basric

THE GRIM REAPER
A/N: The Trauma writer tries her hand at fantasy--try being the operative word, have mercy.

Ginny O’Brien showered in the afterglow of morning lovemaking with her husband of eighteen years. She dressed quickly moving efficiently. She pulled out her electronic day planner from her pocket, used the stylus to make revisions and made her way downstairs to the kitchen. Ginny was a firm believer in organization and kept her family running in a strict schedule.

By the time the omelets were done, her husband sat reading the morning paper with his coffee, her fifteen year old son had poured the preferred juices for his siblings Mark twelve and Cindy five. Everyone was served. Breakfast was demolished, plates and forks and glasses placed into the dishwasher by their users.

John, her husband, asked, “Can you swing by and get my dry cleaning today, Ginny?”

“I’ve got to pick up the goose from the butcher; it’s just down the street.” She pulled out her planner and made notations.

“And mom,” wheedled her eldest, “The pastry shop is next door, could we splurge for those Italian pastries?”

Ginny made another notation then in a flurry of books bags and sweaters rushed her family out to the van. She kissed her husband through the open widow of his car as Mark made gagging noises from the van.

After all her children had been dropped off at their schools she began her errands. She needed to be finished by one to meet the girls for lunch.

It was as she left the dry cleaners, her arms overflowing with packages and hanging suits when she felt the sharp pop of pain deep inside her brain, she stood still for a moment disoriented until the ring of her day planner had her moving to the van. She unloaded packages and hung dry cleaning in the back and pushed the button shutting the door and locking it. Ginny turned and before her stood the Grim Reaper.

“Ginny O’Brien I have come to collect your soul.”

She stared hard at the physical essence of the Grim Reaper complete with scythe. She pulled out her day planner and waved him away, “Sorry, but my schedule is full, I can pencil you in at seven.” She climbed into the van and drove away. A Reaper who for the first time since he’d come to collect the first soul of man was stunned. It stared after her with its cold dead eyes then vanished.

She ticked off picking up her goose packed in dry ice. She then bought a dozen of the rich Italian pastries her children so loved. She bought flowers from a sidewalk vendor though it put her behind a bit.

Letting the valet park the car at The Palm’s she joined her three friends. “Ginny, you are white as a sheet are you okay?” Ginny laughed and waved away her concerns, but she just moved the food around on her plate and though she put the glass of wine to her lips she never took a sip. She found she had to keep moving to fight the onset of rigor.

After lunch she checked her planner and hurried home. She put everything away and set the cooler with the Thanksgiving goose in the utility room, here she hesitated and went to print the menu and the recipe directions for the entire meal and taped it to the top of the cooler.

She did all the laundry, ran the vacuum and dusted. Finished the counters in the kitchen and turned to find the Grim Reaper standing by the back door. "Ginny O'Brien, death waits for no man."

Ginny sighed, “Good thing I'm a woman. I'm not denying, just delaying. Things must get done," she waved her planner at the apparition. "I must pick up the children now, Mark has a wrestling match at three and I want to catch the last of my eldest playing hockey. He is very good on the ice.

At Kindergarten her daughter took her hand, “Mommy, your hand is really cold.”

“You know what they say, honey, 'Cold hands, warm heart'.”

As she maneuvered through traffic toward the middle school, Cindy asked, “Who is he, Mommy.”

“Who baby?”

“The man in the black robe holding the stick with a knife on it, he is sitting in the shotgun seat?”

“Just ignore him.”

“Are you here to take my Mommy away?”

“Hush, Cindy.”

“Please you are scaring my daughter, I told you when I could go.”

The Reaper made a sound like a snort and vanished.

They made Mark’s match, watched him pin his opponent and made it in time to see Daniel make the winning goal for his team.

Everyone bundled into the van. Cindy usually a chatterbox was unusually quiet. “What’s wrong pumpkin?” Mark asked.

”I don’t want to talk about it,” she finished with a sniff.

As she pulled into the driveway her husband rang, “It’s just a cocktail party, but it is important for me to be there.It would just be for an hour or so.”

She sat in the driveway as the children scrambled for the house with their school and sports paraphernalia. Ginny pulled out her day planner, looked across to see the Reaper.

“This is very important to my husband; I am going to have to bump you back to ten.”

“You are not to tell me when to collect. . .”

