Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross (4 page)

“Hello, Maggie,” Mama Dee’s voice finally
sounded in Maggie’s ear and the young woman returned her attention
to the call. She could tell by the labored sound of breathing that
Mama Dee had already begun her walk towards home.

“Mama, she’s not home. She hasn’t called you,
has she?”

“No, she sure hasn’t. Did you try to call her
again?”

“Three times, no answer. Mama, something
isn’t…”

Maggie’s attention was yanked to the door by
the sound of heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. She remembered
Brigit walking out that morning with her boots on.

“What’s the matter?” Maggie heard Mama Dee
ask.

“Hang on. Someone’s coming up the stairs,”
Maggie answered as she rose from her chair and hurried to the door.
She pressed her eye to the peep hole and frowned at the sight of
two uniformed policemen on the other side. “Mama, it’s the
police.”

“What do they want?”

A loud knock caused Maggie to jerk her head
back from where she peered out at the two very serious looking men.
Slowly, she opened the door with her free hand. Mama Dee was still
on the phone, Maggie knew, but the sense that these men had bad
news caused the woman to forget her previous conversation.

“Maggie Devon?” The first officer spoke,
perhaps more sternly than Maggie cared for.

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“Do you know a Brigit Malone?” he asked in
reply to her question.

“Yes. Is she in trouble?” Maggie asked
quickly. The sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach returned
with such a force that caused her head to start spinning.

“I’m afraid we have some bad news…” was all
Mama Dee heard over the phone before the screaming started.

Maggie hit her knees in the agony that ripped
through her gut. Her worst fear had broken free.

Brigit had tried to stop Maggie from going to
the door when the policemen had returned to deliver the news of
‘the accident’. As soon as she had walked through the door, Brigit
had jumped to her feet and began the useless rant about what had
happened to cause her delay. It was only when Maggie had called
Mama Dee that Brigit grasped the fact that Maggie could not see or
hear her.

As the realization sank in, Brigit had gone
to the window and looked out. She could see him – John Blackwick –
standing on the sidewalk across the street. He was leaning against
the wall of the building with his hands in his trouser pockets.
Even from the second floor through the heavy darkness, Brigit could
feel his ice blue eyes boring into her. Anger began to well up from
her gut as she returned his stare. It was only when she saw the
police car pull up to the curb in front of her building that she
broke her gaze and her attention snapped back to Maggie.

Mama Dee had arrived as quickly as she could.
Brigit had watched helplessly as one of the policemen noticed the
cell phone in Maggie’s fist. Gently, he took it from her and handed
it to his partner as he tried to coax Maggie from where she had
crumpled to the floor to the sofa. His partner, noticing that there
was a call still active, quickly began instructing the person on
the other end to please come at once. When the call was ended,
Brigit watched him place the phone on the table where they normally
tossed their keys and assist his partner in helping the hysterical
woman from the floor over to the sofa. It was only when Mama Dee
arrived that the policemen took their leave after giving her some
final instructions regarding identifying Brigit’s body.

Brigit never felt so helpless in her life as
she watched her partner falling apart and their dearest friend
trying to comfort her while grieving as well. Finally, Brigit
turned away again and returned to the window. The sobbing of the
two women who had loved her most pierced her brain. The sound
branded itself in her ears as she looked out at the darkness that
had completely shrouded the street below.

He was still there. He had moved from leaning
against the wall to leaning against the post of the street light
that blazed brightly against the darkness of the night. Their gazes
locked again and Brigit wondered momentarily why he was stalking
her. As they stared each other down, she searched her memory
thoroughly for any hint of a John Blackwick in it.

After what seemed like hours, she finally
came to the conclusion that they had never crossed paths before. By
the time she found this conclusion, Maggie had fallen asleep and
Mama Dee could be heard shuffling around in the kitchen. An
occasional sniffle indicated her tears were still falling as she
washed that morning’s breakfast dishes the girls had left in the
sink.

