The Reaper's Cat

By Gina Marie Long

Life meets death... literally. As in, Baylor meets the Grim Reaper, and his supernatural cat, during a horrific accident. Her life hinges on their help fighting a psycho killer seeking revenge... Baylor is his target. The more time The Reaper spends with Baylor, the more his own fate entangles with her future. As the clock ticks and lives unravel, his cat reveals a heartbreaking secret. Do you believe in miracles? They do. But sacrifices must be fulfilled in order to win the battle against evil and to stay with the one you love... And to survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gina Marie Long
• Release date: Feb 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311685094

Gina Marie Long

Gina Marie Long is an author of paranormal thrillers, urban fantasy, and young adult novels. She has written the Unknown Touch-Werewolf Series, Rocked: A Chelsie Valdar Saga, and The Reaper's Cat. Gina's fiction stories are inspired from her interest in the supernatural, science fiction and fantasy world. She enjoys reading, watching evening TV shows, movies and listening to music. Writing indulges her passion for the entertainment arts, giving her active mind a playground of possibilities to explore. She stays active on social media sites and blogging, making connections with others who share the same interests. She writes about werewolves, vampires, witches, werecats, Bigfoot, an occasional demon, psychics, Vikings, and riveting human characters. But not ALL in the same book! In addition, a light romance is included to spice things up (come on-every book, movie and TV show has some sort of a love story in it). The books do not fall under the romance category...just enough in the storyline to satisfy the girls. And the boys can breathe easy with the knowledge that they're not reading a romance novel but a paranormal thriller, instead. Depending on which series, the ages of the main characters are 16 through 30. Most are on the younger side. "It's exciting to create strong characters that the readers fall in love with...or want to strangle! Writing books about other beings, such as werewolves and vampires, allows rules to be broken concerning life and the world as we know it. The idea to have these supernatural species living and breathing among us is so wickedly intriguing. Having close contact with them, developing relationships, and dealing with the good vs. the evil - it sweeps you away into another reality – an escape from real life. You wonder and worry about what the characters will stumble upon next. Or, what horrific tragedy knocks them flat on their faces."~~Gina She lives in Highland, Illinois, with her husband and Jessie Cat. Keep track of Gina at: http://www.ginamarielong.com

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Change of Plans

I hop into my brother’s car and we zoom off to our favorite pizza place. Dixon and Dad originally planned on deer hunting this weekend, but Dad came down with a cold and didn’t want to be sitting in a tree making all kinds of snotty-nose sounds. That doesn’t pan-out too well when you need to be quiet in order not to scare the wildlife away.

Dixon and I are a year apart in age. He’s younger and already anticipating when I turn 21 in a few months and he can hound me to buy him beer. Nice. I feel so wanted. But in all honesty, Dixon and I get along great, especially since we have the same friends.

Dixon asks, Baylor, I’m due for a haircut. How about after we eat?

Might as well, I say.

He so benefits from my cosmetology license, although I’ve been experimenting on his hair for more than five years already. If I remember, when I was 15, Dixon kept whining about wanting a new haircut. I shoved him on a chair, wrapped a garbage bag around his shoulders to keep cut hair off his clothes, grabbed a pair of sharp scissors and told him not to move. Thirty minutes later I finished his new style, jerked the garbage bag off and he ran to the mirror for an inspection. Dixon high-fived me and I’ve been cutting his hair (for free) ever since.

I ask, So, thin-crust supreme and an order of cheese breadsticks tonight? My mouth salivates just with the description.

He looks at me, winks and says, Of cour-...

BAM!!!

Something slams into the driver’s side of Dixon’s car, crunching his door inward. We’re screaming as our vehicle spins out of control. It crashes head-on into a parked car and comes to a jolting stop. My palms hit the windshield, but the airbag keeps my face from smacking the glass.

I look at Dixon, hoping he gives me a thumbs up that he survived the wreck. Instead, I see a jagged piece of metal protruding from his side. Blood soaks his shirt and flows onto the bucket seat. His eyes are closed and he’s not moving... And I can’t tell if he’s breathing.

Dixon! Dixon! NoNoNoNo! I cry, fumbling with the door handle to get out.

I race to his side of the car and expect the door to be jammed. It’s so crumpled that it is barely attached to the door frame of the car anymore. Yet, no matter how hard I yank on the door, it won’t budge.

I run back to the passenger side and crawl in to get to Dixon. I have no clue where the piece of metal came from that’s rammed through his side. Part of the car, I guess. His air bag had deployed, but it couldn’t stop the sharp, thick metal from impaling him.

Dixon slumps sideways and I catch him, not sure what I should do. I see someone outside the car on a cell phone. Must be dialing 911. People start appearing everywhere. A man asks if he can help me.