“Listen, do you see my date book. I have to finish my list.”

She went inside let the kids order pizza for dinner, while she hurried up to change. She slipped into a black dress and stood in front of a mirror, “My legs, they are purple, my hands are blue.”

“Your body dies whether you refuse to give up your soul or not, blood is settling in your legs. You kiss your husband he’ll smell the rot of death.” The Reaper had returned. "Lay down and let us be on out way."

"TEN, not a minute before," Horrified by her body, she changed into lounging pants and wore shoes that were too large before but now were tight on her swollen feet. Cosmetics helped to cover her pallor, blush to put color on her face. She noticed her eyes were glazed. Blue contacts helped there.

She wore long sleeves and though not in fashion black evening gloves.

He honked for her and she slid in beside him, listened to his day at work attentively. At the party she mingled, could not eat the canapés, and just carried the drink she was handed.

After an hour she sought out her husband from his friends and asked if they might leave, she wasn’t feeling well. He didn’t hesitate nor did the host and hostess feel slighted. She definitely looked unwell, even the cosmetics couldn’t hide the encroaching signs of the death pallor.

At home she urged her husband to go watch the movie in the den with the children. She called out I love yous to her family and went up to the bedroom. The clock said six minutes to ten. She took out her stationery from her desk and wrote a note to each child and her husband. Sealed them in envelopes and hid them way in the back of the drawer for them to find later. She pulled out the four million dollar life insurance policies on herself for each of her family and laid them on top of the desk. She’d been paying on them for five years now.

She changed into her favorite silk pajamas, turned and smiled at the Reaper standing nearby. She picked up her date book and pushed a button to clear out all her future dates. She ticked off her appointment with the Reaper and lay on the bed.

"I hope this is not the beginning of a trend and this new technological age is not going to cause me anymore trouble. I, too have a schedule to maintain." He scooped his scythe through her capturing her soul and vanished.

*******************************************

The detectives paced beside the bed and stared hard at the Coroner. “You tell us she died around eleven this morning but her family says she came up here around ten tonight. His partner picked up her electronic day book; she has an entire day of errands ticked off. . .”

He interrupted her, “Look what we have here,” he waved the insurance policies under her nose. Both items were dropped into an evidence bag. "Motive."

As they were leaving the grieving family, little Cindy walked up to one of the detectives and handed her a folded piece of paper, “That’s who took my mommy to Heaven.” Her father interrupted to usher the children into the den so they would not see them taking their mother's body away. So the paper was stuffed into a coat pocket unopened and forgotten.

****************************************

The two detectives stood by the table while the medical examiner finished his autopsy. “She died of an aneurysm in the brain, by the look of it beneath the scope she’s had it since birth. Surprising she lived into her thirties.”

“Time of death?”

“Around eleven a.m.”

“Impossible, we followed her date book. She ticked off each one, she was seen, and we have credit card receipts. Her family saw her, friends, and she was at a cocktail party at nine p.m.”

“The body doesn't lie. The liver tells the tale and her rate of decomp matches. She died around 11 a.m. FACT. However, it is strange that all the blood settled in her legs and hands as if she died but stood upright for hours after death.”

"And look at her datebook, her last entry ticked off 10:p.m. X Grim Reaper"

And this, she pulled the paper with Cindy’s drawing and handed it to her partner, “A child's eye view of what the 'the man who took her mommy to heaven' looked like.”

He shrugged and grimaced at her then turned to the M.E. “Doc? You are positive of COD.”

“Aneurysm, no question.”

"Then this isn’t a homicide. Delete that last entry and we'll return her things to the family."

“What about the inconsistencies in her TOD death?"

“Your problem doc; you find evidence of foul play then call us. We're done."

On the death certificate the M.E. wrote, COD: Brain Aneurysm. Signed it and filed everything away. Some mysteries were best left alone.

In tribute, sad though it is, is to those who battle the odds in Idol and write beautiful sci/fic and fantasy. There are so many who inspire and I don’t want to embarrass them by tying them to this pitiful attempt compared their magnificent works with its beautiful imagery. But thanks especially to rattsu for her eloquence and zhent for his rascally charm; you are an inspiration if ever I wanted to make an attempt to get really serious with your genre. My trauma fans, I hope you have mercy so I live to shock you to your toes next week.