SDSC Backstory for Opening
Interlude: Ankou (Undertaker)
She was dead. Definitely dead. Well, that puts a real crimp into things, Ankou thought. Usually such a thing came as part and parcel of being a Grim Reaper with the Shinigami Dispatch Society, except the hapless corpse before him happened to be one of their own. Moreover, she was supposed to be the lucky volunteer who would get sent back in time to help the Reapers cope with massive death counts of the Second World War.
Except she was dead.
Falling back into familiar habits from his days as Undertaker, Ankou began engaging the recently deceased corpse in friendly tones. "Well, well, this puts us in quite a pickle doesn't it?" he said. "I don't' think I've ever seen a Reaper forget to teleport when stepping off of a building. You were in such a hurry to travel to the Past that you no longer have a Future. I guess in a way you succeeded though. You're definitely history." He giggled at his own joke, but the sight of the crisp white shirt peeking past the black sleeves of his regulation suit caused it to die in his throat.
Business. This was still business. Oh yes, this certainly was NO laughing matter…but it might yet yield positive results. A sigh of hope mingled with weariness escaped him. It was the kind of weariness unknown to those who lived a mere firefly century of years. His long, pale tresses slid forth softly as a winding sheet as he bent down to examine the body on the pavement. Fortunately, since they were both Reapers, few wayfarers would notice them even in death.
Gently turning the head of the corpse with a dark enameled finger, he marveled at how little damage there was on the outside. "Hit your head just right, did you, dearie? I'm sure there are some broken ribs as well. Hmm, perhaps the shock stopped your heart? I wonder if that would please you. Should I write down, 'Died of a broken heart'? Hmmm? That might get a few of the lads, and perhaps some of the lasses, scrambling to wonder if they were the cause, eh? Hee, hee…ah wait."
Reaching out his long arms, he lifted her as gently as he would a child. "Well, Taylor, you might not be going into the Past yourself, but we might yet still have use for your body. I hope you don't mind." With that he teleported to the hospital where an emergency team might be able to keep the corpse alive long enough to heal. Taylor's spirit would not be returning, he knew for a certainty, which was good because there was another one that needed to take over. One that needed reaping still.
…
Interlude: William
The phone rang at an ungodly hour, and he would know since he was a Death God after all. William cracked an eye to gaze blearily at the giant clock on the table next to his bed. The eerie glow off the analogue face told him it was nearly 4am. When would his coworkers have the common decency to let him sleep? He already worked a double shift the day before and hoped to sleep long enough, and deep enough, that he could handle the morning shift that was next on his schedule. Morning started far too early in Purgatory.
Maybe if he ignored it, the caller would realize they made a mistake? The phone was all the way over in the other room after all. He avoided keeping electronics in the bedroom as much as possible. The constant hum and chatter of the things acted as the antithesis of sleep for him. Given that he had been born nearly 200 years before their advent, the sound remained unnatural to him.
The phone rarely rang while he worked and did so even less when he finally trudged home. The odds of it being a wrong number were slim and diminished with every passing second of shrill, insistent sound. Dragging himself out of bed, he grabbed his glasses and stormed into the other room. Snatching the phone from its recharging cradle in the living room, he frowned before he even heard a voice. The feel of the tiny thing in his hand felt entirely unsatisfying compared to the weight of the old corded ones in the office. You could seriously bludgeon someone with one of those, and if this call turned out to be frivolous, that might be exactly what he'd do to the person on the other end. "William T. Spears here. This had better be important!"
An old, familiar voice echoed from the other end. "Why, my, my Mr. Spears! No kind words after all these years? All these years of waiting no less?" That stopped him. Ankou and he had a pact after all.
William's anger dissipated like the morning fog. In a quiet voice he replied, "It's finally time?" So much waiting, longing, despairing, hoping, was it finally over?
"Yes indeed, my friend," the voice on the other side of the line replied. That last word was one nearly foreign to William's vocabulary, yet all they had been through together gave him, Ankou, and Mr. Knox a bond that could hardly be called anything less.
