Mo hooked the car keys out of her bag. She had been ready for ten minutes. What was taking him so bloody long?
“Are you coming, or what?” she shouted. “We’re going to be late.”
“Just a sec… I’m nearly done.” The voice came from the bathroom.
Mo rolled her eyes. She huffed a sigh into the silent hallway, her hand on the front door.
“I’ll be in the car,” she called. “Get a move on.”
“Will do.”
After having battled for a parking spot, they finally walked into the community centre with a few minutes to spare. Mo had a quick glance around at the tables and their occupants, trying to spot where they needed to be for their appointment.
“I’m not happy about this, Mo,” he said quietly. “Remind me why we’re doing it. I have other stuff to be getting on with today.”
“It’s a performance review. You haven’t had one for ages,” said Mo. “This is the only way to get it done.”
She scanned the room again, conscious of the time.
There. Over there on the right.
There was the lady with whom they had the appointment. She sat between the crystal jewellery stall and a Reiki Therapist.
“Come on,” she said, making a beeline for their target.
A small table, two empty chairs at the front, and the grey-haired woman positioned behind.
Approaching, she saw that the woman was trying to smooth stubborn wrinkles out of the purple tablecloth and had knocked over some unruly tarot cards. She didn’t look up as Mo approached.
“Deanna?” Mo said.
“That’s me,” said the woman, still fascinated by the wrinkly cloth. “Are you Moiari, my two o’clock?” She fumbled with the unfamiliar name.
“Yes,” said Mo. “Call me Mo, it’s much easier.”
“Take a seat, please, dear. Give me a sec.”
Mo took the left-hand seat and nodded towards the other chair. She wished he would sit down; he was making himself nervous.
“Sit,” she whispered.
He sat and looked instantly out of place. His long legs made his knees nearly touch his chest. He looked like he was sitting in a child’s chair. He glanced at her, shrugged, and pulled an apologetic face.
“Sorry,” he mouthed and continued to try to find an acceptable position.
“Now then,” said Deanna, looking up. “What can I do for… Bloody hell… Um… Do for you?”
“I’m just here for a bit of a catch up, really,” said Mo. “You know, like some feedback or something.”
Even though Mo was the one talking, Deanna’s attention was fixed on the occupant of the chair next to her. Her expression flitted between confusion and awe.
Mo hated this part. He always had this effect on people when he met them outside of work.
Deanna turned her face towards Mo.
She leant forward and took both of Mo’s hands in a firm grip.
Fixing her with a steely gaze, Deanna said, “Are you dying?”
“What? No!” scoffed Mo. “Well, not that I’m aware of, anyway.”
“Oh. That’s strange.”
“Yes, sorry about that.”
“Why do I sense death around you?”
“Actually, he’s sitting next to me.”
Deanna gasped, clutching at her throat, “Shit. Am I dying?”
“No, no. Nothing like that.”
“It’s not your time yet, miss,” said Death, still trying to get comfortable in his chair. “I’m currently off duty.”
Deanna let her jaw hang loosely, giving her the appearance of an inquisitive trout.
“Can she hear me?” Death asked Mo.
“I think so,” said Mo. “You can be full on, you know.”
“Well, I dressed down like you told me. You know, to make it easier on people.” He pointed at his cargo pants and brown suede loafers as if the point were proven.
“Look, I can see that you tried. That shirt is lovely. It’s the whole scythe and faceless entity thing that makes it tricky.”
Death sighed. The temperature in the community centre dropped by ten degrees. Around the room, cardigans were pulled a little tighter as the patrons felt the chill.
Mo turned back to Deanna, “I’m sorry for the shock, but I just need a little help.”
Deanna regained her composure. She snapped her mouth closed and nodded.
“What can I do for you? I’m not sure I can help with this…” She waved her hand at Death as if unable to find suitable words.
“We just need some feedback. He has to undergo a performance review and all of his clients are dead. Obviously.”
Death placed a rumpled piece of paper on the table. He smoothed it out with his giant hands. “It’s a survey. Answers are rated out of ten. A score of one being lousy and ten being excellent.”
“A survey?” Deanna pulled the sheet towards her. She skimmed the questions. “How do you rate the experience of being out of your body? On a scale of one to ten, how traumatic was the realisation that there is no such thing as reincarnation? Would you recommend this experience to your friends?”
She leant back in her chair, making a whooshing sound as she blew air out through pursed lips.
She looked from Mo to Death and back again.
“What do you expect me to do with this?”
“You’re a Psychic-Medium, aren’t you? Just call up some dearly departed and get them to fill in the forms.”
Death interjected, “It has to be a random sample, but no further back than five years.”
“Five years?” asked Deanna. “It’s not an exact science, you know. I usually only get people’s loved ones and so on. People that they have a link with.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Mo. “He’s got a link with all of them. Again… obviously.”
Death smiled, not that anyone could see it. In fact, he realised that no-one had ever seen him smile. Shame really.
“Right,” said Mo, rising from her seat. “I’ll leave you two to get on with it.”
“Wait, you can’t leave me with him. What if, well, you know, something happens?”
Death laughed, “You’ll be fine. In fact, everyone will be fine whilst we are getting this done. I’m not on the clock.” He propped his scythe against Mo’s empty chair, cracked his bony knuckles, and moved closer to the table.
“I’ll return in an hour. Anyone want a coffee brought back?” said Mo.
“I’ll have a double espresso, please. What about you, Deanna?”
“I don’t drink coffee, its really bad for you,” she replied.
“Oh, you’re adorable!” said Death. “It doesn’t make any…”
“Right then,” Mo said loudly, fixing Death with a filthy look. “No need for all that. Just do the job at hand.”
As she turned to leave, Deanna placed a hand on her arm. “You will come back, won’t you?” she asked with a worried look.
“Of course, I just have another appointment to keep. See you soon.” Mo smiled and headed towards the door.
In the carpark, she reached into her bag, retrieving her phone. She thumbed out a number, holding the device to her ear as the call connected.
Voicemail. Of course. Bloody voicemail.
She cleared her throat.
“It’s me. He’s busy for at least an hour. Get yourself down to Limbo right now, see how many of the really nasty ones you can sign up. It’s time to win this war.”
She shoved the phone back into her bag and clicked the car open. Settling into the driver’s seat, she angled the mirror to investigate her own grinning face.
“Time to make the afterlife great again,” Moirai said.
Her reflection smiled back at her. She really was a Fate worse than Death.