Page 36 of How to Survive Your Own Death

“Eventually, he lost his hold on his world and went into the void.”

“And you like to reminisce about it? I mean, you’re a reaper, so expectations are different, but that seems dark.”

“No. I come here to remember another. A friend.” He paused again. “He could only see me when inebriated.”

“I thought people couldn’t see you,” she said.

“Under the right conditions. Delicate constitutions. Fragile grips on reality. Excessive drug or alcohol consumption. All these can bring a mortal closer to the veil, able to peer through, but not cross. His name appeared several times in my book but always vanished before it was time to collect.”

Words failed her. Anything she said would sound judgy and she had an inkling of how lonely it was moving through the world invisible. Eventually she said, “It’s nice that you had a friend.”

“He did not believe so. Called me a fiend and attacked me, though no one else could perceive me. He was held for a night here. Unable to flee, we had a chance to speak at last. He was fascinating. A poet, you know, but his time was brief. He died only a handful of months later.”

“Wait…” Geri put the pieces together. The city had one famous poet who was more famous for being a drunk. “Are you talking about Poe? Edgar Allan Poe? ‘Quoth the raven’ Poe?”

“He had a soul unlike any other mortal.”

Okay. Interesting. The reaper was a big fan. Geri wasn’t sure what to do with that information but it was good to know.

“Were you the one to reap his soul?”

“Alas, his name did not appear in my book for that final assignation,” he said, his voice remorseful.

Poe died in Baltimore, she recalled, which had to be out of network.

“I totally get wanting to come back to a place where you hung out with a friend,” she said. “When I have a bad day, I usually pester Molly. It might be cliche to say your sister is your best friend, but yeah. She is.”

“She gets you,” he said, repeating Geri’s words from the hospital.

“Well, it’s true. She gets me.” Molly was protective but not smothering. She never tried to bubble wrap Geri to keep her from being hurt, which was usually a person’s first instinct when they learned about her hemophilia. “It’s been that way since we were kids.”

“Today has not been easy.”

“I see where you’re going with this.” She glanced toward the grocery store. Her sister wouldn’t slam the door in her face if she turned up uninvited, but bringing a small gift was the polite thing to do. “Anh likes plums. Let’s pick some up at the store.”

CHAPTER 11

GERI

“I know what you did.”

“Ominous. I need a little bit of context,” Geri texted on her phone. The movie wasn’t holding her attention. This was far more interesting.

A moody photo of a metal storage shelf lined with cameras flashed on her screen. There was a gap in the tidy row of cameras. Dramatic lighting and shadows gave it a very noir feel, like the cameras were witnesses at the scene of the crime.

For all his faults, Patrick was talented. He manipulated shadow and light like a magician. He was a fantastic photographer.

A shit husband, though.

“So you finally noticed,” she wrote, not bothering to apologize for stealing the camera. He never apologized for putting his dick in another woman, after all.

“Thanks for the job lead,” he replied.

“When will I get my finder’s fee?”

“I’ll put it toward the cost of the camera you took.”

Fair.