When Death Loved an Angel (9 page)

***

Was it coincidence that the stairs brought him a block from the hospital? Death didn’t know. Part of him wanted to run straight to Nyra and tell her about the little boy; the other part warned that she would never speak to him again if she knew he was Death. It was better if he stayed away. She could only be hurt by being around him. Yet his feet took him to Gregan’s door.

It felt like he blinked and he was there, but the moments it took to find Nyra near the window felt like the longest of his existence. There she stood, encircled in golden hair, her gaze on the cars that passed without knowledge of the heartache contained in the tiny room. The syncopated rhythm of the monitors was almost musical to his ears, like a song of welcome. He chuckled; it wasn’t quite the welcome he had thought of on the subway.

Nyra turned at the sound. Upon seeing him, her gaze changed from searching and lost to warmth and happiness in an instant. The knowledge that he was the reason for the change warmed Death’s heart. He put a hand to his chest, aware that
his heart had started beating again.

“It’s a bit quiet her
e without you,” Nyra admitted. A hint of red stole across her cheeks. Death thought it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I’ll get here sooner tomorrow,” he promised, his voice tight.

“I’d like that,” she replied shyly.

He took a seat next to the bed
, choosing a safer topic. “How’s Gregan?”

She looked at the still form fondly. “The doctors say his numbers are looking better.”

Death frowned for a second. He had never truly considered what would happen if Gregan woke up. Nyra would be able to be the man’s guardian once more. She would leave.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

Death shook his head, clearing the thoughts. If he had learned anything in the past few days, it was to appreciate the few peaceful moments he had. “It’s nothing,” he said.

She didn’t press him. Instead, she asked, “What was the best thing that happened to you today?”

Taken by surprise, he said the first thing that came to his mind. “A little boy smiled at me.” He heard his words and held up a hand. “That sounded creepy.” He made a mental note to think before he spoke next time.

She laughed. “I think it’s sweet.”

He grinned, his first real grin. “It’s just that kids are usually scared of me,” he said truthfully. “It was nice to talk.” He had saved the boy’s life instead of taking it. Stevie’s name throbbed on Death’s arm.

Nyra
gave an understanding smile. “Children are wary of strangers.”

“I’m pretty strange,” he said, drawing another laugh from her.

She crossed closer to him, her smile warm. “What did you talk about?”

“He asked why I was in the subway.” Death rubbed his arm subconsciously. “His name was Stevie.”

Nyra’s face lit up. “I used to be a guardian for a boy named Stevie. That was way before Gregan, but the boy needed every moment of my time. I could barely get away for Accounting.” Her expression changed when she said the last sentence. Sadness brushed past her eyes the way a cloud covered the sun, casting shadows in its path.

Death’
s heartbeat slowed. “What’s wrong?” he asked. He wanted to hold out a hand to her, to comfort her the way people comforted each other all over the world. It was only with the strongest self-control that he was able to keep still. He watched her intently, searching for the source of her sorrow.

She gave a shrug, a mere movement of light around her. “Nothing you would be able to help with,” she said. She smiled at him. “But I’m happy you made a friend.”

Death was lost for a second, then he realized she was talking about Stevie. “I guess so,” he said. Silence fell between them, then he had an idea. “Want to hear a memory?”

“I would love to.” She leaned forward, listening eagerly.

Death closed his eyes, remembering Rosemary’s thoughts. “All my friends were in the lake. It was a summer day so hot the air shimmered, making everything look like a mirage. The lake was the only place to be.” Death felt the heat creeping down the back of his neck. The water below looked like a giant mirror reflecting the pale blue sky. The rope felt rough beneath his fingers. “I swung and landed in the lake with a splash that soaked everyone. The water was cool and felt the way a cold glass of lemonade bites at your throat on a warm day. It was perfect.”

He sat back in the chair, caught between both worlds. The memory felt so real. Rosemary had given him a priceless gift. He had fulfilled her last request. His throat tightened. He cleared it and sat forward, rubbing his face with both hands. “Sorry,” he said. “I got a little carried away.”

