When Death Loved an Angel (4 page)

Chapter Six

ANGEL

Nyra stared at the door Death had passed through. She wasn’t sure what had just happened, or why he gave in, but there was something in his gaze, something lost and searching. He wasn’t what she had expected Death to be at all.

When he almost touched her, the look of dismay on his face had been colored with something that almost looked like fear for her safety. Why would Death fear for the safety of a guardian angel? If anything, she got in the way of him performing his job. She grimaced at the term.

How could someone take killing others so lightly? That was what he did, after all; he had stated it so bluntly himself. Yet had there been disdain in his words? She almost believed that Death hated what he did. Something was in the way he looked at Gregan and reached out the hand to touch him as though wishing he didn’t have to. Could it be that Death was as reluctant to take Gregan as she was to give him up? Did he dislike being Death?

She enjoyed being a guardian angel. She told herself that many times after Death left. There had been a moment when she wanted to reach out and take his hand, when she wanted to see if his touch would truly kill her. She didn’t know if she could die, or if her existence would really be considered living for that matter. In that moment, though, she had almost wished to cease her existence.

The thought terrified her more than anything. What would she be if she wasn’t a guardian angel? She couldn’t return to her previous life. That had been taken away long ago. She ached at the thought of a gentle hand on her arm and the brush of fingers sweeping her hair behind her ear.
There were times she regretted remembering what it felt like, yet she held onto the feelings in fear that they would vanish and she would forget her previous life entirely. It had been so long since anyone had been able to touch her.

Yet Death almost had, and his touch might have been the end of her entirely. She
vowed to stay away from him. He was dangerous even though his dark eyes beckoned to her, their depths haunted with pain and loneliness, stark within the shadows that surrounded him. Why couldn’t she stop thinking about those eyes?

Chapter Seven

DEATH

Death took two women home from the bar that night. They laughed and fought over who got his attentions. He let them drive him to distraction, but sent them on their way as soon as he grew tired of their ear-splitting voices and sharp perfume. Both women stumbled down the stairs on heels too high for their ankles to support. They complained loudly in the street about their unsatisfactory entertainer. He was tempted to shout down that they had invited themselves, but he knew better; no one could resist Death’s twisted smile, his charming ways, and the hint of danger that lurked in his gaze. He loathed himself.

“What is wrong with me?” he asked his reflection in the mirror. One eye hovered higher than the other, an illusion of the broken glass. He wondered if the women would have gone home with him if he had truly looked that way.
On impulse, he ran a finger along the break. His living body gave an uncomfortable throb of pain. He stared at the wound; two drops of blood oozed from the gap only to be absorbed back inside. Within seconds, his skin closed together again without leaving any sign that it had ever been broken.

Death
stalked back to the kitchen he never used. Rust ate at the sink and the refrigerator hadn’t been plugged in for years. The apartment itself came from a tenant whose name had been on his list. The owner had been a family man, but one with a wandering heart. He used the apartment solely to satiate an appetite for other women, one which eventually led to his heart failure. Since the rent had been paid for through the man’s trust, no one bothered to check the minimal expense. Death had lived there uncontested long enough to feel like the apartment was home.

He saw it now with different eyes. He would never show Nyra his place, not that she would want to see it. It was disgusting and slovenly, a hole suitable only for the rodents and pests that frequented its empty cupboards. Yet it was his home?
The thought came out as a question, surprising him. Death rubbed the back of his neck, then dropped his hand and cursed the habits of the living. He didn’t need a home. The world was his and the names on his arm proved his occupation.

He slumped on a chair and studied the one name still written there. He ran a finger over the marks, mere shapes that made up sounds his brain put together, forming words. It was amazing, really, that such marks dictated his life. What if he couldn’t read them? What if they meant nothin
g to his brain? What would he do if he wasn’t Death?”

“What’s your name?”
Nyra’s voice repeated in his mind.

He bowed his head, then laced his fingers over it, pulling his elbows to his knees. He had vowed to stay away from the hospital when he was in living form, yet all he wanted to do was talk to Nyra not as Death, but as someone else, the man she trusted. He was not that man!

