When she unexpectedly dies, Mackenzie Bowen lacks the paperwork she needs to pass into The Beyond. To avoid sitting in a waiting room for centuries, Mack is paired with Leon, a miserable Reaper, and hopes to either undo her death or earn her spot be...
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While I still thought it was optimistic to call Clark's closet an office, I was grateful for the cosy space. It felt far more welcoming without Leon looming angrily over us, and the warm mug of tea clasped between my fingers was the greatest pleasure I'd experienced since my untimely death. Even if food and drink weren't necessary for Reapers, I couldn't imagine abstaining entirely for as long as I was stuck in this purgatory.
As I sipped quietly on the scalding liquid, I swung my feet idly beneath the chair and watched Clark stamp and sign documents. When he was done, he rolled the papers and stuffed them into capsules. The pneumatic tube greedily accepted them and spirited the tubes away to who knew where. I didn't feel that it was my place to ask, although I was sorely tempted. I was also tempted to stick my hand in the tube to see what would happen, but I figured I should be a mature adult and resist the urge.
My gaze was drawn to the décor or lack thereof. I'd been to my Dad's office a few times and he'd always had photographs around his desk, framed certificates and qualifications on the wall, and other personal items that helped him feel at home. Clark had nothing of the kind. I didn't know if it was because there weren't photographs in the afterlife, even though I'd seen a fair few portraits, or if he simply didn't care enough to furnish the place with personal items. I mean, it might well have been that he simply didn't have the space. Whatever the reason, there was nothing in the room that gave a single hint as to the person Clark was. Nothing except the piles of papers stacked precariously atop filing cabinets and in corners. If I hadn't already visited the study where I'd left Leon, I'd have thought that Clark's antique wooden desk was a personal flourish, but it seemed that was just par for the course in the afterlife.
"What are you signing?" I asked.
Clark jumped. I figured he'd forgotten I was there; he'd been so absorbed in his work that he wouldn't have noticed a herd of elephants stampeding down the corridor outside, never mind the blonde Reaper sipping tea on the other side of his desk. He shuffled the papers until they were neatly stacked, losing whatever it was he'd been reading in the process. Probably so that I couldn't read something confidential. Honestly, I wasn't super interested in learning all the fine details of the afterlife. I only cared about moving on or going back, and only Clark could help me figure things out.
"Various documents."
"About my case?"
"Yes and no. I offer my support to other caseworkers when I have time. Checking appeal statements before hearings, proofreading the contractual agreements for new heavenly emissaries, the usual things."
I wasn't sure that any of those things could be considered usual, but very little about our respective situations was. I mean, it was probably all standard procedure for Clark in his role. Still, it seemed a little weird that he was helping others when he was meant to be completely focused on my situation. From the way he'd reacted when I'd first appeared in his office, I'd deduced that my case warranted urgent attention, yet he had time to read contracts for his colleagues instead of getting me out of my Reaper job.
