❝Once you've met someone, you never really forget them. It just takes a while for your memories to return.❞

-Zeniba, Spirited Away

✕✕✕✕✕

5 months ago, Death came to my boyfriend's truck and took him - and my happiness - away from me. 3 months ago, Death came to my windowsill and revealed he was going to take my life away from me. Now, I am in the heart of Death itself, wriggling through a vent shaft in a citadel with a demonic name, and I'll be damned if I get Mor taken away from me as well.

I'm still confused, still sad, still angry. But before the angels came, Mor told me he didn't kill Will. It was someone else.

I need to know if that's the truth.

I don't know how I feel about my Reaper, but I know I have to find him, no matter what. So I continue on, terrified that a vent collapse or some other catastrophe will expose me to the residents of the Citadel. Although Sabine isn't short or nimble enough to crawl in after me, I have no doubt she calls for some type of back up - or lets the proper authorities know one of the humans in the holding cells is trying to escape.

For months, I've hated how much weight I've lost as a result of my loss of appetite, but here is where it comes in handy. I'm just barely small enough to fit. I've never been claustrophobic before, but I'm starting to get uncomfortable. The sheet metal is cutting coldly into my skin as it simultaneously buckles underneath my weight. If I stop for even a minute, I'm sure I'd fall through. To make things worse, my light is dim, its only supplier the few grates I pass over.

Every single one has Reapers, or other creatures, lurking underneath, so I keep going. Maybe I could just go back to my cell and hope Sabine isn't there anymore, I think, before realizing that I can barely move in here, much less turn around completely. Things are looking hopeless as minutes pass, my head still aching like an avalanche.

I see another grate ahead, and try not to let my heart jump to conclusions. But then I come up close to it, and see the room underneath is dark and empty. I can just barely make out the shapes of bookshelves and file holders, the floor they stand on not too far down. I think I'm looking into some sort of library, and it may be my only chance at escaping the ducts.

What I'm doing is absolutely wild. I could've never imagined pulling a fucking John McClane like this, and I can barely imagine what will come next: combing the Citadel for Mor, who is perhaps my only way back home as well, while trying to stay out of sight of everyone else. It terrifies me. Yet, I know I have no other choice.

There's one problem, though. The grate is bolted from the outside, so there's no way for me to loosen it. Feeling bile rise up in my throat, I tell myself not to panic, especially as the shaft shakes underneath me.

I try to slip the coin beneath the grate, but there's no point. It's tighter than the one in my cell. Whatever the room is below, it must be important enough to earn a more thorough upkeeping.

I take a deep breath. Sedated by the aura of the Realm of the Reapers, I'm still so tired, and slithering around like a snake isn't helping. Will flashes before my mind, and sticking to my assumption about his fate, I wonder what he looks like as a reaper. I wonder if he remembers me. I wonder how many people he's killed.

Scowling as tears form in my eyes, I bow my head. It's starting to feel like a constant flow of crying and sobbing and choking back my emo phase. Just when the spots underneath my eyes have dried, the water comes back in full force, like Montmorency Falls, making me squint to see even slightly.

I'm too busy crying to realize the shaft has given up on trying to support my weight.

Before I know it, my legs are falling as the metal yields to me and splits apart. A yelp slips out of my mouth. I struggle as I attempt to grasp at something, but all I come back with is dust, and the rest of me plummets through.

I land hard on my feet, nearly rolling my right ankle, and crash to my knees on the uncompromising white floor. As pain radiates through my legs, anxiety explodes in my mind; instantly, I am taken back to the accident, when I felt like my body was falling apart. Out-of-focus stars dance in front of me as visions of the fluorescent lights at UVM Med Center shine in my head. I can practically smell the latex gloves and antiseptic solution, feel the cast around my leg and the crutches under my shoulders...

Through my haze, I can see the outlines of the bookshelves I noticed in the vent. They have signs above them, like the aisles in a grocery store. The one I'm closest to has Rhode Island written on it in a silver font not unlike the one on the folder I found in Mor's room.

"Rhode Island?" I murmur, blinking.

In hopes that getting up and moving will take my mind off of the hospital, I push through the throb in my knees and ankles and limp out of the aisle. Slowly, my visions dissipate, especially as my focus changes back to the library.

At the end of each shelf there is a small, softly lit candle, and by their light I can see dozens of other aisles like the one I just came out of, all connecting to a long central hallway that seems to go on forever... at least, to my left, it does.

To my right, there are only a few aisles before my eyes reach two giant metal doors.

My way out!

I immediately start heading towards the exit, until I pass by one of the last aisles, and see out of the corner of my eye that its sign says Vermont.

My curiosity is piqued. I didn't even stop to think what this library could possibly be holding, but it's organized by state, which is strange. When I look closer, I see each individual row is organized by year, holding hundreds of files. At the top of the first Vermont shelf is the 2017 row.

When I start recognizing names on the binds of the files, it dawns on me.

