Chapter 2 Reaping
Thaddeus Quell opened his eyes to sterile white walls and the steady beep of a heart monitor. His body felt like it had been reassembled from scrap and aches in places he didn't know could ache, skin tight and bandaged where the fire had kissed it too hard.
He blinked against the fluorescent glare, trying to piece together the fragments. The fall. The void. The crimson text. Acceptance.
“What was that? I must be crazy for a while,” he said to himself.
A nurse bustled in, clipboard in hand. She was middle-aged, kind-faced, with laugh lines that suggested she hadn't seen much to laugh about lately. "Mr. Quell? You're awake. That's good. You've been out for three days. You're supposed to suffer smoke inhalation, broken ribs, and burns, but luckily and strange, you're lucky to be alive."
Three days? Thaddeus sat up too fast, wincing as pain lanced through his side. "My family. Where are they? Mara? Lily? Delores?"
The nurse hesitated, her eyes flicking to the door. She set the clipboard down gently. "They... came by the first day. Dropped off some papers. I think you should rest before—"
"Papers?" His voice cracked. "What papers?"
She sighed, pulling an envelope from a drawer by the bed. It was thick, official-looking. "Divorce petition. And... a paternity test result. For your daughter."
Thaddeus stared at the envelope like it was a live grenade. His hands trembled as he tore it open. The words blurred at first, then sharpened into knives. Irreconcilable differences. Adultery cited, but not contested. And the DNA report: 0% match. Lily wasn't his.
The room spun. Eight years. He'd scrubbed floors on his knees while Delores watched with that smug curl to her lip. Cooked meals that earned slaps whether they were perfect or burnt. Signed away his house, his car, his future to loans that fed her endless demands. And Mara…God, Mara slipping upstairs with Gregory while he was banished on "errands." He'd suspected, but buried it deep, for Lily. For the family that wasn't even his.
He wasn't the father. He was nothing.
The nurse touched his shoulder awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Quell. Take your time." As her fingers settled on his skin, time froze.
The world halted. A crimson holographic panel unfolded in his vision, sleek and ominous, edged in pulsing red veins.
REAPER’S LEDGER
TARGET ACQUIRED
Name: Evelyn Harper
Age: 46
Fated Death: Stabbed by assailant (drug-seeking intruder)
Time Remaining: 00:04:58
Harvest Value: $100,000
Then the vision slammed into him, vivid, sensory overload. Evelyn stepping into the hallway, humming softly. A gaunt junkie bursting from the stairwell, eyes manic, clutching rusted scissors. The plunge into her neck and hot blood sprayed, the copper smell thick. Her gurgle as she collapsed, fingers clawing at the wound. The clock on the wall ticking down the final seconds.
The panel vanished. Time resumed.
Thaddeus jerked back, gasping. Evelyn frowned, pulling her hand away. "Mr. Quell? You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I... yeah. Just shock, I think." His voice was hoarse, mind reeling.
She nodded sympathetically. "You'll be alright. Rest up." She turned and left, the door clicking shut.
Thaddeus's heart hammered. What the hell was that? He remembered the fall, the flames, the pain fading into black. The text: REAPER’S LEDGER. SECOND CHANCE.
He remembered he accepted. Dead, or as good as, and he'd said yes. Hallucination? Delirium from the smoke? But it felt real. Too real.
He rubbed his eyes. “What?”
Suddenly, a shout echoed from the hallway. Hurried feet, then a gurgle, wet and final. Blood seeped under the door, a crimson pool spreading like spilled ink.
The door burst open. Evelyn lay there, scissors buried in her throat, eyes wide and empty. The junkie stood over her, wild-haired and twitching, blade dripping. His gaze locked on Thaddeus.
"Fuck," Thaddeus muttered as the junkie stepped forward.
Thaddeus scrambled back in the bed, but before the junkie could move, two male orderlies tackled him from behind. They wrestled him down, shouts filling the air as alarms blared.
In the chaos, as he stared at Evelyn's dead body, crimson text bloomed in Thaddeus's vision, holographic and insistent.
REAPER’S LEDGER
HARVEST COMPLETE
Evelyn Harper - $100,000 claimed
What?
The text faded as nurses and security swarmed the scene. Thaddeus stared at the blood, the body being covered with a sheet. He'd seen it. Let it happen. And now... money?
“What the fuck?”
He demanded discharge papers an hour later, ignoring the doctors' protests about observation. "I'm fine," he lied, signing forms with a shaking hand. They let him go, probably glad to free up the bed.
Outside, the December air hit him. It was midday, streets bustling with holiday shoppers. Thaddeus walked aimlessly, mind a whirlwind.