Brigit finally ceded her position at the
window and stood over Maggie as she slept on the sofa. Mama Dee had
covered her with the plaid throw they kept over the back of the
sofa. They had spent many a cool evening snuggled beneath it as
they watched T.V. It wasn’t a heavy blanket, but it was warm enough
to create a sense of coziness when shared with the one she
loved.

Brigit reached out to smooth back a curl from
Maggie’s brow. She was startled to find that it would not move. Her
fingers passed through it, sending a shiver down Maggie’s features.
Brigit felt her lip begin to quiver as she raised her hand to look
at it again. She still appeared solid. She had felt the warmth of
Maggie’s skin as she had brushed her forehead. Yet, it confused her
that she was unable to feel anything else. As she turned away from
her sleeping partner, she could feel her heart beginning to ache
with the thought she would never again be able to touch Maggie with
the familiarity that she had known before this evening’s event.

The funeral was on a Wednesday. Despite the
crisp chill that was in the air, the sun was shining and the sky
was clear. It seemed such a contrast to the feeling that seemed to
prevail in the energy surrounding the services and the subsequent
funeral procession through the cemetery to the site where Brigit’s
body was to be interred.

Brigit stood beside Maggie, unable to cease
her irritated stare at the row of faces on the other side of the
dark brown casket that held her body. Maggie should have been the
one sitting there – not the one standing through her grief; but
then, if Maggie had remained in charge, none of this scene would
have been happening in the first place, Brigit mused. The party
would have already started.

She had come to accept the fact that she was
indeed dead during the course of the last week, but none of this
was part of her final wishes. She had-had the conversation a few
times with Maggie regarding the disposal of her remains should
anything happen. They had made the agreement to cremation. Their
final instructions were to combine their ashes and then throw them
from the highest peak their friends could find. Even in death, they
had mapped out the intent to always be together. Brigit stared hard
at the casket containing her body and frowned. The map had been
shredded, torn from Maggie’s hands before she could even realize
it. Brigit had suspected it would happen as soon as Maggie had made
the phone call to the woman she had never met.

Her eyes rested on the woman sitting directly
in the middle of the family row. She wondered why her mother had
bothered to show. She wondered how, after so many years, Liana
Evans could suddenly have a care about any part of Brigit’s life –
or death.

Actually, she didn’t wonder. She knew.

Liana was hoping to snag the spotlight. She
would be the grieving mother who had lost her only child in a
bizarre accident. She would rue her actions as a homophobic mother
that had shunned her daughter for being an embarrassment. She would
lament her grief at never knowing how happy her daughter had been,
how strong she had been to make a choice that went against all the
rules of her conservative upbringing just to be happy with someone
who had filled her heart with so much love. Liana Evans, though,
would never admit that Brigit had truly been happy though. She
would eventually find some way to belittle the life Brigit had
shared with Maggie.

Brigit imagined Liana at the dinner after the
funeral. What she imagined made her smile. Her friends – their
friends – would easily see through Liana. They had all lived
through their own hardships with the lives they had been born into,
with the paths they had walked to find their own peace and
happiness with their place in the world. Brigit smiled because she
knew that, standing behind her, were some bigger drama queens than
Liana Evans could ever imagine being.

Brigit eyed her mother with amusement. Liana
was dressed well, meaning to draw attention to herself; but the
drama queens in the crowd behind her were in drag. Their glitz and
glamour having gone all out to show their celebration and
admiration for their friend lost too early. The sequins and feather
boas, the lipstick and beehive wigs, the broad rimmed ladies’ hats
brought more attention and festivity to the service than Brigit
could have hoped for. Today, they had Liana beat hands down.

Brigit turned to her right and smiled faintly
as Mama Dee brought a handkerchief to her eye. She watched the
older woman dab away the tear and sniff lightly as the preacher
droned on the final words of the burial rite. Behind her, she could
hear the quiet sniffles of the people who had been her and Maggie’s
friends. In Brigit’s opinion, they should all be standing on the
family side – not the people who were sitting there.

