Ch. 3: Investigation

The brisk night air stung Theresa's cheeks as she made her way to the docks. After three different pubs and almost a whole day of sweet talking she found out that there was one man who made regular trips to India. "Though I wouldn't be goin' near 'im," one man said. "Last I heard he's been 'avin trouble keeping his crew members to stick around. For the past three weeks he's been hiring new cabin boys, sayin' the last one quit. Real suspicious, it is; it'd be a shame to see a pretty thing like you getting' hurt." After that bit of gossip the man tried to kiss Theresa, which resulted in him getting a slap to the face and Theresa leaving the pub before anybody asked questions.

The amount of people was slowly dwindling near the harbor, which was good. Theresa found the boat she was looking for, the "Persian Maiden". It looked deserted, but Theresa's senses told her there was somebody on board. Checking to make sure nobody was watching, she leapt strait onto the bow of the ship, landing without making a sound. She crept onto the main deck, searching for the man whose presence she felt. Suddenly she heard the creaking of wood, and she saw the door of the captain's cabin opening. Theresa ducked behind a pile of crates as she saw a surly Englishman with short black hair move from the cabin with a large, oddly shaped bag slung over one shoulder. He set the bag down on the deck and opened it. Theresa was at just the right angle to see the contents of the bag; it was a person, a young man roughly the same age as the other victims. She crept closer and saw the same slash across the man's chest and a rope tied around his neck. No doubt about it, this was the killer she was looking for. Now to reap his soul.

Theresa reached behind her head and slowly undid the ribbons in her hair. She held the ends of the soft, silver material in each hand and took a deep breath. With a flick of her wrists the ribbons solidified into two gleaming silver rods, and a pale shimmering blade popped out on each one. Her death scythe's handles were shorter than normal, about the length of a sword, but other than that the design was like a standard reaper's scythe. The man, who still hadn't noticed the reaper behind him, began to undo the rope around the younger man's pale neck. "Can't be wastin' perfectly good rope," he muttered to himself. Suddenly the moon crept from behind the clouds, illuminating the deck of the ship. The man looked away from his handiwork as the light showed him an extra shadow, the shadow of a person. He grabbed a knife from his belt and turned around. When he saw a woman with obscure weapons in front of him the man hesitated. Theresa didn't. In one clean stroke she swung the scythe in her right hand, feeling only slight resistance as it came into contact with the man's chest and sliced its way into his skin. The man slumped to the ground as Theresa's vision filled with the white light of the Cinematic Record. This was the second time she had watched a human's record, and it was as amazing as the first time.

The swirling strips of film showed her every detail of his life. His name was Robert Carden, and he had lived in London his entire life. His mother had died after the birth of his younger brother James. The two of them had been close for many years, until James had decided to take up work on a ship. Not even a whole week after his first job, the ship was wrecked in a storm and everyone on board had died. But then Robert heard the captain had survived, and he was enraged. That captain should have died along with his brother. If his brother didn't deserve to live, then neither did he. Robert found the captain and ripped him apart with his own fishing knife. That should have been good enough, but it wasn't. James was still gone. Robert tried to move on, so he bought a ship and started a trading business. But when he started hiring a crew his rage resurfaced; the cabin boy he hired looked exactly like James. It wasn't fair, James shouldn't be dead, and somebody shouldn't be trying to replace him. That night he pulled the boy aside. When they were alone he wrapped a rope around his neck and pulled it tight. The boy was strong and put up a good fight; Robert was forced to pull out a knife and slash him across the chest, officially ending his life. As he watched the lifeless body crumple to the ground, he felt something in his heart. He liked this feeling; he liked killing. So he kept killing, he kept finding young men to slash across the chest, and he would leave their bodies out in the open marketplace where everyone could see his work. Robert wanted everyone to know what he had done, to know his anger and desire for revenge. Then the fateful night came, the night where he would finally be caught. This last kill had been a little messier, so he decided to dump the body in the harbor. The deed was almost done until the moonlight revealed the presence of another person on his ship. He turned, ready to dispose of the witness.