“What am I now? Some grim reaper? A gatekeeper for souls, ferrying them to death for cash? How did I get here?”
His phone buzzed with a credit alert from his bank. $100,000 deposited. Anonymous transfer. His account, which had held a pathetic $23.47 before the fire, now glowed with promise.
"Oh my God," he whispered, stopping on the sidewalk. It was real.
His thoughts raced. If one death was a hundred grand, ten would be a million. A hundred? Ten million. Billions if he played it right. People died every day—accidents, violence, age. He could touch them, see the inevitable, step back, and collect. No blood on his hands, technically. Just... omission. Was he an assassin by proxy? Or could he be a hero, saving lives instead?
But what if he saved? He reached a stalemate. He couldn't think further.
He shook his head, weaving through the crowd. Up ahead, in the middle of the crosswalk, a figure stood, a glowing silhouette, dark and ethereal, unmoving as cars whooshed by without touching her. Thaddeus widened his eyes. “What the…”
He shook his head again and rubbed his eyes with his index fingers. Still the figure was there.
It turned. It was a woman. Evelyn, the nurse. Pale, translucent, blood still staining her uniform. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Yet the words echoed in his head: "You let me die. I'm coming for you."
She vanished like smoke.
Now, he couldn't speak a word. He keep looking. Wondering if he was still Thaddeus with the things he'd been seeing since the fire.
Thaddeus stumbled, heart pounding. A scooter clipped his leg, nearly knocking him down. "Watch where you're going, dude!" the rider yelled, skidding to a stop.
Thaddeus looked up. The kid was young, seventeen maybe. Handsome, with tousled hair and a backpack slung over one shoulder. Their eyes met, and the kid's hand brushed Thaddeus's arm as he steadied himself.
Time froze again.
The crimson panel materialized.
REAPER’S LEDGER
TARGET ACQUIRED
Name: Jordan Reyes
Age: 17
Fated Death: Vehicular impact (delivery van, red light violation)
Time Remaining: 00:00:29
Harvest Value: $25,000
Vision: Jordan remounting his scooter, zipping into traffic. A van barreling through the intersection, tires screeching too late. The sickening crunch of metal on flesh, body ragdolling over the hood, skull splitting on asphalt. Blood pooling under holiday lights.
It snapped back. Thaddeus's pulse thundered. Twenty-five grand? Less than Evelyn, maybe the dark power weighed lives differently. Potential cut short, or something colder.
Easy money. Just walk away.
But something twisted in him. “What if Evelyn join with Jordan to haunt me?”
He couldn't watch another person die. He lunged forward, grabbing Jordan's arm.
"Dude, what the fuck?" the teen protested.
Thaddeus yanked him back just as the van roared past, horn blaring, missing them by inches.
Jordan's eyes went wide. "Holy shit. That... that could've been me."
“Yes,” Thaddeus answeed. “It could have been you.”
Jordan hopped off the scooter, pale. "Thanks, sir. Seriously." He pushed the scooter onto the sidewalk and walked away, glancing back once.
Crimson text appeared:
REAPER’S LEDGER
SAVE REGISTERED
Jordan Reyes - Harvest denied
BALANCE: LEDGER BAR - RED: 1 | GREEN: 1
Immediately the holograph details disappeared, pain hit like a freight train. Literally, as though a freight train ran him over.
Thaddeus's heart stuttered, seized. He spiraled, chest crushing, vision blackening, the world tilting. He collapsed to the pavement, gasping, clutching his shirt as phantom impacts echoed through his body: the van's crunch, the asphalt's bite. It lasted an eternity in seconds, with agony borrowing from the kid's averted fate.
He struggled, rolling to his side, sucking air. Slowly, the vise on his chest eased. He sat up, sweating, as a cop approached. "You okay, buddy? Need an ambulance?"
Thaddeus waved him off, rising unsteadily. He ignored the stares and walked away, legs like jelly. He didn't need telling.
Let a soul die: profit, scaled to their "worth," but haunted by their vengeful echo. Save one: take their death for a spell, feel it in your bones. He was dying inside, piece by piece, with his vitality shaved off, a toll that would accumulate. One save, and he felt years older already, from within.
But vengeance burned brighter than the curse. As he trudged down the street, plans formed. He'd find Madam Delores first, he'd touch her, see her end. Tell her every gruesome detail, watch the fear twist her smug face.
Then Gregory, the "son" who'd stolen his wife, who owns the little girl he called his daughter, the one who stole his life. He'd whisper their fates like bedtime stories, make them suffer before the reaper claimed them and make money.
Even if his own existence was misery, he'd live long enough to see them break. Vengeance first. The curse could wait.
