The Reaper's Innocent Prize

Nora.

“Another sixteen-hour shift, Voss? Do you ever sleep?”

I shoved my locker shut, the metal door groaning in protest. “Sleep is for people who aren’t drowning in debt, Sarah.”

“You’re a saint for covering for Jenny again. Her ‘flu’ is lasting longer than my last relationship.”

I offered a weak smile, pulling my worn coat tighter around my scrubs. “Someone had to take it. And I need the money.”

“You need a vacation. Or at least a night that doesn’t end with you waiting for the midnight bus in a monsoon.” Sarah gestured towards the windows, where rain was lashing against the glass.

“It’s just water,” I said, my voice flat with exhaustion. “Besides, the bus stop has that little roof.”

“A little roof that leaks. I’m serious, Nora. Let me give you a ride.”

“You live thirty minutes in the wrong direction. I’m not making you do that.”

“It’s not a big deal. What’s an extra hour when you’ve already been here for sixteen?”

“No. Go home, Sarah. Get some rest. I’ll be fine.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “You’re stubborn.”

“I’m practical.”

“Fine. But you text me when you get home, you hear me? I don’t like you being out this late alone.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow, then.”

“Bright and early,” I mumbled as she walked away, her footsteps echoing down the sterile hallway.

I walked out the automatic doors and into the storm. The wind whipped the rain sideways, instantly soaking the bottom of my pants. Sarah was right. The bus shelter’s roof was more of a suggestion, and a steady drip of water landed right between my shoulders.

My phone buzzed. A number I didn’t recognize, but I knew who it was.

I answered, holding the phone close to my mouth. “Hello?”

“Ms. Voss. We’re calling about an outstanding balance.” The voice was smooth, detached, and utterly without sympathy.

“I know. I told the other guy I’d have a payment on Friday.”

“Friday is no longer acceptable. We require a payment tonight.”

I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “Tonight? I just got off work. The banks are closed. What do you want me to do?”

“That is not our concern, Ms. Voss. The arrangements your father made were very specific.”

“My father is dead.” The words tasted like ash. “He’s dead, and I’m paying for it. I’m working two jobs to pay for it. I will pay you. Just give me until Friday.”

“The deadline is midnight.”

The line went dead.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw my phone into a puddle and watch it sink. Instead, I just stood there, shivering, the cold seeping deep into my bones. This was my life. An endless cycle of work and debt.

That’s when I saw the car.

A sleek black SUV, moving too fast for a wet city street. It wasn’t just speeding; it was aiming for something. A man in a tailored suit was cVossng the street, his head down against the rain.

The SUV didn’t slow down. It didn’t swerve.

There was a sickening thud, a crack of bone and metal that the storm couldn’t drown out. The man’s body was thrown like a rag doll, landing in a heap by the curb.

My breath caught in my throat. My nursing instincts screamed at me to run to him, to check for a pulse, to do something.

But fear held me frozen. This wasn’t an accident. I knew it. The SUV hadn’t even stopped. It just kept going, disappearing around the corner.

My hands trembled as I fumbled for my phone again. 911. I had to call 911.

Before I could dial, another black car, a sedan this time, screeched to a halt right in front of me. The doors flew open.

Two men in black masks and black coats got out. They moved with a terrifying efficiency.

“Don’t scream,” one of them said, his voice a low growl.

My body finally reacted. I turned to run, but they were too fast. One grabbed my arm, his grip like steel.

“No! Get off of me!” I shrieked, kicking and twisting.

“We can do this easy, or we can do this hard, Isabella,” the second man said, moving to block my path.

“My name is not Isabella! You have the wrong person!” I screamed, aiming a bite at the hand clamped over my arm. I connected with a leather glove, but he grunted in annoyance.

“She’s a fighter,” the first man said. “Just like the boss said she’d be.”

“Help! Somebody help me!” My voice was thin against the howling wind. The street was empty. No one was coming. No one saw.

“Enough of this,” the second man grunted. “We’re exposed here.”

They dragged me toward the open car door. I dug my heels into the wet pavement, fighting with everything I had left after a sixteen-hour shift.

“I’m a nurse! That man needs help! Let me go!” I pleaded, my voice cracking with panic.

“He’s beyond help,” the first man said grimly.

He shoved me hard into the back seat of the car. I landed on the plush leather, scrambling to get out the other side, but the second man was already getting in, pushing me further inside.

“Don’t touch me!” I yelled, kicking out at him.

He grabbed my leg easily. “Just calm down.”

“I’m not Isabella!” I sobbed, the terror finally breaking through the adrenaline. “Please, you have to believe me.”

“Yeah, yeah. We believe you,” the first man said from the passenger seat. He turned around, something small in his hand. A syringe.

My eyes widened. “No. No, please don’t.”

The man in the back with me pinned my arms. “Just a little nap. You’ll wake up somewhere much nicer.”

I felt a sharp prick in my neck. A cold liquid flooded my veins.

The fight drained out of me instantly. My limbs felt heavy, weighted with lead. My vision started to blur at the edges, the masked faces swimming in and out of focus.

My life, my small, exhausting, ordinary life, was over.

No one saw. No one knew.

Sarah would think I forgot to text her.

The debt collector would think I was ignoring his calls.

The hospital would just find someone else to cover the shift.

I was being erased.

My last conscious thought was of the bus, its bright headlights probably just rounding the corner, arriving to an empty, rain-slicked bus stop where I was supposed to be.