Grim Reaper 01 - Embrace the Grim Reaper

would be picking her up, was beyond her.
    She spent a few minutes putting her clean laundry in the wardrobe, but was soon at a loss for further chores, so she grabbed her jacket and opened the door. Solomon, hunched on the floor, made a move to go into her room, but stopped at the threshold, hissed, and turned, trotting down the stairs.
    Casey watched him go, wondering if Lillian and Rosemary would have the same reaction. Rosemary had come up with her the day before and all had seemed fine, but Death had yet to visit. It would be interesting to see what happened when the women came up to tidy the room.
    Casey followed Solomon’s path downstairs, but the cat was out of sight by the time she got to the landing. She shook her head and went out the front door, avoiding the campfire area on her way to get her bike.
    When Casey mounted the old Schwinn, the tires squished alarmingly, having deflated overnight. She hopped off. Ride, or walk? And where was she even going?
    Not wanting to destroy what was left of the tires, she pushed the bike back to the gas station, where she again made use of the air pump. She checked out the tires as she did so, and decided that if she was really going to use the bike as her transportation, she should invest in a new set. She wondered if the garage attached to the gas station had any bike tires, or if she’d have to have Eric take her somewhere that afternoon.
    “Hello?” She stood in the little store section of the station, surrounded by cold drinks, packets of candy, and cigarettes. No one manned the cash register, and she couldn’t imagine anyone could hear her calling with the radio as loud as it was, pulsing out an amplified hip-hop beat. A door led to the garage part of the building, and she stepped through it, her fingers in her ears.
    Workboot-clad feet stuck out from the bottom of a rusty Ford F150, tapping to the rhythm of the song. No one else appeared, so Casey took a look around the space. Tires adorned the far wall, among them a few that looked like they might fit Rosemary and Lillian’s old bike.
    Taking the chance of scaring the mechanic, she walked over to the side of the car where his head should be and squatted down. “Hello?”
    Still no response.
    Getting up, she went to the other side of the car and tapped one of the protruding feet with her shoe.
    Both feet shot up, banging the thighs of the man on the undercarriage of the car. In a moment, he scooted out from underneath, on his wheeled lorry.
    “Sorry,” Casey mouthed at him. Then, “Aaron?”
    The man—or kid, really—grinned up at her, then leapt off the pallet with surprising grace. He held up a greasy finger and trotted over to a shelf, where he punched a button on the sound system. The silence in the garage was staggering.
    “Hey, Casey.” He sauntered back toward her, wiping his hands on a rag. “Sorry about the music. It helps the day go quicker.”
    “Sure. But can you hear afterward?”
    He laughed. “Most days. Although sometimes I pretend not to hear when Mom asks me to do something really nasty.”
    “Um-hmm.”
    “You’re not going to ask me to do something really nasty, are you?” He looked suddenly like a child, waiting to be told he must clean out the litter box.
    “Absolutely not. All I want are some bike tires.”
    “Oh.” His relief was palpable. “That’s easy.” He walked over to the wall, gesturing for Casey to follow. “What size do you need?”
    “Not sure. But I have the bike outside.”
    “Let’s see.” He changed directions, headed toward the front of the shop, and outside. His eyebrows rose at the sight of the bike. “Not exactly brand-new, is it?”
    “Nope. It’s just what Rosemary and Lillian had in their shed.”
    Understanding lit his face. “No wonder, then. But the tires are standard. Why don’t we bring it on in.” Grabbing the handlebars, he steered the bike into the garage and put it up on a rack. In no time at all he’d placed a tire iron under the rubber and stripped the tires from the rims. “Rims look good. The tires are just worn out. Rubber and tubes.” He glanced at the clock. “It’ll only take me a few minutes, if you want to wait.”
    “That would be great. Unless you need to fix the truck first.”
    “Nah. This won’t take that long. Have a seat…” He looked around for something not occupied by tools, papers, or greasy rags. “Hang on.” Disappearing into a small office, he returned with a battered folding chair.