Gideon was a lot of things. I still marveled that one of his hobbies over his long life had been racking up degrees. The Grim Reaper’s skill set was long. He had his law degree, he was a surgeon, a dog trainer and a chef to name a few of the occupations he’d held over the centuries.
“Excellent-amundo!” Fonzie One said. “We rode up on this mostly decapitated little dude and weren’t sure what to do. Whoa!”
“He lived fast and dying young, but he’snotleaving a good-lookin’ corpse,” Fonzie two added.
“Correct-amundo,” Three quipped.
I was no longer walking. I ran. I ran so fast I disappeared from sight for a moment. The Fonzies were impressed.
I was not. When I saw who they were talking about, I screamed. The sound started low in my gut and came out with such force that I was sure I’d severed my vocal cords. The sound that left my lips was inhuman. My body felt hot and cold at the same time. I closed my eyes and begged the Universe that I was mistaken and that this wasn’t real. Slowly, I opened them.
It was real—very real.
It wasn’t an animal on the ground in the pool of blood. It wasn’t the Fonzies’ dinner unless they were cannibals. And it wasn’t one of the bunnies that Candy had visualized.
It was Shitty Ritchie, and I had no idea if my little buddy was alive.
“No, no, no,” I cried out as I dropped to my knees and tried to gather up the tiny body parts that were strewn around in the grass. My eyes filled, and my tears made the awful picture in front of me blurry.
“Mother FUCKIN’ fucker,” Candy bellowed as she fell to her knees beside me. “Who did this?” she snarled at the taken aback Fonzies.
“Whoa!” Fonzie Two said, holding up his hands. “We’re pacifists. We found him like this.”
“Correct-amundo,” Fonzie Three said.
“Fuck,” Candy Vargo hissed.
Shitty Ritchie lay on the ground in pieces. One arm and one leg had been completely torn off. His tiny torso lookedunharmed, but his head was hanging on by only a tendon. His adorably ugly face was ashen and his eyes were open and unseeing.
Tim gently took what was left of Shitty Ritchie’s body into his arms paying mind to his barely attached head and held him close. Tears ran down Tim’s cheeks as he tried to stem the flow of blood. It wasn’t working.
Gideon growled like an animal and checked the little man for a pulse. The Fonzies weren’t looking quite as cool as they had only moments ago. My gut told me they had nothing to do with this, but the Higher Power’s plane was always filled with horrid surprises.
“Back away,” I told the bikers.
They obeyed.
“Pulse?” Candy demanded of Gideon.
“Faint but there,” he answered tersely.
“If he was truly dead, I’d sense his ghost,” I whispered, doing my best to contain my emotions.
Candy let out a relieved sigh. “My guess is that the shite stain didn’t chew. Otherwise. he’d be a goner.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, not following.
“Later,” she said. “If his head’s attached—even barely, I might be able save his sorry ass. Not sure, but I can try.” Candy pulled out a dagger and tossed it to Gideon. “I’ve only got enough juice to reattach his fuckin’ head. It’s gonna take some trickly mojo to connect that thing. I’m gonna need a new arm and a leg.”
“Wait. What?” I asked. “Can’t we secure Shitty Ritchie’s arm and leg that are already here?”
The Keeper of Fate shook her head. “Nope. Real people ain’t like ghosts. You can’t just glue ‘em back together. I need something that has some fuckin’ blood flowin’ through it.”
My stomach roiled. “Where the hell are you going to get a new arm and a leg that will fit Shitty Ritchie?”
She chuckled. “It ain’t gonna fit,” she said, taking a pale and barely alive Shitty Ritchie from Tim’s arms and laying him gently on the ground. “It will eventually, but the tiny turd is gonna look weird for a little while if he lives.”
“He has to live,” I ground out. “Save him.”
