The thumping of the party sounded behind us, pulsing in time to my hurried and intoxicated footsteps. I was giggling, ducking and hiding from the light coming out of the porch windows. There was alcohol and a cute guy involved here, and I wasn't passing up either. The summer breeze gently picked up pieces of my hair and blew the pale brown strands into my face, leaving me spitting them out awkwardly. I looked back to the guy I'd followed out here, mentally congratulating myself. Two hours ago I didn't know him, and now we were making out against my best friend's garage. I had to look up to properly face him, staring into light blue eyes and then taking in the full picture. Every girl here had been after him all night, and I was no exception.
He was like some foreign superstar, with light hair and eyes and a tall, lean stature. He'd showed up in almost a full suit and had managed not to look overdressed, a feat in itself, and I hadn't heard one girl complain. I could only barely make out his face in the gloom but I did see him smirk, and whoops goodbye to my self control. I slid my hand around the back of his head, mussing up the previously perfect blond hair and crashed his lips into mine. Somewhere, through the drunken haze, I registered that making out at my best friend's party was kind of a rude thing to do. I pulled away, panting a little.
"I should get back," I tried, but he cut me off and maybe kissing him was worth being labelled a bitch. But I managed to lean back again, with a little more willpower than the first time.
"Seriously, someone is going to notice I'm gone." He just smirks again and if it weren't so counterproductive to kiss him again I would. His face catches the light of the party that seems a million miles away, and something changes in his smile.
"This will be quick then," he muttered, and I shivered. It wasn't a kind phrase, and my decision to leave was only solidified. I was about to turn away when I was stopped not by force but by his eyes, because his pupils were leaking into his irises. The black tainted the light blue like food colouring being added to water, and it was followed by a gleam that was almost red. I gasped, but I didn't move quickly enough to get away. He leaned forward again but he didn't go to kiss me, instead he travelled lower, to my neck. There was shooting pain but I couldn't cry out, I could only sag against the uneven surface of the siding. My surroundings faded to a dull roar, a mix of blurred lights and colours. My mind shut down on me, focusing only on the intense, searing pain. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to block out the pain to no effect, and I registered sitting the ground and gravel pressing into my thighs. But there was nothing I could do, and even with the pain gone and the sound of footsteps receding I could only breath out one last time. And then I was gone.
"Well, that takes care of that. Adios, kid." There was a point, somewhere far in front of me, that held what had to be consciousness. It was a struggle to reach it, but the awareness was getting closer and closer. The memory of a voice pulled me along, so I focused on it. It wasn't one I recognized, a girl probably in her early twenties. My first thought was that she must have been at the party, and that was when I knew I was awake. The memories, vague as they were, came flooding back. The boy I still didn't know the name of had tried to kill me. The realization made me open my eyes, but when the light hit hazel I quickly shut them again, groaning and rolling over. It seemed like everywhere hurt, and curling into the fetal position was the only thing that would lessen the very sharp ache coming from my sensory overload. I didn't even give a thought to the person standing over me until she spoke again.
"Dying would be a lot easier, would it?" she said, almost wistfully. I tried to sit up but failed miserably, only managing to keep my eyes open. It was a small victory, but I would take it. I tried to get a good look at whoever this girl was, and found myself staring up at the night sky. I frowned, only to understand that she was behind me. Apparently I was very out of it. "Here, I'll spare you turning around." I leaned back against the garage, the same place I'd passed out, and heard her come towards me from around the corner. I was fighting the urge to rest my eyes because I didn't trust myself to open them again. My gaze strayed downwards, away from the admittedly faint light of the moon, so that my first impression of this girl was her shoes. And what an impression that was.
She was, quite literally, walking on crosses. Her heels added at least an extra two inches to her height, and the black suede boot the travelled up to her knees ended in a sturdy gold cross at the heel. A little confused, I continued my path to her face to find the rest of her cloths weren't much different. She must have been at the party, because I could think of no other reason for the outfit. Long boots that rose up her legs halfway to meet cutoff black shorts, a black leather jacket studded with spikes of gold over a pale top with a black marking across the front I couldn't make out. Her hair was two-toned black and red, cut in straight bangs and then falling in loose curls around her shoulders. She wore a deep, velvet-red lipstick, and her eyebrow was raised over dark-lined eyes. If I was in any other situation, I would be either laughing at the fashion choices or keeping my head down and hoping she didn't notice me. In my current position, I wasn't really able to do either.
