Working for the Dead

promptly penned

Welcome to May’s Promptly Penned. If you’ve never encountered this before, two members of our blogging group give us either dialogue or a scenario and we write a short piece. This month the prompt is:

He is a hitman for the supernatural, because sometimes, ghosts need revenge so they can rest in peace.

And with that, I hope you enjoy!

 

“Hurry! It’s over here.”

Dekker glanced at the woman who accompanied him. What the fuck? He’d been doing the job for a very long time and he didn’t need a newbie along. He knew where they were going. He knew what to do once they reached the destination. He was the best. That’s why he was the one currently walking through the darkness. Where they were going wasn’t for amateurs.

“Are you listening?”

“Lady, you’ve been yammering at me non-stop for over an hour. I can do nothing but hear you. Tell me again why you’re here?”

“You’ll see. Now pick up the pace.”

A growl rumbled out of his throat and he grit his teeth to pull back. The otherness inside of him loved the hunt. This too was another reason he was the best. Though one had nothing to do with the job itself. It was actually the length of time he’d been at it. Most headsman lasted twenty or thirty years, but Dekker had only been hitting his stride at that point. When you were good at something why give it up? Now he was entering his . . . two hundred and fifteenth year? Really? It almost gave him pause, but let it go. Now was not the time.

“Hey, are you awake?” the woman shouted back at him. “You’re really slow. Come on.”

He approached the dark house as the woman practically danced in place. Or, she would have if her feet actually touched the ground. Something about the spirit plane being just slightly off of the human. Either way, ghost always floated.

Ignoring her, Dekker held out his hand and the front door unlocked. He stepped into a living room and listened. He heard nothing, but knew people were home. He could feel the life force of two humans in the house. Following, the way a blood hound did a scent, he tracked through the living room and into a kitchen. A door, tucked discretely in a corner, flared bright to his eyes. The one he sought was there.

As he approached, the door opened before him. Once a headsman caught the scent, nothing stood in the way. He moved down the steps and could scent blood, old and new flavoring the air. The basement was dark and dingy. And empty. He knew this wasn’t all there was to see, since he was never wrong.

“Over here,” the ghost called. “It’s over here.”

“Lady-” he began.

“Kim, my name is Kim. You have to hurry. He’ll kill her too.”

Dekker hated complications and this was going to become one. He wasn’t supposed to interfere. Go in, do the job and leave. The other inside of him wanted to kill both humans. Dekker knew he couldn’t. That would spell the end of him doing the job. He’d done a lot of stuff he wasn’t proud of, but he’d never killed an innocent. Ever.

He stepped forward and the door swung open. The man had obviously sound-proofed the room because a woman was screaming. Pain such pain tainted the air. And fury. So much fury. It touched the other in him, pulled at it.

She was petite and, at first, he thought she was a child. Not until he got a good look at her did, he realize she was a grown woman. A woman who was tied to a table and covered in blood. Her own blood. Cuts ran the over her body. Shallow cuts and deep ones. Still though she fought. She pulled at the bindings on her hands and feet as the man calmly stood beside her holding a bloody blade.

Dekker stepped forward and her eyes flicked to him, then held. Deep blue green, like the ocean on a crystal-clear day. She shouldn’t have seen him, not with the shadows cloaking him, but she did. And in that instant, he and the other calmed. He understood.

Pulling the shadows away, he cleared his throat. The man with the blade spun and staggered.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

No matter how long he did the job, Dekker was always vaguely surprised with the stupid questions that popped out of people’s mouths. Nevertheless, he did what he’d been trained to do so many years before. First, announce who he was and why he was there.

“I’m Dekker, Headsman for the Supernatural. Tom Phillips, your name was brought before the tribunal by twenty individuals. Upon studying the case, you are found guilty. I am here to carry out the sentence.”

The man blinked. “What? Nothing you say makes sense.”

He pulled a gun out and fired point blank into Dekker. Dekker, for his part, never moved. Humans had tried to kill him before. It never worked. He always carried out the sentence.

The man, Tom Phillips, fired three more times until the gun clicked. Empty.

“As I was saying,” Dekker continued, as though he was never interrupted. “The tribunal has granted the twenty individuals their due. Do you have anything to say in your own defense?”

Tom screamed and rushed forward. Dekker held up a hand freezing the human in his tracks.

“Since you don’t, I will administer justice.”

Darkness shot from his hand and encompassed the man who had been Tom Phillips. The human began to scream, then, was silent. Wiped away in a blink.

“Can you help me?”

Dekker moved to the woman’s side and released her bonds. “Tell me your name.”

The ghost who had accompanied him appeared. “Her name is Grace. She’s my best friend. Please help her.”

Shrugging out of his coat, he draped it around Grace’s body and picked her up. He’d help her, of course he would. Grace was his. His to protect. In a flash, he was gone leaving only emptiness.

Now check out what my friend Siobhan did with it.

 

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