The sun rose high in the blue expanse of the sky; signifying that noon was upon them, but it was only a sign to William that he had failed. He kept his face emotionless, and his steps were as solid as ever, but he could feel himself crumbling on the inside. Early this morning he had decided to check their finances and supplies only to find both were dangerously low. Grell hadn't been as frugal as she should have been with her shopping, but William couldn't really blame her. In their realm, food and basic shelter were provided for them. Their salaries could be spent on wants and desires rather than needs. Besides, Grell probably expected that Pops would be able to help them more. No one could have expected Collins to pick this moment to cause trouble, although, he realized he had inadvertently lied to Grell. He had crossed paths with Collins once in the past, although he had all but forgotten it.
William shook his head to clear his thoughts as he walked. He had left a simple note for Grell and had set out this morning to find a job. He knew work was scarce, but he was a responsible, educated man. He had thought that he would be able to find work so that he could supplement their income to help with the food issue, but he had been unsuccessful. Each person he had inquired about work had looked at him with mistrusting eyes and had told him that they had no work for him. He was sure that his appearance wasn't an issue. He had chosen a dark blue suit from the closet that he assumed belonged to Madam Red's late husband. Although Grell had said these clothes were out of style, William still felt his appearance was respectful and appropriate. He had combed his hair in usual style as well, and he hadn't bothered to disguise his appearance. Unlike Grell, his own looks were rather commonplace, so it was easier to simply hide in plain sight. The demonic restraint collar hummed about his neck, but it was naked to the mortal eye. The distrust he saw in people's eyes was because they thought he was an outsider. He had been born and raised in London, but it had been a long time since he had walked these streets as a native. With no family or friends to call on, he was an interloper and an alien. The simple truth was that in these hard times, people simply didn't trust someone they thought wasn't one of them.
He had walked to the outskirts of town when his keen ears overheard an argument from a nearby cemetery. Curious, he walked over to the iron gate to check out the situation. A tall man dressed impeccably in fashionable clothes was arguing with what William assumed to be an undertaker by his clothes. Even at this distance, he could tell that this mortician was purely a mortal. He had probably been a rival of the reaper deserter or had held the position for many years.
"He simply must be buried today," the tall man said. He was holding a handkerchief in front of his face as if trying to ward off some foul odor. "He simply must. It's too warm to store the body."
The strange undertaker smiled, which revealed his blackened, decaying teeth. "I love ta help ye," he said, "but ye see me bones are jus' too weary an' tired. Perhaps ye can get someone else?" His dark eyes sparkled from the rolls of flesh on his yellowed face.
"There is no one else!" cried the man, "You know my circumstances. If it is a matter of coin, then I can pay you well." The distress was painted clearly on his fair features as his dark hair danced about his head with his actions. The desperation was rolling off him in waves, and William was sure the undertaker was practically bathing in it. The man produced his purse and the clanging of coins sang of his wealth.
The old man laughed lightly, and the sound was like that of wind blowing through rotten, decaying leaves. "As much as I like yer money," he said, "It's not a matter of price. I'm just not as spry as I once was. Now, if I had me some help."
"I'll help," William said, as he stepped inside the cemetery. He approached the two quickly, but soon found himself assaulted by a stench that could only be coming from the bounder. That explained the young man's handkerchief, but William didn't blink. "I would be happy to help," he repeated to the old man, "for pay of course. In fact, I would feel it's a safe assumption this is not the only body you have that needs to be buried. It would be profitable for you to hire someone to help with the physical labor."
The old man looked William up and down and chuckled. The few strands of dirty, grey hair that remained moved about his head like a soiled halo as he scratched his scarred chin as if in deep thought. "Yer not a laborer," he said, "and I'd bet the hands in those gloves be lily white, but I know a desperate man when I sees one." He tossed the shovel he had been leaning on towards William. "Dig a grave here and let me see how desperate. Perhaps we can arrange a deal."
