Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross (15 page)

“Dillon was the neighborhood hero. He was the
one all the mothers loved and all the fathers wished their sons
would be like. He was athletic, smart and extremely handsome. We
had grown up on the same street all our lives, but, we had never
crossed paths until I decided to sit on the front stoop one day to
write.”

“How old were you?” Brigit interrupted as she
lifted her coffee cup and prepared to take a sip.

“I was sixteen. By then, my mother had begun
to encourage my writing. My father was somewhat disappointed. I
think he realized I wasn’t going to be anything truly financially
beneficial to the family. I wasn’t interested in sports or
politics. I was doing my best to keep out of everyone’s way so I
could revel in my daydreams.

“On the day that I met Dillon O’Shea, I had
been sitting on the front stoop writing. By now, my poetry was
evolving into short stories. My second eldest sister had found an
advert for a short story contest in a London magazine she
subscribed to and urged me to enter. I was working hard on it when
Tommy Higgins and his cronies came around. Tommy snatched my
notebook from my hands and began taunting me about being a sissy,
cursing and laughing at me as he turned this way and that... I was
jumping around like mad trying to take my notebook back. All my
dreams were recorded there. My opportunity to be a famous writer
was taking shape on those pages. Tommy Higgins had a reputation for
destroying everything he touched and I was suddenly embolden to
make sure my writing wasn’t going to be another one of his
casualties.

“So, there I was, jumping around trying to
snatch my book from Tommy Higgins when Dillon appeared. In all the
dancing around and scuffling, I hadn’t seen him approaching us.
Tommy was a head taller than I was, so I was having quite a time in
reaching my book. His buddies, Billie and Collin, they were pushing
me around like a punching bag. I had just hit the sidewalk when I
saw Dillon finally. He reached up and easily snatched my book out
of Tommy’s hand.

“
What’s going on here?
” I remember
Dillon asking. Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt.
Tommy Higgins puffed out his chest and tried his best to look
intimidating. Dillon was unfazed. He was too busy scanning the
pages Tommy had been making fun of to notice the challenge Tommy
Higgins was issuing. I was somewhat embarrassed, naturally. The
neighborhood hero was reading my words. I was just waiting for him
to turn and join in the melee of persecution.

“
Mind yer own fookin’ business
,” Tommy
Higgins had told him.

“
What did you just say
?” Dillon had
demanded. I was just laying there on the sidewalk.

“
Are ye deef? I tol’ you ‘to mind yer own
fookin’ business’
.” Tommy repeated.

I was shocked – no amazed – at how quickly
Dillon responded to being cursed at. He swung his arm so fast that
none of us realized what had happened until Tommy hit the sidewalk
beside me. His nose was gushing with bright red blood. The other
two, Billie and Collin, they just stood there with their mouths
hanging open like two gaping holes. Their leader had been laid out
in one punch.

Finally, Dillon turned to me and I was struck
with all these new emotions at once. I had never had an interest in
anyone romantically until that point. There he was, standing over
me with that angelic smile on his face. His hand was outstretched
to me. When I took it and he helped me up, I was suddenly aware of
the energy that could pass through and bind two people together. He
felt it too. As Billie and Collin finally dragged Tommy Higgins
away from us, Dillon handed me my notebook. He had such a strange
look on his face.

“
Are you all right
?” he asked me. I
could only nod. I was still trying to identify the energy that had
coursed through my body. I was trying to put words to what I was
suddenly experiencing for the first time in my life. I was
especially trying to control the sudden stirring of life in my
trousers. I don’t mean to be crass, but it’s a part of the story…”
John apologized. Brigit shrugged.

“Trust me,” she said, “I completely
understand.”

“Dillon and I were inseparable from that day.
I think my father was relieved on some level. I’m sure he thought
Dillon would be a good influence on my manliness. My sisters were
all giddy with the thought of Dillon O’Shea coming around to our
house quite regularly. He was so handsome, but, he was always there
to see me. He had no time to spend with girls who were continually
gushing and flirting with him. We had a great many things in
common, surprisingly. He loved poetry and begged to read mine. He
became my biggest supporter. We would sometimes go for long walks
and spend hours discussing the nuances of nature and how a certain
string of words could evoke different emotions and interpretations.
We were only sixteen and eighteen, but, we talked for hours as if
we were scholars of an ancient wisdom.”

