The clatter of dishes in the diner brings some sense of normalcy back to Greg’s brain. He sips from his coffee as he stares at various points of the diner. It’s early enough that it’s relatively empty, but the few other patrons look a lot more lively than himself and his partner. Men and women getting ready for their work days, a trucker re-fueling before he hits the road again, and the waitress and cook moving with the energy of those who just started their shift.
All of them oblivious to the things Greg has seen. It was a hell of a night, and Greg knows the discussion ahead will be anything but normal.
Ezra stirs the sugar into his coffee staring at the circular motion of the liquid. He doesn’t know how to even begin this discussion. In the beginning, he assumed he would eventually have to confront this situation with his friend, however after a certain amount of time passed, and nothing was addressed, it seemed they would never have to talk about it.
The fact that last night happened, and the implications of it, means the channels of communication between him and his friend either need to be widened, or completely shut off. Ezra and Greg have been through too much together for the latter option; he can’t cut and run. Which means the two of them have a lot to discuss.
The waitress passes their table again with her pot of coffee, but this time as she pours, she stares at Ezra a bit longer than normal. He notices it in his periphery, but doesn’t make eye contact. As she passes him to head back towards the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder at her. Greg brings him back to reality.
“So, things escalated a bit last night, “ he says.
“I’m surprised you’ve been so calm,” Ezra says matter-of-factly.
Greg shrugs as he adjusts his mug and picks up his napkin to wipe his mouth.
“I’ve seen a lot over the years. We both have.”
Immediately, Ezra responds with a laugh.
“You’ve never seen anything like that.”
Before Greg can respond, the waitress stops by with their food. They both thank her as she drops the plates, and the bill, between the two of them. She turns without another word and heads toward the next table in her rotation. Just another day on the job for her, oblivious to the lives of the customers she waits on. Ezra feels something itching the back of his neck, but ignores it.
Greg’s eyes linger on her as she walks away, wondering how someone like that would respond to the things he saw in the last few hours. Probably not well, he thinks.
“True,” he says while bringing his gaze to his plate of eggs and toast, “but it all falls under a similar umbrella, don’t you think?”
“How do you mean?” Ezra asks, glad to not dive headfirst into this uncomfortable conversation, but rather work their way up to it.
“Talking to spirits is our thing, and it has been for years. Tonight just seemed to be turning the dial up to 10.”
Ezra mulls this over while chewing his food, taking his time with each bite.
“I’m glad you see it that way,” he finally says. He wipes his face, places his napkin on his plate, and drops a twenty on the table. “Come on, we should talk somewhere else.” He rises from the table, leaving Greg to frantically grab another bite and swig of coffee.
Ezra walks straight for the door, glancing towards the waitress as he passes her, only to see her eyes quickly dart from him. He debates saying something, but chooses against it. He pushes the front door open to the frigid cold of the Buffalo morning.
As Ezra makes his way across the parking lot to their car, he hears the jingle of the bell from the diner door. Looking back, he sees Greg jogging after him to catch up.
“Hey,” Greg says, “that waitress wanted me to give this to you.” He reaches out and hands Ezra a small, folded-up piece of paper. “I knew she had the hots for you.”
Ezra takes the paper, opens it, and sees the 10-digit telephone number scribbled across a blank bill. He laughs to himself, and his paranoia, and tucks the number into his pocket. Pulling his keys out to unlock the car, he stops as his eyes catch the front entrance to a cemetery down the road. He shoves the keys back into his pocket.
“Follow me,” he says, “we’re going to take a walk.”
“In this weather?!” Greg exclaims. He’s never been a big fan of the cold.
“It’ll be quick, hopefully,” Ezra says with a playful grin.
Greg answers with a muffled curse as he pulls his coat tighter, and his hat lower.
The cemetery is empty, especially at this hour of the morning. The wind whistles through the headstones and trees, creating the cliche sense of eeriness for a walk through the cemetery. Greg begins to wonder what his friend is up to and if this location was chosen by Ezra for a reason. As they walk further in, the city noises become non-existent. The only sound is the wind.
Ezra stands before a headstone, seemingly reading the engraving, before he walks up to it and leans against it. Greg looks around for a shorter headstone to sit on, but decides against it. He paces back and forth, waiting for Ezra to speak.
“I have a certain connection to these souls. It’s why I do what I do. In a way, I’m repenting for things I’ve done in my past. I’m working towards correcting those wrongs.”
“That’s rather ambiguous, Ezra. How exactly do you have a connection to these spirits? Are you some type of medium, or something?”
Ezra laughs at the comparison.
“More along the lines of ‘or something’,” he replies.
Greg stands there without saying anything. He’s getting irritated with the games, and the cold wind blowing through his jacket isn’t helping his mood either. He doesn’t want to be disrespectful towards his friend, but at the same time he can’t stand beating around the bush.
“Ez, come on, just tell me what the hell is going on. We’ve been through a lot together. You can trust me. Who the hell was in that building with us last night?”
After looking at this friend for a long few seconds, Ezra looks away and lets out a tremendous sigh. It’s now or never, he thinks.
“That was my brother. My brother who’s been searching for me for some time now. I’ve been on a mission to help souls cross the abyss from this world to the next. Souls that have been stuck because mistakes were made during their reapings. Mistakes that are my fault,” he says.
Greg shoots him a ridiculous look. He’s at a loss for words, so he continues to stare at Ezra. Can any of this be true? Has his friend completely lost his mind? Has he completely lost his mind? Spirits are one thing, but what Ezra is inferring is a whole other level of crazy. Reapings?
“So…uh, you’re a ‘reaper’?” Greg finally manages to ask.
“Yes, but more accurately, I’m the reaper.”
Ezra lets that hang in the air for a moment or two while Greg continues to process everything. While Greg remains silent, Ezra continues his explanation.
“You’ve asked me before what my name is short for. My given name is Ezrael. Last night, you met my brother, Khamael. What we are is hard to explain, but there have been common terms for us over the years. The most common of which is the Four Horsemen.”
As Greg stands with his jaw hanging open, he starts opening and closing his mouth, as if to say something, but just looks like a fish out of water. He takes a step or two back, and luckily before falling down, bumps into a headstone. Ignoring his previous thoughts of disrespect, he sits on the headstone and continues staring.
His friend of fifteen years has been hiding a secret from him this whole time, and not just any secret, but a secret of the magnitude that you only hear about in legends. If all of this is true, that means Ezra, his ghost-hunting partner, is the angel of Death, reaper of souls, and he’s been helping him this entire time.
Holy shit.
Ezra rushes to catch Greg’s unconscious body as it drops to the ground in front of him.
Writing by Adam 