[D&G] Interview With the Reaper., page 1

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Interview With The Reaper
by
A. M. Jandia

He sat across from me in the cushy studio chair. The dark, loose robe hung over his body like a tent on an anorexic 13 year old girl. He crossed his legs as he propped his long sharp scythe against the arm of the chair and made himself comfortable.
The studio was devoid of the usual pre-show chatter. Half the crew called in sick and the rest stood in silence as the Reaper arranged his robes for the best camera shot.
I had to keep reminding myself that this was a once in a lifetime deal, no pun intended.
"Three minutes everyone!" the director yelled from the furthest corner of the studio.
I looked over the little blue card in my hand with the pre-sanctioned questions on it. They looked like they had been picked by Death's MySpace fans. I rolled my eyes as I quietly read them off in my head.
1. What's it like in hell?
2. What's Osama been up to?
3. What's your favorite color?
I held the card out in front of me and looked over to the corner of the room, making eye contact with the director. I had a "what the hell" look on my face as I threw my hands up.
He shot a warning glare in my direction. We had never seen eye to eye on the standard pre-arranged questions for prominent guests. He was a coward and couldn't see past ratings.
The countdown began. "10...9...8..."
I sat up straight and adjusted my tie. Death adjusted nothing.
"7...6...5...4...3...2...1...and action."
My intro played in the background.
And now, The World News with Dave O'Neil