All the same, he rose from the seat and found himself at the door. He forced his fingers to turn the doorknob. The hinges opened with a soft squeak. He listened to his footsteps down the stairs, a thump that was dull and lifeless compared to the hurried staccato of the annoyed women who had traveled down before. He preferred the dull thump.

His time living was short
. He reminded himself of that as he pushed open the door to Gregan’s room. His heart leaped at the sight of Nyra standing by the lone window. He pretended not to notice and took the chair by Gregan’s bedside.

He was glad she spoke first. “I think he’s doing better,” she said, though the uncertainty in her voice contradicted her words.

He nodded, his eyes on the tubes in Gregan’s mouth and sticking into his arms. Gregan looked the exact same as the day before. “I think so.” It felt strange to reassure someone about a person he was supposed to take.

She crossed the room toward him. He looked up at her in an effort to slow her advance. “What do you do when you’re not here?”

She paused, which was exactly what he wanted; however, he found himself curious about her reply. “I’m here most of the time,” she said, her answer cautious.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he said
off-handedly. “I’m just attempting to distract myself from Gregan’s condition. It’s no big deal.” He shrugged as though it didn’t matter.

She reached out as if she wanted to set a hand on his shoulder. He rose and moved out of the way, pretending to be interested in a sign on the wall about oxygen use.

“I go to the Place of Accounting,” she said, breaking the silence.

Intrigued, he looked back at her. “What are you accounting for?”

“All guardian angels have to keep a tally of what they do, how they help those under their guardianship. It’s not always easy.”

Death leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “Whispering in their ears, guiding them in the right direction. What’s hard about that?” He realized as soon as
he said them that the words were flippant, but they were out and he couldn’t take them back.

Instead of being offended, Nyra’s mouth showed the hints of a smile. Her eyes creased slightly at the corners when she answered him. “Humans are also accountable. Life is about the choices they make, the direction they decide to take. If guardian angels push too far
, we take away their ability to choose for themselves.”

“And if they
decide not to listen?” he looked at Gregan pointedly.

“Then there’s nothing we can do,” she said quietly.

“If it’s his own choice that put him here, why are you so heartbroken?” The words came out gentler than he intended. He was Death. He didn’t care about anyone. Yet the sorrow in Nyra’s eyes ate at the empty place in his chest. He swallowed and felt his heart give a shuddering beat. He willed it to stay still, but her gaze rested on him. Her sad smile made it beat again, then again. He took a seat next to the bed and tried to distract himself from the feeling of her eyes on him.

“I tried to warn him,” she said, unaware of
his internal struggle. “I could feel something was wrong, but he didn’t listen. He always heeded my warnings, but he was in a hurry.” She sighed softly. He wondered if angels needed to breathe, or if she chose to. “I spoke to Mark Jeffrey’s angel.” Worry touched her eyes. “We’re not supposed to do that.”

He
held up both hands. “I’m not going to tell,” he said gently with a smile, another real smile that felt foreign but welcome on his face.

She gave an answering smile. “I guess not.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so human
he had to remind himself that he spoke to an angel. Her gaze avoided his. “We aren’t supposed to question if another angel did their job, but Mark Jeffrey’s angel said she tried to tell him not to drive drunk. He had just lost his job and didn’t want to tell his wife. They have five little children to support.” Her voice choked off. The empathy that filled her eyes made Death’s heart pound harder.

He broke the silence filled with her anguish. “Did Mark die?”
He couldn’t remember that name on his arm, but he took so many people it was hard to recall all of them.

She shook her head and a small grateful smile touched her lips. “He’s alright, and Sarian, his angel, said he would never drive drunk again.”

“Do you think he deserved to live?” At her look of shock, Death gestured toward Gregan. “He’s a good guy, so why should Mark get off just fine when he’s the one that made the bad decision? Why should Gregan pay?” He had never asked if anyone on his list deserved to die. Their time was up, that was all. He had a job to do and he couldn’t listen to the stories on the other side.

“Accidents happen,” Nyra replied. Her understanding tone grabbed
his heart, gripping it tight as it beat with maddening regularity. She was trying to help him feel better about Gregan’s condition. The thought made him want to laugh and cry at the same time, and Death never did either.  “That’s just the way of the world. Sometimes we can’t control it.” Her voice cracked, letting through emotions she tried to keep hidden.