“Did you ever become a couple?” Brigit asked
quietly. A look of sadness came to John’s face. It was the first
time she had seen anything other than placidity or amusement in his
expression. She wondered if she should have been so bold as to
ask.

“At the time of our existence, you must
understand, being homosexual was strictly forbidden. It meant
ostracism from the community and excommunication from the church.
It opened the door to hatred beyond comprehension. It was
definitely something not discussed openly.” John explained. “I
loved him deeply and he loved me, but for the longest time – we
used our conversations about poetry to disguise what we were really
trying to tell each other. The discussion went on for four years
before anything happened. By then, we were grown men. He had taken
work as a delivery driver, like my father, and I was tutoring
children with their studies. I didn’t have the money to go away to
university, but I was smart. I had entered a few writing contests,
but had not won anything substantial to brag about.

“It was in September on my twenty-first
birthday that everything changed. I had entered my twelfth contest
and I had won! I had finally won! Dillon was so happy for me. It
was then that I told him everything in plain English. The look on
his face as I finally said out loud that I was in love with him
made me think that I had done something terribly wrong. When I
asked him as much, he only shook his head. He replied that he loved
me as much, in the same way, but that our love could never be acted
on. It was wrong, he had said. It was then that I suggested we move
to London, away from our neighborhood and families and live
together however we wished. I offered my winnings as our ticket out
of Dublin. Dillon was negating my ideas as quickly as I offered
them. Finally, he decided we should just drop the subject and go to
the pub to celebrate my success. I was heartbroken, but I went
along anyway.

“We spent a few hours there, drinking pint
after pint before we decided to call it a night and crawl home. By
then, it had started to rain and neither of us carried an umbrella.
I think I was more drunk than Dillon, as I had never been much for
the drink. When we left the pub, I followed him blindly hoping the
rain would wash away every feeling in my possession at that moment.
I wanted to drown in it and feel nothing. I didn’t realize where he
was leading me until we were no longer surrounded by street lamps
and row houses. I followed him, though, not questioning where he
was taking me in the rain.

“It was then that he kissed me. In the middle
of the night, in the middle of the cold rain, he was kissing me.
His tongue was deep in my mouth, his hands were holding me to him
tight and I could feel the reaction it was having on him in his
trousers. It was having the same effect on me and I didn’t want it
to end. It was absolutely the happiest moment of my life. When he
finally pulled away, I remember having the sensation of being
suddenly sober. He was staring deep into my eyes and I wanted to
kiss him again. Instead, Dillon took my hand and pulled me toward a
small shed that had been built under a massive oak tree. It was
dark there, but it was shelter from the storm.

“What happened next was heavenly. I had never
thought I could feel so secure and fulfilled. We made love for
hours, exploring each other, entering places within each other that
I had never thought possible. I felt our souls meeting and dancing
and meeting again with each session. Dillon was my soul mate. I
couldn’t imagine being apart from him.

“The next morning, we awoke to the sun
shining through a tiny window. The rain had stopped and we were
changed. We had held each other all night and I was pleased to
still be in his arms when I opened my eyes. As we dressed, we
discussed where to go from there. We agreed that we couldn’t remain
in our neighborhood without causing distress for our families.
Dillon made the decision to move to London and secure work. I
wanted to go with him, but he told me to wait and he would send for
me. He had been planning all night while I slept. He would be the
one to make the decisions for our future and he would be the one to
make sure we would be all right. Dillon had decided our roles in
the relationship, you see?

“So, I went along with his decisions. He left
for London that week. We escaped once more to have some time
together, but it did not last all night like our first time. He was
hurried, almost afraid that we would be caught. Then he was gone.
He took the ferry without looking back and I stood on the dock
until the ferry was eaten by the horizon waiting for him to do
so.