“It was beautiful,” Nyra breathed.

Death looked up to see her near the corner of Gregan’s bed. Her fingers trailed over the sheets. Death wondered if she could feel it.

Her eyes were bright and gaze distant when she said, “I felt like I was there.”

“Me
too,” Death said softly.

“What
do you mean?”

He fought back an embarrassed smile. “Sometimes memories feel so real.” He
recognized the lessening sensation he was beginning to associate with his form changing. He rose. “I’ve got to go.” At the look on her face, he gave a gentle smile. “But I’ll be back tomorrow, I promise.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Goodnight, Nyra.” He headed for the door.

“Goodnight, um,” she paused, then said, “I don’t know your name.”

Death turned slowly.

The smile she gave him showed her embarrassment. “I feel like I know you so well, yet I don’t even know your name. I don’t think it ever came up,” she said. “I feel so callous.”

“My name is De-” he caught himself. He could give away everything. If he told her, he would no longer be living a charade, hiding behind a façade as Gregan’s brother. She would know who he was and he wouldn’t have to pretend any longer. But when he was pretending, he felt the most like himself. He thought quickly. “Devon. My name is Devon.”

She smiled. “Devon. It fits you.”

He opened the door. “See you tomorrow.” He shut it and leaned against it for a minute; feeling left his hands. His heart gave a quick staccato beat, then it faded away.

“Devon,” he heard Nyra muse through the door. “I like Devon.”

His heartbeat started again so fast he worried it might burst out of his chest.

***

She didn’t mean it that way
, he told himself as he made his way back to his apartment, yet one side of him hoped it was true.
I like Devon
. She just meant the name, that’s all. Nothing more.
But what if?

Death shook himself as he walked through the closed door of his apartment. He wished he could slam it shut. Somehow that would feel better, an outlet for all his pent-up frustration. He fell onto the bed and closed his eyes. Soon enough it would be a new day with new names. His thoughts refused to stop whirling; he kept seeing Nyra’s smile when he told her about jumping into the lake. It wasn’t even his memory. He had stolen it; he
had told her a lie.

I never really said it was my memory
, he reminded himself.
I asked her if she wanted to hear
a
memory. I never told her it was mine. It’s semantics, really.

He put his hands over his face, willing his brain to shut up. It was strange not being able to feel his own face, like his fingers rested on nothing. He rubbed his eyes hard, but couldn’t feel it
. He slammed his hands down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. Mold from a leak in the roof ate at the corner; a brown stain ran down the wall from the leak to the floor. A crack showed at the opposite corner and reached almost to the middle of the ceiling. The light turned on when it wanted to, which was usually when he didn’t want it to. The dangling chain that hung from it had stopped being an effective way to turn on the bare bulb long ago, and since Death never had any use for light, he had stopped caring.

A mouse squeaked in the kitchen. Since Death couldn’t taste, he never kept food in there. It baffled him that the rodents and bugs kept coming back even though there wasn’t anything to eat. He supposed they liked the company. They didn’t even have the decency to scatter on the few occasions he stood in the kitchen. Apparently they felt like the apartment was theirs because they at least were substantial enough to leave droppings and make a mess everywhere.

The bulb flickered on overhead. Death flung an arm over his eyes to shut out the light. He was sure the place wasn’t up to code, though he doubted he would die from whatever diseases the apartment harbored. Death with mold would certainty give people a reason to run from him.

He groaned and rolled over.
How does Nyra even stand me?
he asked. He shut his eyes again, and his world revolved.

Chapter Eighteen

ANGEL

Nyra couldn’t get Devon’s expression out of her mind. She stood next to the door where he had been. His visits were so brief, yet she found herself musing on them long after he had gone. There was such warmth in his eyes when he told her about the lake. The fact that he had shared such a memory with her meant more than she expressed to him. Such a thing was priceless, something to be treasured.

When he was talking about the lake, she saw something in his eyes. He no longer looked worn as though he had seen too much of the world. His face lit up, his smile softened his countenance, and she saw the little boy who grabbed the rope and jumped into the cold water. Something had changed inside of her at that moment. She couldn’t stop smiling as she thought about him. Even though nobody could see her, she felt ridiculous as she grinned
at the thought of him returning the next evening.

