SUMMER HAVEN BEACH
FRIDAY, 2:40 AM
Silas flew out of the car the moment Esperanza came to a stop and ran as fast he could past the now-closed tiki bar and onto the beach. He looked right and left, searching for the slightest trace of the bartender or anyone who might be in pursuit of her. Fortunately, he had exceptional night vision and within minutes, he caught a glimpse of upturned sand a few yards to his left.
Foot prints. From the looks of them, there were several. The sand had been churned in a way that could only be from someone running, stopping, then running again.
“Ankou, wait!” Esperanza shouted from the wooden stairs leading down to the beach, but he ignored her.
He bolted in the direction the footsteps led. North, toward the less populated region of the ocean front. There weren’t as many houses or businesses this way, which would have made it a good place for someone to hide. At the same time, it was also a good place to murder someone if necessary. There’d be fewer chances of witnesses.
He ran at full speed for nearly five minutes until the footprints disappeared in the rising tide. He stopped, trying to catch his breath. He turned, glancing around for anything that might put him back on Courtney’s track again.
Silas wasn’t sure why he was so desperate to find the woman. His rational mind argued it was purely pragmatic. It was because she knew something about his attackers from last night and, by association, something about the person who had possession of the Hand of Cain. But as his heart pounded against his ectoplasmic ribcage, he knew that reason was a lie.
She was a mortal in danger. There was nothing more to it than that.
For millennia, he had taken countless lives in the name of his sacred commission. He’d never once pondered the emotional turmoil he caused on a daily basis for these fragile humans. These beings that were little more than spoiled celestial infants in the grand cosmos. He had taken them. He had sent them to their reward—good or bad. And he’d never once concerned himself with what it all meant.
Until now. Until he’d spent a few days as one of them. Until he’d experienced the pain of getting hit in the head with a statue. Until he felt the raw surge of fear coursing through his veins when being shot at by criminals. Until he had tasted candy for the very first time or had enjoyed the simplistic wonder of physics in the form of a child’s yo-yo. He had a much better appreciation for these mortals now. For Life as they knew it.
Plus, Courtney had tried to help him when he hadn’t even known he needed help. That said a lot about the woman’s character. She deserved to be saved if he was able, no matter what she did or didn’t know.
His eyes darted toward the distance, but even with his uncanny sight, it was far too dark to see for any real distance. There was no sign that anyone had turned back, so he had to assume they had continued northward.
Silas took a deep breath.
Of course, there was one thing he could do, but he was loath to try it. The moment he left his fabricated body, it would dissolve in a whiff of smoke and ectoplasm. He could make a new one soon enough, but it wouldn’t be the same—just as the one he currently wore wasn’t the same as the one he’d used the night before to escape the gun-wielding goons. His memory was near-perfect, but not flawless. He simply couldn’t remember all the minute details enough to precisely replicate Silas Mot exactly.
But, he also knew there really was no other choice.
He moved away from the shoreline, stalking over to the dunes covered in cattails, sawgrass, and other vegetation, and found a secluded spot. He’d been foolish last night. He should have never tried this stunt in front of witnesses. Now, he wanted to ensure no one would see what he was about to do.
He lay down in his spot, taking a few more, deep breaths and he was released from the material form he had worked so hard to construct.
Back to his immortal spirit form, he looked down at his body. A single crab, disturbed by the sudden nocturnal intruder in its domain, scurried up from the sand and onto his jacket sleeve.
“Shoo, you vile invertebrate!” he shouted at the animal, knowing full well it couldn’t hear him.
Silas hovered there a moment longer, lingering over his body, and watched as it began to melt—suit and all—into a pinkish-brown smoke that evaporated into the air.
If his spirit form had a mouth, he would have sighed at the sight. A perfectly good body…wasted. But there was no time to mourn its loss. He had to find Courtney. With that in mind, he rose higher into the air and continued his search for the woman.
* * *
The moment he was far enough away from the mortal realm, his ‘knowledge’ returned and he knew without a doubt that Courtney the bartender was doomed. It was, he instinctively recalled, her Time. As a matter of fact, she was dying even as he hovered miles above the earth.
And he also knew precisely where she was.
With a small effort of will, he found himself hovering over her bleeding body on the beach. She was only about a hundred or so yards from where Silas had hidden his own body away. The water rolled up to her legs, soaking her shorts and tank top as it crawled up the sand underneath her. A large red stain soaked through her top, just below her left breast. A ring of black powder could be seen within the blood. A gunshot wound.
Courtney sucked in a labored breath. Her eyes roved into the night sky until they settled on him. There was no fear in them. Only acceptance.
“I…I know you. Don’t I?” she asked. Her voice was little more than a rasping whisper.
He wasn’t sure how she would. In his Grim Reaper spirit state, he no longer looked like Silas Mot. In truth, he didn’t look like much of anything. He was formless. Invisible to all but the dying. He wore no robes and carried no scythe, despite the artistic masterpieces of old.
“Yes, child,” he said. He had no lips or mouth to speak, but he knew his words were as clear as if he did. “Yes, you know me. Everyone eventually does.”
She gasped. A trickle of blood leaked from her mouth. Slowly, she shook her head. “No. At work.” She coughed. “Last night.” She reached out a hand toward him, but he backed away. He wasn’t ready to take her. It didn’t seem right. “Mr. Mot, right?”
If he had eyes, they would have widened at her inquiry. There should be no reason for her to recognize him in this state. No way for her to associate him with the fabricated body he used as a vehicle to move among the mortals.
“Tell me, child,” he said, knowing she was running out of time. “Who did this to you? Help me avenge your death.”
Seventy-two hours earlier, the concept of avenging anyone’s death would have seemed preposterous to him. Death was a natural order of life. It was part of the Creator’s plan. Part of the nature of the universe—cursed though it may be—and not something to be shunned or reviled. Then, the Hand of Cain was rediscovered and lives began to be taken far too soon. But Courtney’s life was being taken according to her own Time. This was not an unnatural occurrence, despite the manner in which she was killed. His former self would have scoffed at the very notion, but it was obvious he was an altogether different being today than just a few days earlier.
Courtney shook her head, coughing uncontrollably as she did. “Be careful,” she whispered. “They know…” Her words faded. Her lips moved, but no sound would come. Then, her eyes, still staring up into the stars, dimmed. One final breath was expelled and she was gone.
The Reaper glanced over a few feet to his right. One of his nameless minions hovered there, unspeaking. A brilliant orb of spectral light, known throughout the universe as the Shakina Glory, materialized from within the spirit being—the ‘light at the end of the tunnel’, as humans called it—and, beckoned for her to come. A moment later, Courtney’s spirit entered the light, ready to be escorted to her reward, whatever it may be.
He nodded at the minion, who returned the greeting, and watched as it, and the light, faded from sight.
The bartender was dead. And Silas’ gut twisted inside him over her loss—which was strange, given that in this form, there was no gut to twist. But the woman hadn’t deserved this fate. She—who had no way of knowing his true nature—had merely tried to warn him of the danger he was in and she had paid for it with her life.
He gave her body another glance. Mentally tipped his hat to her and disappeared.