William got the shovel easily, and removed his jacket, which he draped over a nearby tombstone. He began digging a grave where the old man had indicated. While his appearance was that of a common man, his strength and speed were beyond that of mortals, and he didn't hold back as he quickly dug the grave. The young man's eyes bulged in shock, but the undertaker only wheezed and laughed.
"Yer got speed and strength," he said, "and I could use both."
"What about my pay?" William asked, as he gathered his jacket.
"Fer that?" asked the old man, "That was jist a test, and ye passed. I suspect ye be lookin' fer a job. Am I right?"
"Perhaps."
The old man nodded. "And yer no laborer, but ye can dig a grave as good as any man. I'd like to hire ye. As ye guessed, I have many poor blokes that need to be put in the ground before they go bad."
William would have preferred to work for anyone else, but he did need the work. "What about salary?"
"Well, this be simple work. How about 10 shillings a week fer a start?"
It was robbery, but William could read the old man well enough to know that this was as probably as good as he was going to manage. Those dark eyes were those of a predator that could pinpoint weaknesses. Despite William being able to hide his fears from most, the old man could tell he was desperate. "I suppose that will be acceptable."
"The name's Samuel Harris," he said; smiling broadly so that the smell of decay was evident. "I also have a little cottage at the back of cemetery here if ye need a place. I could let ye rent it for, say, 5 shillings a week."
"I have a place to stay," William said between clenched teeth. "The job will be enough." This man really was trying to get this work for free, but a job was a job. It would be some money to assist them, and it would help William from feeling so useless while they were forced to hide.
Harris nodded. "Well, as ye guessed, I have more bodies to put under. Might as well get started."
((x))
Spectacles was unusually quiet. The normal flow of reapers getting their eyes checked or having glasses repaired had dwindled to just a few, and they had made prior appointments. The typical hum and constant activity had slowed, and Anderson knew that it was a bad sign. Something was happening just beyond these walls, and he feared for their entire realm. He wasn't even entirely safe here. Although some mind find it paranoia, he knew that he was being watched. Collins hadn't been here physically since he had requested the special lens and had bragged about his chipping program he was sure would be approved, but his presence still lingered. Word had drifted through the halls like a forgotten ghost that his proposal for chipping had been partially approved. For now it was voluntary, but with incentives like extra pay and vacation time that made it very attractive. Anderson knew what it really meant, but he would only be silenced if he tried to speak. Collins had finally made his move, and it looked as if the realm just might fall under his control.
Just like the prophesy foretold.
Anderson finished the special glasses and set them aside. He had hated creating such things, but at least he had been able to warn William and Grell. Both were smart enough that they should be able to remain hidden even without disguising their appearances though the ancient means. Thankfully, Collins had been so intent on his mission here, he hadn't thought to assign anyone else to their case. Emily was sadly determined, but she still lacked the experience and training to be a good recovery agent. He hoped that Grell and William were safe, and that some method for dealing with the demon would be discovered. Unfortunately, he feared their realm would long be lost long before they even had a chance to save William. So far, he had no idea how that sort of demon had even arrived in this country or why it had attacked a reaper in the first place. There had been little investigation into the matter as most of Upper Management preferred to stick to the story that William had simply gone mad and killed young Knox, but there were a few looking for the truth. So far, nothing of any importance had been discovered.
Standing up, he picked up a nearby glasses case and turned to a coworker. "I'm going to lunch," he said, "If Collins stops by, the glasses he requested are there on my desk. All preliminary tests indicate they should work exactly as he specified." His coworker, a pleasantly plump man who was only a white beard away from being the perfect Santa Claus, nodded in a distracted manner. He was carefully cleaning lenses, and Anderson wasn't even sure if the man had heard him. Of course, it probably didn't matter. Collins most likely already had someone watching his ever move.
