Finally

By J.B. Wayne

Seventeen-year-old Rogue knows all suicides become Death’s reapers. How does he have the skinny on this? He offed himself in 1976, two days after driving the car that accidentally killed his girlfriend Lily. So when Rogue stops Emerson, a girl who looks exactly like Lily, from overdosing, it lands him on Death’s bad side. Not that Death necessarily has a good side.
As punishment, Death forces Rogue to spend one week inside a living body. Within this week, Rogue must gain Emerson’s trust and convince her not to kill herself, or Death will steal her soul and torture her for his own amusement.
The ticking clock bullies Rogue to push Emerson out of her comfort zone, only to discover a dark past leading her quest to die. Struggling with his own fears and memories, Rogue never expects Emerson to start falling in love with him. Or even worse, for the first time in decades, realizing he feels the same for her. Seeing the opportunity to manipulate and punish Rogue further, Death offers to let Emerson become a reaper if Rogue now encourages her to seek him.

Rogue wrestles with what to do: Save this girl’s life in a way he never could for Lily? Or encourage her to suicide, so they can be together forever as reapers?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.B. Wayne
• Release date: Nov 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311663740

J.B. Wayne

My name is J.B. Wayne.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Finally, she says. As if I've kept her waiting.

As if it isn't me who's been waiting. Watching. Pills do the job, but not fast enough. This girl should have added booze to speed the process, make it easier for both of us. Would it have killed her to do some research first? Don't laugh. That wasn't a joke.

I hate this part. The watching. The waiting. Then the panic.

Always the panic.

If I had a preference? Dying in their sleep, for sure. They never see me coming. Even a gunshot to the head is better. Messy but better. I got the skinny on that.

The music in my mind helps. Blue Öyster Cult's (Don't Fear) The Reaper. Ironic, yet excellent choice.

Finally? I repeat it to myself. She was looking me dead in the eye — no pun intended —

when she said it.

I stare at her chillin' at the back of the closet. I see her even though it's dark. She's all smiles. Smiling while offing yourself? That's a new one.

Empty pill bottles are scattered around. Quite the smorgasbord this girl has ingested. I've been through this enough to know she only sees my eyes. The realization of who I am, why I'm here, should've kicked in already.

In this case — the suicide variety — it should be regret first, panic second, and then the inevitable attempt to backtrack. To fake out death. A sure way to get on the bad side of my boss. Not that Death necessarily has a good side. Definitely not the life of the party, if you know what I mean.

So, as I was saying, the regret first. This girl shows none. No panic either. Let me add a little freaky that she's overdressed for the occasion. Diamonds in her ears. Flawless blond hair. Full make-up surrounding those too-familiar eyes and lips. Is that a prom dress? I push aside flashback's pain.

It's as though she's dressed for a date... with Death.

At least she's decent. Oh, sorry, not what you're thinking. I mean I'm glad she's not naked. Hot bath wrist cutters always make me nervous. As if I'm looking to do more than just collect their souls.

She slumps to the floor of the closet. Her tearless eyes begin to dim. I know it's just moments away now. The only reason I'm here invading her privacy. Doesn't matter how many times — thousands of them — it never seems to get any easier.

I check outside the closet for a distraction. The bed is made hospital-corners style. That takes practice. Mountains of pink and green pillows stand at attention. A heap of trophies, medals and certificates suffocate one entire wall.

My eyes dart toward the photos neatly tacked to a cork board. This girl is in every one, smiling with her arms draped around kids who I assume are friends. One grabs my attention.

She's standing on a football field in a cheerleader's uniform, crown, and a sash that reads Homecoming Queen. A dozen red roses claim one arm, a guy in a football uniform and matching crown claims the other. His sash reads Homecoming King.

Tacked at the bottom of the board are two papers. One says Harvard, the other Yale. Both start with the name, Emerson Tate, and then the word accepted.

I focus back inside the closet. She's checking me out through narrowed lids. Still no regret. Still no panic. Still that darn smile. This doesn't add up, for sure.

Finally, she slurs for a second time.

Broken heart? I wonder to myself, then wish I hadn't. Wondering why is careless. A mistake only a rookie makes. Can't let them inside, too much heavy baggage weighing me down already.

I'm no rookie.