I see Tremblay, Claire Victoria, an Ashdown alumni who overdosed on opioids back in July.

Hawkins, Grant Richard, a teacher from one of our rival school districts who I remember was killed in a hunting accident back in early May.

Nyquist, William Reid, an Ashdown football star and all-American boy who was killed in a car accident on the night of prom...

These are all people who've died.

Not even stopping to breathe, I scramble to pull out Will's file. All the remnants of my near-flashback earlier vanish instantly as I rapidly open the folder and find paperwork all about him. I walk over to the nearest candle so I can read more clearly, and see his picture is attached to the right. Next to it, his name and vital information:

Full Name: William Reid Nyquist

Born: December 21st, 1999; Burlington, Vermont

Residence: Ashdown, Vermont

Parents: Brooke Nyquist (née LeBlanc), Frank Nyquist

Cause of death: Head trauma in car crash

Date of death: May 29, 2017

Yeah, I know all this already. It's similar to what Mor described to me, the mysterious file reapers get that inform them all about their charges. There's paragraphs after paragraphs in here, paper after paper about Will's life story, his interests and his family and his shattered future. I even catch my name thrown in among the lines a few times, along with our friends, but I try not to be distracted.

It's the final page that shows me what I want to know. This is when my pulse begins to frighten me.

At the top, it describes the paper as being a standard report all reapers fill once their charge has died. The messy handwriting within supports this fact.

Was the harvesting of the soul successful?: Partially.

Number of goals: 10.

Time with reaper: 1 month.

Reaper: Oleander of Vermont, Senior Reaper.

Fate: Underwent training as reaper, set to operate in Western Vermont area.

Reaper alias, given by fates: Mor.

Oh my god.

I swear, for a moment, the world is so quiet, I can hear my very soul screaming.

Mor is Will. Will is Mor.

I don't know what to do, what to say. I stumble backwards, nearly knocking a whole bunch of files off of the shelf behind me. Like the Ferris wheel at the Ashdown Fair, my head is spinning.

His distaste for chocolate and black coffee. His secret love for the south. His empathy for me. His unshakable charm. His ability to make me smile, even with everything going on around me.

How did I not realize this before?

The shock of the revelation takes a moment or two to set in, and then I'm trying to figure out how this is possible.

Perhaps that's why Oleander got so weird with Mor at the party. He recognized me, and was trying to figure out if Mor was just being a rebel by bringing his charge, or if he truly remembered me.

But it makes no sense. Does Mor remember me - and himself? If so, what happened to Reapers not being able to remember their lives and their loved ones? And why did he take me to this nearly Hellish wasteland of a city, where I can barely think without exhausting myself?

Most of all, why didn't he tell me?

That's what he was going to tell you, Lila, I internally yell at myself. That's why you were taken away. That's why-

"So you've figured it out?"

I jump and spin to see Oleander. Unlike at the party, he's fully suited, cape and scythe and all. He doesn't look angry, although perhaps slightly frustrated.

"How... why..." I'm incredulous.

"Oh, the beloved Lila. I knew it was you at the party, but I wasn't sure if my protégé did." He shakes his head calmly, showing that this is much less Earth-shattering from an outside perspective. "I realize now that he knew, and he's known for a long time now, who you are. From that, he figured out who he was, as well. He pretended he didn't, and I believed him, but that was my mistake. I forgot he was an actor in his life."

And a damn good one, too.

The drama club would be proud.

"But you knew that once," I say, not sure where else to start. "Because you were Will's reaper. You turned him into Mor. So how does he remember me?"

"In the paranormal world, there is a phenomenon where two people have such strong love - romantic, platonic, or otherwise - that no magic can stop them. I believe you two have that. It's dangerous, and can border on codependency, especially because they can develop psychic communication. You wouldn't understand its true name, but I suppose in English you would be called soulmates."

Shock and trauma can do the weirdest things to your mind. I experience this firsthand when, instead of gasping or crying or doing whatever reaction is expected after learning news like this, I laugh out loud.

"That's the corniest thing I think I've ever heard."

Oleander smiles sadly. "I suppose I can see why you may think that. But if I remember William correctly, I believe he would like it anyway."

He definitely would. Which makes me question, does he even know we're... soulmates?

This is an overload of information. My reaper is my best friend in disguise, and we supposedly have a love so strong even heavenly power can't stop it. I feel like the protagonist of some cliché young adult novel. I feel like I'm going to pass out.

"I just-" I close my eyes in mental pain. "... Are you gonna take me back to wherever I was, in those dungeons?"

My nerves are alight as he sighs. "No. I'm here to help you escape. Amara is currently helping William."

I furrow my eyebrows, feeling half relieved and half shocked. "Amara?," I gasp, "I- I thought she hated me."

"She just might. But she's a strict believer in fairness, and right now William is slated to not have a fair trial. Think of us as your defense lawyers. We're trying to give you two time before you're put up against The Council."