Death turned his head slightly at the sound. “It’s not like you can keep him from dying if it’s his time, can you?” He was pushing it. He knew that, but he wanted to
understand why she would go to such an extreme as to argue with Death to save one life.

She looked as if she didn’t know whether to tell him or not. He was supposed to be Gregan’s brother, after all. He shouldn’t know such things. But he watched her, hoping she would continue.
“I tried,” she admitted. She swallowed and tears showed in her eyes, glittering brightly in the dull neon lighting. “I argued with Death for him.”

“For his life?” he asked, feigning surprise.  “You can do that?”

She shook her head. He let his head drop to hide his gaze from view, reminding himself that he was supposed to be a brother in mourning. “I tried,” she said again, “But I don’t think I can keep Death away very long. I’m so sorry.”

He almost jumped out of the chair when her hand touched the back of his shoulder. Warmth flooded through him so sharp and bright
Death couldn’t breathe and forgot he didn’t have to. His heart pounded so loud it echoed in his ears. Trails of fire and ice laced from her fingers through him, pain and pleasure, joy and sorrow. He felt like a drowning man reaching for air, while air existed all around him. He willed his mind to focus, but the feeling of her fingers on his shoulder distracted him from whatever she was saying. He couldn’t stand it any longer.

Death rose and rushed out the door. Whatever Nyra thought could stay with her. He vowed never to go back. He didn’t care that Gregan Parker’s name burned where it was written on his arm. He would never return to that room.

Chapter Eight

ANGEL

Nyra
stared at the closed door. The look of panic on Death’s face replayed over and over again in her mind. He couldn’t have felt her fingers on his shoulder. No one felt her touch. Guardian angels didn’t have the ability to feel or be felt. Maybe the thought of her touching him had scared him. Humans shouldn’t be able to see angels after all. Perhaps she had gone too far. Maybe he just didn’t like to be touched.

She kept seeing his face in her mind. The emotions that showed in his eyes were stark and fresh as though it was the first time he had ever felt them. She felt drawn to him and wanted to comfort him. Guardian angels couldn’t touch humans; she didn’t know why she had tried. She just wanted to ease his heartache, though he was so distraught she didn’t know what to do.

The sorrow in his eyes when he spoke about his brother was real; it made her ache to know how much he cared about Gregan. Though she had only been Gregan’s guardian angel for a few years and had never heard of his brother, the man seemed genuine, more genuine than many people in Gregan’s life.

She lingered at Gregan’s bedside until the bell sounded. She didn’t fight the pull toward the Place of Accounting
, and smiled at the other angels around her. She tried to keep her spirits high, but when she went inside and it was her turn to go to the books, the little angel met her eyes and gave a sad shake of his head. Nothing was spoken, yet so much passed between them.

She was no longer able to make an accounting because she no longer had promptings. The man she was supposed to guide didn’t listen, but she
had fought Death to keep him alive. Gregan should have died as a consequence of the accident; yet he lingered because she had begged for his life. She had defied the very principles she was supposed to use to guide him. She had gone against everything and in return lost what Death called her job. What did a jobless guardian angel do?

Lost, she wandered around the city. Nobody could see her, yet when she passed by smiles spread across faces and eyes lit up. She treasured the little differences she made in the people around her. Pausing near a doorstep, she watched a little baby roll a ball to her mom. Giggles flourished when the ball bounced against the child’s outstretched hands. The mother praised her little one and laughed with her. Nyra held in the sound, letting it fill her with joy. No matter where she was, there was still goodness in the world. It was enough to remind her to never give up.

Nyra walked until she found a walkway hidden among the busy city streets. Entering through an alley that looked just like any other, she turned to the right and found beauty before her. Roses reached from vines strung along trellises that reached clear up the sides of the two buildings that made the small walkway. She wished she could smell the scent of the flowers around her. A memory of the soft brush of a rose against her lips made a sad smile touch her face.

Nyra walked through the garden walkway with a feeling of peace as though someone had personally planted it for her to ease the ache of no longer being able to account for the things she did. Fading daylight made the rose petals glow, beautiful soft shades of orange, lavender, maroon, coral, burgundy, and violet. She touched the petals though she couldn’t feel them. She imagined the soft velvet against her fingers. It was almost enough to make her feel better about her page missing from the account book. Almost.