Bud’s Subs was a busy, carry out only sandwich shop on Harrisville’s main strip. It had ten employees counting Rick, who currently held the headache and ulcer inducing title of Manager. His opinion of the people who worked for him ran a tight spectrum from “idiot high school acne farm jackoff,” to “evil, soon to be prison bitch, thief.” Rick had suspected something wasn’t right with his assistant manager Walter for the last few weeks. And now it looked as though Walt was padding the register.
The phone rang.
“Bud’s Subs, this is Rick, how can I help you?”
“Rick, it’s Walt,” the voice was thin and scared.
“Hey Walt, what’s up?” Rick asked the bastard. He wanted to reach through the phone line and strangle him.
“Dude, I’m in jail, I need help,” Walt pleaded.
“Really?” Rick asked, suddenly feeling a little better.
“Yeah, it’s all some kind of mistake. The cops found some pot, but it wasn’t mine. This fucker that hangs out at my place sometimes must have left it and my fucking girlfriend never answers her cell phone and these aren’t even my pants, man…” Walter rambled. Was he crying? He sounded kind of like he was crying…
“Walter, slow down. You lost me on the “pants” thing,” Rick replied.
“Yeah, man, these pants are tie dyed!” Walt said. He was crying.
“Okay, I’m still not with you on the pants thing, but is this your only phone call?” Rick asked.
“I dunno,” Walt mumbled.
“Walt, I’ve never been in jail, but on TV people only get one phone call and I get the impression you’re supposed to call a lawyer, or bail bondsman, or something like that.” Rick found himself amazed at the fucker’s ignorance. Wouldn’t the cops have told him to call one of the people he mentioned? Didn’t this moron have family here in town? Maybe he was high…
“Look man, they told me I could make a call and this is it! Are you gonna help me or not? My balls are killing me,” Walt said thinly, as if to keep someone from overhearing.
“His balls?” Rick wondered to himself. Did this have anything to do with the pants that weren’t his? “Look Walt, I’m in the middle of something here and well, this isn’t a good time…”
“Dude, are you gonna help me or not?” Walt interrupted, angrily.
Rick, his mental filters suddenly shorting out asked, “Walt, do you know why Bud’s Subs is short three thousand dollars and change?”
“Click.”
Walter hung up.
Rick stared at the phone for a moment before placing it back in its cradle. “What the fuck was that all about?” Rick wondered.
Amber stood at the register and nervously looked down the length of the sandwich shop through the window to the office. She could barely see Rick in there at his desk. He was on the phone and he looked upset. He was upset a lot lately. She wondered if it had anything to do with Walt, who had not shown up for work in the last two days. She had gotten high with Walt the night before he went AWOL. She had done a little more than that too, but she changed the channel as those memories appeared. She did stuff with guys sometimes, but it was important not to think about it. It was even more important not to name things. Verbs move and go away, while nouns hang around and embarrass you. She didn’t even like the “F” word. It made her uncomfortable.
She liked Walt, but he was sort of slippery. She thought maybe he was seeing another girl. When you’re crushing on someone you don’t want to imagine what’s around the corners. Something was wrong, though. She just knew it.
The Grim Reaper entered Bud’s Sandwich Shop and took in the delicious aroma that soaked the air. She smiled broadly. Humans were capable of great things and this smell was among them. She looked at Amber who was standing at the cash register, nervously twining a strand of her hair around her fingers and staring down the hall at the window to the office.
The Grim Reaper was suddenly aware of Michaela standing next to her.
“Are you here for her?” Michaela asked, gesturing toward Amber.
The Reaper looked at her friend and smiled gently. “I’m here to take part of her I think. Not her entire soul, but a piece of it.” Her face suddenly went eerily blank. “I suspect it will be very painful for her.”
“I’ll fill the void you create. Everything will work out.” Michaela assured her. She looked down at the Reaper’s beautiful hands. “I love your polish,” she said.
“Thank you. It’s new. I like it, too,” she returned. “Your polish is lovely, too. Star Field Number Three?”
“It is,” Michaela replied, smiling.
“Eternity Black,” the Reaper said, wiggling her fingers. Returning to the dark business at hand, she redirected her gaze to Amber.
Amber turned her head from the window down the hall and resumed closing out the register. She carefully pulled the register tape, separated, counted and organized the cash, rolled the coins and placed everything in its’ appropriate bags. She balanced out the transactions and prepped the night deposit slip. She was a dime over, but remembered the customer responsible for the extra dime that ran out with his order unconcerned about his change. She jotted a note about the incident for Rick, bundled the whole thing together and started toward the office.
In mid stride, at the command of angels, time froze in Amber’s personal universe. The Grim Reaper and her colleague Michaela surrounded their newly created statue.
“Ready?” The Grim Reaper asked.
“Oui,” Michaela said.
With a wave of The Reaper’s hand, Amber’s blouse and bra dissolved away. The Reaper stood in front of Amber, Michaela stood behind the girl. The Reaper placed a finger in Amber’s forehead and moved it effortlessly in a straight line down to the girl’s belly creating a momentary, resealing, wake of separation in Amber’s flesh. A vaporous force the color of burning innocence escaped from the spiritual opening, hovering for a moment in space before disappearing completely.
At the same time, Michaela, holding her left hand cupped and palm up, penetrated the girl’s back, square between the shoulder blades. A small fiery glow began to grow in Amber’s chest. Michaela removed her hand. The fire grew quickly, spreading throughout Amber’s entire body. Unable to contain the light, her body became translucent, as brilliant hues danced about within her. The beauty of it all pulled tears from both angels. They stood back and looked at the girl.
“Elle est changee,” Michaela said, solemnly. “Non seulement survivra-t-elle, elle regnera,” she added. “She will,” The Reaper replied.
“Retournez-la des vetements et liberez le temps,” Michaela whispered, then vanished away leaving only her love.
The Grim Reaper studied her work. The girl’s skin was now slightly darker than before. Her body would from this moment on ask questions, that only death could ultimately answer.
The Reaper then willed the fabric of heaven to open, and vanished into its light like her friend. There was, as always a great deal of work to do.
Amber approached the door to the office suddenly feeling really weird. She was kind of dizzy and her stomach felt as though it were floating. A nearly uncontrollable urge to touch her nipples grew within her. Confused, she fought the feeling back. She continued her short journey to the office.
E.H.
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