Anderson felt exposed and vulnerable as he walked down the halls. It was as if Dispatch was slowly changing; mutating into some foreign beast that wanted to devour him. He had been warned of this day, but he still felt unprepared as he made his way to the desk where William's secretary, Ms. Fletcher sat typing on a form. She looked up at him and smiled, but he could see the exhaustion shimmering in her dual colored irises. A temporary supervisor had been assigned to replace William, but it seemed as if the majority of the work had been placed on her. "Good morning, Mr. Anderson," she said. She was one of the few who didn't refer to him as Pops. "How are you today?"
"I'm doing fine, Ms. Fletcher," he said, "I have the glasses here you needed to be repaired."
"Glasses?" she repeated in a puzzled tone.
"I know you weren't expecting them until tomorrow," he added quickly, "but I was able to get to them early. I was able to fix the lens quickly so that there are no chips. I understand how that can drive you crazy."
He saw the realization slowly dawn on her and she nodded. "Thank you," she said, with the only faintest hint of a smile.
"I also went ahead and repaired you case," he said, "Added some extra lining."
She nodded again. "Thank you, Mr. Anderson."
The transaction completed, Anderson turned and made his way to the cafeteria. is brief meeting with Ms. Fletcher would have seemed normal enough to anyone who might have observed it, and the glasses inside were her prescription. Even their conversation shouldn't have raised any red flags, but he had gotten his message across. Just before he turned the final corner, he glanced back and watched as Ms. Fletcher put the glasses, case and all, in a drawer. No one would have guessed he had entrusted her with information about William and Grell; information that would be invaluable if something happened to him. Collins was egotistical, and his targets were those in obvious positions of power. He wouldn't think that someone like Ms. Fletcher could cause him any trouble.
And that would be his downfall.
((x))
The new glasses arrived by pigeon, which had seemingly found Emily without issue where she had been sitting for the last several hours perched on a rooftop. The attached note from Collins stated that these had been especially designed by Anderson so that she could see through any magical disguises those murdering deserters might use, so she had put them on eagerly. To her disappointment, she saw no reapers in the throngs beneath her. In fact, she saw nothing different about these glasses, except the world seemed more devoid of color than before. It was if all the world had been muted and, instead of the usual vibrant colors, the entire scene before had been painted with tones of grey. Perhaps Collins was wrong to trust Pops with this job. He was the most talented at creating their glasses, but she wasn't sure if he was an ally. He seemed so willing to protect Grell's file and reluctant to declare her a deserter.
She sighed as she looked down at the world and found her eyes welling with bitter tears. Below her, she could hear the laughter of young lovers, and it all seemed so unfair. Why should they be able to love and be loved and she couldn't? Everything inside just hurt so badly, and she could see no end in sight. In fact, even Ronald's ghost had abandoned her; whispering the words, "no more," before disappearing like smoke in her dusty room, but she had to keep going. Someone had to pay for all the pain she had endured.
Without warning, Virgil suddenly leaped to his feet as his snow white fur raised in alarm. His hissed and mewled loudly. "What is it?" Emily asked, "Do you know where they're at?"
In response, the cat ran along the rooftop and jumped down. Emily followed and found herself running down a cobblestone street. Soon, the cat stopped and begin to hiss at a door of a small shop. For a brief moment, she felt a surge of hope as she threw open the door and heard the tinkling of a bell. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, however, her hopes crashed and shattered like a delicate, glass rose.
"Can I help ye?" a voice asked, and a thoroughly unpleasant man stepped forward. From his black robes to the coffins that were scattered about the room, she knew exactly the type of business she had found. "Name's Samuel Harris," he said, "Will ye be needin' my services this fine day?"
"No," she sad, "I made a mistake." The stench of death was nearly overpowering in this small space, and that must have been what confused the cat. She turned to leave; nudging the reluctant cat with her foot.
"Well, I'm here if ye need me," he said, "Just hired a new man today so I can plant twice the bodies now. He's in the back."
"No," she repeated. She shoved Virgil outside and shut the door, but the cat still seemed reluctant to leave. He kept mewling and scratching at the door, but she no longer had any patience. "Come on," she said as she scooped up the agitated cat and headed back towards the small room she had rented. She needed to rest and regroup her thoughts. Right now her head ached and it was hard to think, and she needed to be on top of her game.