"When?" he choked out. Already the strain of so many years of emotions made his voice raspy. What needed to come next wouldn't be less painful.
"Actual-l-y…" the voice paused as if in thought, "…now."
"WHAT!?" William burst out, moving the phone in front of his eyes as if seeing the picture of Ankou's long, silver white tresses and prevalent grin would alleviate anything. "That's no way to do things! How am I supposed to get there?"
"The same way you usually do. Use the teleport pylon. I will meet you there shortly," Ankou replied in a mix of cool tones and colorful amusement. Damn the man. Couldn't he be serious even this once?
"Who's going to run the office while I'm out?!" William snarled at the phone.
The unblinking image continued to mock him with its eternal amusement. "How long do you think this is going to take, William? It's a reaping, not a wedding."
William blushed at that. Damn the man. "It. Is. An. Important. One." He forced each word out through gritted teeth.
"Ah, ha-ha, my friend, great or small, these things are all about the same. The office will be fine for the few moments you will be away. You were going in shortly anyway, were you not? Go ahead and take your lunch break at the start of the day, if it bothers you so. Then you can see it all the way through." William could picture Ankou waving his gloved hand at him to encourage him to calm down.
He could still imagine him being shrouded in the robes of the Undertaker the man used to play the part of. He even opted to go by "Ankou D Undertaker" on his office placard even though it wasn't truly his last name. Ankou was older than last names, William suspected. At least the man said he had no claim to one. They weren't common in the early days. Such surnames had to be earned. The truth of the matter remained a mystery since Ankou was the oldest Reaper any of them knew.
"Fine. Give me fifteen minutes. No, twelve. I will be there," William replied in a low voice attempting to regain his composure. This was possibly the most important reaping of his entire existence. He HAD to get a grip on his himself. No sense in scaring her. They'd never even met yet.
Throwing on his suit and tie in record time, William hit the door with keys, completion stamp pen, and folder in hand in less than 4 minutes. Teleporting directly into his office, he stormed out onto the floor, his footfalls marking a sharp staccato on the cold marble tile. A swift right at the windows led him towards Knox's desk.
"I'm going out. I need to leave someone in charge," he said glaring at the man as though he were the last choice William had in mind. The man jumped and his stack of paperwork skewed dangerously from being bumped by Ronald's elbow.
Knox picked up on his aggravation and flustered state right away. "You're here early aren't you? Where's the fire, sir?" he joked.
"It's Carina. The time of her collection is due," he replied crisply.
That stopped him.
It shouldn't gratify him so, but William couldn't help but be pleased that SOMEONE else understood the gravity of the situation.
"So you're going out to get Carina?" Knox asked, spinning about in his chair and adjusting his own spectacles for once. The man peered up at him, evaluating.
"Yes," he answered in a crisp, cool tone.
"Then I'm not staying behind. Sure, you're acting like you're fine with it, but once you get out there, you might start falling apart. This is your wife we're talking about, after all…"
"Future wife," William replied.
"I thought you considered yourself married?" Knox responded, puzzled.
"I do," William replied, adjusting his glasses for emphasis.
Shaking his head as if to chase off nightmares, Knox said, "Whatever. This business gets too complicated for my blood. At any rate, I'm going to be sure you have someone with you in case you do have trouble. We're supposed to have back-up, after all."
"I'll have Ankou," he responded, double-checking his jacket for his scythe. There it was. Seems he had left it in his suit coat the night before. Its weight had become so familiar that he could hardly tell it was there anymore. His choice had been a set of long-handled pruning shears meant for high branches. The long handle retracted admirably, allowing him to tuck the whole thing into a deep breast pocket of his jacket. Lying next to his left shoulder, it was literally and figuratively close to his heart. For many years his Deathscythe and his shadow were the only friends he counted on being there for him. Now he had Mr. Knox before him actually worrying about his well-being. Such moments as this still felt strange to William.
