1 1- Introductions Aren't Necessary.

'What's the point?' she thought, her eyes cast upon the stars. 'It's not like I don't know how I got here. I'm well aware. It's as much my fault as his after all. I made the mistake, thought I could figure it out, and fix what was broken, but I failed to explain myself. But what's the point in explaining now? Confessing the truth will not change this outcome. My lies have become the truth, regardless of what excuses or explanations I give now. I will always love you, Tauluthet.' She laid on the ground, the crisp edge of his scythe hanging over her head. He loved her, more than she loved herself, that was why he was trusting her. This was their final gambit; the only way either of them believed they would be free.

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Quayleigh would have been considered beautiful if not for the garish scar that marred the left side of her face. The injury a decade old, had left her partially blind and subject to ridicule and stares. She kept her hair long, neat, and straight. She was slender, not from keeping in shape or watching what she ate, but from years of near starvation, surviving on scraps, and leftovers.

Living in the city was expensive and work was hard to come by. She considered herself lucky, since at the age of seventeen, she was rescued from the streets, and given a job at the local convenience store; three years later, she was still there. She always managed to make rent, and paid her bills on time, but food, beyond enough to survive, was a luxury that she could not afford. Especially since winter was coming; the cost of keeping warm meant draining away everything she had saved over the summer.

Her story is the same as most in her situation. Quayleigh's childhood didn't much exist, and what she remembered wasn't pleasant. Her father had died when she was five, leaving her alone with her mother. And her mother, well she spiraled into depression, self-medicated with whatever she could get her hands on, drank herself into oblivion, and brought home violent and unpredictable men. It was one of those men who left her blind and motherless when she was only nine. Tossed into foster care, there was no reprieve from the cycle of abuse, neglect, and instability until she finally found the strength and ran.

It took Quayleigh a year on the streets before the man, Garren Liebman, found her, near death, in the alley behind his store, gave her the opportunity to turn her life around. Garren, already in his late sixties, had no children, and had owned and operated Liebman's Convenience for more than thirty years, having succeeded his father. When it was first built, the little store was at the end of a busy street, in a bustling, middleclass neighborhood. That was fifty years previous. Now it was on the edge of a forgotten paradise, mixed amongst abandoned buildings, and other struggling small businesses. It was too far from the new downtown, surviving on the desperation of the elderly and lower income families still living in the area, along with the cities rabble, downtrodden, criminals and vagabonds.

Wanting some semblance of independence, at eighteen, Quayleigh left the tiny apartment she had shared with Garren, moving into her own place, a half hour walk away.

At the time it was a rebuild, the cities half-assed attempt to revitalize the old neighborhood, one of seven projects, of which only two were completed before it to, like everything else, had been abandoned.

Quayleigh had become familiar with the late-night walk home over the two years since she had moved, and often cut through the alleyway, taking out the trash after locking up. She worked the afternoon shift, three to eleven, most of the time alone, Friday and Saturday nights being the exception. In all the years she had worked for Garren, she had never asked for a raise and when times were tough, she would often work extra hours voluntarily; her way of repaying the man who had saved her life. A debt, she truly felt, she could never repay.

On this Saturday night however, with business lower than usual, she had found herself working alone. She didn't mind the quiet. In a way, she preferred it. It gave her time to think and read, between the few customers that would wander in, normally for a late-night snack. Having worked there for as long as she had, she knew nearly every customer, either by name, appearance, or frequent purchase.

It was rare for strangers to appear, especially this late at night, but over the past couple of months, a new face kept appearing. He was a taller than average man, skinny, clean shaven, with dark inset eyes, and prominent brow. He had a kind manner, but there was something bittersweet about his smile. Quayleigh had taken note of his distinctive gait, and the way he carried himself, he stood tall, with his shoulders straight. It was a posture not seen amongst those living in this area, and that made him stand out. He looked like a man fallen from grace, not yet having realized where he had landed. Quayleigh guessed him to be a few years older than her, based on his appearance, and the way he spoke, saying, 'hey,' instead of 'hello', like the older crowd tended to. He was also in the habit of purchasing the same things, always arriving late at night, about fifteen minutes before closing; a bottle of cold water, two chocolate bars, and a pack of mints, but never the same brands or types twice in a row. She could gleam from his vast array of variety, however, his fondness for peanut butter and spearmint. It had been three days since she had last seen him, so she wasn't surprised when he walked in, alone, as normal.

Making his selections, he brought his items to the counter, and with the usual smile, he said, "Hey, how are you tonight?"

"Well enough, yourself?" she replied, caught slightly off guard, as he had never done more than simply greeted and paid before.

"Same, but there's a storm coming," he replied as she rang up his items.

"I can call you a cab if you want."

"That won't be necessary. You will have to forgive me, but I've never heard your name spoken aloud. How do you pronounce it?" he questioned, motioning towards the nametag on her shirt.

