Kickin' the bucket (Human-y style)

Content Warning: Swearing, slight gore

I work with clients who are literal fairies, goblins, even gods who fight monsters every day in my hometown. Monsters Godzilla-sized and rat-size equally. But whoopee me, I have to fix their marriage problems.

Not by will mind you; it's a family business. Average everyday human–that's what I am. The low bearers of society. We don't have any powers or weapons capable of going against the kind of monsters they go against, so the least we are good at is emotional support (and even then it's a shot in the dark). Still, I have a near 100 percent success rate which is outstanding considering how stubborn and self entitled my clients are. Don't ask me how I do it because I don't either. Like moving a limb; it comes naturally.

“I just know she feels disgusted being with me!” Hunter Bullock exclaimed. He was an unorthodox mix of a spotted hyena and a reptile. He waved his claws maniacally as he attempted to explain his thoughts. “Yes, I am part hyena. But despite what stereotypes tend to say, I am not strictly a lowly scavenger. I hunt, it's in my name for Christ’s sake!”

“Nuh, uh.” The drop-dead gorgeous lady next to him shook her head. “Save that for the lions, mister. Then you’ll see how terribly wrong you are.”

I chime in, “Mrs. Bullock–”

“I’d like to be referred to as, ‘Miss Reagan,’ please.”

Hunter scoffed.

“Alright, Miss Reagan. I am giving you both a chance to share your perspectives on your marriage. At this moment it is your husband’s–”

“Soon to be ex-husband.”

“Right, soon-to-be ex-husband’s turn to share. So if you would kindly keep your thoughts to yourself until he finishes? Please and thank you.”

Miss Reagan shrugged and turned her head away from us. She was covered in this lengthy white robe.

On the bare surface-level, one could easily see the disparaging problems between this couple: Either Hunter feels inadequate and insecure compared to his partner, which leads him to take it out unfairly on her–pointing out any little mistake she makes. Regardless if Reagan actually loves Hunter or not, his behavior makes her feel annoyed and distant so as to avoid his constant criticisms and maybe even giving him insults back, thus perpetuating his inferiority complex.

Hunter suddenly shouted, “My sisters were total bitches!”

Taken aback, I inquired, “Your sisters?”

“Yeah. They would always pick on me for being weaker than them. ALWAYS. And my parents would back them up 24/7 like they were the second coming of Christ. When I escaped my household and built my own life, I thought I would never have to face that abuse ever again. But nope! Now my own goddamned wife is doing it! Like what, am I just supposed to sit still and take it?”

“Define abuse in your marriage.”

Reagan sighed. “This is ridiculous…”

“Miss Reagan, Hunter’s talking now.”

“Okay, she doesn't abuse abuse me, but it does hurt me at some emotional level–and maybe even physically.” He pauses to glance at me.

I raise an eyebrow.

Hunter continues, “I know she's cheating.”

Reagan gasps audibly, “You ASSHOLE! Why would I ever cheat?? I married you! Marriage is a trust contract-”

“You're out almost every afternoon and don't tell me where you're going!”

“What? Am I supposed to tell you every single thing I do in my life? No wonder your 3rd wife left you. Have some sense of loyalty, dimwit!”

“Loyalty?? Then why don’t you ever wanna sleep in the same bed? Just say it, you don’t love me anymore!”

Update: Miss Reagan is hiding something and Hunter has abandonment issues.

“Alright, ALRIGHT.” I shout over them, snapping my fingers in their direction. They eventually calmed down enough to listen. I turn to Hunter, “Your time for talking is over.” Then I turned to Reagan. “You can speak your mind freely, Miss Reagan.”

Reagan puffs out her robes elegantly. She closes her two bottom eyes, keeping the third on her forehead open–inspecting us both. “As you know, Dr. Hutton, I am a very proud figure of safety in this town. I am on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, all year. I work closely with other members dedicating themselves to the safety of the community…” 

She fluttered her eyes open in surprise. She stares at me for a full second before glancing at Hunter. 

“You got a problem?” She asks.

Hunter untightened his smile. “Huh? What?”

“You were going to say something but didn't.”

I interrupt. “Miss Reagan, I thought we agreed not to use any abilities during session.”

“Right, right. So it could all be fair, correct? On equal caliber. Well I don't feel comfortable in that instance. And you said if we don't feel comfortable to say so, and I did. What constitutes something as an ability anyway? Is the fairy's wings an ability? What about a werewolf’s shapeshift? What and where is the baseline and who is it for?”

“Well…”

“Ah! I’m talking here, Doctor.” Reagan closed her two eyes again. “As I was saying, who is it for? Not for the strong, that's for sure–unless it's to look for competent employees. No. It's for the benefit of the weak.” She pointed a finger at me. “Like yourself. Power and control is an illusion for the benefit of your species, Dr. Hutton. That's your privilege. Our ‘privilege’ is having to risk our lives fighting monsters for your safety, you who aren't strong enough to fend for yourselves. Whoopee for us, I guess.” 