Ronald Knox rose and looked him in the eye. "And Ankou's going to take care of you, is he? I think he'll be busy processing Carina's soul. Do you really see him as the one to carry you off to the bar for a stiff drink if you find it all too overwhelming? You know quite well that we aren't normally assigned to collect the souls of those close to us. It's both to keep us unbiased and sane, although it is a punishment in its own way, I suppose. Regardless, sir, you need a second on hand to help YOU if you need it. That second's going to be me, and I'm not going to budge on it."
William lifted the frames of his glasses between his thumb and forefinger, holding them as though to get a closer look at the specimen before him. Ron's version of care wasn't William's cup of tea, quite literally some days, but he could recognize and appreciate it after all these years. Still, personal life and emotions could not come before the job. "And whom shall take your place here?" William prompted.
"Oh, let Grelle do it. I've nearly got this batch of paperwork done anyway," he said, swiping a hand through his mop of blonde hair shaded to black on the sides. The level of unconcern in his voice irked William.
"Grelle is one of the most incompetent Shinigami out there! As soon as I turn my back, she'll be into trouble. How can you even suggest putting her in charge? She can't run a marathon much less Dispatch!" Anger at the years of dealing with Grelle's incompetence and foolish schemes welled up in him and spilled into his words.
Ronald pulled on his gloves and said, "Look, sir, if you want to have things go smooth at this reaping, and I'm sure you do…" he trailed off and William nodded agreement to his words. Picking the thread back up he continued, "…then you probably don't want Grelle on hand with that chainsaw of hers. It's just begging for trouble."
"Yes, but I…" William began only to be cut off by Ronald, a thing the man rarely did.
"So you ask her to watch Dispatch," Ronald said, getting to his feet. "Don't order her to do it, ask. Show some sincerity, a hint of vulnerability, if I may be so bold, and I don't think she'll let you down. Besides, most of the staff here know their jobs well enough to keep things rolling for the short period we'll be gone. You could appoint someone else, you know, but I think if you set her in charge, it will keep her from testing the limits of your replacement. She holds you in high regard, you know. Grelle doesn't see anyone as measuring up to you in your position."
A flash of anger surged through him. Breathing in sharply through thinned nostrils, William couldn't see any holes in Ronald's argument. Although it felt like setting the red fox to guard the henhouse, he supposed it was the path of least difficulty overall. More importantly, he didn't have a better plan and only 7 minutes left to get down to the teleport circle and all its pylons.
"Very well, Mr. Knox. Lead on. Don't think I'm not aware that you are looking forward to seeing my discomfiture as this little production plays out."
"Me, sir?" Ronald said moving down the hallway as he spoke. "I am the soul of sincerity, itself! Surely you don't think I'd set out to make you uncomfortable in such a demanding hour?"
As his long stride caught him up to the younger Reaper's trajectory, William adjusting his glasses and amended his words saying, "I don't think you'd set it up, but I do think you'd cheerfully enjoy the show as it played out."
Looking up at him, Ron replied, "I can't deny that." William shook his head as they doubled back down the hall. Had he really been around Grelle for nearly 2 centuries and been through so much with her and yet never really trusted her with anything? Not once?
No, that wasn't quite right. He had trusted her with his heart when it was at its most fragile and she had neither let him down nor taken advantage of his moment of weakness. Was it the fact that he had shared such a deeply guarded part of himself that he passed her over for promotion in the division time and time again?
No.
The Reaper was simply incompetent.
Well, incompetent wasn't really the term. Grelle had all the potential to be a great Reaper and none of the discipline. Frankly, he suspected she did half of what she did out of boredom. "This place is deathly dull, Will. Let's go somewhere fun." He could hear her voice even now.
Hmm. Perhaps if she could handle herself this once, he'd indulge her enough to give her a half-day off to go shopping. He supposed he owed her that much.
He and Ron took the final jog past the stairwell and made their way to the Collections Department. It was where Grelle was most likely to be at that particular hour. You know her schedule much too well, William, he thought to himself. Even if it's only to avoid her, you wind up caught up with her time and again, like a comet that can't break free of that red sun's gravity. Gravity…if she had a bit more seriousness you'd probably get along better.
