Chapter 27: Best You Get

OPOV

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, actually it was a really cold and drizzle filled night but it may as well have been dark and stormy as far as Roxy was concerned. There had been more car accidents than she wanted to think about and she was dead (pardon the pun) tired from it all.

She pulled into the garage of the apartment and leaned back against the seat of the car, eyes closed, and hands still on the wheel and the engine running. It was too damn late to have to get up so damn early. There was no way in hell she'd be able to pull off waking up at five tomorrow morning considering it was one now and she hadn't even made it up the stairs yet.

As Roxy managed to make it up the stairs something on the door caught her eye. It was white, rectangular and there was a rose with it. Shit. She pause and cast a glance around the area to make sure no one was standing in a corner because that meant only one thing: William. She neared the door and pulled the envelope to her and quickly pulled out her keys. No scary voice came out from behind her and no knife managed to come flying out so she opened the door as fast as she could, walked in, and shut and locked the door behind her.

She leaned against the door and ripped open the envelope and started to read, her eyebrows cocking the further she read:
Roxy:
I had no right to act the way I acted and there's no way for me to tell you how sorry I am. Please be assured that I've gotten some help and I'd really like to try and show you that I'm going to be all right and different. After what happened I finally realized I needed help and I want to thank you for being the one to show it to me because…I think I'm in love with you, Roxy. I'm sorry, so very sorry and I'd appreciate it so much if maybe we could get together and talk. Just talk. I'm not going to ask any more than that. Please?
William

ROPOV

I made it back to flat in about half the time it took me to walk to the gallery. There was something different once I'd gone: a change in me I couldn't place. It was nice to know they didn't send me out here just to change me out. Then again, apparently there was the chance that it might happen when I go home and that made me a little nervous.

I sat down at the small table with a mug of coffee and rested my head on my arms. To think that soon enough I'd be getting back home after what seemed like an eternity here in the place where I was born. I'd avoided this place as much as I could when I was younger, and even now I had issues with being here. My eyes moved to look down at the paperwork I'd gotten and instantly I felt a pang of regret that I didn't even make it a point while I was here to maybe see if I had any kind of family line left since, well, the dreams and all were giving me hints toward family. Then again, if I did manage to have any family left they'd probably be under about twenty new names and any kind of family history we had was probably long since dead. As is the problem with time.

I picked up the envelope and looked at the very nondescript handwriting on the front. Death was androgynous as well as very neat. To think that I was favored at least a little bit by death was interesting to say the least…but to have one of them say they didn't want to lose my "talent". Yes, because my fucking talent is to get the shit beaten out of me so some poor soul doesn't get gypped out of a nice afterlife. Well, whatever floats their boat I suppose.

The envelope was thick, probably filled with page after page of why I have to do what I have to do. Destiny in all of its amazing glory was calling on me to fulfill whatever it was that needed to come to pass because I, unlike the rest of the reapers in the world, could take a beating like no other. To be honest as I held up the envelope I could feel my heartbeat quicken just a little. Inside was the opportunity to go home and perhaps make the life I should have had back, and I winced at this thought, a century ago.

I ripped open the flap convincing myself it was like the Band Aid theory that if you just rip it the pain won't be as bad as just pulling little by little. Inside there was indeed a nice stack of paper along with a fat roll of bills that would "aid" me in my travel if need be. I smiled to myself and pulled out the money, weighing it in my hands before I put it down on the table and took a long swig of the now lukewarm coffee that sat beside me. The papers were covered in small font type spanning the length of most of the page, but some were in the same nondescript handwriting and seemed to be of a little more importance than the type. I picked up the first page in the stapled pile and lifted my coffee mug to my face as I read.
The following is a complete report on your next assignment. There is a good bit of background information you must go through before we feel that you should even attempt this. Your assignment is aware that reapers exist, even if he believes it to be a delusion. The knowledge will and has slowly driven him insane and he will come to violence before there is a chance of us being able to get to him. His soul was lost years ago but the evidence was hidden under a constant state of paranoia that we seemed to dismiss as the natural progression of some living souls. Typically, this wouldn't be a problem for any of your specialty because you're used to the type of work, but in this case there is a factor involved that may cause problems for those without your…experience. We feel that this is a very dangerous assignment and have given it to you for the fact that you are the only reaper that has had the collective experience to make it work. Enclosed is every bit of information on his person along with the name, date, place, and ETD. Be wary of his actions because once he knows you're after him he'll stop at nothing to keep you at bay…even if that means killing another person.

I blinked and put down the stack of paper and looked into my coffee mug. This was not going to be the coming home trip I had envisioned at all. Not only was there an apparent death-aware psychopath on the loose, but I was the only person outside of Management who had the ability to take care of things. Way to pile on the pressure, huh?

Before picking the pile back up I rinsed out the coffee mug and instead opted for a gin and tonic that would fit inside a Big Gulp cup. The scent of gin filled my nose as I took a pull and winced. Fucking cheap gin. I shivered and fought against coughing as the taste of pine needles made their way down my throat and proceeded to make my stomach feel like Christmas.

MPOV

I slid the door open to the house and peered carefully into the living room. It was dark, thank god, which meant George was probably upstairs and hopefully asleep. Fuck if things around the house haven't sucked since…well, we all know. George refuses to talk to me, and I fucking well know it, but Christ if she just…with those eyes and that face…it breaks my fucking heart. Why does she have to look at me like I just completely destroyed everything? Oh wait…I did.

My hands shook as I neared the stairs and looks up at the darkness that would be her room. She'd be on her stomach with one leg nearly propped up and I would smile and shake my head before leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. Well, I would if I hadn't been banished to the couch. The couch was like a fucking reminder every day that I screwed up. And there was a nice bottle of vodka (full mind you) along with a shot glass on the coffee table to better remind of why exactly I was there.

I shook my head and turned around, heading toward that damn couch and sat down on it. I couldn't blame her for this. I had done the most fucking unbelievable thing in the world and she had every right to be mad, nay, furious at me. I was just pissed at myself.

A shower could wait until she was gone the next morning and I had free reign over the house until she got home. I changed out of my clothes and pulled a blanket over my head, willing the world to just go away. It had been almost a week since it happened and things weren't getting any easier. Maybe Rube was right and the idea of finding the one single fucking person in the world you could love after you're dead was impossible. No. I love her. That's it; plain and simple. I'll just have to…get her to talk to me.