((x))
The clock in the parlor ticked ominously, as if it was a countdown to some sort of doom, but Grell couldn't seem to keep herself from looking at it every minute. She was growing more worried with each and every movements of those hands despite telling herself everything was okay. When she had awoke this morning, she had found a simple note from William saying he had to do something today but she was not to leave the house. At first, this had seemed like a simple enough task as Grell took the opportunity to thoroughly clean and straighten the house. While she wasn't as orderly and neat as William by nature, she did like to keep a tidy house. She even made sure there would be a good meal for William when he returned.
It wasn't until about noon that Grell became concerned. She had no idea what it was that William felt he had to do, but he had already been gone for a few hours. Despite her nagging fears, she tried to keep herself occupied as time continued to creep by. The sun continued on its path across the sky, and it was just about to dip below the horizon, when she heard the front door open. Inwardly, she exhaled with relief, but her annoyance rose to the surface. She had been just about to go out to search for William despite his instructions, and now she was mad at him for making her worry.
She stomped towards the door and planted her hands on her hips. "Where have you been?" she demanded, "Do you know what time it is?" Her annoyance melted away immediately when she saw the tired look on his handsome face and the slight slump of the normally solid shoulders. "Are you okay, darling?" she asked.
"I'm rather tired at the moment," he said. He took off his shoes to place them by the door, and she noticed the dirt clinging to them as well as how slow and pained his movements appeared.
"What happened?" she asked, "Were you attacked? I was worried."
He shook his head. "I saw that we have very little money or food," he answered simply, "So I decided to get a job." He moved his arms and winced a little. "I was unaware that I had gotten out of shape."
"What sort of job?" she asked.
"I am digging graves for the local undertaker. It seems he's had an increase in business since the departure of another undertaker," he answered, "An unpleasant man by the name of Harris, but at least it is a job."
She wrinkled her nose. "That seems a bit beneath you," she said, "You're a smart, educated man. Surely there's something better out there."
"Unfortunately, there isn't," he answered, "And we needed income." He winced again. "I think I'd like a hot bath."
"I'll go and run the water," she said with a gentle smile, "Rest. I'll heat up the food while you bath." She didn't wait for him to answer before retiring to the bathroom, but she did glance back once. She hated seeing William so tired and almost broken, but there was an odd sense of pride. William was working so hard just to take care of them, so she had to do her best. Maybe this wasn't the married life she had dreamed of William, but this was far better than any dream. He was here with her and they were working together. This was a dream realized, even if the situation was far from perfect.
As William went to take his bath, she heated up the food, which was a bit of their leftover stew with some fresh bread. It was hot and ready by the time William walked back into the kitchen. He was only wearing his pajama pants, and Grell had a moment where she could only stare at his exposed chest glistening from his recent bath. She had always known it was broad, but somehow it was even more than she had imagined in her dreams. Feeling the heat rising in her cheeks, she turned quickly to get him a bowl of stew. "How are you feeling?" she asked, "Any better?"
"Some," he said, "Excuse my lack of dress. I was just tired. I'll think I'll eat and head to bed soon."
"That's okay," she said, as she handed him a bowl. Again she let her eyes drift to the solid muscles before drifting up to his face. He didn't seem to even notice as he leaned on a counter to eat. "It's odd that you're so tired," she continued, "Do you think the demon is weakening you?"
"Perhaps," he answered, "My own healing abilities are keeping it at bay, so perhaps my normal endurance is compromised." He coughed lightly. "Or perhaps I am simply getting old."
"Never!" she exclaimed, "But it is hard to see you so tired. I'll go out and get a job tomorrow."
"I'd rather you did't."
"But why?" she asked, "Two incomes would help us even more."
"I can blend in," he said. Reaching out he took a strand of her scarlet hair and twirled it in his fingers. "You were made to stand out. Besides, I doubt you could even get a job. I had a difficult time."
"I could try," she pouted, "Besides, I'm just as strong as you."
