

During her brood, Undertaker slipped inside, placing a card onto her end table beside the bed, letting the wind catch her attention. But, as she looked back, Undertaker was no where to be found. Just the card, leaning against her lamp, which she retrieved immediately. Looking out the window, Vivian caught glimpse of his long white hair, smiling to herself as he disappeared.

Undertaker the card read, with an address printed on the back. It looked like a business card...