He had to make everyone pay.
His scythe, razor sharp and clean, was resting on the back seat. But because the Reaper knew that he might be caught ina roadblock and that the police might be aiming to prevent him from doing his work, it was disguised.
He had carefully wrapped his scythe in a layer of cloth, so that it was all but invisible. Then he had placed it among a bunch of straw brooms, so that its metallic sharpness was hidden, concealed by their spreading bristles. Anyone who looked would think he was simply making a delivery of brooms. And that was what he would say.
He was just helping out someone in the community who needed these items. Helping someone in need. They would believe that of him when they saw who he was.
At least the weather was on his side, with clear blue skies, a brilliant sun, and puffy white clouds. It would be a good day for cutting souls loose from their bodies. And more importantly, it was a good day for people to be out for a walk.
His first victim that he had earmarked for today always went for a walk in the morning. He had watched her for a few days in the past week. She never failed in her habits. Her name was Louise Holmes.
He guessed Louise was thankful to get out in the open air and exercise, since a year ago, she'd been afflicted by a very serious and often fatal type of leukemia. The Reaper knew. He'd heard about it. He always heard about potential death. People in the community shared these facts with him.
But she had survived thanks to a bone marrow transplant. She had been lucky. She'd found a donor who was a match, and the bone marrow transplant had been successful. She was in remission now. In fact, the prognosis was good, and she might have many more years of life and health. Years she did not deserve, he thought firmly.
He turned off the music and slowed the car to a stop. The house was on a quiet street.He wasn't worried about being seen.She was the only one in this neighborhood who walked in the morning, and she always took the same route.
She walked out of the house, down the road, along the trail that led through the fields, and back home again.
He drove slowly past her house and waited where the road met the trail.
But she didn't arrive.
What was going on? The Reaper was confused. He frowned, checking the time. She must be walking a different route, he thought. But he hadn't seen her front door open. Louise was home, that he knew. He'd even glimpsed her as he'd driven past. She'd been in the bedroom on her phone.
He waited for another few minutes, fidgeting impatiently, his muscles aching with the need to chase and to kill.
He considered his options. He did not want to simply bypass this woman who had greedily claimed life that was not hers. That would be like admitting defeat.
But what choice did he have, because by now he should have made this kill. By now adrenaline should be surging in him from the excitement of the chase. His scythe should be slick with the blood from claiming the day's first life.
And then a thought occurred to him that filled him with horror and fear.
Could she have been warned? He’d seen her speaking on the phone. Was that call to warn her that there was a killer waiting outside?
Was it possible she'd been given a heads-up?
“No!” the Reaper said aloud. Surely, he was being paranoid to think that way. How could the police possibly have caught up with him when he’d been so fast, so careful? There was no way they could have figured out what he was doing. The police were slow and stupid.
Or were they?
The thought that they might not be as stupid as he had expected filled him with fear. If someone had found out about his mission, it would make things a hundred times more difficult and more dangerous.
His mind raced. He knew he couldn't turn back, not now. He had promised himself he would do it, that he would cleanse the earth of every single soul in this county who had outlived their allotted time.
The Reaper was furious that he was already coming up against problems. He was so angry; he wanted to scream and rage. But he told himself that it didn't matter. No one was going to stop him.
Probably, she'd just had an unexpected call that had delayed her. That was all. He mustn't be paranoid, he told himself.
Being paranoid would not help him at all. Now, he needed to be cool, calm, and confident. He could come back for this woman, and he would. Tomorrow, she would be out walking again, he felt sure of it.
When he waited for her on the trail tomorrow, he would be ready for her. And if anyone tried to stop him, he would be ready for that too.
He felt calm again. His mission was on track. He could hear a strange music pounding in his head, the beat of his heart, the rush of his breath. And he could feel the excitement and danger of his mission — a mission nobody would stop him from completing.
He started the car and drove the short distance to his second victim's house. It was just a couple of miles away.
Her name was Sharon Toms, and she had cheated death in a most cunning way, and one that hit home to him on a very personal level. Earlier in the year, she'd been involved in a car crash that should have killed her. The three other occupants of the car, her friends, had all died. They'd all been killedinstantly. It had been tragic, a catastrophe that had shaken the community.