He let the train of thought rest as they opened the door to the spacious lounge where the Reapers took their ease after assignments or while researching the next. Pulling on the long metal handle of the right-side door, William pulled it wide. There she was.
Grelle stood perusing the books and records along the back wall. She was graceful enough not to knock over the icons and relics that commemorated past Reapers achievements and lives before their ultimate Promotion. Most went to a better fate, the others…probably not. Best to not dwell. What he himself was about to do might be tipping those scales in a direction that could land him in a more dire place.
What choice did he have?
Clearing his throat, he called out loudly and sharply, "Grelle Sutcliff!" That got her attention. The Red Reaper turned, her long red trench coat swaying and flaring out with the motion.
"Will! What brings you down to our humble, little Reaper lounge at this hour?" she asked in bemusement. Her eyes held a hopeful sparkle that William always feared and avoided. That Grelle desired him to be in a position over her in more ways than one wasn't news to anyone.
Glancing at Mr. Knox, William caught Ron's slight nod. Time to feed the beast.
Transferring his full attention to the most feared Reaper in all Purgatory, William gave her his sharpest glance as he said, "Grelle, I need you." That brought her coy sway to a sudden stop. Even her coat became still as death itself as she processed the words.
"Wait, you actually came down here looking for me?" she asked. William cut her off before she could say anything more. He had a schedule to keep.
"Yes, Grelle. I need you to watch dispatch for me. I will be gone for about a half an hour if things go well, three hours if it doesn't. Should Mr. Knox return before me, you will relinquish the reins of Dispatch to him. Can you do this for me?" William asked with a hefty sharpness to his voice. He felt like he was gambling with fire instead of dice.
Confusion suffused her features. Raising a single black-gloved finger to her tilting cheek she asked, "If you are asking me for help at last, you must be truly desperate, Will. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. What's the occasion that has our spheres colliding at last?"
Giving a short cough into his own glove at the emotions suddenly choking his voice William replied, "It's time for Carina's reaping."
"OH!" she cried out, her green eyes flying open wide. "Time for you to collect your bride? Wish I could come along, but I'm sure you'd hate to have the bridesmaid outshining her on this, her special day. So she's a June death, is she? Lucky girl!" Tension rippled down William's frame with his sudden anger.
"THAT'S ENOUGH, MR. SUTCLIFF!" William realized only belatedly that he used the wrong pronoun. The flush on his cheeks grew as embarrassment joined anger on them. Having known Grelle as a man first for so many years, it made the other rise to his lips automatically when Grelle pushed him too far.
While he accepted Grelle's personal view of herself, he still made mistakes sometimes. Mistakes were something William desperately despised. Grelle had become more prone to settling on "she" than "he". So William tried to follow suit out of respect.
"My, my. No need to get testy, Will," she said. Was that a dig? Some sly comment snuck in about his misgendering her? Given her penchant for such, it seemed likely.
He sighed. That one he earned, so he let it slide.
"Forgive me, Grelle, my time is short. I have…," he flipped open his pocket watch, "exactly two and a half minutes to arrive on time. I need to know if I can rely on you to handle London Dispatch while I'm gone or not."
Grelle slowly strutted around the semi-circle of couches. "Well, while I might not be pleased that you are about to run off to fetch that woman's soul after all this time, I can hardly deny you, can I? She's the only one I was willing to relinquish you to in the first place. Do you know why?" She paused in front of him, her voice dropping into a smoky, sultry tone. William braced himself for whatever came next.
A single gloved hand came up between them, one pointed finger making circles on his tie. Even Mr. Knox took a step back to be clear of her just in case. "I didn't do it for her, you know. Yes, she fell for you, but who wouldn't? No, Will. I did it for you. I did it because you actually fell for her and I saw the truth of the matter."
