Death is My BFF Rewritten (Book 1 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 31: I Am Batman

            “Number two?” Dad quipped.

            Andrew didn’t laugh.

            Still, with no sign of Death, I helped my dad haul the obscenely large amount of freshly plucked apples, squash, and pumpkins that my family had gathered into the back of the van. The sun began to set, leaving a unique burst of pastel color in the distance. Mom, Aunt Sarah, and Andrew were all still eating from the grease trucks set up on the farm for guests. I had them in my line of vision at all times, even from the car.

            “Thanks for helping me, kid, my back is really acting up again,” Dad said, hunched over slightly. “I think I gotta see that chiropractor again…”

            “You mean that man with the mole on his…?”

            “Yep.”

            Dad and I shivered at the same time.

            “I’m surprised Andrew didn’t volunteer to help. He’s just usually so well-mannered,” I said sarcastically, beginning to lift another crate of apples into the car.

            “Aunt Sarah keeps going on and on about that haunted hay ride. I think your mom and I are going to sit that one out and maybe take a nap. With my back and all…and I’m going to need someone to take care of me in the car while we wait…”

            I playfully lifted a brow. “Scared?”

            “Yep.” He didn’t even try to deny it. Dad gave me a quick kiss the forehead, wincing slightly as he stepped forward. “I’m going to go use the bathroom and hope I don’t collapse on the way there because of this pain, do you think you guys could finish up by yourself?”

            “Yes.” When Dad started to leave, I added, “Wait, can we maybe not do this haunted hay ride thing? I’m kind of tired.”

            And I don’t want to see Death chop Andrew’s head off, thank-you.

            “Whatever you want to do, sweetheart. It’s your birthday week.” Dad left. I immediately grabbed another crate, lifting it up into the trunk, when the bottom of the crate gave way and all of the apples fell onto the ground. Growling, I bent down to pick them up, and I immediately heard a loud, appreciative wolf whistle.

            “Nice jeans.”

            Straightening my spine, I whipped my head to the left, and there he was.

            Death exhaled from his cigarette, smoking on the hood of Andrew’s precious sports car. The Grim Reaper showed me the profile of his hooded head, staring at nothing in particular ahead of him. “Or, should I say, nice wh*re hole jeans—“

 “I knew you were somewhere—“ I began.

“—Because they really don’t leave much to the imagination,” he finished with that deep, sultry voice of his, head tilted slightly in fascination. “If you can’t stand me, cupcake, perhaps you should lay down.”

            Blood rushed to my face. “Don’t have you have anything better to do than stalk me and sexually harass me?” I hissed.

            “Not particularly, no. Now…about last night.” He flicked off some ash from his cigarette. “I say we start fresh. Forget that ever happened.”

I began picking the discarded apples off of the ground. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Death slid off of Andrew’s sports car, making it rock slightly. He leisurely came closer to me, broad shoulders rolling in a delicious leather jacket and long legs working a hell of a pair of dark jeans. “Hello, wife. Should I have worn my ‘I’m Batman’ shirt today?”