I waited in silence to see if she had more to say. But she just opened her eyes.

“Miss Reagan," I say. “What does that have to do with your marriage?”

“She’s just deflecting.” Hunter mutters.

“Oh, am I?” Reagan turns to face Hunter. “You think I’m cheating on you with one of the ‘studs’ I work with. Of course you do. I got all these options, right?”

Hunter frowns without saying anything. 

Reagan shakes her head and locks eyes with me. “I am done talking.”

I look down at my watch. “Miss Reagan. What I'm getting here is that you are afraid of being out of control. Weak, as you say. Something happened to you and now you're taking it out on me. You hate yourself and thus you hate me and Hunter. You still married him. However, you don't sleep on the same bed. And while it is totally fine if a married couple feel more comfortable sleeping separately, I can’t help but think your personal negative biases are interfering. You yourself could’ve done with any of your other coworkers, but you just happened to choose Hunter, a rural redneck who lives way the fuck out there in the woods and who only married you to show off to his family and friends.”

Hunter jumped forward. “Hey, what–what the fuck are you saying? You don't know anything about us.”

“Tell me, did it interest you that he didn’t know who you are? That he had this inferiority complex brewing in his head? You liked his naivete, his lack of knowledge regarding you. That way you wouldn’t feel like he only wanted you because of your looks and influence. It sure backfired, didn't it?”

“HEY!” Hunter stomped his foot repeatedly.

“Mr. Bullock, if you would be quiet please, it is my turn to talk.”

“No, this isn't preschool! You can't just infer things about us that…y--you know, aren't true. I mean, me and Reggie–Reggie and I, aren't that selfish about each other. If only she wouldn't patronize me and show herself off like-”

“Hunter, dear.” Reagan hissed. “Shut your misogynistic-ass up.”

“Wh-”

“Shut up.” She pulled at her robes. “Dr. Hutton. Why do you wanna know my little sob story so bad? Mind you, one that might not even exist?”

“So we can bring some explanation and context to the discussion. Of course, if you don't want to say anything…” I feel a slight breeze at the back of my neck.

“No, no, I’ll tell you. This is marriage counseling, after all.” She once again closed her two eyes, leaving the third to pry. “There was a time where I couldn't differentiate between my dreams and real life. I would be eating dinner with my family after a trip to the carnival, and then all of a sudden I’ll be waking up in bed. Sometimes I’ll be IN bed and–a sort of fog would clear in my head that I didn't realize was there, gradually pulling me back into reality. I’d be in the middle of the night and I'd feel a…” 

Reagan’s eye glanced behind me for a split second before returning to me. “I actually sympathized with monsters; a species who were given the shit hand in life. There was never any chance for them, because we never gave them the opportunity. But they're also the stupidest pieces of shit on earth. Why go through the trouble of throwing themselves at us over and over just to end up dying? I could just chalk it up to a simple ‘zombie mentality’ situation. Though…” She tilted her head in thought. “They have coordinated attacks–I've experienced them! They would attack me in succession and in such a way so that they would get me right where they wanted me to be so the flankers could jump in and surprise me. I mean, this is some really sophisticated stuff! There’s no way they don’t have a brain in there! Unless…they are red herrings for something bigger.”

Update: Reagan isn't a person counseling works on.

Right as she finished speaking the last word, a gray blur swooshed past my face–cutting a few of my hairs on its way. I guess it ended up colliding with Hunter because the very next second, a flurry of bright red blood sprayed from out of his neck where his head should be. I flinched and closed my eyes as droplets landed on my face. 

I heard nothing.

Behind closed eyelids I could feel the weight of pressure building up around me. I took a peek to find the room had dropped lighting, but not enough for me not to notice Hunter’s limp body. Even the overhead lights couldn't manage with the darkness. However, from the far corner, Reagan still managed to glow a brilliant white. Apparently she had moved from where she sat on the couch to take a stand near the exit against the dark, musty, putrid-smelling monster beside me. 

The monstrosity appeared from out my shadow. He stood about 2 meters tall, with an elongated neck and curtain of a body. No distinguishable features apart from the fur, beak, and two floppy ears on the sides of his head.  

Reagan gazed at the monster for a long while. From her expression, I could see she was trying to figure shit out. Eventually, she opened her mouth, “Dr. Hutton, you wanna introduce me to your little friend?” She pulled out a weapon from under her robe. “Or should I do it for you?” 

“Since when?” I asked, keeping a close tab on her scythe.

“I knew something was off when I entered this room, but I didn't know exactly what. I never hang around humans. They are one step above monsters, so cowardly and weak they've got nothing to lose and everything to prove. But I didn’t wanna be rude. Maybe it was just a human aura thing?” She held her weapon higher. “That is, until I looked out of my third eye. That’s when I noticed it.”

“My name is Gow,” the beaked monster growled rather eloquently. “And your kind smell terrible.”

“Ha! You’re one to talk.” Reagan wrinkled her nose. “You smell like you just crawled out of a morgue and took a stroll through skunk-ville.”

