Reaping Me Softly

get away from the brown, fizzy sea Niko had created.

“Watch it, Niko.” Darla grabbed napkins and dabbed at the spilled soda. “This is a brand new cardigan. Not that you won’t buy me a new one if it got ruined, but still. I’d like to hang on to this one for a while.”

“My apologies.” Niko relaxed the vise grip that held the can and blinked impotently at what he’d done. “I don’t know what came over me.”

The boys being no help at all, the girls tag-teamed the rest of the spill and chucked the soaked napkins into the nearest bin, mumbling something about how chivalry had been dead a long time. When they sat down again, they resumed planning the dance like busy buzzing bees.

“Here.” Desmond handed Niko a fresh napkin. “What’s with you?”

Niko wiped his hand clean then leaned closer to Desmond without removing his gaze from Arianne. “That boy sitting beside Arianne—”

“Ben Freeman,” Desmond cut him off. “He’s been friends with Ari since their sandbox days. Fairly decent guy. Great slugger.”

Niko had to dust off his file on baseball terminology. “So, he and Arianne—”

“That’s the thing, man. No one really knows. They look like they’re together, but their official stance is that they’re just friends. How’s that even possible? A guy and a girl—especially when said guy catches the eyes of the ladies and said girl is a total piece—can never really be ‘just friends.’” Desmond sandwiched the last two words in air quotes. “If you ask me, they’re totally getting it on.”

“Getting it on?” Another phrase he had to recall.

“Doing the nasty. Bumping in the night. Having wild, animalistic—Whoa! Hold on a minute, mister.” Desmond paused to gawk at Niko. “Are you trying to tell me you have the hots for Arianne Wilson?”

Niko slid lower into his seat. “What has you thinking that?”

“Niko, you know I’m your man, right? We’re brothers from another mother. But, dude, sometimes you’re just a little…” Desmond gestured with his hands as if he could pluck out the word from someone else.

“A little what?”

“Thick. Dense. Lead can be seen through better than you.” Again his perfect teeth emerged. “You know, like you have tunnel vision, or something.” He placed his hands on the sides of his eyes in an imitation of blinders. “Your locker was one away from hers last year, and yet, you didn’t notice her. What does that say about you?”

Disbelief clubbed him on the side of the head. Through his virtual concussion, he sifted through his memories from the year before and recalled nothing that had to do with her. “That’s impossible.”

“Niko,” Desmond said his name like a sigh. “In the years I’ve known you, not once have you shown any interest in a girl. Let alone someone like Arianne Wilson.”

“I notice girls.” His defense sounded hollow, even to his own ears.

“Yeah, and Darla’s a horse.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to be rude,” Darla interrupted, “but is our planning getting in the way of your little chat?” She glared at Niko. A graveyard hush swept over the table. The chill in her voice could freeze lava. “It’s bad enough you tune me out—and don’t even try to deny it—but seriously, you don’t have to be this disinterested.”

Niko narrowed his eyes at Darla for a millisecond before he graced her with a floodlight smile. “I believe a masquerade ball is a wonderful idea. It would bring some class to this little town,” he said with perfectly manufactured enthusiasm, reciting the last thing Darla said word for word before her interruption.

Fourth of July fireworks lit up Darla’s face. “You were actually listening to me?”

“Darla, I always listen to everything you have to say.” Niko reached across the table and gave her hand a quick squeeze.

“So…so, you think we should all go with the Masquerade Ball? Not the Haunted House Party?”

He let go of her hand and winked. “I think we should do anything you want to do. You’re the one with the best ideas.”

“I am?”

All the girls tittered their support. The boys—not dumb enough to contradict—volunteered to do all the heavy lifting.

“Then it’s settled,” Darla said as if she held a gavel in her hand.

Fatigue—the villain he’d been fighting against all day—hung on his shoulders like barbells. By the end of the school day, he could barely keep his eyes open. He stood at the top of the front steps, searching for his train of thought. It had left the station several hours ago. He couldn’t recall what he had to do next.

Kids scurried to and from the school. Some scrambling to attend whatever extra-curricular activity they’d joined at the beginning of year. Niko gave in to the temptation of kneading his eyelids. A slight pulse had begun to throb right in the middle of his forehead. A pillow. He wanted a pillow. And silk sheets. Better yet, his own bed—a four poster king with heavy velvet curtains that blocked out any form of light.

“Arianne, wait up.”

Hearing her name snapped him awake. He scanned the crowd and spotted that boy—Ben—running toward Arianne in his ever present baseball cap. She turned around and beamed.

Elation morphed into instant hatred toward the recipient of that smile. It almost knocked Niko over. He’d never come so close to bloody murder. It scared him, coming out of left field and slapping him in the face.

A target painted itself on Ben’s back after he handed Arianne a stuffed panda. She cuddled it to her chest. She rose on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on the boy’s cheek. Niko caught himself thinking that if he snapped his fingers the panda would disintegrate and Ben would find himself transported to the middle of the Sahara desert. Naked. With no food. Better yet, with man-eating camels after him. What? Man-eating camels?

Master. Sickleton’s voice echoed in his head, interrupting his plans.

What is it, Caretaker? he answered telepathically.

I apologize for the intrusion, but you are needed.

Niko closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he stood in the foyer of his home. Sickleton waited for him near a marble table with iron legs. His lurid Caretaker greeted him with a frown perfected after years of practice.

“What is it?”

“I would have preferred it if you took the bus,” Sickleton said under his breath. “What if you were seen?” This he said louder.

“Sickleton, I’m tired. I don’t have the time or the patience to explain to you the intricacies of instant teleportation. I would prefer that you cut to the chase so I can begin my duties.”

A black envelope with silver calligraphy appeared, floating above his open palm. “From your wide-eyed expression, I take it you had forgotten what day it is.”

Niko constructed a formidable facade on the outside. Inside, however, he mentally chided himself for forgetting. “Have the minions enforce the Certificates while I’m gone.”

“And the souls, sir?”

“Have them gathered in the basement. I’ll escort them for processing when I return.”

“It would be prudent to rest first after the gathering.”

“Where is this worry coming from? It is most unlike you.” Niko stood tall, shoulders squared. “Shall I put in a request for a change of Caretakers?”

Shaking his head like a child about to be whipped, Sickleton said, “No, sir. Please, sir.”

“See to it you keep your worries to yourself then. I can most certainly handle myself.”

“As you wish, Master.”

Niko made a fist and a scythe materialized. Its icy-blue, transparent blade curved menacingly over his head. Its flat had holes varying in diameter from the largest at the base to the smallest at the tip. Gripping the scythe’s smooth Blackwood staff, he tapped the floor once with the metal stud attached to the end of the shaft. A death bell tolled low and deep—solemn and desolate. Black flames burned away his clothing, replacing them with a coal suit, a