Free His Name Was Death (Dead Man's Tale Book 1) by J. Eric Hance

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VIII
    The Commute
    Sudden cold shocked me awake.
    The first thing I saw was Elliott, soaked fur plastered to his sides. He looked barely half his usual size as he stood there, hissing.
    My own clothes were also soaked, dripping on the hallway floor.
    Emma loomed above us both, holding an empty bucket. Her body was rigid, but the phantom tail swished angrily behind her. She stared at me with narrow, menacing eyes. Absent were all traces of the friendly neighbor I’d briefly met the night before.
    Behind her, the stairway flashed with my red beacon, but that direction was completely blocked.
    So, this is it , I thought.
    I didn’t want to die, but I also didn’t want to live the hell my world was becoming. Maybe there was an escape, and maybe there wasn’t; I was no longer sure I could find it before this new life managed to kill me.
    So I turned to face Emma, and prepared for the worst.
    “I know this isn’t the greatest neighborhood,” she began, her tone furious, “but it’s the only one I’ve got. I’d kindly thank you, Reaper , to stagger all the way into your apartment before you decide to sleep one off.”
    “Wait,” I stammered, shocked. “No wait, what? It’s not like that.”
    Emma crossed her arms, unconvinced, looking judgmentally down her nose at me. “Oh really? Why don’t you tell me what it is like, then.”
    I touched my forehead experimentally, wincing when I found the tender spot. “I hit my head.”
    “Uh huh.” She tossed the bucket into her apartment before turning back to me. “I expected better from a Reaper.”
    My words lashed out angrily. “Well, maybe I don’t want to be a Reaper, damn it.” The anger evaporated as quickly as it came, leaving my voice sounding suddenly hollow. “I never wanted to be a Reaper.”
    “Oh, is that it?” Emma squatted down beside me, wrapping her arms around her knees. Her eyes filled with an emotion that, while not quite compassion, was certainly more than simple understanding.
    “Look at me, Reaper. Demonic slut isn’t exactly what little Midwestern girls dream about growing up. We all have a past, we all come from…” she trailed off for a moment, the emotion in her eyes unreadable, “…somewhere.”
    “But I didn’t have a choice,” I argued weakly.
    Emma laughed a short, humorless laugh. “Nobody gives up their immortal soul without a really good reason, Reaper. One way or another, we were all forced into this life.” She stood, offering me her hand.
    I realized it wasn’t yet my time to die, and the relief that washed over me was a surprise. Despite everything that was happening, it seemed I wasn’t ready to give up.
    I took Emma’s hand and let her help me back to my feet. The remains of my groceries lay in scattered ruins around us. It didn’t matter; I was no longer hungry.
    Emma examined the aftermath, her smile hard. “Now that you’re here, you just have one decision to make.”
    “And what’s that?”
    “Will you own your new life, or will you let it own you?”
    I looked at the flashing red stairwell. A lukewarm sensation, somewhere between resignation and determination, started to build in my chest. She was right, of course. I understood exactly what she meant.
    There are times when the best way to escape your problems is to run at them head on. I wasn’t giving in…not exactly. I was going to find a way out, but first I needed to live long enough to find it.
    “I have to go,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’ve got a job to do.”
    And then I hesitated, surveying the mess I’d made of the hallway.
    Emma slipped an arm through mine, smiling her cute and friendly neighbor smile once again. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean it up, but you’ll owe me one.”
    Elliott hissed behind us.
    I immediately understood the sentiment; no matter how cute and friendly, Emma was still a demon…an Agent of Evil. Owing her a favor sounded like a very risky proposition.
    No matter how trivial.
    “Don’t go to any