Jonas Saul - The Reaper

“That’s right. Watch the fire. That’s what you did all those years ago. You watched the fire while your brother and I burned along with my mother. You listened to our screams and smiled. You stared so long that you got burned too. It’s mesmerizing, isn’t it? Just watch.”

Jacob tossed the lit matches into the air. I expected John to scream in protest, but heard nothing from behind me. The high grass was seriously dry for this time of year. The old man’s house was too far away for him to escape.

Kirk Sutton used his cane like an expert as he tried to hustle away from the flames. But it wasn’t the fire he ran from, it was my husband. He’d finally gotten it. He knew who he was, or – rather -, is.

“Get him, Danny,” Jacob shouted to his father.

My brain felt bent. Everything was good, as it should be.

I watched as John tackled the ninety-year-old man and was lost to sight in the tall grass.

The fire rose above the waist-high foliage not one meter from Jacob, who was laughing as he watched the flames soar higher and higher.

Something clicked in my head. I actually felt it. Magical.

John lifted the old man above the grass and carried him like a surfboard. Kirk shouted something about the police.

I walked closer to the flames to watch. A loud crack resounded across the fields. I spun around to see a man running off the back steps of the old man’s house. He had a gun in his hand.

“Stop what you’re doing or I’ll shoot!”

Then I heard what Kirk Sutton was trying to say. His son was a cop.

The three of us circled the flames that had grown to a small brush fire. John stood the old man up and then, without preamble, shoved him into the center of the flames where he fell on his back and writhed. He squealed and screamed as his flesh melted in areas spared in the fire of 1944.

The joy I felt as Kirk cooked in the flames was immense.

A gun went off as I watched with glee the old man dying before me. John fell to his knees, blood spitting out of his mouth. I turned to see the cop aim his weapon at me.

The gun bucked in his hand. The bullet raced by me and shattered Jacob’s face. What a sight, all the bone and blood shooting into the air, caught by the grass, my son’s soul free.

I stayed low and grabbed John’s hand, and reaching for Jacob’s to form a bond. All three of us lay on our backs and waited. I was the only one left unhurt, but my time was coming and I looked forward to it.

Kirk Sutton had fallen silent in the fire. The wails I heard came from the cop. He stepped over and looked down at me.

“Who are you fucking people?” His face told me everything. The red cheeks, the wet eyes, the breathing. He was going into shock after hearing his father’s screams. His mind was slipping into protective mode before he lost it entirely. It was always such a pleasure to see someone crack in front of me. Always a pleasure.

I smiled at him. It inspired him to raise his weapon and point it at me.

“Kirk, your father, murdered people,” I said. “We came to make him pay. Shoot me, and we’ll come back for you too.”

The gun went off and I felt yanked away.

I’ve been at this for eight thousand, two hundred years. It’s time to retire. My son is more powerful than I thought. I’m so proud of him.

Unlike my cousin, we aren’t lazy, waiting for people to die. We take them, but we stick to the tormented souls. We’re like the ultimate cleanser, ridding the world of scum.

Maybe one day I’ll have to come for your soul. I could be your mother, your brother or your friend at school. You’ll never know. But I’ll be there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for my chance to end a life.

Waiting for my reward.

The pleasure in murder is too great to stop.

I am, therefore I kill. See you soon.

Jonas Saul is the author of the Sarah Roberts and The Kill series. Visit his website, www.jonassaul.com for upcoming release dates. Jonas lives in Europe with his wife, author Kate Cornwell.

Contact Jonas Saul

Website: http://www.jonassaul.com

Twitter: @jonassaul

Email: authorjonassaul@gmail.com