"See, what you want to do is this."

The revolver slid out of the holster and was cocked almost simultaneously.

"Just when the barrel's out. No need for the full draw."

The gun slid back into its leather jacket. Then was drawn again, a little quicker, and with only a slight but quick jerk of the wrist.

"Just the barrel. Try it."

The old man looked expectantly at the young adult. He also had a holster on his hip on the right side. The fingers of his right hand were dangling relaxed in front of his belt buckle, his thumb tucked in behind the leather strap, his eye on the target. He was locked in. Relaxed, yet focused.

"Just a fli.."

BANG. The bottle rocked on top of the tree stump, the top half missing.

The old man almost jumped out of his skin, drawing his gun.

"SUM'BITCH!"

"Just the barrel. You don't want to fully draw."

"WHAT?!"

"Your gun. It's fully drawn."

Luke had turned and was looking down at the old man's hand and gun. The old fella looked beside himself. The gun wasn't meant to have bullets in it.

"Gimme that damn thing!"

Luke quickly holstered the revolver and took a step back, anticipating the old man's move. His focus was now on his real target, and was slowly putting more and more space between the two of them.

"Now, now Luke. I don't think you know what you're fixin' to do. Give me the gun, son."

Luke slowly edged further backwards, hand at his belt, eyes darting back and forth between his target points, the old man's gun, and the old man's eyes, waiting for the coward to take his chances.

This was the last on the list. It took six years to track them all down. Now he was right here, at the finish line, and could already taste the victory smell of gunpowder.

"Just the barrel. Don't need a full draw," Luke mocked through a cocksure grin. He'd come to enjoy this, the thrill of the chase, and the moments before death unsheathed its wayfarer. The reaper always showed. And a toll was always paid. And because every kill had a price, Luke knew he was good. It was that righteous zeal, it gave him confidence for days.

BANG.

A body thudded to the ground as the smoking gun slid back into the holster. He was quick. And somewhat generous, he thought.

The kid gave the old man the first move. A thought flashed, then dead. His eyes gave it away.

Luke stood over the lifeless body, looking down at the killshot. He aimed for the middle of the forehead. It entered the old man's right eye and probably blew out the back of his head by the amount of pooling pool. The kid let out a sigh. Close enough.

"Not a bad tip, old man."

The kid knelt down beside the body, dug a hand into his pocket, removed two quarters and placed one over the left eye of the deceased.

"Take this piece of shit to where he belongs."

He went to put a second over the right eye, then slid the coin back into his pocket.

The kid removed and tossed the old man's holster and gun over his shoulder and started making his way back towards the farm.

"Where's Pa?"

Billy was standing in the doorway. Luke was packing the little possessions he owned. He looked up at the boy, sighed and shook his head.

"He ain't coming back."

"Why not?"

"Cause he did my family harm. So I did him harm."

The boy blinked.

"Look, your ma will be home soon, she'll take care of you."

The old man found out who he was a day ago. Luke had worked his farm for a month now, picking his moment. It didn't help the kid and the boy had become thick as thieves.

Walking outside, Luke flung the bag over his shoulder. Billy was waiting.

CLICK.

The hammer of the old man's revolver was cocked. The boy had found the gun, and a little sooner than Luke had hoped.

"You did my family harm, so now I have to do you harm, that how it works?"

Luke slowly raised his hands. The boy was aiming the gun at him. It looked like a cannon in his hands.

"Yeh, life's a bitch, Billy. Afraid so."

The gun aimed a little higher, at Luke's head. Luke spat off to the side. This little shit.

"Why, Pa.."

"You might want to aim that lower. It's harder to mi..."

BANG.

Instant church bells in the ears. The little shit pulled the trigger! Luke blinked, then dropped to the floor.

BANG.

Billy dropped to the floor.

Luke holstered his gun. His ears were a symphony but he could see the boy was down and out. He dragged himself to his feet, grabbed his bag and staggered outside, punching the wire door open. He stumbled down three stairs towards the old man's car.

The keys were fumbled, dropped, then fumbled and dropped before Luke was able to open the car door. The bag was flung onto the backseat, a jacket and a book flew out. The ignition kicked over and the car was singing.

Luke grit his teeth, revved the car engine, tightly gripped the steering wheel and banged his head against the horn.

Fuck.

The little runt shot him first. An eye for an eye, it pays for itself, he should be good. He was good. He got shot but he was still moving.

Fuck it.

Luke pulled the other quarter out of his pocket and flicked it into the air.

"Tails I bail..."

The coin flipped a few times, hit the edge of Luke's hand, the steering wheel, the console and got wedged in between the seat and the door.

"FUUUUCK!.."

---

The lawmen had been on his tail for the past three kills, if he stayed, he was done. Billy was left at the entrance of the hospital. Luke was off again. The car skidded and bounced sideways out of the driveway and back onto the road. The engine roared as Luke planted his foot. The car swerved in and out of a pickup truck and a motorcycle as it sped through an intersection, wrong side of the road, then vanished out of sight.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

The shovel looked like a toothpick in his hands. He stabbed it into the ground beside the hole, took his shirt and wiped his brow. It was hot enough to make the Sahara sweat.

"Hey, mister!"

He turned toward the girl, she was tugging on the leg of his tracksuit pants.

"Mister! We's needs ya help!"

And in a flash she was off. He watched as she darted through the cemetery, between some headstones and into a modern day crypt. These depressing fucks, leaving behind whole buildings just for their bodies to rot in. The new Groundsman thought they were foolish, but he only really understood trucks, so maybe they knew something he didn't.

The inside was cool and a little surprisingly so. The Groundsman had to push open the large stone doors before entering. Where was the girl. And how did she even get in here?