“Stop it,” she scolded herself out loud. It was bad enough that she had fallen for Gregan. Now she had feelings for his brother? She shook her head. It couldn’t be. Yet as she stood near Gregan’s bed and watched his sleeping form, she couldn’t help thinking of the dark-haired, gray-eyed brother who sat in the chair looking as though every care in the world rested on his shoulders.

Chapter Nineteen

DEATH

Three names now. Death stared at the list on his arm. Gregan Parker, Julia Mills, and Steven Montgomery stood out at the top of the list and darker than the rest. Death sighed and pushed off the bed.
He made his way to the street where several people were clustered on a corner. Curious, he reached them in time to see a man in a red shirt punch the face of a skinny man with scraggly hair. The skinny man tackled the other one to the ground. A woman stood near them with a hand to her mouth. A purse lay forgotten on the ground.

The red shirted man grabbed the skinny one by the arm, looped a leg around his
knee, and in a second had the skinny man on his back and was pummeling him thoroughly. “Think you’re smart, stealing purses?” the man asked before slamming him with another haymaker to the jaw.

The skinny man’s head bounced off the pavement. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, but he continued to glare at the man on top of him.

“Someone call the police,” the man in the red shirt said. Cell phones appeared from the crowd.

“Zach, be careful,” the woman on the sidewalk
called in a trembling voice.

Death’s
arm throbbed at the name. He pulled up his sleeve and his stomach clenched at the name Zachary Varnes. The woman screamed. He looked up in time to see the purse snatcher pull a knife from his pocket and stab Zach in the stomach. Zach gasped. Two other men ran forward and caught the purse snatcher before he could get away. Zach fell to the pavement.

“Zach, no!” the woman yelled. She dropped
to her knees by his side. Death stood next to her. Zach’s eyes were glazing over. The angle of the knife cut up through his chest, no doubt puncturing a lung and cutting other vital organs. Death knelt next to the woman. “You’re going to be okay,” she said over and over again.

Zach clutched his stomach around the knife. His hands were already covered in blood. Everyone in the crowd stood frozen, unsure
how to help. In Death’s insubstantial form, there was nothing he could do except end the man’s pain. Death closed his eyes and reached out a hand.

“Zach, stay with me,” the woman begged.

As soon as Death touched him, memories began to race.

He
saw Zach as a boy at a baseball game. A ball raced toward him. A sharp crack sounded when the ball connected with the bat. It flew over the heads of the other players and across the field. Zach let out a whoop and raced around the bases. The memory shifted. Lights glittered around a tree. Voices argued in the next room. Zach sat next to a young girl; they exchanged a look as if hearing their parents argue wasn’t anything new. Zach tossed a candy cane at his sister. She giggled and unwrapped it. The scent of peppermint touched the air.

A star-spotted sky stretched as far as the eye could see.
Zach stood on top of a mountain outcropping, viewing the valley from hundreds of feet above it.

“It’s so beautiful,” a girl breathed. The view shifted and
Death saw the woman who knelt by Zach on the street. She was younger; her hair was dark instead of blonde, but her blue eyes were the same. The way she looked at Zach, it was obvious to see the love in them.

“
Not as beautiful as you, Trish,” Zach said. He dropped to one knee on the dusty ground. Her hand flew to her face. “Please marry me and make me the happiest man on earth,” he said.

“Yes, yes!” she replied. Her
hand shook as he slipped the ring on her finger.

He rose and gathered her in a tight hug. Still holding her,
he shouted over the valley, “I’m the happiest man in the world!”

She laughed, then stumbled slightly.

“What is it?” Zach asked, suddenly filled with concern. “Is it your heart?”

“I just need to rest a minute,” she said. “It’s so exciting.”

He led her to the car and quickly opened the door. He helped her inside, then watched her anxiously. She gave a little laugh. “I’m alright, Zach.” She put a hand over her heart. “It’s just a little flutter, that’s all. I’m just so happy.”