And then it was all over.

Hefting the scythe in her right hand, Theresa decided this was a man who deserved death. She sliced the record with a clean swipe, ending the light show. Reaching into her pocket Theresa found a piece of paper and a pencil. "Robert Carden, age 30. Died of a heart attack on board his ship after the murder of his cabin boy. No other remarks." She put the piece of paper back in her pocket and, after turning her scythes back into ribbons, bent down to pick up Robert's body. A normal human being would not be able to lift him, but of course she wasn't a normal person. The moon was high and the only people on the streets now were the drunk and homeless. Still, for safety's sake Theresa decided she better travel across the rooftops. With another effortless leap she landed on the roof of a nearby building and began to run towards the Undertaker's shop.

When she got close enough to the funeral parlor she leapt down onto the streets. She approached the shop and walked in the door. Even if the Undertaker wasn't awake, she could just leave the body in the back room. Surely he would know it was her who had done the deed. But when she entered the shop she saw him sitting behind the counter, sipping tea out of a beaker and nibbling on what looked to be a dog biscuit. He smiled when he saw Theresa enter the shop and set Robert's body on the counter. Undertaker closely examined the man. "Well done Theresa. Once again I'm impressed." He looked up at her and tilted his head "But where is your death scythe?" Theresa undid the ribbons again and changed them into her scythes, the twin blades shining in the dim candlelight of the shop. "Fascinating. May I?" he asked, holding out his hand. Theresa handed him one of her weapons, allowing him to examine it. The design was simple, except for the fact that it collapsed into a ribbon, allowing the weapon to essentially hide in plain sight and be easily accessible. Shortening the handle and using two also improved efficiency. He handed the weapon back to Theresa who returned both blades to her hair.

"So, why did you want this man's body again?" Theresa asked.

"I didn't," Undertaker said with a giggle.

"Wait, what? I thought you wanted me to bring him back so you could fit him for a coffin."

"Is that what I said? Hmm, it sounds like me, but I don't recall saying it." He started giggling again. Okay, this was getting kind of ridiculous. Why was this guy so into laughing? Well, as long as she was here, she might as well try and get some other answers.

"Okay. So Undertaker, how do you know-" Undertaker quickly pressed a finger to her lips. "Uh uh uh, missy. I'm going to need payment in exchange for any more answers, especially since you got out of here without paying for information the first time. Now, before you ask me how much you should know I don't care for the Queen's money."

"Then how do people pay you?"

"By making me laugh."

"I think I've already done that. You've been giggling ever since I've met you."

"Ah, but that's giggling my dear. I desire true laughter. So, what have you got?" Theresa really had to think about it. She didn't know very many jokes, and the ones she did know were pretty common. She sighed and told the funniest joke she knew. Evidently it was funny enough, because it made Undertaker roll on the floor with laughter for a solid ten minutes. When he stood up he reached under his bangs, supposedly to wipe tears out of his eyes. "Oh my. That was truly wonderful. But…"

"What?" Theresa asked. She hoped she wouldn't have to tell another joke; it probably wouldn't be as good as the first one.

"It's nothing. I was just thinking that it would have more entertaining if you had smiled while you told that joke."

"Oh. It's been a while since I've smiled, well, genuinely." Theresa said, rubbing the back of her neck. There wasn't really much left in her life that gave her reason to smile. But she was getting off topic. "Okay, I've made you laugh. Now how do you know about reapers?" Undertaker was about to answer when all of a sudden the door to Undertaker's shop flew open. In stepped an all too familiar well-dressed man with yellow-green eyes and glasses.

"Theresa Blackheart, you need to come with me. We have some things to discuss about your recent activity." Theresa stayed silent as she followed Will out the door. Undertaker watched the two of them leave. This was looking like trouble.