"Camille?" She asked, rocking her hip to once side. There was a spark of recognition at my name, and I nodded dumbly. She just shook her head is disgust, the hand not placed on her hip holding up a smart phone and tapping into it. Even her nails were a swirl of red and black, and I shivered. There was an eery silence that hung over the atmosphere, all signs of the party gone. I was alone with a girl I didn't know, but who knew me.
"What-" I croaked, and realized how bad of an idea talking was after the fact. She just shrugged, returning the phone to a back pocket i knew from experience wouldn't be big enough to hold it.
"Camille Dent, twenty-one years old, death from excessive blood loss," she recited, and i were stunned into silence.
"Cammie," I corrected automatically, but the last phrase was repeating like a broken record. Death. I died. That guy killed me. There was a sudden rush of blood to my head and I pressed the heel of my palm into my eye socket.
"Yeah, blood loss is a bitch. That'll go away." All at once there's a clicking of gold heels across the pavement and I scrambled up, pitching forward but managing to catch her attention.
"What do I do know? Who are you?" Probably not the best two questions but they seemed important. She paused, moonlight glinting off the polished crosses, and then turned military style on her heels. How she was even walking was beyond me.
"You don't remember, do you?" It wasn't even a question, like everything else she'd told me. It was a blatant and indisputable fact. I shook my head before sorely regretting it.
"I'm Brie. Well, Abrielle, but since we're working on a first name basis here Brie is fine." Okay, so a name to a face. I could deal with that. "And as for what you do now, well, go kill the bastard who killed you." She shrugged like it made the most sense out of anything anyone ever had spoken to me. I still shook my head, something I was beginning to realize I did a lot.
"Am I like a zombie now? You said I died, right?" She laughed, a short mocking sound that made me not want to ask any more questions. But my mental capacity was still not at 100% and apparently my death was a fact I was just going to accept.
"Not a zombie, more like a dead girl walking. I was supposed to take your soul but hey, Aryan's a dick and you seem like you can handle yourself." I held my hands up. Way you much information in too short of an expanse of time for my addled brain to process. She sighed, crossing her arms and I saw the glint of more sharp metal bracelets around her wrists. I couldn't say I was surprised.
"One thing at a time, please," the weakness in my voice made it seem more like a plea than it was supposed to be. "You were supposed to take my soul?" The look she gave me was the pure embodiment of "it's a good thing you're pretty".
"Yes, Cherie, that's kind of what Reapers do." She tapped a heel impatiently. Ignoring the apparently random insertion of French, I focused instead on the bomb that just got dropped.
"Like, grim reaper?" It was probably a very stupid thing to say, but she indulged me and nodded anyways.
"In charge of collecting souls, yep. Sir ass-hole that killed you is Aryan Gray, a vampire, and he is a huge idiot who you should go take revenge on. Goodbye." With that she turned and started walking away, but control was starting to come back into my limbs and I managed to chase after her.
"Wait!" I didn't know why I didn't just let this obviously crazy girl leave, but the throbbing mark on my neck was evidence enough that she was at least telling part of the truth. "Brie!" She whirled around, throwing the arm with the bracelets in front of her. I skidded to a halt, but she wasn't even looking at me. Her eyes hardened but her mouth twisted into a cruel smile.
"You want to know what to do next?" She asked, and I nodded briskly. "Get behind me." I did as she said quickly, only seeing what she had after I'd moved. There was an arc of people, all older than the both of us, fanning out and approaching. They all looked like they were from different walks of life, a teenager in school uniform standing beside an older man in raggedy and ripped cloths. But the all moved with a singular purpose.
"See, you aren't the zombie." The gold metal on her wrist was moving, gravitating towards her hand. I took a step back, trying to get away from whatever insanity I had just inserted myself into. But my eyes were transfixed by the metal. It melted and dripped onto the ground right before my eyes. The gold was pulled upwards, melding into a perfectly smooth cylinder arching above Brie's head, defying every known law as it shaped itself into a cruelly twisted golden scythe. It gleamed even in the low light, and it took a second to realize that it was itself letting off light. My jaw had actually dropped open as the connection was made in my head. Reaper. Souls. Death. Scythe. And those people-
"They're the zombies," she grinned.