The Untold Story of a Grim Reaper: Chapter 6.1: Sacrifices

 

Saturday through till Sunday morning I roamed between the House of Oblivion and the woods, understanding that these are all I have left. Jumping in and out of the shadows cast by the cathedral of trees.

I didn’t feel like talking with anyone. No words could comfort me, silence was the only friend I needed. I eventually came to the other end of the woods. It led to a neighborhood where the houses all looked the same and were connecting.

One of the lawns in particular was decorated elaborately with small beds of flowers. A young man was hunched over, tending to some lilies. I would have kept walking but when the boy turned around he smiled and waved at me with delight.

It was Jonah!

I jogged to the end of the cul de sac, where Jonah waited holding a small hoe. He hugged me and asked, “How are you? You disappeared after the party.” He teased, “Did you meet anyone special last night?”

I playfully pushed his shoulder, “No, but I appreciate the wishful thinking.” 

He took his gloves off as he asked, “Don’t you love Lullwater Park?”

It took me a second to realize that he meant the park I just walked out of, “Oh right, yeah, it’s really beautiful. Quite a shift of environment from the rest of this place.” I took my gaze to the house that connected to the lawn he was caring for, “Is this your house?”

He laughed, “Oh, heavens, no. This is just the house of a couple I garden for, Mr and Mrs Black live here. My mom’s business, I help out sometimes.” This explained why he was so well-built. He continued, “But I’m almost done. I was going to call Camilla, Jessie, and Aaron to catch up with later if you want to come? Might just go see a movie.”

I smiled, “Sure, I’d love to.”

“Great! It’s a little after noon, so let’s meet at Aaron’s house at around two o’clock.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Before turning to leave something caught my senses. I couldn’t explain it but somehow the air around us felt thick. Like there was a third presence amongst us. My knee was turned out, ready to walk away, but something was uneasy about the atmosphere. It felt as if the air had become a slingshot, a tension that was ready to snap.

Jonah took a concerned step to me, “What’re you doing?”

I shushed Jonah, trying my hardest to understand what was disturbing me.

A scared voice rung in my ear, “Please, don’t! Get away from me!”

I looked to Jonah, “Did you hear that?”

Jonah shrugged, “Hear what?”

 

BAM

 

The sound of a gunshot came from the townhouse Jonah was gardening. Jonah jumped to my side, clutching my arm, I smelt his fear. His fingers shifted on my forearm by his unsteady hand. I remained still and stiff, showing no reaction but my fear probably was as thick as Jonah’s.

Jonah turned his head to the upstairs window, which was slightly cracked open. His voice cracked, “Mrs. Black.”

I nudged him, “Sh!”

There was a slight stir in the house. Someone was walking around, slamming doors. I wasn’t sure if Jonah could hear it as well. But as soon as he spoke the rustling stopped and I couldn’t tell where the person may be. 

Jonah whispered to me frantically, “We have to do something!”

I still didn’t move, I didn’t show any reaction to his whispers. 

I fixated on the house. Trying my best to hear anything. A sudden creak of a door creeped but it wasn’t from the front door. 

I whispered, “Did you hear that?”

I didn’t look to Jonah but I could see him nod in my peripheral vision. I asked, “Do you have your phone?”

He shook his head no again, speaking softly, “I left it in my car.”

I pried him from my arm, I demanded, “Stay here.” 

Jonah didn’t look at me, he kept his eyes to the house as his head shook no. Before trying to manipulate him to my commands he started walking off without me. His posture tensed all his muscles making him seem much older. 

 The townhouse was the last on the chain of homes. Easy for Jonah and I to walk around the side to the backyard. We kept our backs to the wall as we skimmed quietly to the source of the opening door. I think Jonah thought it might be the person who was shot. I, on the other hand, believed it to be the shooter. 

Jonah lead the way, but I wanted more than anything to be in front. If anyone is to be hurt, it should be me. Being dead I was no longer in danger.

When we reached the end of the townhouse, Jonah peaked over the corner to the backyard. I grabbed his arm to ensure he wouldn’t do anything hasty. 

I whispered as quietly as I could, “What do you see?”

He turned back to me, frantically without whispering, “I know him!”

“What?”

Jonah retracted his arm from my hand as he swiftly ran off. I followed him to the backyard as fast as I could. 

I yelled in a whisper, “You don’t know if he’s,” Jonah was a couple feet from the man, “Jonah!”

A rather large man, dressed in shaggy, paint-splattered clothes, and had long read hair, laid shriveled up on the small square of concrete in front of the backdoor. I yelled in a whisper again, “Jonah! Stop!”

Jonah didn’t turn around as he held up a hand to me. 