He knelt by the open door and took her hands in his. The ring on her finger caught the starlight, splashing them both with small
rainbow dots. “I promise I’ll take care of you, Trish. You’ll never have to worry again.”

Death’s arm gave a strong throb. He opened his eyes in time to see the woman fall to the ground. Spectators rushed over to her. The sound of an ambulance siren
pierced the air. Death looked down at the next name on his arm. Patricia Varnes. He swallowed against the lump that tightened his throat. Her hand was on Zach’s chest, her eyes already closed. Death took a shuddering breath and covered her hand with his own.

“Say yes,” a little girl with Trish’s big blue eyes demanded.

“Fine. Yes,” a little boy with a shock of blonde hair replied.

Trish giggled and spun in a circle. “Then we’re married!” She turned to
a row of stuffed animal bears and dollies that had been set up on the grass. “I’m Mrs. Johnny Tisdale,” she said, giggling. She picked up a bear. “This is our son. You have to take care of him now.” She pushed the bear into the boy’s unwilling arms. He grumbled and sat on the grass. Trish picked up a dolly. “This is our daughter. I’m going to take her shopping.” She tucked the dolly in the crook of her elbow and skipped across the lawn to a little playhouse.

The memories shifted.
Death saw an older Trish crying on a bed with maroon blankets. A woman with eyes a shade darker than Trish’s rubbed her back. “It’ll be alright, darling,” her mother spoke in gentle, soothing tones.

“I hate boys,” Trish said, burying her head in the pillows. “Why do they have to be so stupid?”

“He’s trying his best,” her mother said.

Trish moved slightly and the picture she clutched came into view. It was a wrinkled photograph of Zach, young and in army fatigues. He didn’t smile in the picture, but he looked proud, his jaw straight and gaze toward the camera as if promising to protect the world. “I don’t want him to go,” Trish sobbed.

“He’s very brave,” her mother said. “You should be proud of him.”

She sniffed. “I am,” she finally admitted. “I just miss him so badly.”

Her mother tucked Trish’s hair behind her ear. “Did you take your medicine, honey?”

Trish shook her head.

“Come on then. I’ll make us some lemonade,” her mother offered.

Trish was silent fo
r a few seconds, then nodded. “I would like that,” she said softly.

Memories changed until Death saw an auditorium with flags hanging from every wall. Banners that proclaimed ‘Welcome home Zach
ary’ were strung across the doorways. A podium was set up and an older gentleman in a dark green uniform was speaking.

Death s
potted Zach on the stage. He looked the same, yet different. Something had changed in his eyes. He studied the people sitting below him as if seeing them for the first time. He had protected them with his life, and now he was back. Things he had seen shadowed the depths of his gaze, but the smile on his face was genuine. When his gaze met Trish’s, there was so much love nothing could stand in their way.

Death stepped back from the pair. His heart gave two shuddering beats, one for each soul he had shown the path to the gateway. They looked so peaceful together on the street, their eyes closed and Trish’s hand on Zach’s. What he wo
uld have given to let them live; yet the life they had experienced together was so beautiful.

Death walked away with his head low and eyes clouded. The
names disappeared from his arm. He sat on a stoop of a bakery shop wishing he could smell the rolls and bread being baked within; those who passed by commented on how good it smelled. At least it would distract him from the heaviness in his chest. Some walked through him in or out of the bakery. They paused when they did so. One commented that a storm must be coming because the air felt chilly; another felt like crying, but couldn’t explain why. Death ignored them and kept his head bowed, wondering what the point was.

“He’s having a heart attack!” someone yelled down the street.

“Not again,” Death said quietly. He usually had to go looking for the names on his list. For some reason now they were finding him.

Death looked up to see several people easing an older gentleman to his back on the sidewalk. He clutched his left arm and his face was twisted in agony. Wrinkles lined his skin, but they looked like they were caused by smiling
rather than age. His hair was white and covered by a tan and orange cap that matched one worn by a young boy who knelt at his side. The boy looked up at a man who was no doubt his father by their identical eyes and the worried pucker between their eyebrows.