The Council. For a moment, all I can hear is my breathing. "What are they going to do to us?"

"To you? Nothing. You'll die eventually, and the only thing that can stop it is... fighting whatever your cause of death is. But Will... being a reaper is like a second chance to accept heaven. Unless we can find some sort of loophole, he'll be sent to hell."

My skin begins to tingle, like a thousand spiders crawling up and down my back. There is no way in my existence that I'm going to let my best friend go to hell.

"Oh my God..." I trail off, before questioning, "Do- do you know what my cause of death is?"

"Only the Fates, the Council, and the person's Reaper know what their cause of death is."

Just then, the loud toll of a bell sounds through the library, and presumably the whole citadel. Oleander stiffens, and without another word, snatches the file from my grasp and returns it to its spot on the shelf. Turning back around, he grabs my wrist, and coldness surges through me. His type of freezing is tight and and all-consuming, more like having the chills than simply being cold. To make things worse, it feels slightly awkward to have someone other than my best friend holding my hand, like at the 8th grade formal when I went to hold Will's hand and accidentally took Jordan Costello's.

It's just as weird of a phenomenon, but Oleander's gloved hand is much firmer and less sweaty than Jordan's bare one. At the time, I thought that was the most uncomfortable thing I could go through, especially as my classmate glared at me and snarled to never touch him again, but this is worse.

This is so much worse.

Just like Mor did at the party, Oleander drags me out of the library, down hallways as dark as midnight, lit only by mercury lamps hanging above us. I feel like I'm walking through galaxies, trying to escape an endless black hole.

I try to take in the Citadel, but it's so dark that I can only barely make out the arcing ceilings and many doors we pass. I'm almost afraid to say a word and interrupt the deadly cascade of silence and our shoes tapping against the floor, but I'm getting concerned, so I squeak out, "Where exactly are we going?"

"We're on the basement level of the Citadel - home only to the dungeons and the archives - and I'm trying to get you to the elevator so I can fly you home. But I'm taking the long way around so we don't run into as many guards."

"Where's Amara and Mor?" I blink immediately after saying that, remembering that's not his real name.

"He's.... a tougher case. As per his fate, there are Heavenly laws he has broken. He, like any reaper who has done the same, is being kept in solitary confinement until his trial. We'll probably pass his cell on our way to the elevator."

"Can't you just, like...-" I wave my hand frustratedly, looking for the word- "teleport me?"

"Reapers can only do that with their charges. And as far as your reaper goes, William cannot. He has had his scythe stripped, and along with it, his powers."

Oh, my poor love. Solitary confinement, losing his powers, a trial set against him from the beginning... he must've really messed things up. For fuck's sake, if they're sending such an innocent person to hell, then the consequences of Will taking me here must be absolutely world-bending. I know it's possible. I know there's so much more than just deities and reapers. There's fates and demons and angels, and whatever lies above them.

I feel the blood in my veins pumping through like a thunderstorm.

It turns into a full on monsoon when we turn the next corner.

There's a long hallway, similar to the one my cell was in. Other hallways branch off to the right, but at the end, there's a small room with an elevator, like a sort of lobby. We pass the first hallway and see a few locked steel doors on either side. We pass the second hallway and see the same, although this one is a dead end. The third one, however, holds not only doors, but also people, walking quickly and continuously looking behind them as if they're being followed.

One is a woman, with shining black hair and an unmistakable scowl, her arm hooked tightly around the other's.

The other is a man - no, a boy. And I'd know his coldness anywhere.

I only get a glance at Mor, my soulmate, before whoever he and Amara were looking out for catch up with them. Neither of the reapers have even caught sight of Oleander and I when a guard runs up behind them. It's not an angel of death - just another reaper, but he's frighteningly bigger and more muscular than the other two.

He grabs them both and starts to drag them away, before another guard comes to assist him. Mor and Amara struggle, kicking at the man's limbs, and my eyes widen. I know the scuffle probably has noise, but I can't hear it. I can only hear a heart beating rapidly, and it's not mine.

All my senses have focused in on Mor.

My breath becomes panicked. I can feel Oleander pulling me away. We could get away, if we wanted. The guards haven't noticed us yet. But I need my reaper to look at me. I need to see his face.

WILL!

Oleander, desperate to run, wraps his arms around my waist and attempts to drags me towards the elevator. I'm too tired and sickly to physically react, but in my mind, I'm crying.

WILL, I scream internally, like a thousand drums beating in time with his pulse. I KNOW IT'S YOU! I love you! I love you I love you I love you-

Oleander taps me on the head, and suddenly things start to fade to dark. I'm falling unconscious again, something I've been on the edge of for a while now. But just as I tumble into oblivion, I swear I see Mor look at me.

To my "I love you"s, he never replies.

✕✕✕✕✕

A/N: And there it is. My final plot twist. I hope y'all didn't see it coming.

Unlike Lila, please keep those positive vibes! Stay awesome!

xoxo, Athena

✕✕✕✕✕