Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross (14 page)

Brigit met her gaze.

“You should keep a close eye on your girl,”
Mama Dee instructed to the empty room before turning around again
and leaving the apartment.

“I will, Mama,” Brigit whispered in a
promise.

Her attention turned to the bouquet Mama Dee
had set beside her. Slowly, she extended her hand to touch the
bright red rose that was on the verge of blooming. As her fingertip
neared the edge of the outermost petal, it began to deepen in
color. In seconds, it had turned black. Brigit pulled her hand away
and eyed the result.

She had never done anything malicious. She
had never really fought with Maggie about anything. There had been
spats, but nothing that had never gone unresolved before going to
bed…. Yet, the feelings inside her now were churning like a
bubbling brew in a large cauldron over a roaring fire. How could
Maggie move on so quickly after ten years of happiness? Slowly,
Brigit extended her finger to the large white Calla Lily at the top
of the bouquet. She watched as it slowly turned brown and withered
under her touch.

That was enough, she decided. She was sure
she could find other ways to make her point, to let Maggie know she
was unhappy with the situation. She couldn’t entirely kill
something that had brought a genuine smile to her partner’s face –
no matter who it had come from. Brigit stood and walked to the
front room. As she sank into Maggie’s reading chair, she thought
about Mama Dee’s advice. She would keep a closer eye on Maggie.
Something about Lorena Rubens didn’t set right with Brigit. She
couldn’t put her finger on it yet, but she couldn’t do anything to
stop what had been started either. Not yet, anyway…

Another two weeks passed quickly, bringing
Christmas at hand. Brigit had gone on about her business at the
firm, reaping as many as she could between the times the sun rose
and the sun set. John expressed his surprise that she had taken on
such a heavy work load so quickly. Brigit had only shrugged and
picked up another pile of portfolios before walking out.

Things at home were progressing as well.
Brigit had watched as Maggie came in from her date that night, a
slight flush present in her cheeks that Brigit immediately
recognized. It could have been the wine they had enjoyed over
dinner, but Brigit heard the voice in her head telling her firmly
that she knew it was something else. Lorena had asked to see Maggie
to the door, but Maggie had only allowed the woman to kiss her on
the sidewalk outside. Brigit had felt the tiniest measure of relief
in that action. Perhaps Maggie was unsure after all…

Maggie had noticed the dead flowers in the
bouquet the next morning. She had merely shrugged and plucked the
two stems out to throw them away. Brigit’s effort had gone
unrecognized and now lay in the garbage. She decided that she would
have to work on another way of letting Maggie know her
feelings.

Two nights later, Brigit had come home to
find Maggie cooking dinner. The dining room table had been set for
two and candles were lit. Soft jazz played through the speakers of
the stereo in the office. Maggie was dressed casually, but not in
her usual lounge pants and oversized t-shirt. She was entertaining
and Brigit knew exactly who was coming to dinner.

Brigit had stayed long enough to watch them
eat and converse. Lorena did most of the talking describing her
exaggerated adventures in the Swiss Alps and the huge corporations
she had taken on in behalf of the underdogs of society. Brigit
couldn’t help but roll her eyes when Lorena made a joke that was
meant to impress Maggie. When Maggie stood to clear the table,
Brigit’s anger was ignited by Lorena’s sudden move to catch Maggie
by the hand.

“Dance with me,” she said as a slow ballad
had begun to play on the station that Maggie had chosen.

“I don’t dance well,” Maggie answered, a
quick blush rising to her cheeks.

“It’s simple. I’ll lead,” Lorena said as she
stood. She pulled Maggie to the center of the living room and
slipped her arms seductively about Maggie’s waist.

Brigit felt her fingernails biting into the
cloth on the arm of the reading chair as she watched the scene
unfolding. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t watch where the scene
would end. Quickly, she jumped up and stormed to the door. With her
anger at its height, she yanked the door open and slammed it behind
her.

