by Cheree Alsop
He stood and offered her his arm as the man had done for his wife. They walked quietly to the front and passed the couple paying at the desk. Death glanced at the man’s credit card. ‘Gene Varney’ was stamped across the front in worn letters. Death’s arm gave a twinge. He didn’t have to look down to know Gene’s name was the next on his list.
Smiling and a little confused by all that was happening, Death carried his to-go box and led Nyra across the park to an enclosure at the far end. Her eyes lit up when she saw where they were going.
“Ice skating!” she said excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to go.”
Death’s smile fumbled a little when he saw the clerk accepting payment and handing out skates before anyone could step into the rink, but the clerk waved them by when they neared. “The woman in front of you had a double coupon. You guys are taken care of,” he explained. “What size of skates do you need?”
Death searched the group of people stepping tentatively onto the ice. A woman with long red hair was helping a young girl tie her ice skates. The woman smiled up at him. Images flooded Death’s mind.
Rachel Minton. The name lingered in his head and tingled along his arm as he saw a young mother holding a baby with bright blue eyes. The baby put its hand on the mother’s cheek. Rachel smiled down at her little one, but there were tears in her eyes. The viewpoint moved slowly around the room. Flowers in vases sat on several spaces, a worn countertop, an end-table with cup rings circled into the wood, and on a coffee table with a folded blue piece of paper on top. Death’s heartbeat slowed at the picture on the front of the paper. A sharp-looking young man in a suit smiled in the black and white photograph. Underneath it were the words, “Darius Minton. Husband, brother, father.”
Death didn’t have to see inside to know the words of the obituary. He saw them in Rachel’s eyes. She had loved Darius with all her heart. Death remembered taking him away, a young man killed by a mugger desperate for cash.
Darius had taken care of her, but now she was alone. Not alone, Death reminded himself. She had her blue-eyed little girl. If he took her like the list on his arm demanded, the little girl would be the one alone.
A hand on his arm shook Death back to the present. He stared at Nyra wide-eyed. His heart hammered in his chest and he fought to catch his breath.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
He nodded, but couldn’t force any words out. He watched Rachel help her little girl onto the ice. With her hand clutched firmly in her mother’s, the little girl moved her feet back and forth, creating little skritch, skritch sounds as the blades of her ice skates cut swaths of snow.
“Good job, Tabitha. Now push off like this.”
“He needs to know your shoe size,” Nyra said gently, bringing Death’s attention back. At his look, Nyra gave the clerk a warm smile. “We need a minute.” She led Death to a bench in the corner. He kept his eyes on the pair.
“What is it about them that bothers you?”
Nyra’s concern brought Death’s head around. He frowned, thinking of her question. He shook his head. “They don’t bother me. It’s just. . . .” How could he tell her that Rachel was on his list? Before he met Nyra, he never would have hesitated about taking anyone. Now the consequences of such actions upset him even though he was done. He put his head in his hands.
“You can tell me,” Nyra said. She rubbed his back, her fingers tracing gentle patterns along his shirt.
It was surprisingly comforting. Death found himself giving in before he knew it. “I was supposed to take her,” he admitted, his voice gruff in his agony. “I wouldn’t have cared. I would have just touched her and she’d be gone.”
“The little girl?” Nyra asked.
“Her mother,” Death explained without looking up. “She’s a single mom whose husband died right after Tabitha was born.” His hands clenched into fists. “I remember taking him.”
Nyra was quiet for a few minutes. Sure that he was going to finally see the judgment on her face, Death tipped his head toward her. Instead, he found her staring down at his arm. He followed her gaze. The names Rachel Minton and Tabitha Minton sat below the name of the old man who had paid for the meal at the diner, Gene Varney.
Death put a hand over the names. He clenched his fingers tight, willing the names to disappear, wishing they would vanish and leave him alone instead of throbbing and reminding him what he ran away from.
“You didn’t do it,” Nyra said. She set her hand on top of his. After a minute, he gave in and allowed her to take his hand away. The names on his arm stood white against the red outline of his fingers. “They’re alright,” she continued. She ran her fingers down the names.
A shiver ran along Death’s spine at her touch. The throbbing eased. He looked back at Rachel and Tabitha. They looked so happy on the ice. Rachel skated backwards and Tabitha took tiny steps with her hands in her mom’s. It was picture perfect. He closed his eyes, holding the image in his mind.
“They’re okay because of you,” Nyra whispered in his ear.
His eyes opened and he looked at her.
“These names are still on your arm because you didn’t take them, right?” At his reluctant nod, she tipped her head toward them. “I’m proud they’re still on your arm.”
His heart gave a little flip in his chest. He pushed a hand to it, feeling it regain a steady rhythm.
“Come on, Mr. Reaper. Let’s find out your shoe size.” She stood and held out a hand.
He stared up at her. Something light tickled in his stomach. He couldn’t fight back a smile. “Mr. Reaper?”
She laughed, a light, musical sound. “Not your favorite name?”