"I know," he said, "but...I would prefer you to stay here. There's very little I can do, and I feel almost helpless a times simply sitting around and waiting. Let me do something to help us. Let me be useful."
"You're always useful," she said, "but, if you want me to play housewife, I will do my best." She leaned on the counter and watched him as he ate. "Will, what are we exactly?"
He stopped eating; his spoon suspended in midair as he looked at her curiously. "What do you mean?"
"We're living here together and helping each other," she explained, "We even shared our first kiss. Are, are we a couple?"
A slow smile took possession of his features. Returning the spoon to his bowl, he reached over and gently pulled her closer to kiss her. It wasn't like their first kiss as it wasn't perfect. Their noses bumped briefly and she could taste the stew on his lips, but still her heart soared. His kisses were so gentle, yet filled with untapped passion. After a minute, he stepped back.
"I think we're partners," he finally said.
Grell wanted to ask for clarity, but her head was swirling too much with emotion. "This is just like a dream," she finally admitted, "I always fantasized about living with you in a cozy little home as husband and wife. Maybe we're not married and this isn't our house, but it's still far more than I ever really dreamed might happen. I had almost given up."
"I'm sorry I made you wait so long," he said, "but don't let this be your dream. You deserve more than just to hide with a possessed reaper. One day, I might be able to give you what you really deserve."
She couldn't really frame an answer, so they lapsed into silence as he finished eating. "That was good," he said, "and just what I needed."
"It was just leftovers," he said, "Sadly, stew is one of the the things we can make with less funds, but I'll do my best to add some variety and spice to it." He was still rubbing at his shoulders as if in pain, so she added, "Would you like me to rub some lotion on your shoulders?'
"That would be nice," he said, "I do hurt."
"Go on up to bed and lie down," she said, "I'll go get the lotion."
He thanked her and left the room. She took a few minutes to clean the kitchen before gathering the lotion and heading to his bedroom. "Now roll on to your stomach," she said, as she walked into the room but was only greeted by a soft snore. Stepping closer, she saw that he had already fallen asleep on his side. Apparently, he had been more tired than even he had thought.
Slowly, she walked around the bed as she studied his sleeping form. He was a handsome, amazing man, although he seemed blind to these attributes, and that tugged at her heart. She wished that for just one minute, he could see himself the way that she saw him. After a minute, she set the lotion and her glasses on a nearby stand and quietly climbed into the bed beside him. He didn't even stir as she lay down and gently touched his face. Snuggling close, she closed her eyes and started to drift off to sleep.
"Goodnight," she whispered, "sweet William."
((x))
In the middle of the reaper realm, a giant clock struck midnight, although most were asleep. Those who had assignments had already left for the human world, but the offices were mostly quiet and empty. Hallways stretched in the gloom and shadows; lingering like tunnels that led only to darkness. Silence hung like a banner and this world felt as dead as its occupants.
Collins, however, felt very much alive.
He stood in his office by the massive window that overlooked the realm with a satisfied smile painted on his face. It was all finally happening. The door to his office opened, and he glanced up in the reflective glass of the window only to see Bishop walking into the room carrying several files. "Are those the latest reapers to submit to the program?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," Bishop answered, "It seems like it's going well."
"Very well" Collins agreed, "I now have enough for my army." He turned away from the window with a broad smile. "Emily's a sweet girl, but she's not a serious recovery agent even with Virgil's help. No, Bishop, we need an army of our finest reapers to hunt out these deserters and destroy them. This will be our priority. A few souls may be lost to demons in the meantime, but that will be the fault of the deserters. We'll flush them out."
"Of course, sir."
"One more thing, Bishop," Collins said, as he turned back to the window, "Set up the paperwork to arrest Anderson. I know he's hiding something. He's probably loyal to those traitors, and we don't need anyone like that in our new kingdom."
Bishop agreed meekly before leaving. Collins's smile only grew as he stared out into the night and scratched at his side. "Prepare yourself," he whispered, "For New Death is coming."