Maggie and Lorena both jumped at the sound of
the slamming door. Maggie had felt the rush of wind that had swept
past them before the noise had come. The energy within that wind
was familiar. There had been a faint scent of French lavender on
it. She had smelled it before, but she had thought it was just
because Brigit had so recently been present in their apartment; but
now… after so many weeks of Brigit’s absence… She began to shake
with the fear it had awakened deep inside her.

“What the hell was that?” Lorena asked. Even
though there was a tremble in her voice, she was trying to appear
brave.

“Maybe it was a neighbor’s door,” Maggie
suggested even though she had heard it clearly as her own front
door. She was trying to suppress the shiver that had taken control
of her, but it refused to go away. Even the weight of Lorena’s hand
still on her waist gave her no reassurance.

“Does that happen often? Your neighbors
slamming their doors?” Lorena asked.

“No,” Maggie said. Lorena turned and looked
at the shaking woman. A look of concern came into her eyes as she
realized Maggie had turned deathly pale.

“What’s wrong?” Lorena asked, raising her
hands and cupping Maggie’s face.

“I don’t know,” Maggie offered.

“Are you frightened?” Lorena asked in a purr,
gently stroking Maggie’s cheek with her thumb. Maggie tried to
shake her head, but it barely moved under Lorena’s firm hold. “I
could stay tonight, if you want,” Lorena offered. Maggie tried to
shake her head again, but Lorena’s hold was not easing up.

“That’s not really necessary,” Maggie
whispered. Lorena lowered her head and brushed her lips across
Maggie’s softly. Maggie felt her knees begin to gel, but she was
sure it was more from the incident that had just happened and the
knowing that it was supernatural than it was from Lorena’s
kiss.

“But I want to stay,” Lorena whispered before
pressing her lips against Maggie’s again. When they finally parted,
Maggie could only nod her head even though every instinct within
her was yelling for her to do otherwise. As Lorena led her down the
hall by the hand, Maggie couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder
and wonder…

Brigit found John at the Bleecker Street
Café. He was sitting at the counter conversing with Giuseppe
quietly and seemed somewhat surprised when Brigit slid onto the
stool beside him. The angry expression on her face told him the
answer to the question before he had even opened his mouth to ask
it. Maggie had found someone new. Brigit was feeling betrayed.
Instead of broaching that particular topic for immediate
conversation, John feigned ignorance and expressed his joy that she
had shown up.

“I was just telling Giuseppe about a
potential new recruit. I found his file today. I think he would do
well with the ‘Potential Problems’ department,” John explained as
Giuseppe slid a cup of coffee in front of Brigit. She accepted it
with a silent nod. The fact that she had never heard Giuseppe utter
a word made her briefly wonder how John could carry on anything
more than a one-sided conversation. That thought, however, was
quickly burned by the bonfire of her anger.

“That’s great,” she mumbled in response to
John’s revelation.

“I think we’ll go together to interview him,”
John decided before picking up his tea cup and sipping noisily. He
was being obnoxious, Brigit thought.

“I can’t wait,” she said.

Her mind was going elsewhere. She was
wondering if she should have stayed and watched what she assumed
would happen. She wondered if Maggie would allow the other woman to
touch her like Brigit used to touch her. The thought of it caused
Brigit’s fury to burn hotter. John had fallen silent beside her,
staring at the opposite wall waiting for her speak again. Knowing
he was baiting her with his silence, she conceded by asking: “How
long does it take?”

“How long does
what
take,
darling?”

John turned and leveled his ice blue eyes on
her. He could see the emotions running wildly through her mind. Her
face was as smooth as stone, but the energy flowing through her
body was screaming it all. He knew exactly what she was asking,
but, he wanted her to voice it out loud.

“To forget – how long does it take to forget
what Life felt like?” she asked. She turned and met his icy gaze
with a level one of her own. John felt himself stiffen at the sight
of the emotions churning in the depths of her soul. He forced a
gentle smile to his face and relaxed.

“Oh –
that
,” he sighed. “Well, love,
it depends on you. If you truly want to forget it, you will with
time. However, you run the risk of forgetting
everything
,”
he warned gently. He hoped she would catch the subtlety he was
trying to invoke empathetically.