He chuckled and stood up. “Let’s stick with Devon.”
She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. “Devon it is,” she said, light dancing in her eyes. She led him back to the desk. He followed in a daze, unsure if it was from his list or her kiss. “He doesn’t know his shoe size,” Nyra told the clerk.
At the clerk’s curious look, Death shrugged. “I don’t buy shoes often.” It came out sounding like more of a question than a statement.
The clerk came back with several pairs of skates. After trying several on, Death settled on the one that felt the least uncomfortable. He stood precariously on the blades and looked down at Nyra as she pulled on hers. “I’m not sure this was a good idea.”
She rose and walked toward the ice with the grace of someone who had been skating for years. “I’m sure we’ll get the hang of it,” she said over her shoulder, throwing him a teasing look.
He couldn’t help grinning as he followed after her. Nyra’s poise made him look like a baby just learning to walk. His balance was worse than Tabitha’s. He grabbed the wall of the ice rink and eased a foot onto the ice.
“This isn’t too bad!” Nyra exclaimed next to him. She stepped onto the ice and pushed off. Before Death could join her, Nyra’s feet slipped and she fell backwards. He dropped to his knees on the ice and caught her before she could hit the ground. She stared up at him with wide eyes. “I guess it’s a bit harder than I thought.”
He stared down at her, his heart thundering in his ears. Her eyes shone as she looked up at him. “I’m beginning to enjoy it,” he said.
“Oh you are, are you?”
“Very much,” he replied.
She smiled up at him and eased herself up carefully. He held her hand tight and stood up gingerly. When they were both standing somewhat steadily, Death looked at her. “Alright now, one foot at a time.”
“I feel like a baby,” Nyra said.
A laugh escaped Death. At her look, he shrugged. “Just what I was thinking before you stepped onto the ice and I had to save your life.”
“You didn’t save my life,” she protested, squeezing his hand.
“I think I did. It was a close one.”
“I like the ice,” she pointed out.
She slipped again and pulled Death down with her. They both landed with a jarring thud. Death la
ughed so hard he could barely breathe. Nyra joined him, her nose and cheeks red from the cold. “It likes you too,” he forced out when he could talk again.
“Yes it does,” she agreed.
Skaters flowed around the pair as they made their way to the wall to get up. “I think this is hazardous to my health,” Death said. “And that’s something I’ve never worried about before.”
“We’ll get the hang of it,” Nyra urged.
He gave in, following her close to the wall as she made her way around the rink. By the third circle, they were both doing much better. She smiled up at him. “Thank you for this.”
“Thank you for trusting me,” he said, pulling her close.
The action almost sent them both down again. “I think we’re done here,” he said.
She nodded quickly. “I think you’re right.”
Rachel and Tabitha passed them as they made their way back to the entrance. Both of them watched the mother and daughter skate, oblivious to anything but their sweet little world. Nyra’s hand tightened in Death’s. He smiled and led her to the bench.
Chapter Twenty-eight
ANGEL
Nyra watched Death eat the grilled cheese sandwich as they walked through the twilight city. The sandwich was cold, but he said it tasted almost as good as it had in the diner. He offered her a bite, but she shook her head and simply enjoyed holding his hand.
It was amazing to walk through the city streets with his hand in hers. She felt so complete, as though it was perfectly natural. She glanced at him once in a while, reminding herself that Death was the one beside her. Any fear she should have had was chased away in the warmth of his smile and the way he looked at everything around them as if seeing it for the first time. It was exactly the way she felt.
She was amazed at the feeling of the concrete beneath her feet. A breeze brushed past them and toyed with her hair. Death tucked a strand behind her ear. His fingers lingered along her cheek, caressing her skin. She turned her face toward his hand and kissed his palm. He smiled down at her. She saw her reflection in his gaze, her green eyes bright and alive as they hadn’t been for so very long. He had given her something so precious; he had helped her find herself again.
Chapter Twenty-nine
DEATH
“I never knew a day could be so amazing,” Death mused aloud. He gave Nyra an embarrassed look. “That was cheesy.”
She shook her head. “It’s exactly how I feel. It was perfect in every way.” She leaned her head against his shoulder as they made their way down the stairs to the subway.
Death’s heart gave a little catch when the gate turned without needing money to pass them through. He pulled Nyra close and walked slowly with her to the tracks. He traced his fingers up and down her arm, enjoying the softness of her skin. He wanted to kiss her again, but worried it would be too forward.
“Did you say something?” Nyra asked, looking up at him.
The expression on her face was too much to resist. He pressed his lips against hers and felt them part as he kissed her. She smiled against his lips and he stared into her eyes. Love shone through them, warming him in a rush.
No one can love Death, the voice in the back of his mind said.
Shut up, he replied, returning the passion of her kiss as he ran his fingers through her golden hair.
A yell followed by a sharp cry of pain made him jerk back. He and Nyra turned as one to find the source of the sound.