“It was four months before I heard anything
from him. He had secured work at a bank as a teller. It wasn’t much
money, but it was enough to provide him room and board. He promised
to send for me soon. There were no endearments beyond that promise,
which I understood because I knew he desperately wanted to keep our
love a secret.

“Another six months passed and Dillon had
still not sent word that it was okay to join him. I had won another
contest at this point and I decided to surprise him by paying my
own way to London. It was the biggest mistake I could have made. I
arrived in the evening at the return address that had been on his
letters to me. It was a small place, a street level apartment. When
I arrived, I stood outside his apartment looking in the window. He
was already home. I could tell by the lights burning inside. It was
then that I saw him with another. They were going at it madly,
Dillon was on top. He looked angry, as if he meant to punish the
young man he was shagging.

“My heart suffered its biggest break at that
moment. I turned and began to run away. I was scolding myself for
having the belief that he loved only me. I was angry that he had
not waited for me to join him as I had been waiting to do. I was
furious that he could touch someone else in the same places he had
touched me. I was so blind with my rage that I did not stop to look
both ways before crossing the street. I was hit by a delivery van
and then tossed onto the windshield of a taxi going in the opposite
direction. I was dead as soon as I finally hit the pavement.

“I remember standing outside the scene, still
reeling with my anger at what I had seen Dillon doing. I looked at
my body, not even caring that I was looking at my own body. A crowd
began to gather when I saw Dillon. He was walking toward the corner
with his paramour as if they were just chums out for a stroll. I
found some bittersweet relief when I watched him approach the scene
and look at my body lying crumpled and broken on the street. The
blood drained from his face as he ran to my side and began to
stroke my face. I couldn’t feel his touch, though. I could only
stand there watching him as he began to mourn.

“I was so angry though. I didn’t care that he
was hurting inside. I decided at that moment that I didn’t want to
see him ever again.”

“But you did,” Brigit guessed. John only
nodded. He had paused long enough to take a sip of his tea.

“I spent the next few days wandering back and
forth between Dillon’s apartment and the dock where I had landed. I
wanted to go home, to Ireland; but I was stuck. It was on the
fourth day that Araxius came to me. He offered me a position with
the firm. I took it because I knew I wasn’t ready to pass over and
Araxius made it very clear I would never reach the shores of
Ireland again if I chose to pass over. There was no option to
merely remain a ghostie, mind you.

The idea didn’t take long to process and I
took the job. By then, Araxius had moved the main office to Dublin.
It was my only ticket home, you see?”

“How long did you stay there, in Ireland?”
Brigit asked.

“Oh, for awhile. As I gained tenure, I was
sent all over the world to complete assignments. I’ve seen so many
places I would most likely have never seen as a mortal man.
Granted, I’ve been on assignment, but when the firm is operating at
full staff, there is time to take a walk around and see the
sights,” John smiled as he offered this particular tidbit. Brigit
nodded in understanding. She would have time too, eventually.

“What changed?” she asked as Giuseppe floated
over to the counter before them, a carafe of coffee in his hand. He
silently refilled her cup and passed her a small cup of crème so
that she could prepare her drink to her liking.

“It took many years,” John sighed, “but the
heart that I had carried for so long – my poet’s heart -- returned
to the emotional side. I couldn’t forget the love that I had borne
for so long for Dillon O’Shea. I asked Araxius, one day, how long
it would take – to forget everything that I had known during those
years. He told me exactly the same thing that I have told you. That
if I chose to forget, I would forget everything. It was a choice he
said he had made and he was able to do his job efficiently as a
result. I, personally, found Araxius Herodotus the coldest soul I
had ever encountered. I understood a lot of it was his back ground,
having been a military man of the Roman Empire. As you know, some
things do not leave the soul when they cross to the spirit realm. I
looked to Araxius for guidance when I was at a point in my work
that I could not pass the emotions it was creating. He was my
mentor, but I looked at him and realized I did not want to be so
cold. I was a poet. I depended on my emotions.