Dixon mumbles something. Blood seeps out the corner of his mouth. I bend closer to hear him. His left arm comes up and he’s attempting to push me away.

Out..., he whispers.

What’s he trying to tell me? Does he want me to get out of the car or does he want me to pull him out onto the street?

And then I focus on the older man shouting at me. The engine is on fire. Get out now!

I reach under Dixon’s armpits and pull with all the strength I can muster. I know you’re not supposed to move an injured person, but I don’t want him left inside the car it if decides to explode or burst into flames.

The frantic stranger sees what I’m trying to do and squeezes himself between me and the dashboard. We each grab Dixon, pull him across the seats and out through the passenger side. The piece of metal makes it difficult to move him, but we manage to drag him far enough away from the wrecked car to keep us safe if it explodes.

I do a fast five second survey at the chaos and notice a monster-sized pickup truck with the front end crunched. That must’ve been what hit us. The truck’s windshield is shattered and I see a woman sprawled on the street about thirty feet in front of the truck. A big, burly man with a gash on his forehead hunches over her, holding her hand and repeating her name. Sarah.

Did Dixon run a red light? I don’t know. I wasn’t watching for anything because he was driving. But that pickup truck came from a side street and barreled right into our side. Maybe that guy ran a red light?

I glance at the parked car to see what damage it received – the one that Dixon spun into after the big truck hit us. The driver’s side quarter panel is smashed in. The woman behind the wheel flings the door open and dashes across the street. She appears to be unharmed. Dixon’s car remains wedged against her car and if his car explodes, everyone needs to get away from it.

Dixon moans but his eyes stay closed. I pull his upper body onto my lap, mindful of the piece of metal sticking out of him. I can hear the sirens of an approaching ambulance.

I beg, Please, Dixon, hang in there, please. Stay with me.

The salt in my tears stings my cheeks. I’m crying so hard I can barely breathe through my nose. I hold Dixon the best I can with my head resting on top of his. Blood covers my hands and pools on the ground. Dixon’s blood. He’s not going to make it. It’s undeniable.

Something bumps against my arm. I look down and a small, black cat stares up at me. She head butts my arm again and shocks me as she crawls onto Dixon’s stomach, below where the metal protrudes.

I love animals and can tell she in no way means any harm. Many times animals can sense when someone is hurting, whether it’s physical or mental pain. Dixon is dying... she must want to comfort him. Even though I don’t know this cat, I won’t shoo her away. It’s so incredibly sweet what she’s doing, I find myself crying even harder.

And Dixon loves pets, too. His hand trembles and he weakly rests it on the cat’s back. His thumb rubs her once and she licks his arm before it slips off her.

Dixon stops breathing. I totally lose it, hugging him tight against my chest and burying my face into his hair. I reach to touch the cat and she places her paw on my hand.

Dixon, it’s time to go. I’m here to help you.

What? Who said that? I focus my bleary eyes on a young, blond guy who’s suddenly kneeling next to us. Where’d he come from? A few feet away is the older man who had helped pull Dixon out of the car. Is this a paramedic maybe?

The composed blond is not trying to revive Dixon, but his full attention is definitely on him. He’s ignoring me, but speaks to my brother, while rubbing the cat’s head. His other palm flattens on Dixon’s chest.

Then I almost pee my pants and gasp to hold back a scream... I blink several times and can only guess that the ghostly image drifting out of Dixon’s body is his spirit. The blond guy stands and Dixon (or his spirit) lingers next to him.

The stranger looks at me, raises an eyebrow, and says, You can see me, can’t you? That’s not good.

I nod repeatedly, glancing down at Dixon’s body then up to the filmy version of him and over to the blond.

He says, Stop staring. No one can see me or Dixon’s spirit. Except you. If you keep looking at us, people will think you’ve lost your mind.

I shift my gaze and pet the black cat, who purrs from the attention. She’s still curled up on Dixon’s stomach, but her golden eyes remain glued to me.

Great, I hear the blond say. Now I’m an interpreter. Your brother says he is sorry. He thinks he blew through a red light. And he’ll miss you and your parents. That’s all. We have to go now.

I keep looking at the cat, hiccup from sobbing, and slip in, Wait. Tell Dixon I’ll miss him, too. But… but what’s happening here?

I allow my gaze to dart up at them briefly. The blond grits his teeth and ruffles his hand through his hair. He sighs, Isn’t it obvious? I’m a reaper. Your brother died. I’m his guide to the other side.

Dixon wiggles his fingers and watches them in awe. The bloody gash in his side is gone. He looks so alive, except for the fact I’m nearly able to see through his body.

What’s your name? I push the reaper for more information. I don’t want them to go. And yet I know they can’t stay.

