They call me Grim (COMPLETED)

Chapter 7: Mausoleums and pink

Alright, edited this at four in the morning so sorry for the mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

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Grim and Blake stared at the file with mouths hanging open and eyes bulging. Neither of them moved for seemingly hours, rereading and analysing what was printed in front of them. It read like some knock off horror book but, unfortunately, it was real. No heart? Alive but not alive?

One thing was clear; they needed to know what had been blanked out on this document.

"What else is in the folder?" Blake asked hesitantly. Grim slowly pulled back the pages of Gregory's report to find a photo. Grim thumbed through to see that there were two other pictures, all of young men smiling at the camera. Behind them were detailed reports about each of the men.

"These are the enforcers that disappeared," Grim said, handing Blake the photos.

He stared at them for several moments before saying, "I think I remember them."

Grim looked at the photos and shook her head, having no memory of them at all, and for some reason feeling terribly bad about it. "What do you think happened?"

"No clue. Normally the previous alpha would've told me all about this, but Gregory died so suddenly."

Grim turned to Blake, "We need to find out what's missing."

"Undoubtedly."

Grim looked at Blake, the fierce determination on his face. He wasn't the same boy.

The realisation came so suddenly it knocked the breath from her. The man in front of was no longer the bratty, cruel teenager he had been. He had changed so much. He was a better person. He was responsible. He might even be a good man.

Grim stood and hurriedly slipped away. "You need to call the council. I think I'll go look around where they lost the scent."

She was frazzled, her mind foggy and her movements robotic. Blake didn't seem to notice as he nodded standing and clutching the folder to his chest tightly. Grim quickly touched her necklace and before he could say a word was across town.

She arrived in the tree line, staring into the forest. She didn't know what she hoped to find but she just needed to escape. She couldn't stand being in that room. God, what was wrong with her? She hated him.

No, a voice in her head corrected, you hated the man he was.

Stupid inner voice, what did it know?

Grim turned and sent her cloak and scythe away with a thought. She placed her hands on her hips, staring out over the old cemetery. The wolves chased the scent to here where it disappeared, had they fled into the next territory? The necromancer couldn't escape this way; he was running into the next packs arms.

Where would he have gone?

And then Grim face palmed.

She was literally staring at a cemetery. A cemetery which was no doubt filled with dead people which necromancer, witches who liked death, could have heaps of fun with. She was literally standing in a necromancer's gold mine. God, she was an idiot.

But she did not want to go. It was a well known fact that all reapers hated cemeteries, they really just hated anywhere with an abundance of newly departed souls, the ones that still clung to life and refused to move on.

Grim knew there would be dozens. There would be the fresh ones, the ones that still had their sanity and memories, who had only recently died. They would be the worst, begging and pleading with some delusion that she could help them. Then there would be the ones who had been there for about two months, they could feel themselves fading. They wouldn't be able to remember their parent's names, or maybe even their own. They would have given up, listlessly wandering around and regretting their decision to stay. Then there were the oldest ones, the ones who were on the edge. They couldn't tell you their names or how they died or anything. They were completely empty. Most of the time they simply faded away, their soul finally losing the ties that kept it grounded and slowly, piece by piece, disappearing. Then there would be the ones that still had anger, the ones that held onto something and refused to let go, the ones that souls slowly curled up and turned dark, until they were nothing but a swirl of hatred and rage.