Young Writers Society

Solving a murder. Well, what else could he have expected? It was somehow strange to have his brother be seeking killers when he himself was one. Professionally. He could tell from the moment of silence that his brother wasn't sure what to make of it, either, and he stifled a sigh. He'd be there for Edward through Hell and back again - he was family, after all - but sometimes things like this certainly got awkward and if he was honest made him feel nothing but worse about, well, everything.

"Nein, you didn't," he said, looking up as he heard sirens in the distance. It was unlikely they'd found Taipan so early - probably some other unlucky soul who was injured or on the run or worse. He paused for a moment before abruptly changing the subject, his voice still low and unnaturally even as he scanned the city below. "I apologize for ze incident vis Taipan. I vouldn't have vanted you to see zat, if avoidable, but after..." He stopped again, his voice trailing off as his mind pulled itself back to those dark times. "After zat, I had to make sure she vas dealt vis, and if I'd attempted and failed again...Boomslang vould..." Torture him? He didn't want to say that. He silenced again as he thought over his words, then continued. "...be displeased." He rested his chin on his hand and ran his thumb absentmindedly over the scar that ran across his face. "I vouldn't have shot if I'd realized it vasn't just her I vas shooting."

He kept his gaze on his brother as Kratzer spoke, listening to what was apparently an apology. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to be surprised or not by it - they were brothers, but they hadn't exactly been on the best terms before they had remembered meeting as kids. "It's alright," he said. He let his hand fall back to his side. "I was a soldier, too. I might not have actually done the killing part myself, but I know that sometimes it's needed."

He leaned back up against the wall again.

"It doesn't mean I like that people have to kill," he said, "but I understand the need in a situation like this. And, besides, you had no way of knowing it was me, just like I had no way of knowing that it was you."

He paused. Something told him it was a good idea to change the subject; Kratzer was likely still feeling guilty about the incident, and a conversation change might help distract him.

Luckily, he already had the perfect topic.

"Well," he said, gaze once again traveling over to Kratzer, "about the outfit - I can't show up wearing my soldier's uniform, and I think we can both agree that my face can be a little frightening because of when I died." It wasn't like he had a nasty scar like his brother, or some other horrible disfiguration; it just looked sickly, a side effect of being in the way. "We're still looking into alternative outfits for me, but right now I've been wearing a trench coat, fedora, sunglasses and more bandages than you probably thought could fit on a person."

His lips started to turn up into a smile.

"I guess you could say I looked a little like an Egyptian mummy," he added.

Kratzer snorted in some semblance of laughter and shook his head. "Ve should probably hit ze store in ze morning first zing," he agreed. "Ve don't vant to draw anymore attention to ourselves zan ve must. Even alone, I'm too conspicuous already."

He paused, listening to the sirens fading in the distance, then went over to the bed and dragged his suitcase out from under it. He flipped it open and fished around in the bottom of it before dragging out a mostly-filled bottle of vodka. "Until zen, ve've got time to kill."

If he was with any of the other members of the agency, Edward might have just slipped the pin out of his hair and called it a day. But his brother wasn't a gifted human like Liz, a reaper like Schadel or even a ghost like Claire - there was no way for him to see him without him physically appearing in front of them.

He could already see it now - this was going to be difficult. How were they supposed to explain someone dressed in a bloody and dirty World War II uniform? He could try the stunt he and Schadel pulled back in the bar, but they had been relying on people being drunk enough that they'd believe any explanation thrown their way.

"I guess we do," he agreed. He followed his brother over to the bed, ignoring the fading sirens as he sat down beside the suitcase. The bed creaked underneath his weight; if Kratzer hadn't already known that he was a ghost, he would have seemed perfectly alive as he flung himself back and stared up at the ceiling. "So what are ghosts like here, exactly? You said something back when we were with Taipan about me being different than regular ghosts."

Kratzer rose and leaned back against the windowsill as he unscrewed the bottle. "Vell, zere's zree sections of ze afterlife. As I understand, zey used to be combined, but somezing about Hell's creation messed vis it. Anyvays, ze short version is zat ze evil go to Hell, ze good to Heaven, and zose vho haven't been processed or are neutral or pending go to Purgatory. Purgatory is vhere spirits in 'limbo' reside and essentially it's a plane that exists on a different level of Earth. So, incorporeal, but existent nonetheless. Your typical poltergeist is usually just zere because Azrael or vone of her Reapers missed a soul and it's gone mad being trapped here, and, in zat insanity, tends to become destructive. Souls in general are just as individual as you or I, though. Vhat I vas referring to vis Taipan vas your ability to manipulate the inanimate corporeal world - our ghosts can't do zat unless zey're poltergeisty."

As he finished, he took a swig of the alcohol, then put the lid down on the sill beside him.

Edward tried to ignore how it seemed like Kratzer had drunk more of the vodka - it seemed like he was drinking to cope, and that kind of drinking never ended well.

