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I fidgeted in the chair in the rectory office while my mother spoke with Father Michael in the hallway. Their hushed whispers echoed against the marble and I waited for them to enter the room. My mother hung back in the hallway when Father Michael entered and she gave me that strained smile I knew too well. She wanted to make sure I kept my promise. She didn’t want me to reveal who my father was and I sent her a nod, letting her know I would keep silent. She sent a more natural smile my way and disappeared from the doorway to wait in the car.
“Your mother said you’ve been having some adjustment issues since your teacher died. Did you want to talk about it?” Father Michael said. He crossed to the couch next to me and took a seat, his black robes billowing from his girth before they settled neatly around his rotund belly. Father Michael reminded me of Friar Tuck in the old Robin Hood movies, except instead of a brown frock, he wore black, making his white collar stand out like a beacon.
I shrugged, keeping up the pretense that we had discussed. “I’ve been having nightmares about reapers lately,” I said, glad it wasn’t a lie. I’m not sure there would be enough Hail Mary’s to absolve me of that kind of sin and I hoped God would understand the partial truths and subterfuge I was about to lay on the kind priest.
“Reapers?”
“Yes and I was curious as to where they come from and why?”
“Reapers are agents of death, son.”
“I figured that much out, but do you know where they come from. Like where I can find them?”
Father Michael leaned back into the fabric of the couch and folded his hands over his belly as he studied me, his face scrunched in contemplation. “Why would you want to find an agent of death?”
“I saw one when Mr. Sanchez died.”
Silence filled the room and Father Michael’s eyes narrowed as he studied me. “You saw a reaper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Usually, only those near the end can see death.”
“It wasn’t death. It was a skeletal figure in a black robe. A reaper. And I was trying to revive Mr. Sanchez, so technically I was near death,” I said and I could tell my analogy confused him.
“What was this figure doing?”
“The reaper placed his hand on Mr. Sanchez’s head and then he died. I tried to save him, but I was too late.”
Father Michael leaned forward. “Did you see anything else?”
“No. One minute the reaper was there and Mr. Sanchez was alive and the next the reaper was gone and Mr. Sanchez was dead.” I could feel the impatience building in my belly, clawing at the walls of my skin just dying to break free.
But I harnessed it, using the silence to focus on what had already been said.
Those near the end.
I blinked and almost laughed aloud. I now knew where to find reapers and I prayed when I found one, it wouldn’t be the nasty bastards from my Grandmother’s house. I prayed it would listen and would be able to help me stop the pending disaster.
“So, no bright lights or dark tunnels?”
“No. Sorry.” I could tell he wanted more just by the way he sat on the edge of the couch and the light of curiosity dancing in his eyes. “What do you know about Purgatory?” I asked, changing the subject and silencing the sudden flood of questions swarming in his head.
He blinked rapidly as if I dropped the f-bomb or something and then his mouth opened and closed in indecision while his mind raced to catch up. Father Michael pressed his lips together and settled back on the couch. “Purgatory is neither Heaven nor Hell. It’s a plane in between, a waiting room of sorts.”
“Are you sure it isn’t a part of Hell?”
“I’ve got no reason to believe it is. Why do you ask?”
I noodled on this for a moment before asking my next question, “Well, if Purgatory is the waiting room to Heaven or Hell, then wouldn’t both the Pearly Gates and the Gates of Hell actually be in Purgatory?”
His eyebrows arched as he considered my question. “That’s an interesting deduction, and I don’t have a cut and dry answer for you.”
“What about Leviathan?”
A crease appeared between Father Michael’s eyes and I knew I had gone too far. “Nick, I believe you are deliberately changing subjects on me.”
I bit my lip and dropped my gaze to my hands.
“Death is a natural part of life, son.”
My gaze snapped to his. “I know.”
“Then why don’t you tell me what’s really bothering you.”
He knew I was on a digging expedition, I could see it in his eyes and instead of dancing this fine line, I decided to hit him head on. “What would happen if a pair of reapers decided to go rogue? To, like, go off script.”
My question left Father Michael speechless. His mouth even dropped open at the prospect and each time he went to answer, he reconsidered and shifted in the seat. Finally, he said, “That would be very bad.”
“How would you stop them?”
This question raised Father Michael’s eyebrows so they rivaled the McDonald’s arches and I had to put the nix on my sudden need to chuckle. He stood and crossed to the window with his hands clasped behind his back, contemplating.
“Father Michael?”
“Nick, I’m a little worried about this line of questioning,” he said and then silence blanketed the room.
I waited until my nerve endings shouted for me to act. “Why?”
He turned and stared at me. “This is much more serious than your mother led me to believe.”
His train of thought broadcasted into my head like the static filled AM news channel that my mother listened to from time to time and I stiffened at the direction he was heading. “I’m not delusional Father Michael.” It was only after I spoke that I realized I was actually hearing what Father Michael was thinking. This new development sent tendrils of shock through my body and I missed what Father Michael asked.
“Well?”
“Well, what?” I asked, hoping he’d repeat the question because the static in my head went silent.
“I asked if I had been asking the type questions you are, what would you think?”
I saw his point and laughed. “I would think the kid belonged in the nut house.”
“See my predicament?”
“Yes,” I said and leaned back into the cushion thinking this was a mistake.
“But I have seen some strange things in my lifetime. Things that can’t be explained by logic or science, so I’m not discounting that you saw what you believed to be a reaper.”
His admission caught me off guard and I stared at the portly priest, discounting my prior thoughts.
“Are the reapers after you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No,” I added.
He crossed slowly to the couch, his brow creased in thought and when his gaze landed on me, I squirmed under the conflict I saw there. He sat and leaned forward so there were only a few inches of space between us. “I’ve heard plenty of tales in my lifetime, half of which were complete hoaxes, but not once has anyone asked me how to stop a reaper. You realize, you’re asking how to stop death, right?”
“No. If your time is up, there’s nothing you can do to stop death. What I’m asking is how to stop a reaper gone rogue.”
“How would you know if a reaper has gone rogue?”
I couldn’t answer that question, at least not without ending up in a padded cell. “Let’s just say he did. How would someone stop him?”
Father Michael sat back and rubbed his chin. “I don’t have an answer for you, Nick.”
I offered a smile and a nod. “Well, thank you for talking to me today, but I promised my girlfriend we’d go to the library and work on our book reports.” I stood, not wanting to say anymore and I was a little disheartened to find that Father Michael had no answers, no nugget of information that would help stop the monsters.