William met her eyes, only to see Grelle look down. Were those tears forming? After all this time did it still sting her so? William's own heart squeezed in sympathy. Purgatory took its due from each of them in various, painful ways.
Grelle continued. "If I couldn't have you, then by all that is still holy, I'd only relinquish you to someone who could stir you that way. Someone who would be as good to you as I wanted to be. In the end, I had to admit she was good for you as well. So go. Go to her. I pledge to you this Dispatch will run with all the speed and efficiency that you have come to expect from it. You're such an exacting man. I hope I can measure up to your…expectations. Ah, ha-hmm."
Grelle would never have him. Clearly that pain hadn't faded or tarnished in all the years that followed. William didn't understand the fascination she held for him, especially since she went haring off after any good-looking man that came along, be they human, Reaper, or demon. She might even go after angels or gods for all that William knew. Another reason not to get involved with her from his standpoint. Even so, the honest pain and vulnerability Grelle shared with him required a response.
They'd been through so much. Perhaps he'd give in to her, just this once.
"Grelle," he said quietly, his own hand coming up to gently take her chin and lift her gaze to meet his. "I have never held any doubt that you could reach my expectations. You've just never applied yourself fully to the task. In this hour, I choose you to do this." William could see the tears Grelle had almost mastered rise again and flow freely down the woman's cheeks. The naked pain in her eyes, the resignation paired with flares of hope shared more of her soul with him than contact with her body ever could. He accepted it. Took it into himself and gave back what little care and honest emotion he could.
Taking a slow, deep breath, he whispered low, "I could have gone to some younger Reaper, but I thought that only you would understand the weight on my heart today. So be not flippant or sly with me, Grelle. Show me your true dedication. This calls for precision, not flamboyance. I leave one of the most precious things in my life in your care as I go to seek out the other one. Will you give me your best just this once?" Realizing how forcefully he held her chin up, he weakened his grasp, letting her face drift away from his like an unmoored ship. The two of them were drifting apart towards unknown destinies. The past and future were colliding and leaving them awash in a present they couldn't follow together anymore.
"Of course, Will," came the broken, choked reply. He stepped back and gave her a curt nod, not trusting his own voice at that moment. Grelle dashed one arm under her glasses to clear her vision then her head snapped up, the fire back in her eyes, her stance taking on new life.
"Go, Will! I promise you, this Dispatch will run as efficiently as you were here yourself! It might take a costume change to help me get in the mood…" she said, looking thoughtful, lost in her own ideas at last.
"Do what you need to do, but do it quickly. I have no more time to spare. I must meet Ankou at the pylons in…" he checked his watch again. "Less than a minute. I entrust Dispatch to your care."
"WAIT!" she cried, rushing up to him.
"What is it now?!" he snarled at her. She sucked up enough precious time as it was. There was no more to spare!
"No one is going to believe that you left Dispatch to me without a note," she said rather contritely, looking over the top rim of her spectacles. Even the bow on her red and white striped ribbon seemed to droop apologetically at her words.
"Fine then!" Snatching a notepad out of his pocket, he pulled forth his completion pen stamp and scratched out an inelegant note and stuffed it in her open hand. It had both the date and his signature and outlined the length of time her duties would hold.
As she gazed at it, he beckoned Mr. Knox to follow him. No time left. "Meet me at the pylons. Be sure to arrive at your specific number lest we run into traffic." That was a rather polite way to say, "Lest we wind up melded into another Reaper's body." Teleportation had its risks. You'd best know the location you were aiming for was clear. It was why they assigned numbered pylons to each Shinigami in the first place.
One quick flash and they were both gone.
Author's Note: This is the epic I have been trying to write for years. I'm finally starting it at the point that the action picks up rather than the roughly chronological start since this is a time-travel story and it loops. It's not completed, but it's high time I kept my promise and got it out there. You can read the SDSC Red Valentine story as a side tale as we work our way up to February 14, 1889. This story has taken a lot to create. There will be other viewpoints by my co-creators. This part of the tale is mine. Enjoy.