Back in white - Reaper # 4

Chapter 1

I gaze attentively at the slender silhouette seated on the bench, feeling a wave of sadness wash over me. My grandparents have once again improved the makeshift cemetery by installing a wrought-iron lamppost near the bench. The night is cool, and a slight mist forms, creating a mysterious halo around the light, lending a dark ambiance to the scene unfolding before me. It's almost as if I'm immersed in a movie, expecting the head of this silhouette to make a complete 180-degree turn and vomit on me. Clad in black, she seems to have slumped shoulders, as if bearing the weight of a heavy secret.

It was a little after midnight when I arrived. My grandmother had informed me of her arrival earlier in the evening, and I swiftly hopped on my motorcycle to reach their house. I parked my bike a few houses up and discreetly pushed it until I reached the house. According to my grandmother Sylvie, Julia's look-alike had appeared at the door with an emotionless voice and a vacant gaze, simply asking if "she" was there. My grandmother stepped aside to let her in and led her to the garden, even offering her something to drink. However, Julia's doppelgänger simply sat on the bench without moving.

While my grandmother closely observes this strange guest, my grandfather keeps an eye on the street until he sees me arrive, at which point he opens the door.

"I've arrived, Lindsay. Initiating contact."

"Copy that. Be cautious, you don't know who she is or what state of mind she's in. Be prepared to act, but don't kill her. We need to learn more," Lindsay responds.

"I'll do my best."

I make my way through the house and plant a kiss on my grandmother's cheek before opening the door that leads to the garden, gun in hand.

"Slowly stand up and show me your hands," I say calmly. I want to avoid startling her.

"There you are," the woman simply replies. Her voice is different from Julia's, slightly deeper and raspy.

"I'd like some explanations," she sighs, turning her head slightly towards me.

Her profile is identical, the nose, the chin.

I move slowly to the side, and her head follows my movement until I see her face-on. My heart rate quickens. I know she is not the person she resembles, as that person rests beneath the concrete slab at my feet.

"It's disturbing, I won't deny it. Explanations about what?"

"This memorial, for starters, and this," she says, straightening up and pulling out a few pages from a magazine, the most important ones. "And I also have a couple of other questions. Can we go inside? I'm cold."

"Are you armed?" I ask.

She lifts her jacket to show me her weapon.

"Take it out slowly from its holster and hand it to me, holding it by the barrel. We don't want to frighten my grandparents. Your visit has already traumatized them."

"Why? They've never met her, they don't know her," she retorts.

"They appreciate what they know about her. Come," I tell her.

I hold the door for her to pass. By her side, I feel no warmth. She is cold, even dangerous. Nevertheless, the resemblance is striking, to the point where I tremble. I close the door to the garden and make my way to the refrigerator to pour myself a drink.

"Do you want something?" I ask.

"Coffee, black, no sugar," she replies in a flat tone.

"Don't worry, Grace, I'll take care of it. Go to your room, I'll bring it to you. And take off your shoes."