I looked directly into the camera. "Good evening and welcome to a special edition of The World News. Tonight we have a special guest. You know him as The Grim Reaper but he's known around the world by many other names. In Hindu scriptures he is known as Yama and rides a black buffalo. In Japanese folklore Izanami is portrayed as the goddess of death and in Judaism there are actually six Angels of Death, one for kings, one for children, one for animals, one for teenagers (youths), and two that can take the lives of both beast and man."
I turned my attention over to the robed figure in front of me. His posture betrayed nothing of his demeanor except that he was really comfortable.
"So, which of these Angels of Death are you?" I said as I ripped the card in half and tossed it over my shoulder.
I noticed a slight twitch under his robe. Did I just make the Reaper nervous?
The entire room rumbled as he sat up straight and spoke.
"All of them."
The camera crew held fast to their shaking cameras. My heart was racing.
I jumped directly into the tough questions. "Are you an agent of God or the Devil?" I asked. This particular question had been stricken from my list along with ten others that I wanted to ask. I knew the cameras wouldn't stop now.
The rumbling became even more violent as he answered me.
"I have my own free will. I serve no one."
I almost fell from my seat. His voice rumbled through the room like an erupting volcano. I paused for his reaction but saw nothing.
"Could you please not do that anymore. It's a little irritating. Is everyone that rude where you come from?”
Still no reaction.
Speaking of, where do you come from?" I asked.
Death's voice rumbled slowly through the room. "I come from where death thrives. Where the landscapes are from your nightmares. From a place where even the Devil himself treads lightly." He seemed to hesitate for a moment and then continued. "I'm from Texas."
I looked directly into the camera and shrugged as the director motioned to go to commercial.
“I sense your director wants to have a chat with you,” said Death.
The director's arm waved impatiently from across the room as he motioned me over.
“Excuse me, I'll be right back,” I said.
I sprinted over to the director's station and prepared myself for a tongue lashing.
He was wringing the botched script in his white knuckled hands. “What the hell are you doing, David? Stick to the script.”
I grabbed the paper from his shaking hands and waved it in his face. “This script is bull and you know it. This interview can make my career and you want me to water down my questions with this trash?”
“These are the questions that your guest has approved. I don't think I have to tell you that there are probably going to be consequences from deviating from the script. When he comes to me after the show I'm going to give him your address.”
“David, you know that our guest has the discretion to not allow this interview to air. He has the final say.”
My conscience was torn between ratings and self preservation. I unwrinkled the paper in my hand and stormed back to my seat.
I glanced up at the hooded menace sitting across from me. If I could see his face I'm sure he'd be smiling at me with a smug grin.
The musical intro started and I succumbed to my directors wishes.
“If you're just joining us, our guest tonight is Death. He'll now be entertaining questions from our Facebook followers if that's OK with him.”
His head nodded once slowly behind the hooded robe but Death remained silent.
I rolled my eyes and read from the wrinkled paper in my lap.
“Our first question comes from NorCalCC. Hi Death, My boyfriend disappeared on me a couple months ago. The bastard left with my paycheck. So, I'm back on the market are you available?”
The question left me with a little less self respect as a journalist.
A malicious laugh filtered through the room and seemed to come from everywhere.
“Ahh, CC. It's a shame that your boyfriend disappeared. If it helps you to get over it faster I can assure you that he didn't leave you. His body just hasn't been found yet.” Death paused to snicker. “It's a little game I like to play. Kind of like your “Where's Waldo” game. As for your question, no, I'm not available.”
I was dumbstruck for a moment. I gathered my thoughts and moved on.
“Our next question comes from HunkaBurnin'Love. Is Elvis really dead?”
Death looked offstage toward a man standing in the shadows and nodded.
“I must invoke your fifth amendment and respectfully decline to answer that question,” he said.
I leaned forward and looked at the shadowy figure behind the set. “Who the hell is that?” I asked.
“That's my lawyer.”
“Why would death need a lawyer?” I asked. I couldn't help myself.
“Next question, Dave,” he said in a calm, soothing voice.
I felt compelled to ignore my previous question and move on.
“Moving on to our Twitter fans. @Icanhazapple666 wants to know if you have an iPad 4 yet.”
He shook his head slowly. “No, but it would be nice to have an app that could help me with my work. For the record, I prefer Android.”
I took a breath and let it out. This was ridiculous and I was making a fool out of myself. I scanned over the list and found one that seemed out of place. It was probably overlooked by someone that will be fired when the show is over, or worse.
“Back to Facebook. JF from Northern California wants to know...” I braced for a reaction to an intelligent question. “Out of all the people you have “collected” over the years are there any that you have regretting taking? If so which one did you regret taking the most and why?”
I smiled and gave the floor to the Reaper. His reaction was unexpected.
Laughter filled the room. “Are you sure that's a Facebook question? I thought all the smart users moved over to Twitter.”
He stood up and brushed the wrinkles out of his robe and I quickly rose to face him.
“Just answer the question,” I said becoming impatient.
“Watch that temper, Dave. Your heart isn't what is used to be,” he said.
A cold overwhelmed my body as he poked a cold, bony finger at my chest.
I fell back into my chair and held my hand over my heart as it tightened in my chest.
The Reaper leaned forward and answered me face to face.
“Very well, Dave. I would have to say Hitler, of course. He made my work easier. I had a great holiday while he was in the picture. You see, I don't personally take everyone that dies. Sometimes I recruit other agents to do my work for me. For instance Yersinia pestis, also known as The Black Plague.”
Death moved out of my face and sat back down. His mind seemed to wander for a moment as if he was reliving some fond memories.
He shook his head. “The plague...now those were the days. Some things even I can't totally eliminate. It's only a matter of time before I get another vacay.”
“So you're saying that you are responsible for a good portion of the evil in this world?”
He shook his hooded head and scooted forward in his chair.
He sneered. “Good? Evil...these things are only a matter of perception.” He paused for a moment while collecting his thoughts.
“Look at your nice Italian shoes, for instance. To you they are nothing more than a tool that you use to protect your feet from injury as you walk down these filthy streets, and maybe an outdated fashion statement.”
I uncrossed my legs and tried to make my feet a little less conspicuous to the cameras.
“What's your point?” I asked.
“Have you ever considered the destruction caused by your every step? The life that you destroy under your feet as you cut a path of destruction through entire colonies of bacteria? Not to mention the insects and other higher forms of life? Now, my point is, to you those shoes are nothing more than a weeks salary and a bit of fine Italian leather, to other beings they are pure adulterated evil and I'm not even going to mention the cow that had to die so you could have those agents of death on your feet.”
I motioned to cut to commercial but the Reaper spoke before I heard the director cut away.
“You don't look well, Dave,” he said.
“Why did you agree to come here if you aren't going to be cooperative?”
“I had business on this side of town. I had to be here anyway,” Death said, gesturing with his robed hand.
I gasped. “You're here to kill someone?”
“I don't kill people. I only collect souls. Haven't you been listening to me? I may occasionally encourage my agents to speed things along but I don't just kill people.”
Tom, the director's voice yelled in the background. “5...4...3...2...we’re back on.”
I ignored the director and continued in the middle of our conversation.
“What about heaven and hell?”
“I don't deal with the where's. When you threw out your garbage this morning did you consider where it will go next? It's not my concern.”
I rubbed my right arm. I could feel the pain radiating through my chest.
“You're here to take me, aren't you?”
He remained silent and the cameras continued rolling.
“You...you make deals, right? All the stories I've heard...” I was gasping as the pain shot through me.
“You're confusing me with the Devil. Death doesn't make deals, sorry.”
“But you have powers, right? Couldn't you help me? You have to help...” I fell out of my chair and hit the ground like a one ton rock.
“Someone call 911,” someone yelled in the distance. “Quick, call an ambulance and someone call Victoria.”
I couldn't speak. The pain took my breath, my words, my will. Death stood over me, scythe in hand, preparing to take what was rightfully his. He knelt next to me and whispered.
“Do you have regrets, Dave? Have you lived your life the way you wanted?”
It wasn't a myth, I remarked to myself. I closed my eyes as my life flashed before them. My childhood, unremarkable and happy...the death of my parents a few years ago and my brother who took his own life a year later. I hadn't spoken to any of them for years. Tears filled my eyes as I remembered the last harsh words we had spoken to one another. They were angry at me, rightly so. I had left my wife, Victoria and our daughter, Colleen so I could pursue my own life, my career, other women. I had been selfish and my family had never forgiven me.
“David?” I heard a familiar voice from above.
I opened my eyes and looked to my right. Victoria knelt next to me squeezing my hand.
“Help is on it's way, David. Please hold on,” she cried.
Tom yelled from the doorway, “The ambulance is on it's way. It's stalled in traffic at the off-ramp. Some kind of accident.”
Tom's voice faded out and a bright light filled my eyes.
“Daddy, I'm sorry. I tried to get there in time. I...” said Colleen with her hand outstretched.
She was beautiful and had just turned 18 a few days before. I was grateful that the Reaper would allow me this one last moment with my daughter before he took me to whatever was next.
“Goodbye, Daddy. I love you,” she said. The light became brighter and washed over me.

“Clear,” someone yelled.
“Help him, please,” Victoria yelled.
“We have a pulse, let's get him in the wagon.”
“Take Washington, there's an accident on the freeway exit. We'll never make it,” said the man who sat next to me pumping air into my lungs.
The radio dispatcher's voice blared over the speakers. “Eighteen year old female...car accident...take your time...DOA...”

I knew then that I wasn't the one Death had come for. Victoria, still by my side, began sobbing uncontrollably as we slowly rolled past the intersection where our daughter's car sat in a mangled mass and her body lay covered with a yellow tarp.

In my life as a reporter I had seen so much death and destruction. I always thanked God or whatever higher beings might exist that I was still alive. For once, just this once, I wish Death had taken me instead.