He leaned down to the stranger, saying in hush to me, “I think he’s hurt. He has blood on his shirt.”

Suddenly, the red-headed man sprung backward by his feet. Swinging his arm forward and knocking Jonah in the cheek with his gun. Jonah wailed, jumping backwards and to my side as the stranger shakily scudded to stand. The red-headed stranger’s blue shirt was covered in blood but he had no wounds.

Jonah held his face with one hand and hugged my arm with the other, I slightly hugged his arm back. 

The strange man coughed, his eyes were full of tears as he struggled to say, “I didn’t do it!”

Jonah and I started to walk backwards. The man pulled out a gun and barked, “Don’t!”

We both stopped. I looked to Jonah and was terrified that he might try to play the hero. 

The man looked drunk as he stepped towards us, spit falling down the crease of his mouth while he commands, “Sit down!”

Jonah sat down much quicker than me, almost making me fall on top of him.

The man lowered his gun, taking his stare to the sun. His knees buckled while mumbling to the sky, “I’m so sorry. That wasn’t me.” 

Jonah and I had no way to make this scene make sense. The red-headed man looked high. I whispered to Jonah, “Did you see him come into the house?”

Jonah nodded, “Yes, he’s their painter. He’s here all the time. That’s why I thought he was the one hurt.”

I shook as I stared at the house, thinking the walls might be painted with someones blood.

Something possessed the painter, his stare shot to us. I saw his eyes were almost entirely blacked. A demonic, hate stirred in him that could never be natural. The red-headed painters large tongue licked his lips, he raised his gun and gurgled, “Better run.”

Jonah tore from my hands, sprung to his feet and stood in front of me like a shield. I cried, louder than I meant, “Jonah! Don’t!”

But the crack of his gun firing made the world stop. I knew that no man couldn’t survive such a blow from such a short range.

My thoughts at the time: I lost my friend to something I could have easily prevented. But I was thinking too much like a grim reaper, letting death happen without intervening. Jonah reacted like a human being. With the need to protect and be brave. Blood ran through him but it sat still in me. And in the sound of that gunshot. I felt sick that Jonah sacrificed himself for someone not worth saving.

Time slowed down exponentially, every movement after the gunshot I was able to see coming. Including the unusual sight of the painter falling on his side, clutching his leg in pain. Jonah’s knee’s collapses under himself, I was able to catch him softly and slowly with the thickened time. 

Jonah laid his head against my chest, his back rested on my stomach, and I believed my friend to be dead. His body was stiff but his chest was loosely breathing. Jonah’s eyes were frantically open, not blinking at all, exposing his dilated eyes. I was about to lose it completely until I saw that he had no wounds on him. Not even a single drop of blood stained his body. He took his hands and grazed them across his chest frantically looking for the bullet-hole. Jonah revolved his head to look at me, he shook his head telling me his disbelief. 

I was in disbelief as well, the gun was only feet away from Jonah’s chest. The sound of the gunshot was clear. There’s no way the painters shot could have missed Jonah.

Jonah and I looked to the painter. He laid on his side still holding his leg, but he was screaming and crying. It didn’t make any sense.

Jonah saw something over my shoulder, he pointed with much relief in his stare. 

Time seemed to have retaken it’s normal routine as a young officer cautiously approached the fallen painter. The officer held his smoking gun steadily pointed at the man, speaking to Jonah and me, “Jonah, are you hurt?”

Jonah sat up from my lap, his hand still searching his chest. He responded breathing heavily, “I think so.”

“Stay where you are! I already called in for backup.” 

The officer continued walking towards the man with his gun pointed as he talked over his radio. 

I said, in no way able to hide the cracks in my voice, “You know him?”

Jonah was still very tense as he nodded, “That’s Mr. Black.”

Officer Black had quickly handcuffed the painter during Jonah and I’s short conversation. I didn’t know what else to say, I would have said thank you to Jonah but I was slightly angry that he tried to protect me. But I might have been angrier at myself for letting him, for not protecting him first. Even though it was impossible for me to have been hurt, I was in debt to Jonah. For if I was alive and if the shot was not from the officers gun, Jonah would have died for me. 

As Officer Black dragged the painter to his feet, the sounds of sirens approached. Jonah stood up, helping me up as well. We walked to the front lawn, still quiet, still in shock of the last five minutes. 

A couple of police cars, an ambulance, and a firetruck had pulled to the front of the Black residence. The police men filed out of their cars in a unified group into the house. Stepping all over the lawn and Jonah’s freshly planted flowers. 

Jonah seemed sad to see all his hard work trampled on, but he knew as well as I did that something more precious than flowers had died that afternoon.