He couldn't see anyone. The place wasn't too big, he'd notice someone in this rectangular box. He approached the end of the crypt and noticed two metal plaques. G. bent down to check the dates. Shareen Mason: 1909 - 1938. Echo Mason: 1938 - ??.

BANG.

The wooden window shutters slammed shut. The Groundsman couldn't see anything. He tried to move his legs, but nothing. He tried to speak, nothing. He could hear a voice repeating things, a changing voice kept saying the same words, over and over...

Save her.

Save her.

Save her.

Save her.

Save her.

Save her.

Saaaave heeeeer...

---

It wasn't long before asphalt turned into gravel and gravel into strips of something resembling tire tracks.

Pulling into the cemetery, Luke always got an eerie feeling. Hell, if this guy worked anywhere else.. that probably wouldn't change.

The Groundsman was a brute of a man, his hulking figure met the car headlights as Luke parked, they were still illuminating the entrance to what looked to be an old church. There was a wave to follow then G. stepped inside the main doors. Luke turned off the engine then followed him inside.

Outside, an old rundown building. Inside, something quite different. The interior was illuminated by hundreds of candles that spiralled around a central pillar. There was someone in prayer at the foot of it, lighting yet more candles while chanting. The pews were gone and around the pillar was just open space, the whole building lacking any real furniture. At the far end, a statue of Saint Michael stepping on a serpent, and a door to a room either side. The Groundsman led Luke into the room on the right.

G. pointed to a table. After a quick look, he gave Luke a thumbs up, no bullet, and after some stitching and some whiskey Luke was good to go. 

The big guy was surprisingly nimble with the patch job, some say he worked as a mechanic before he got the sight. Then he just got quiet. Maybe fixing machines and people were kind of the same, Luke thought.

---

"So why are you here? And why am I now here?"

His lips didn't move. They couldn't, but he knew he'd asked the question. He sensed her from the moment he walked in but didn't know where exactly she was. Now he knew, she was behind him, standing just inside the doorway.

"You know why I'm here."

No voice, but that's what she replied, and it rang through his mind like a whispering wind.

"Do I?"

"You need to cross me over."

"How?"

"You know what to do."

"I do?"

She seemed to have a lot of faith in G. He had no idea what to do. He thought of a prayer he used to say in Alcoholics Anonymous, so he said what he could remember... 

"In darkness let there be light. In sadness, joy. It is in dying to ourselves.. that we are born.. to eternal life?"

If G. could retell what happened next he'd say he saw a bright set of wings engulf the area. They shimmered and warped the whole space where they flickered, making it look like everything around and beyond its wake was vibrating and interwoven.

"From now on you will not speak. If you do, you will not see. Welcome home, Groundsman."

Then the light disappeared and G. could move again, but the feeling of being able to sense the girl was gone.

The new Groundsman rubbed his face, then his hair and head, then felt his body for reassurance.. Am I still alive?

---

The days grew long out here. It took him a year to figure out how to bury a body properly and respectfully and yet put on a departing ceremony that was both tasteful yet purposeful. He always wondered why he lost his ability to speak. In a shitty but kind of necessary way, he realised it made sure he'd make it here, to the cemetery, and then not be able to leave.

There was work to be done. It wasn't only the newly departed that needed his ability to cross them over properly. Being he worked and lived where he did, in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere, and with the nature of his job being what it was, his new talent brought with it certain.. perks.

G. could now see what most couldn't, or no longer could, or sometimes wish they now weren't able to. The dead didn't always go where they needed or wanted to go and people like G. could help.

Some were thankful. They'd been stuck to this plane for far too long. Initially it made sense, they felt they had unfinished business, then the emotional and mental pull wore off and they no longer had the option, or knowledge, to make the journey.

But some weren't stuck here, they'd chosen instead to stick around. Like leaches, they stuck to and prayed upon the weak and weary, of morals and spirit, and got that fix they still hungered for and had been chasing while living fully rooted in the flesh.

And these sum'bitches were what the hunters lived to fight, the self-damned, and sometimes when the soul had reeked of enough darkness, the self-possessed.

G. was a fixer. He helped hunters repair and protect themselves while in the field, among his other duties. Luke though, he was the hunter, and like all hunters he had his own way of separating the wheat from the chaff.

There was no reason to linger. G. couldn't speak and the guy lighting the candles seemed preoccupied. Luke went to grab his bloodied and ripped shirt but G. waved him off, taking the shirt and some things he used to stitch Luke up with and led them both out of the room.

The guy attending the candles was still chanting as the two passed by. He wore a hooded robe and although he wasn't loud, his lips would move as he bowed his head and placed the candles back into their holders. His movements were slow, meticulous and rhythmic, just looking at him gave Luke a sense of calm.

They passed through an archway, into another smaller section, also without furniture. At the end was a door, otherwise the space was empty, yet it still felt full, maybe due to the light of the candles, Luke thought. They entered the door at the end.

The flames engulfed the box of the items as they stood and watched. Luke wondered if G. would offer them to him in an Urn. After the minor ceremony, the two shook hands. The sun was now rising and the mosaic windows flavoured the interior with a nice light-show as Luke was walked back through the church. The hooded guy was now gone. The candles, snuffed. The smell of incense lingered in the air.

G. watched, arms folded, as Luke's car reversed. In the daylight the exterior actually doesn't look so bad, Luke thought. He shifted the stick into drive and headed back the way he came.

Everyone's journey kind of started the same. There was always a first contract, and mostly without knowing it. Then they became a regular thing. Luke and G. had first met after he downed the Old Man.. and Billy. It had been 4 years since he completed his first contract. At the beginning, he'd venture through every few months, if not less. Now it was every other month. The jobs were coming in thick and fast, and if he didn't slow down, he might just get got.