A movement in the trees behind the family row
caught Brigit’s attention and she stiffened. He was there, looking
the same as he had every day since their meeting in the alley
leading to The Black Cat Club. His hands were shoved in his
trousers and he had that infuriatingly patient look on his face as
he locked eyes with her. Brigit suddenly felt her anger spark as
the final words from the preacher reached through to her brain:
ashes to ashes, dust to dust
…

Quickly, Brigit left the group surrounding
the grave and strode across the lawn toward John Blackwick. She
could feel her anger sparking in an effort to ignite as she
approached him. He made no effort to move despite the obvious look
of intent on her face. Instead, a gentle smile came to his face as
he waited for her to confront him.

“What the hell do you want?” Brigit demanded
when she was within earshot of him.

“A conversation, Brigit Malone, that’s all,”
he replied.

Brigit stopped three feet from him, her hands
clenched into fists at her side. She wanted so badly to strike out
at him physically. She had the feeling, however, that it would not
wipe the smile from his face.

“You’ve been stalking me all week. What could
we possibly have to talk about?”

“I have a proposition for you.” John
Blackwick revealed.

“Regarding what?” Brigit demanded. Her voice
was shaking. Her anger was rising. She hated being pushed to the
point where her anger would take control of her. It had always been
such a draining emotion and Brigit had often been able to avoid it
easily. Today, at the sight of John Blackwick, her anger suddenly
seemed too near the surface and she didn’t care.

“I have a job offer.”

“A job offer? I’m dead, Mr. Blackwick, as you
so eloquently pointed out last week. What kind of job can a ghost
do?” He wasn’t making any sense to her and it seemed to only urge
her anger to rise all the quicker.

“There is a point, Brigit, where phantoms
have the potential to become something more. You possess skills
that I am most interested in and it is obvious to me that you have
no intention of letting go of the life you had. I have a way to
maintain some level of connection to it, if that is your true
intention. It’s a choice you have to make, darling.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Brigit snapped
at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about an opportunity to remain.
Are you interested?”

Brigit glared hard at him. The urge to raise
her fist and punch him square in the nose was still riding through
her mind even though a tiny spark of interest was beginning to form
behind the urge. She kept her silence as he reached inside his
breast pocket and withdrew a small business card before extending
it out to her.

“If you think about it, meet me at the
Bleecker Street Café tomorrow and I’ll explain your options.
Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to carry out my assignment in
regard to you, Brigit Malone.” There was a suddenly a serious tone
to his words and Brigit felt a small shiver run down her spine.
Something about the seemingly serene man before her suddenly felt
very menacing.

“Is that a threat?” She asked, her own tone
matching the seriousness of his.

“No, love, it’s a promise.”

Brigit snapped the card quickly from John
Blackwick’s extended hand and spun on her heel, turning her back on
him. As she strode away, she heard his voice in her head.

“Enjoy the celebration of your memory,
Brigit. Soon, their lives will move on and you will still be here.
Make your choice wisely, love…”

Brigit had gone home along with the crowd
that had attended her funeral. Once there, the food was brought out
and the wine began to flow. Her friends had spared no expense in
honoring her memory. They had hired caterers and ordered Brigit’s
favorite wine by the case. Glass upon glass was filled as stories
were told about their various experiences with Brigit Malone and
Maggie Devon. Accolades were posthumously lain out for all to see
and agree and exalt as the autumn sun passed quickly through the
sky and began to descend to his resting place on the other side of
the world. Brigit watched the face of each person as they spoke,
sometimes through tears, sometimes through laughter and she found
herself tapping into the emotions swirling inside them. With the
amount of bodies crowded into the main room of their apartment,
feeling the energy was easy for Brigit. They had never entertained
such a large gathering before.