But it's too late. She's already in my head. That one word — finally — has me preparing to break rules. If I'm quick it won't be too late. At least, I think it won't. I've never slammed the brakes on one before. I know I'll pay for it later. Don't know how, but it won't be good.

I reach in to pump her stomach. I'm not sure it'll work, then I hear the gagging. She starts purging liquid and pills. More pills than liquid, thankfully. Her stomach seems empty of anything else. I don't do so good with puke; haven't been able to smell or taste for decades, but my mind has a sick way of remembering.

I stop pumping. Can't turn back now. He will have seen, or at least been told. I look down at the girl. Her eyes are closed. She's passed out, but still alive. No more flawless hair. Now it's tangled with what she puked. Several strands fall limp over one eye. I want to smooth it back into place for her, but I won't.

I've done too much already.

Chapter 2

Dancing With Mr. D by The Rolling Stones

Death hides with his control bars behind the black curtain. He manipulates every move. I'm forced to watch as a smiling marionette slumps to the theater floor. The boy marionette rushes to her side. Death controls the strings to have the boy's wooden hands press against the girl's stomach. She sits back upright. Her mouth drops open in shock. Death raises his head above the curtain to stare at me. He hasn't said one word since Grim, the head reaper, shoved me into the room.

I'm squirming in a chair too small for me, chewing the inside of my cheek, hoping maybe he'll understand. Like maybe he'll say I did the right thing. Who am I kidding? Been here for decades, and I've never heard Death say anyone, but him, has done the right thing. I mean, come on, he owns me for eternity because I didn't do the right thing.

Talk about feeling like a puppet.

Death hands the two marionettes to Cleo, one of his pet reapers. She hangs them from the only bare pegs on the wall, surrounded by a creepy number of other puppets. Cleo got Death into this puppetry stuff over two-thousand years ago. He's always saying she's a true connoisseur of manipulation. Guess that's why she only gets dispatched to collect and transfer old souls. The murdered and suicides are beneath her.

Cleo floats from the room, giggling, leaving me stranded.

Well, Rogue? Death asks in his deep voice that always has me shaking.

I lower my eyes to look away. I've let you down, Sir. I know.

"And the girl? Have you not also let her down?"

My eyes meet his, then just as quickly drop again. I hesitate, then nod.

He sits across from me in his enormous high-backed chair. I look up just as he bears against the tight leather, pushing his legs forward. All things considered, he looks surprisingly calm.

Why? he asks. After all these years, why this one?

I force myself to shrug. She had too much to lose, Sir. Didn't make sense. I shake my head. She looked too...

Happy to see you?

I sigh and finally smile. You saw it too?

He lunges forward in his seat, causing me to jump in mine. "I see everything, Rogue, which is why you are here."

Any hope I had crashes. Will I be banished down?

I can tell he's forcing back a smile. No. I will forgive this one time. He sits back again.

You remain a reaper.

I relax my shoulders. Thank you, Sir.

He raises a hand. I am not finished yet. No other reaper will be dispatched if this suicide-seeker attempts again. She is yours.

I swallow down the fear and give a nod.

Death makes a gesture, like he's swatting at a gnat. You may leave now.

My weightless legs somehow feel like lead. I struggle to lift up, then turn to make my way toward the door.

Quite a resemblance, do you not agree? I hear as I reach for the enormous handle.

I drop my hand and stare at the door. I can't turn around. I'm desperate to escape from what he may say next. But I also can't disrespect him again by not responding.

Sir? I force myself to say.

Between this one who has cheated me and the one you lost? The real reason I own you.

My heart hiccups. I didn't notice, I softly lie.

Then it is good I do. To always bring the important elements to my reaper's attention. I don't need to look to know he's definitely smiling.

I drift from the room, as always, letting him have the last word.

Chapter 3

Heart Full Of Soul by The Yardbirds

I leave Death's office feeling more bummed than when I entered. Banishment would've been better than this, for sure. I don't need him stirring up memories. I do just fine remembering on my own. The long blond hair. The blue eyes with flecks of green. The bee-stung lips. Death's right, they're carbon copies.

I tell myself it's not why I saved her, why I can't stop thinking about her. I tell myself I did the right thing, that this one deserved to cheat us. I tell myself this girl won't try again, probably just a one-timer.