I’m Riley. And before you ask, because I can see the question forming in your beady little eyes, the cat is mine. Her name is Gwennan. And now we must go before Dixon’s spirit gets trapped here as a ghost. Goodbye, Baylor.

I start to stand but Dixon’s body weights down my legs. He can’t be gone.

And why in the world was I able to see and talk to a reaper? And see Dixon’s spirit?

The black cat, Gwennan, steps off Dixon and nudges my arm. The paramedics arrived and rush to us. They lift Dixon off of my lap and begin checking his vital signs.

Another one asks, Have you been hurt?

I only then notice the pain in my neck and back. I reach for my shoulders and mumble something to the paramedic. He starts inspecting me for any injuries.

The EMTs working on Dixon place him on a stretcher and cover him with a white sheet. All of him, including his face. That’s confirmation. It’s too late. But I already knew that.

They turn their attention to me and wheel out another stretcher. I guess I’m going to the hospital. Normal operating procedure after a car wreck, I’m sure.

The cat padded off when the EMTs arrived, but I see her sitting calmly about thirty feet away. I’m assisted onto the stretcher and wheeled into the back of the ambulance. I keep my eyes locked with hers, wondering if I’ll ever see her again. I swear her little head nods at me, although I’m probably not thinking straight. It’s so odd how she isn’t running off and doesn’t break our mutual stare.

Riley the Reaper - I can’t get his image out of my thoughts. And Dixon… my brother is dead. I can’t believe what’s happened.

On the other side of Dixon’s wrecked car, another ambulance is parked in the middle of the street. EMTs administer CPR to the lady who had been thrown from the pickup truck that crashed into us. Her husband, boyfriend, whoever he is clenches his fists and drops his head to his chest.

It doesn’t look good for her, either.

With tonight’s tragedies (and mysteries), everything will change. I can feel it in my bones.

CHAPTER 2

Blame the Cat

My head hurts. My neck hurts. My back hurts. Mild whiplash doesn’t agree with me. After spending one night in the hospital, a bazillion tests later with Mom and Dad pacing the halls or my room in hysterics, I get to go home.

Well, not mine, but to my parents’ home. They insist I spend the next several days with them, so they can keep an eye on me and any health issues that might pop up related to the wreck.

My purse had been brought to the hospital last night by a policeman who was at the scene of the accident. Mom found the key to my apartment in it, and she and Dad made a beeline over there this morning to gather clean clothes for me.

Dad arrives at the hospital mid-morning and helps me through the discharge process. Mom stayed home to take care of things. We ride home, finding it hard to speak, knowing Dixon is gone. The grief of losing Dixon, and the possibility of me, in the car accident weighs like a ton of bricks on my parents.

Dad reminds me, Once we get home and you’re settled into bed, your Mom and I need to go to the funeral home and make arrangements. His voice quivers and he clears his throat to recover.

Twenty minutes later, I’m in my old bedroom I grew up in. Mom and Dad bought a new bed for the room when I moved into my apartment and I took my original bed with me. I get to sleep on the new mattress and just hope it’s comfortable. Mom tucks blankets around me and points to the pain meds and a glass of water sitting on the nightstand.

Are those my clothes on the dresser? I ask, seeing a mystery bag plopped there.

Mom says, Yes. Just move slowly if you need to get up for the bathroom or to change. We don’t need you falling and hurting yourself any more.

She blows her nose. All the crying she’s done has made her face puffy and her eyes freakishly bloodshot. They leave within fifteen minutes for the funeral home and I’m in the house alone. Silence.

I think about Dixon. How can I not? And his whole floating spirit thingy and a freaking Grim Reaper - who owns a cat?! Weren’t reapers normally depicted as skeletal, wearing a hooded black cloak and carrying a scythe?

Dixon seemed at peace once he left his broken body. Albeit confused. Which only makes sense. And I suppose that is what Riley the Reaper’s job consists of - guiding the confused spirits of the dead to wherever it is they go next. At least that’s how I take his brief, rather snippy explanation.

I manage to smile. Dixon would’ve loved talking about ghostly images and reapers and abnormally perceptive cats…

I can’t believe he’s really gone. I mean, I know he is. I’m not sure if I’m in denial or what. And I heard the chatter in the hospital… Dixon isn’t the only one who died. That lady… what was her name? Sarah! The one thrown from the truck that hit us died, too. I guess Riley visited her next after guiding Dixon’s spirit to the great beyond.

Riley relayed a message from Dixon admitting that he thinks he ran a red light. Which means Dixon caused this accident. And Sarah’s death.

I cringe, and the movement hurts my neck. The doctor instructed me not to work for at least four weeks. Especially since I’m a beautician, stand on my feet all day and bend and twist like a pretzel in order to do my job. Ugh… I’m assuming my parents called my boss to tell her I won’t be working for a while. Or else my boss heard about the accident in the news. She’ll be concerned about me, but any appointments with customers will have to be canceled by someone - probably her or one of the other beauticians.