“Dad, Dad, can you hear me?” the man asked.

“Jeremy, is he going to be alright?” a young lady cried, clutching the older man’s arm.

“Grandpa!” the boy called frantically, “
Grandpa!”

Death’s arm gave a twinge. He didn’t look down. He crossed slowly to the group. A man with red hair was talking quickly on a cellphone. By the sound of it, he was giving directions to the paramedics. The woman next to him held an infant in her arms. Her eyes were filled with tears.

Another young man stood with his arm around an older woman whose hair was gray and laugh lines matched those of the man on the ground. She repeated a name over and over again. “Gordon, Gordon, it’s going to be okay. Gordon, please don’t leave me.” She tried to kneel down, but she held a cane and the man beside her braced her up.

“It’s going to be alright, Mom. The ambulance is on its way, right Jeff?”

The man on the cellphone nodded, but continued giving speaking into the phone.

“I’m not ready.”

Death looked down to see Gordon Jacobson looking directly at him. The older man’s eyes were wide with pain, but he was lucid and his aged green eyes bored into Death’s. “I’m not ready,” he repeated.

Death crouched outside the ring of people that surrounded the man. “The list says you are,” he told Gordon.

Gordon looked up at his wife. She clutched the arm of their son and tears rolled down her face. He shook his head. “I can’t go yet.”

“Look at me, Dad,” one of the sons said frantically. The grandson with the matching hat held Gordon’s hand as though it was a lifeline.

“I’m not supposed to leave you,” Death said.

“Just for a while longer,” Gordon replied, his voice calm even through the pain.

“Who’s he talking to?” a woman asked, her tone tight with worry.

“What difference will it make?” Death pressed. It was the most important question, one he had to know the answer to.

In answer, the air sparked between them. Death saw images in his mind. They weren’t memories. The edges shimmered and distorted.

He saw Gordon watching a graduation. The grandson who wore the matching hat walked across a stage filled with other students. A sign in front of the podium said “Congratulations 8
th
graders!” The image shifted. Death watched a baby as it was brought into the world. The dad smiled and patted Gordon on the back. “Twenty grandchildren, Pops. What a legacy!”

The final scene appeared in a blur of white. They were in a different hospital room. This time Gordon’s wife was on the bed. He held her hand, his gaze soft. “You promised to take care of me,” the woman said in a voice softer than a whisper. “You’ve done that and so much more. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Gordon leaned over and kissed her forehead, his tears mingling with hers. “I won’t be far behind,” he whispered.

She smiled and closed her eyes.

Death took a shuddering breath and lifted his gaze to where Gordon lay on the sidewalk. “I promised,” Gordon said.

Death nodded. He rose and watched them load Gordon onto a stretcher. Gordon lifted a hand as he was wheeled to the ambulance. Death waved his in return. He drifted back the way he had come. The telling throb of the name on his arm told of another job left incomplete. He
returned to the steps of the bakery.

All at once, the smells came to him. He jerked his head around, staring wide-eyed at the open door behind him. Scents of rolls, sourdough, wheat buns, and loaves of bread tangled around him like a spider web, overwhelming him with the amazing smells. He rose in a daze and wandered through the door. Inside, people bought loaves and baguettes, packages of rolls and buns. He watched money exchange hands, and saw a little girl lick her lips at the prospect of a
cinnamon roll.

Death laughed.

In his memory, he had never laughed, hadn’t so much as smiled, except for the one that brought the women to him and got him whatever he wanted; but that wasn’t him, not really. The laughter that rolled from his chest came from deep down in places he hadn’t known light existed until it escaped from him in waves. He inhaled the scent of yeast and butter, salt and the heat of ovens, and let out the breath with laughter that doubled him over and had him clutching his stomach.

He didn’t know why it was so funny, or why he felt so good when he stood gasping for bread-scented air, but he couldn’t stop smiling when he left the bakery. Thos
e he passed turned back to look; it wasn’t fear that tickled the backs of their necks but something else, some unexplainable sensation that made them want to smile and run away at the same time.