He had been there once himself, asking the
same question of his own now-retired-mentor. He could still hear
the ice filled answer that had pierced him to the core and helped
him make the decision to try to remember how Life had felt. He
would remember the good times and the bad simply because he didn’t
want to be as cold blooded as Araxius Herodotus. John had walked
away from that discussion and consciously decided to remember
everything. He could not fathom forgetting the feel of his lover’s
touch or the warmth of breath against his skin in the darkness. He
never wanted to forget the long warm kiss in the middle of a cold
September rainstorm that had etched itself into his mind as the
absolute happiest moment of his life.

He had the instinct now that Brigit, despite
her anger, would not want to forget such sensations from her own
life either. Not really. He had not met Maggie yet, but, John could
feel the love Brigit still carried for her. It was Brigit’s cloak,
her protection and courage. He had the sense that it had been that
way during their mortal existence together. If she were to discard
all of that just to sidestep the pain she would feel upon bearing
witness to Maggie’s continuation of life, Brigit Malone would be
left vulnerable. The soul she would become would be an empty shell
of the soul she was now. How could he make her understand that pain
was part of the new existence she had chosen to honor her promise
to Maggie? How could he teach her to be tolerant of Maggie’s
progression through life?

Brigit remained silent as John continued to
look at her. She knew he was reading her as easily as he read one
of their portfolios. She didn’t care. At least someone could see
her.

“Don’t make the decision lightly, love,” he
suggested. “Take your time on this one, trust me.” Brigit nodded in
acknowledgement of his advice before asking:

“How do you know?”

Her voice was soft and John realized that she
was deep within her confusion at everything as a whole.

“Because I’ve been where you are,” he
answered.

“You weren’t always a Reaper?” Brigit asked.
She slowly picked up her coffee and blew across the surface.

“I was mortal once. I didn’t choose this
particular occupation when I was alive, if that’s what you mean. No
one grows up saying they want to be The Grim Reaper,” John
laughed.

“I guess that would be kind of on the morbid
side. Can you imagine how many mothers would put their child
through a life time of therapy if the kid’s first words were ‘Grim
Reaper’?” Brigit smiled at her own joke. She was beginning to
relax. John was glad.

“Or worse, exorcism… the church’s business
would be at an all time historical high,” John continued with the
joke.

“So why did you take the job?” Brigit
asked.

“For love.”

“Oh,”

“You sound disappointed,” John chuckled as he
turned and reached for his tea again.

“Oh, no, I’m not. I just thought maybe you
had a slight morbid streak. That’s all – what was her name?” Brigit
asked, reaching for her own cup.

“
His
name was Dillon.”

John shifted in his seat and nodded to
Giuseppe in indication that he would need another cup of tea. The
time to answer Brigit’s question on her first day regarding John
Blackwick’s hardest assignment had finally arrived – as he had
known it eventually would. At this point, John considered it best
to tell the tale if only to show his protégé a new lesson about the
existence she was now passing through.

Brigit waited patiently for him to begin the
story. She could sense the discomfort emanating from her mentor as
he wrestled with where to begin. Giuseppe took John’s teacup away
and returned it promptly without a word. When the waiter stepped
away, John took a deep breath.

“I was born in Dublin. My father was a
delivery truck driver and my mother stayed at home with us. There
were four of us children. I was the only son in the bunch, so
expectations were somewhat high. My father hoped I would grow up to
be a banker or a solicitor, but I had other dreams. I wanted to be
a poet. All day, I would daydream and write the words as they
flowed from my mind through my hand to the small notebook my eldest
sister had given me. I was very introspective. I listened to
everything – the wind, the noise in the street, conversations that
I had no business overhearing. It was all an inspiration to me. I
paid close attention to the emotions that came to life within me
because some little aspect of drawing a breath and being there to
witness some second in the continuous flow of life all around me as
it ignited a string of words that had to be recorded.