Sunday 18th July 2010
by elijah
Snatch speaks to the Reaper again.
Snatch had to think hard about what the old farmer said. If the Reaper didn’t sit across from him right now, would he go outside and kill Laura?
He scratched his stubble-covered chin and shook his head. “You’re wrong, old man.”
The old farmer held a hand up. “Call me the Reaper. You should know that by now. We’re good friends, right?” The Reaper paused. “I give fantastic advice, if I must resort to patting myself on the back.”
“I wouldn’t kill her,” Snatch asserted. His voice droned, carrying a dead weight with his words.
“So you say. But you have to consider why she’s here.”
Snatch shrugged.
“She’s here because you killed the Sheriff.”
Snatch shrugged again. “He had the mouse. I did what I had to do.”
“You don’t see it, do you, Edgar?” The Reaper jabbed his temple with an extended index finger. “You’re not okay up here, in the head. Your nice little piece of pie out here on the farm is starting to cave in on you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” the Reaper asked. “I’m a step ahead of you, no matter what. It’s funny if you think about it.”
“Why?” Snatch asked.
“Just listen,” the Reaper said. “You need to start planning how you’re going to make this all go away. Sheriff’s dead, Mother’s suspicious. You keep yapping on and on about Danielle.”
“I have to find out who she is.”
“No,” said the Reaper.
“She’s out there. I know it.”
“You’ve already looked and didn’t find her. Leave it alone.”
Snatch scratched his chin again and licked his dry lips. “The lady cop is gone, Reaper. I’m okay.”
“For now. But she’ll be back. She’ll bring other people to sniff around your house and talk to Mother. You don’t want anyone to talk to Mother, do you?”
Snatch glanced toward the short hall leading into the den. “No. Mother can’t be disturbed.”
“Your fantasy world is crumbling. There’s too much going on and you can’t keep it straight. Just take my advice, Edgar, and start planning for things to get worse. It can’t hurt to have a plan to make this all disappear.”
“What am I supposed to do?” Snatch said. “She is gone, so it’s over.”
“You may want to start that planning now,” the Reaper said. He pointed toward the front door.
Three sharp knocks echoed from the front door and Snatch turned in the direction of the sound. Through the kitchen window, he saw Laura standing on the porch.
He stood from the kitchen table and glanced back toward the Reaper to find him gone. He sighed and tugged the front of his coveralls away from his sweaty chest. He tugged two or three times to pump bursts of cool air down against his chest and stomach. He stepped to the door and gripped the doorknob in his sweaty hand.
The door swung open and he smiled at the police officer.
His first impulse was to take care of the problem. He could grab Laura, with her small, light frame, and drag her inside to bash her face against the metal kitchen sink. If the blow to her face didn’t work, he could wrap his farm-worked hands around her pretty throat and wait until her chest didn’t move.
He recalled the calm, cool restraint in the Reaper.
“If you have questions, we’ll have to do it outside,” Snatch said. He stepped outside and pulled the door shut. “Mother’s sleeping.”
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Tags: Edgar Snatch, short story
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