"Our reality works a little differently," Edward said, "but something tells me you've probably already guessed that. When someone dies, a reaper is supposed to collect it - but they don't always. I'm one of the missed ones. Schadel says wars are when it happens the most, and that World War II was especially bad when it came to missing souls. If they're not missed like I am, they feel passionate about something and turn into a ghost before a reaper can arrive. Claire's a ghost like that. We're not like normal people - our souls create our bodies, rather than the other way around."

He rolled on his side so he could get a better look at Kratzer.

"Partials are ghosts whose emotions weren't strong enough to keep them here. They're only part of a soul, so they fixate on whatever emotions caused them to remain. That usually means their death, from what I've seen."

He glanced back up at the ceiling. "But when a soul is collected like it's supposed to be, it gets transported to the right afterlife. Schadel said there's at least dozens. Anyone without a clear afterlife gets to pick, and most afterlives let other deceased visit."

"Zat sounds like a nice system," he said with a nod. "I hear reincarnation happens for a lucky few, if zey end up in Purgatory and aren't placed yet, or if zey lobby the Reapers and Azrael vell enough. Still, zere aren't many options, unfortunately. Zose of us vho are damned are, vell..." he shrugged. "Damned." With this, he took another drink of the vodka and glanced out the window, scanning the outdoors.

Edward didn't think hard to read between the lines - it was clear Kratzer had an idea of where he was supposed to end up, and that the place wasn't a good one. He wished he could somehow change that for his brother; he knew most of the things that had happened in his life so far had been out of his control, and that the few things he had some choice over had been good ones. It didn't seem right to think of his brother suffering in Hell.

He thought for a moment, propping himself up and frowning. "Didn't Damascus work in Hell before, or something like it?" he asked. He could barely remember the context of the conversation - he had either been eavesdropping on it, too drunk, or the conversation had been directed at someone else.

"Ja, I zink so," he affirmed, tapping the glass of his bottle absentmindedly. "I don't remember much more zan zat, zough."

As he spoke, he leaned back out the window, watching movement down below. It was a person, though whether it was a pedestrian or an unfriendly individual was difficult to make out. He put his hand on his handgun that rested in the back of his belt and slid it out to put it down next to him.

Edward tensed when he noticed his brother's attention wander. "What are you watching?" he asked. Edward hoped it wasn't someone looking for Kratzer - the people who seemed interested in his brother weren't especially good news.

He was silent for a few moments as he continued to observe, eyes glistening with a slight metallic hue in the night as the human scent wafted up to him. This was a mere pedestrian. Male, and if Kratzer had to guess, probably in his twenties or thirties. He hadn't fed in almost two weeks, now...

"Nozing," he finally answered. "Just a me- human, male. Twenties or zirties, I zink." Human. Not meal. Had he been wholly sober, he could've avoided that mix-up entirely, but he hoped he'd avoided it well enough to keep Edward from noticing.

Now he was fully sitting up again. He lived and worked for a detective of a grim reaper. You didn't do that without picking up a feel deductive skills along the way, and a knack for picking up on last minute changes in a conversation. He could piece together what his brother had intended to say - he had seen the man as a meal first, rather than a person. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling he couldn't quite shake. That was the strange thing about their relationship. If they hadn't met as children, he doubted they would even be talking to each other now.

"Do vampires here have blood banks?" Edward asked. "We're supposed to help out at one in a few weeks - Schadel knew a friend of a friend, and they needed help moving their stores of blood from one building to another. If you have them, maybe we can go there and get you something to drink."

Other than the vodka, he added in his head.

He shook his head. "I've been feeding off stored blood for almost two veeks now," he said. "At some point I'm just going to have to hunt." His gaze still wandered across the oblivious figure beneath them and he sighed, turning back to Edward and leaning his weight fully back against the sill. "It's part of ze curse. Animal blood, or stored blood, can only get vone so far. Sunlight vill start being an issue vizin forty-eight hours, I'm sure. I don't have to kill but it needs to be fresh. Unfortunately."

He glanced down at the bottle in his fingers and gazed into the clear liquid for a few moments. He could tell the vampirism thing made Edward uncomfortable, and if he was honest, it bothered him, too. There was naught to be done for it - vampirism was completely incurable. Death was the only way to get free of it. Still, he wished that he and Edward could have a relationship without all these complications. Edward was his brother - and always would be - but that didn't mean things were easy or that they'd be friends if they hadn't met as children instead of adults.

Edward took a deep breath.

"So we just have to find someone who doesn't mind getting blood sucked," he concluded. It was easier said than done - he didn't even know where to begin with something like that. He looked his brother over, an idea starting to come to mind. Despite his age, Kratzer looked relatively young. And if they changed up the outfit...

"What if you pretended you were going to give someone a hickey?" Edward asked, folding his arms. He didn't have to kill. If they did things just right, the unsuspecting blood bank would never be the wiser - they would just think he got a little too into things.

"I have a system," he answered curtly, glancing back down at the unsuspecting target below. "I am not pretending like I'm giving someone a hickey."