C. Barry - Redemption

That didn’t mean they got any respect though. He’d heard all the jokes. But really, he didn’t care. There was more freedom and leeway in this unit than anywhere else on the force. That suited him just fine.

“The good news is, I’m back on the job,” Thane said. “What’s going on?”

“We had another suspicious death last night,” Martin said with a frown.

Thane stopped shuffling mail he had no intention of reading. “Where?”

“Penthouse office building in midtown,” Martin said, picking up the file. He opened the contents and read it. “Victim was Charles Merck. Fifty-eight years old. Your basic rich CEO. Died when he fell on a broken glass tumbler. Went right through his chest, right between the ribs, which is no small miracle. He bled out on the floor.”

“Nothing suspicious though,” Thane said with a shrug. “Why do we care?”

Martin raised an eyebrow and smiled for the first time today. “Our girl was there.”

Reya propped her booted feet up on the coffee table in her apartment. It was morning, she was dressed, and time was a-wastin’. “Who’s next?”

Orson sat in a chair across from her with a pad of paper and a fountain pen writing away. The shock of white hair on his head stuck out in every direction. If he slept, she’d think he just got out of bed.

He didn’t look up. “I don’t know yet.”

Reya tapped her fingernails on the end table, bored. She hated being between jobs, and it had been more than twelve hours since Merck. A smile touched her lips. That one had been sweet. Granted, they all were, but every once in a while, she’d get a real gem. By now, he was on the other side trying to bargain his way out of the hole he’d dug for himself in this life.

Oh well. Sucked to be him.

She shoved off the couch and walked the perimeter of the tiny apartment she called home in this physical dimension. A living room, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom—and that was it. Not that it mattered, she was rarely here except to eat, sleep, and pick up her next assignment from Orson. Plus it was free. Couldn’t beat free, especially in New York City.

She turned to Orson. “How about now?”

He glanced up from his writing and peered at her through thick, myopic glasses with infinite patience. No matter what she said or did, he never changed. It bugged her to no end.

“Soon, Reya.”

She blew out a long breath. The red tape in the spirit world could rival that in any DMV. “There is a whole city of murderers, drug dealers, and abusers out there. How long can it take?”

Orson pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Our prospects—”

“Prospects?” she said, bursting out laughing. “Is that what we are calling them now?”

“Our prospects ,” he repeated evenly, “need to be approached at a specific time in their lives—”

“They’re assholes, Orson,” she said. “They will always be assholes. That’s the job.”

“In order to be receptive to your offer of redemption,” Orson finished.

“Which they never take,” she reminded him. “Have you noticed that?”

“We must still give them the chance,” he pressed.

She stopped in front of him. “Why? Will one moment of regret undo all the damage they’ve done throughout their lives? Bring back the people they’ve killed? Give justice to the ones they’ve wronged?”

“No,” Orson said. “But it will set them on the right path.”

“It still doesn’t even the scales,” she said, disgust rising in her voice.

“You know it doesn’t work that way,” Orson replied. “Everyone who comes here chooses the life they get.”

He kept saying that but she just wasn’t buying it. “Who would choose to be raped or molested or tortured?”

Orson set the pad on his lap and gave her his full attention. “They chose that life. To grow. To understand and—”

“To experience pain and pleasure in equal parts over many lifetimes,” she cut in with a wave of her hand. “I know the drill. I just don’t buy it.”

Orson frowned slightly, and she knew he was disappointed in her lack of progress on that front. The Universe might have its rules but it didn’t mean she had to like them.

“I’m sure someday you will understand,” Orson replied and picked up his pad. “Besides, everyone deserves a second chance, don’t you think?”

She felt that one to her soul. Orson knew her past. He knew why she was here, hunting down the worst of the worst. Why he had even agreed to work with a woman who wavered on the line between darkness and light was beyond her.

He blinked at her through his glasses and said softly, “I’m sorry. I know you are doing your best.”

Reya silently accepted his apology. He was right. Everyone deserved a second chance, even the biggest, baddest assholes. They also deserved to die in some horrible way that included castration and quartering. Then she’d feel a whole lot better.

Orson was writing again, and she knew she couldn’t push him for the next job. He wouldn’t hurry for her sake. He’d been doing this a lot longer than she had—eons probably—and followed orders faithfully. She wasn’t going to change that, regardless of how much she needed this redemption.

As much as it sucked to be between worlds, there was no going back into the darkness. She only hoped she’d be able to stand living in the light.

She went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. It contained a fresh quart of milk and a chocolate layer cake covered with whole strawberries. Guilt accompanied the realization that Orson had gone shopping for her. He might be a pain in the ass, but he was the best friend she had and an excellent envoy.

She took out the cake and cut a big slice, poured a tall glass of milk, and took both out for Orson. He’d most likely refuse it, but it was the gesture that counted. When she got to the living room, he was writing furiously—communicating with God-knew-who God-knew-how.

Her pulse sped up as she set down the plate and glass. “Got one?”

He didn’t stop writing until he was finished. Then he ripped off the sheet and handed it to her. Reya wiped her hands on her jeans and took the sheet from him. It contained a location, a time, and a name.

She held the paper with both hands and zeroed in on the name.

Alexander Wolken .

Discomfort crawled across her body and mind as she closed her eyes and repeated his name. The process of discovery was always the same; acute and violent, but necessary to do the job. The pain increased as visions floated in, slowly at first and then rising to a frightful crescendo of voices, shouts, anger, and animalistic violence.

Willfully, she slipped into his world, into his past, and heard him yell, felt him hit tender skin, break delicate bones. Women’s cries and pleas for mercy only made him stronger. He raped viciously and repeatedly, leaving his victims battered and torn from the inside out. Never to be the same.

When she’d seen enough, Reya extracted herself from the past, back through the pain and this reality. A part of her core felt splintered, the residual ache excruciating and protracted like any good torture.

She grimaced and rubbed the center of her chest where it felt like a cannonball had shot clear through. Disgust claimed the hole as it healed, the pain vanishing. The memories, however, lingered. Why, she didn’t know. Perhaps punishment, although Orson would deny that. He’d say that it was her free will to accept this job, blah-blah. Whatever the reason, the process never changed. She’d signed up for this, knowing it would be like this. She was beginning to wonder if she was any good at decision-making.

When she could breathe again, she opened her eyes to find Orson studying her.