“You’re being mean.”

“Hey, you're the one who started it. I wasn't going to say anything out of courtesy’s sake. But I should've known, courtesy doesn't mean anything to your kind.”

“Okay, now you’re being downright xenophobic.”

“Uh huh.” She glanced at me. “Are you going to be quiet forever or are you gonna explain why you've got an oversized monkey chilling in your office?”

I glance down at Hunter’s corpse. “And you don't even shed a tear for your deceased partner.”

“I'm a god. We don't dwell on spilt milk. Also, stop it with your concerned counselor act, we both know its bullshit.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the fact that this whole marriage counselor is a charade for your–uh...” She waved a hand at Gow. “That–Whatever this is…you've got going on here.” She coughed. 

I look over at Gow. He notices me and wiggles one of his ears.

“Hey, hey, what is that? What are you doing over there?” Reagan took a step back. “Gonna leave me in the dark? That's some sort of signal.”

“You don't need to worry about that. We were just…wondering if you would like to join our…brigade. Of sorts”

Reagan squints her eyes. “Oh, really? And what brigade would that be?”

Gow answered, “Us. Obviously.”

“Ohhh, hold on, I see what this is.” She shakes her head and smiles. “Ha…you're trying to get me to join your groupie because you know that I can easily defeat you in a matter of seconds.” She coughed again. “Ugh, sorry ‘bout that. I guess Hunter gave me the cold or something. He always did use to rub himself in dirt. Anyway, what you two have, I don't want any part of it.”

“But you said it yourself that you sympathize with monsters?”

“Pfft. For a supposed counselor, you're not very good at listening. I said I sympathized with monsters–past-tense. That was before I realized how…” She took a small pause. “One of them actually infiltrated this small lesbian club at a college not far from here, raped the women, and then mutilated half of them to death. Do you not have any idea of how fucked these creatures are? They should not get any sympathy. Oh, boo hoo, they had a hard life. Who cares if at the end of the day all they do is ruin other people’s lives–” Reagan suddenly doubled-over, gasping for breath. She held the scythe firmly on us as she attempted to regain composure. 

Reagan straightened up, wobbling, both a little confused and surprised at our idleness. The shadows had grown darker.

“You alright there?” I inquire.

“You…You guys. What’re you planning?” She manages. Her eyes lazy-ed out; snapping open like a kid bored in class. 

Gow, noticing her deterioration, slowly loomed closer to her. 

Reagan shuffled backwards, aiming her scythe at the monster's neck. But Gow didn't back off, he doubled down. As he was a few feet away, Reagan swung her scythe.

It went right through him as if he was a ghost. Gow reached out with his long arm, disrupting his curtain silhouette. Reagan flinched, but the swing had taken the wind out of her. Her legs gave out.

Gow tilted his head down to eye level. “I control the shadows, Reggie, and your insides are in total obscurity. So you know what that means. My plan–” He did his best impression of a shrug. “Simple knowledge.”

Reagan went silently minutes later. No fight. No shouting. She just layed down and closed her eyes. I watched her struggle to breathe. Her throat rattled for a bit before growing quiet all together. Robes covered her like a blanket, as if she was just going to sleep. But little did she know she was never going to wake up again. The light she gave dimmed out gradually, until the shadows had fully taken over. It was a sad sight.

When it was certain she was dead, I asked, “How much was that?”

“A lot.”

“Yeah, I bet. She was fucking glowing.” I stood up and began walking over to Gow, but in the darkness tripped over Hunter’s decapitated head. I picked it up by an ear. “Hey, who's going to clean this up? Bring over one of your buddies to eat ‘em away so I don’t get in trouble with the landlord.”

“Just as long as you keep raking in these types each week. Either that or I don't need you anymore.”

“Sure, sure.” I drop Hunter’s head. Looking at Reagan laying dead peacefully was even more depressing than I was anticipating. It felt too real, unlike Hunter’s quick death. Being decapitated is a really common way to go nowadays. Too much for my comfort. “So…is this–like, is this enough?”

“A little bit more and I'll get out of your hair.”

“Cool. Just, you know, keep your promise at the end of all this. Don’t forget about me when you’re all famous. And next time, keep the murdering in the streets, all right? Can't have federales barging in here with a warrant. I gotta make a living and this is the only thing I'm good at.”

“This is the only thing I'm good at too.” Gow said as he retracted the shadows back to wherever they came from. “So we are both in agreement.”

Rephrase: This used to be a family business. Now, I'm the only one left. And as the only one left, I have to be responsible for my own success. And as a human, that means being responsible for my own safety. This partnership with Gow was the only way to achieve both goals at once. Call me shameful for working with a lowlife monster, but I'm a lowlife too. Plus, at the turn of the decade, it won't matter. Because I'll be in the hills overlooking the town sippin’ champagne while the rest of y’all scrape pennies off the ground to make ends meet. 

This is honest work. So get off your ass and start praying.