Death's Rulebook

Chapter 2: The most important rule of all

The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew this was going to suck. Worse than I'd previously thought.

-Logan Winslow, a club bartender.

Though a club performer would have been a more accurate descriptor.

He stood in the middle of the brilliant plexiglass bar, the iridescent strobe lights dancing over his white shirt. From my vantage point on the stairs near the entrance, I watched him juggle several bottles of liquor to the delight of his customers. After mixing the drink, he would let it slide across the polished, glassy surface of the counter right to the person who'd ordered it. The phosphorescent liquid inside the plexiglass gave off the illusion that the drink was floating on water.

"Jesus' own holy martini!" I heard one of the customers proclaim, just as a song ended. I began drawing closer.

-Then I guess Logan must be God since he made the thing.

Okay, I was exaggerating, but I couldn't deny that he looked... saintly. The faint blue glow of his fading life force definitely gave him some angelic points.

From the moment I'd read his name in my Ledger, I tried picturing what he would be like (I did that will all my reaps. Because I was an idiot). However, each image I conjured up ended up being an evil and bitter monstrosity of a man who deserved to die.

God, I hoped he was an evil monstrosity. Then at least, my job would've been a great deal easier. But, of course, that wasn't the case.

He was sweet. The picture of loveliness. I knew he was young, 22 as my Ledger stated. But seeing it in person was different than reading it on paper. He looked like he could be the older brother of some random high school friend of mine. Someone I could have known and secretly admired from a distance.

I could see myself  drooling over his short, styled hair, sharp cheekbones, and bright blue eyes, glowing neon in the bar light. They were like a pair of beacons made brighter by the synthetic lights shining down on him, drawing people to him like moths to a flame. But no matter how lovely they were, it was his smile that captured the most attention.

God, his smile.

It was like caramel poured over velvet, silky and smooth. The kind of smile that invites you to keep it company and cares for you when you're feeling down. It made him look like the poster child for the hardworking and decent young man trying to put himself through college. The sweet and caring boyfriend any girl would die to have.

He was perfect. A real saint. I wanted to punch him in the face.

No, scratch that, I wanted to punch the asshole George, who was standing behind him, waiting for his time to run out. As if that was going to do anything. Logan's name had appeared in the Ledger. He was done for.

-I can't do anything.

I had to repeat that about ten times to actually convince myself.

Shaking my head, I decided to get this over with as quickly as I could. Elbowing my way past the staff and the people drunkenly stumbling about, I ended up near the crowded bar. I forced myself to ignore the drunken compliments and attempts to talk to me while fishing for an empty stool near Logan Winslow's vicinity. When a seat did open up, I had to run to take it and viciously elbow a very drunk girl in the process. It was worth it. The moment I sat down, I found myself staring right into my reap's stunning blue eyes.

As if some higher power wanted to make this even more convenient, the music abruptly cut off.

-Oh crap.

"Whoa, guess the party's over," Logan remarked with an effortless smile, friendliness radiating off him like fragrance. His eyes held mine hostage, and digging my nails into my skin was all I could do not to scream. "Hey, what's up?"