I'm excellent at lying. Especially to myself.

I just heard. What were you thinking? says a voice that always sounds stoned, even though it's not. At least not anymore.

I turn to see my buddy, Kirk, sweeping my way. I shrug. It's nothing, man.

He stops just before slamming into me. Way I heard it, you choked at the last second.

Nah, it didn't go down like that. I glance around the corridor to make sure we're alone.

His eyes go wide. Speaking of going down... Naked? Hot-looking? You know I love the juicy details.

Gross, man. Show some respect.

He jerks his head back. For what? The living? If you'd have let her finish, she'd be one of us now.

Why would I want that...want this... I scan my translucent form, for anyone?

He tilts his head with a sneaky grin. I'm talkin' suicide with benefits. Just 'cause you're dead doesn't mean you can't get some.

Say what?

Hasn't it only been a handful of decades? Never too late for your first time.

It takes me a second to register what he's implying. Me and Kirk have been buddies for years — after his own self-inflicted gunshot to the head — but sharing something that private with him was a big mistake. He never lets up. Death must've been tripping when he took your music away. He should've taken away your libido.

Kirk's smile fades. Yeah, I would've missed that less than the music.

I hate to see him suffering over what he was trying to escape from in the first place. Listen, Death just had me buggin' out. Made me forget to tell you what I heard playing when I reaped the one before that girl.

His face sparks up again. One of mine?

I nod. 'Memories Come.'

His eye twitches. That one was my favorite.

Depressing stuff, man, but no wonder they worshiped you. I touch his filmy shoulder. Still worship you. Darn it! Had to let that slip?

He drops his head into his hands. Oh, fuck, Rogue! Don't tell me it was a suicide listening to my music.

Nah, chill, man. Guy just fell and hit his head in the shower. See how excellent I lie?

Kirk looks up from his hands. For real?

For real.

He pretends to blow air; a habit the dead find difficult to stop. Okay, good. I've had tooamazing a day only reaping one old guy, a lipo gone wrong, and then just watching my two girls go at it, to have that heavy shit dropped on me now.

Your wife and daughter are still fighting? How can you stand watching that?

He frowns. It's either watch that, or not see them at all. His shoulders hunch. "Never realized how much I'd miss them. She's really gone mental, man, but what I wouldn't give to hear her bitching at me right now."

Like I said, always the regret first.

All suicides become reapers. Each of us frozen in time. We don't age. Still carry the memories of why we ended up here. What do all reapers lose? What we loved most. For Kirk, it was music. He can't write, play or hear even one note. For me, it was smell and taste. What Death doesn't realize, though, is that I lost what I loved most two days before he and I ever met.

Like he said, the real reason he owns me.

Chapter 4

Imagine by John Lennon

I deliver the three souls: a man about fifty, his wife, and a female police officer. The officer got gunned down responding to a domestic disturbance. The man then shot his wife, then himself.

Before I took the officer, choking on her own blood, she gurgled, I love you. I know she wasn't speaking to me, but I closed my eyes and pretended she was. I opened them and noticed her hand fighting to pull something from a pocket. A photo of a man and two little girls.

The blood never touches me, but I can't help feeling like I'm covered in it. I'll never understand why we're not dispatched after they're gone. Who benefits from a reaper watching, dying alongside with each of them? Dying all over again...and again...and again...

I can't remember feeling the bullet that day I killed myself. But I'll never forget how it felt watching my seven-year-old little brother, Phoenix, finding me lying in a pool of my own blood. I was too focused on punishing myself for what I did to my girlfriend Lily. I never thought about who would find me if I shot myself in my bedroom. And I never could have realized that Death demands all suicides watch their loved ones suffer over the loss.

I watched from above, floating in my new form, as Phoenix raced through the doorway. Rogue, wait till you see what... The Rolos — my favorite candy — dropped from his hand. His eyes went wide like saucers. Mom!

I could hear my mom heading down the hall. Young man, there better be a very good reason why you're screaming.

She stepped into my room, hair braided down her back, still in the black dress she wore to Lily's funeral that morning. She looked first at Phoenix standing there shaking, then over to my body. She didn't scream like Phoenix did. Just a gasp, before dropping to her knees beside me.

What do I regret most from that day? I forgot to tell my mom I love her.

What haunts me most from that day?