Page 23 of Grim
And Big D?
He’s going to want answers for my malfeasance.
Unfortunately for him, I have some questions of my own I want answered first.
It’sAboutTime
Welcome to the OtherWorld, where corporate policy and cosmic consequence come to shake hands and stab each other in the back.
The city rises around me like a fever dream etched in stone. Gothic spires claw at the sky like they’re trying to drag the stars down to answer for a crime. Streets twist in labyrinthine spirals and coil between monolithic office towers stacked like mausoleums—cathedrals of tedium, humming with fluorescent lights and bad attitudes. The whole aesthetic screams Transylvania chic, swallowed up by Wall Street.
I stand just outside the pulsating heart of this sprawling metropolis, the main corporate headquarters of Death’s Door, LLC.
Everywhere you look, buildings and roadways mingle with clouds, mist, and fog in varying shades of greys and purples. Distance and shapes here toy with the eye; the physical laws of Earth stretch just enough to disorient newcomers, like the first draft of a Dali painting. If you’ve ever dosed hallucinogenic mushrooms in the center of the Old Town in Prague, then you have a good idea of what the OtherWorld looks like.
The massive obsidian double doors ripple like oil at my approach, melting open with a theatrical flourish. Subtle is not in Big D’s vocabulary.
I don’t hesitate; there’s no waiting, no chitchat. I head straight for his office.
The moment I step across the threshold, D’s new assistant nearly launches herself over her desk in an attempt to stop me from entering Death’s Domain. Yes, he’s also labeled the door within the building. He’s big on alliteration.
“Oh!” she squeaks, her wide eyes darting between me and the massive set of obsidian doors. “Kane, he’s extremely busy right now.”
“I’m sure,” I grunt, barely acknowledging her as I push past her and shove open the heavy doors.
The office is as ostentatious as ever—massive to the point of silliness, with walls made of black marble and floor-to-ceiling windows that stretch out over the OtherWorld like some kind of dramatic villain’s lair. The empty space between the doors and his actual desk feels like a trick of the eye, but it really is just obnoxiously far for no reason. And at the end of the long red carpet—yes, it really does tie the room together—perched behind an absurdly large onyx desk, is the man himself.
Big D.
The nameplate glints gold in the low light, like a joke only he finds funny.
Like a man on a mission, I stalk down the absurdly long runway carpet as Big D spins around in his oversize leather chair like some bored supervillain. He’s wearing a look of exaggerated amusement. In his left hand, he confidently wields …
Is that a paddleball?
“Sir?” I ask, arching a brow as he bounces the little red ball against the wooden paddle with expert precision and dexterity.
“You play?” he asks, tilting his head.
I remain standing behind the chair opposite his desk, baffled. “Can’t say I’ve kept up with the … sport, no.”
He lets out a dramatic sigh, his disappointment evident. “Shame. It’s harder than you may think. It takes a fair amount of concentration, rhythm, and patience. You have to almost become one with the ball and predict its movements. And if there’s even the slightest—”
The ball rebounds just a hair wide and smacks himsquare in his wrist, causing him to fumble it for the first time since I entered the room. It falls to the floor with a sharp clatter against the stone.
His eyes narrow as he glares down at the toy before slowly lifting his gaze back to me.
“Misstep,” he finishes, “it’s game over.” His voice drops to a sinister pitch.
I think I’m supposed to feel intimidated by this, but I’m too confused by the duel I just witnessed him lose to a child’s toy to feel much of anything right now.
“Sir, respectfully, what are you doing with that thing? You’re the overlord of the AfterLife, not a six-year-old at a state fair.”
“Kane, do you have any idea how long eternity is? It’s long, Kane. Really long. I have to find a way to pass the time somehow. You try spending a few millennia doing paperwork and see if you don’t start talking to inanimate objects or collecting hobbies.”
“Collectingisa hobby, sir. You don’t collect the hobbies themselves though.”
“Potato. Root vegetable. When I took over the head honcho position, I expected excitement, action, maybe even a little danger,” he says with a childlike glint in his eye which fades as he finishes his thought. “But instead, it’s mostly boooooring.”