"Key-lee."

"Quayleigh, I will not forget that. I think you should close up once I leave. I don't want you to get caught in the storm," he remarked as he set the correct amount of cash on the counter. "Also, you should avoid the alley tonight. There was a group of men lurking around when I came in."

"I'll keep that in mind," she replied setting his items into a bag and placing it on the counter. Retrieving the money, she sorted it, adding it to the till. "I'm afraid I haven't caught your name yet."

"I'm pretty certain you already know it," he remarked, casting her a mischievous wink as he picked up his bag. "Tell you what, if by next time we meet, IF you haven't figured it out, I will formally introduce myself."

"Not even a hint to get me started?"

He thought for a moment and turned to leave, "I even appreciate the small ones. I promise, Quayleigh."

"Stay dry," she remarked, giving him a slight nod.

His words were cryptic and took a moment to sink in, but as the bell of the door chimed, announcing his departure, those words began to scratch at the back of her mind.

"It couldn't be..." she whispered to herself, attempting to dismiss the thoughts as she stared towards the door. 'He can't be here. It's impossible.' "Can Reapers be of flesh and bone? No, that would be ridiculous." 'And it would mean I've made a terrible mistake.' "Tauluthet can't be here," she felt disheartened as she spoke his name. "A Reaper made flesh, what would that even look like?"

She looked up at the clock, and then back at the counter, thinking to herself, 'If he really was Tau, then introductions wouldn't be necessary. No, what he said had to have been a coincidence. I know Tau, he wouldn't have waited to say something if he were here. He wouldn't care if he frightened me. He'd never hold back. I need to remember to grab a roach from the alleyway before heading home. Regardless of what that man said, the thugs around here won't hurt me.'

She waited out the end of her shift, ignoring the warnings of the man from earlier, and then headed to the front door to lock it. Opening the door, she looked up at the sky, it may have been starless from the light pollution of the city, but it was clear. The air was slightly humid, but there was no sign of the storm the man had spoken about. Closing the door, she locked it and gave it a tug to be certain the deadbolt would hold. Turning off the open sign, she closed out the register, did her paperwork, and gathered up the trash. Taking one of the small penny-candy paper bags from the shelf, she put it in her back pocket, as she headed towards the back of the store, leaving from the delivery door. Locking it up, she tossed the trash in the bin, before heading further into the darker part of the alley.

It seemed quieter than normal, maybe it was that man's warning to stay out of the alley way that set her teeth on edge as she pulled out the small bag and headed towards one of the darker dumpsters. As she often did, she knelt down at the back corner where years of poor treatment and a myriad of different liquids had eaten a hole through the metal. Setting the bag beneath the hole, she hit the side of the bin causing several cockroaches to fall out and into the bag.

Moving back into the light, she took a closer look at her three new prisoners. She only needed one, and only the largest one would do; at least for her purposes. Releasing the others, she folded over the end of the bag, as a sudden shift of garbage inside a dumpster made a loud thud that echoed through the alley, causing her to jump. Heart racing, she began to reconsider the man's warning about staying away from the alley. Now, Quayleigh's normal route was to take the alley that ran behind the businesses of the main street, despite it being poorly lite, to the side road at the farthest end from her.

Tonight however, despite believing that she was being paranoid for no reason, she opted to walk to the closer side street, and then back to the main road, as it was, by far, better lit. Normally this would have been a good idea, a wise, safe idea, but as she came to the corner of the building, something unusual caught her eye.

Across the street, face down on the sidewalk, arm stretched out towards her, laid a man. Even at this distance, due to the heavy shadow the building cast over his body, and the yellowish tint of the street light, she could only clearly see that it was a younger man, wearing a dark t-shirt, whose hair was short and dark in color. She was positive that she recognized him as a local gang member, referred to as Three, for reasons unknown to her. Three would often frequent the store with two of his fellows, all about the same age, all dressed in similar attire.

Assuming he was most likely drunk, and simply stumbled, passing out into his current position, Quayleigh was about the cross the street, when without warning, his body lurched back into the shadow of the building.

Retreating into the alley, Quayleigh slammed her hand over her mouth and pressed herself against the building. It didn't matter what was going on, she didn't want any part of it. She had seen enough shit in her life to know it was best to give it a wide birth and not get tangled up in it. If Three was dead, that was his problem. His life choices had led to this outcome. There was nothing that she could do to help him now. Death worked on a strict schedule, and didn't like it when humans interfered. Tauluthet had always made that fact extremely clear.

Fleeing back down the alley, trying to forget what she had just seen, despite it being nearly nothing, Quayleigh welcomed the shadows to swallow her. She thought about what the man from earlier had said, maybe she should have listened to him, locked up early, not used the alley, but then again, how could he have possible known what was going to happen? And he had been wrong about the storm, hadn't he?