I stare out the window and watch the few remaining leaves fall from the trees. Meyer Hills, Arkansas, early November. The yard is covered in crinkly, dry leaves. Or they’re blowing into the neighbor’s yard. The holidays will suck without Dixon. Thanksgiving is only three weeks away. I had planned on inviting him to my apartment to make Christmas cookies at the beginning of December. I wanted to surprise Mom and Dad. Forget that idea. And I don’t want to make them by myself without Dixon.

A cat jumps up on the outer window ledge. I gasp and nearly choke on my spit. It’s the same black cat, Gwennan, from last night. Riley the Reaper’s cat. She’s watching me. Wait - how did she know WHERE to find me? The spooky factor just keeps rising.

Gwennan taps the window. We stare at each other. She taps again. And again. Oh this is ridiculous! I can’t help myself but crawl out of bed and walk closer. My body screams in pain. I don’t like taking medications and I’m due for another dosage. But I make it to the window. She doesn’t scamper off. I place my hand on the window near her and she lifts her paw and taps right where my hand is! How sweet!

Slowly, I unlatch the lock on the window and with much effort lift it open. It wouldn’t be any issue if I wasn’t in pain, but this slight movement hurts. Once I open the window, Gwennan gains immediate access to my bedroom. She hops through the open space and jumps onto the bed. Now what do I do? It’s getting colder in here, but I’m not sure if I should close the window. Will she freak out? What if she has to go potty? If my parents come home and find a stray cat in the house, they’ll wring my whiplashed neck.

I close the window and take my chances. I shuffle back to the bed and carefully sit down. Gwennan stomps across the blankets and approaches the nightstand where Mom placed the pain meds and water. I hope she doesn’t knock the glass over. She delicately hops onto the nightstand and plunks her butt down behind the medication. Yeah, I’ve seen this one before, swoosh goes the paw and the glass crashes to the floor. But, no, she looks at the bottle then at me.

I guess I should take the pills now. I get the feeling that’s what she’s trying to tell me.

After swallowing the second one, Gwennan hops back onto the bed and uses her paws to knead an area of the blankets. She’s really making herself at home. Since I’m chilled from opening the window, I toss the covers over myself, which instigates a play session with the cat. I don’t move much, but zip my hand under a portion of the blankets and she chases wherever my hand goes, as if a mouse is underneath and she wants to catch it. Cute!

I settle back on the pillows and Gwennan curls against my side. I run my hand over her furry body, stirring up loose hair in the air, and finally rest my hand on her back. My mind and body relax with her next to me. I’ve read how pets can comfort people in pain or who feel stressed. The purr of a cat, in particular, works wonders on you and lowers the heart rate.

But I can’t fall asleep with Gwennan in my room. I check the time on the wall clock and suddenly see Riley standing at the foot of my bed, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at me.

Ahh! What are you doing here? I shout, but it comes out pretty weak.

He says, What are you doing with my cat?

Gwennan gingerly walks over to Riley and he rubs her head and behind her ears. She loves what he’s doing, but after a few seconds, he stops and resumes giving me the stink eye. She turns, comes back to my side and curls up. I can’t help but snicker, smirking at Riley’s aggravation.

I explain, Your cat, which I don’t understand any of this by the way, found me. She sat on the window ledge, tapping at the glass. So, I let her in. I planned on putting her back outside when I heard my parents come home. You’re here now and I guess you’ll be scooping her up and leaving, right? And, anyway, the cat is not the issue. Not really. Why are you bugging me? Why can I see you? Am I in a coma or… or dead?

He shakes his head and closes his eyes. Like he’s trying to figure out what to do with me. Which is terrifying if he’s a reaper!

I have no intention of following you around, bugging you. No, you’re not in a coma or near death or dead. You are where you are now. Nothing is an illusion. This is real. And as to why you can see me? I’ve been thinking about that… replaying our so-called meeting at the scene of the accident.

Riley glances at Gwennan and frowns. I ask, Well?

Blame the cat.

Why can’t you say what you mean? Stop being so vague, I say, pushing myself higher up on the back of the bed.

Riley starts pacing, clearly agitated. I’m not so much agitated as confused and scared.

Okay, fine. Pay attention. I’m not explaining this twice, he begins, and I’m not sure why I am explaining this in the first place. I shouldn’t be here. On very rare occasions, when a person dies, whoever happens to be with that person at the time of his or her death, might see a hazy image of me. Usually they blow it off, convincing themselves stress and sadness were making them see things.

I cut in, You are alive and solid to me.

Riley walks around the