To remove a soul. What I do is a form of cleansing. I take great pleasure in easing the world of the souls that burden it. The only problem is, each soul has to be worked and - after eight years on this one - I need to move on. I’m old, tired and ready to hand off some of my responsibilities to the younger generation. But first I have to continue the ruse. What’s one more hour in the life of someone as old as me? “What bothers me,” I started, “is our own child doesn’t like us using the name we gave him.” I turned around in my seat to glance at my sleeping son, my little reaper, Jacob. Or Mark, as he would rather be called. “I know, honey, but all we can do is continue on to Novar and prove to him that what he’s been saying can’t be right. We’ll take Jacob to where he thinks he was born and show him.” I felt grumpy and moody. I was pissed this day had taken so long. But, in each case we have to have a story. I don’t wait for people to die like my cousin the Grim Reaper.
