The Reaper

part ii

part ii

There was a slight murmur, deep in the bowels of the Underworld. It was the sort of rumbling hum that echoed, oscillated and then slowly snowballed into an ear-shattering scream.

Death was behind schedule.

Whipping off his glasses, Hades jabbed a bony finger at the Excel spread sheet on his monitor. "What," the God of the Underworld, Tormentor of Souls, Imprisoner of the Perished roared, his eyes raging with the blaze of thousand fires, "do you call this?"

"A late marking," replied Susan the intern. She made a swift tick on her clipboard. "Five minutes, sir."

The rage of perdition's inferno died instantly. "Oh, well that's not that bad."

Susan shook her head. Her ponytail, pulled so tight it brought the skin on her face back a little, swished. "It is that bad, actually. In five minutes, Death ought to have harvested about five-hundred and forty souls."

The corners of Hades' almighty mouth turned down in a ferocious snarl. He didn't know much, but he did know that five-hundred and forty was a pretty damn big number. He'd have to sort this out. He was already late for brunch.

Hades slumped back in his chair and began to massage his temples. It was going to take one hell of a masseuse to ease the tension this was piling onto him.

"What will happen to all the un-reaped souls, Susan?"

She sighed, flicking through the sheets on her clipboard until she found the right one. "They will remain on Earth."

"That's bad, isn't it?"

"Very bad, sir."

An angry little sigh pushed through his perfectly white teeth. "Whom should I delegate this to, Susan?"

"Security, sir, of the highest order."

One of his eyebrows perked up. "Cerberus? It's only five-hundred and forty souls. I mean, it's bad, but..." he trailed off.

"It's around seven-hundred and fifty-six souls now, actually, sir."

"Damn it, Susan!" He slammed his fist on the desk, causing his (Under)World's Best Boss mug to jump. Then he exhaled slowly like his yoga guru had taught him. "This is worse than I thought.  I'm not sure Cerberus would enjoy being put on this case. Then again," he said, a slow, shark-like smile stretching his face, "this is Death we're talking about. That shirker's been on my tits since day uno, and I have literally had it up to here, Susan." Hades gestured up relatively high.

"Haven't we all," said Susan, paging Cerberus as she spoke.

-

"So," began Rosa. She leaned back against her kitchen counter as her kettle hummed. "Do you have a name?"

"Death," he replied. "Destroyer of worlds, horseman of the Armageddon, foe of rich and poor alike."

"Yeah," she said slowly. "I was thinking something you could maybe put on a business card."

"If you had sufficient space on the business card –"

"Something your mother would have named you," she elaborated. "If you want to fit into the human world, you'll need a human name."

Death paused to consider this. "I have no mother," he said. "I was born from the loins of darkness."

Rosa pulled a face. "Can't you just pick a name?"

"How about yours?"

She stared at him. "You want to go around calling yourself Rosa?"

"I'm sorry, have you trademarked it?" There was far too much sarcasm in his tone for Rosa's liking.