“Help!” the voice repeated.
Two women stood on the platform. One waved at them frantically. The hiss of the approaching subway train sounded down the tunnel. Death and Nyra ran toward the women. Death slowed when he saw the man on the tracks. His arm burned and the name Jason Deveritt sounded in his mind. The man’s leg stuck out at an odd angle beneath him. He moaned and tried to rise, but couldn’t put any weight on it. The train was speeding toward him.
“There’s no time,” Death said. He let go of Nyra’s hand. “Wait here!”
He ran past the two women and jumped down from the platform onto the tracks.
“It’s stuck,” the man said. He tried to muffle his cries of pain in the sleeve of his jacket. “I can’t get it out.”
“Dea-Devon, look out,” Nyra cried from the platform.
Death glanced at the subway train. It was slowing, but wouldn’t stop soon enough. He grabbed Jason’s leg and yanked. The man’s boot was wedged between the metal rails. It barely budged. Death lifted him, trying to pull the man’s leg free of the boot. The train’s horn sounded; it was too close.
Death looked at Nyra. Love and worry were bright in her gaze. She had used what she was to save Gregan. He could save Jason, but inside he knew he wouldn’t be able to get them both out of the way in time. Nyra’s eyes widened when she guessed what he was about to do.
Death grabbed Jason and pulled back. The man’s boot gave a soft pop as it slid free. Death stumbled on the railing and shoved the man up. Arms grabbed Jason’s hands.
Death turned.
He was afraid. For the first time, Death was afraid of the thing he brought to others. It wasn’t the fear of the beyond or any retaliation against his actions he dreaded. He was afraid of leaving Nyra because she was the one person who made him feel like more than just Death. He loved her.
That was his last thought when the train slammed into him. He let out a breath, her face foremost in his mind. His heart gave one last beat before the darkness that had so long surrounded him took over.
Chapter Thirty
ANGEL
Nyra heard the bell. Images passed her in a blur as she was pulled toward the Place of Accounting. She couldn’t think. She saw over and over in her mind as the subway train rushed toward Death. She read his gaze before he pulled the man from the tracks. There was acceptance in his eyes and regret. He didn’t want to leave her behind.
Her eyes burned but tears wouldn’t come. She was in shock, aching and lost.
“I’ve been waiting for you to come.”
Nyra blinked and stared down at the young angel behind the desk. He looked back at her, his blue eyes bright. “I found your page!”
“You found my page?” Nyra repeated, her mind numb.
He nodded, his golden curls bouncing. “I found it the other day, and I’ve been waiting for you to come back.”
He turned the book to face her. The words barely sank in as she read, “Guardian Nyra: Prompted Melissa Michelson to pull son Matthew from intersection. Prompted Arianne Daniels to swaddle son Tanner so he could sleep. Prompted Nicholas Ryan to help Megan Ryan after car accident.”
“Did you give these promptings?” the little angel asked the same question he did at every Accounting session.
“Yes,” Nyra replied, trying to grasp what was happening.
The angel held out his quilled pen. “Please sign below.”
With numb fingers, she signed her name in gold ink below the accounts. After it was done, she stared at the page.
“Guardian Nyra?”
The little angel’s voice brought her back. She looked down into his expectant gaze. “Yes?”
“You need to go back to him.”
She could only look at him. “What did you say?”
He gave an understanding smile, knowledge deep in his young gaze. “Go back to him. He needs you.”
“But how-”
He shook his head gently, cutting off her question. “It’s where you need to be.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, unable to understand what was happening.
His answering smile reassured her. “I’m sure. Go where you are needed.”
She thanked him, her mind reeling, and left the Place of Accounting.
Chapter Thirty-one
DEATH
Death blinked. There was something in the distance that glowed against the darkness. He wanted to go to it with all of his being. He ached to walk toward the light he guided everyone else to. He took a step forward.
“Go back.”
The voice filled every bit of him to overflowing. He stopped because he couldn’t fight it. Tears filled his eyes and he fell to his knees. “I want to stay.” Memories of his deeds flooded through him, reminding him of his unworthiness to even step in the direction of the light. He bowed his head, hiding his face in his hands.
“You have done well, my son.”
Death shook his head, but there was no denying the voice. He knew he had sinned. He had taken lives without regret, fulfilling his list without thinking of those he took and the way his actions would affect the people left behind. He had used his living time delving into whatever manner of excitement and feeling he could find. Yet the voice said he had done well. The truth of the voice called for him to believe in himself.
He swallowed. “Then why must I leave?”
“Someone is waiting for you,” the voice replied.
Death lifted his head. “I don’t deserve anyone. I spent my life. . . .” A knot tightened in his throat; he fought back tears. “I’ve spent my existence taking people from their lives.”
“It was your purpose.”
Death let out a frustrated breath. “But I didn’t do it right. I didn’t care.”
He felt as much as heard the love in the voice when it replied, “You do now.”
Death nodded. He definitely did, but he didn’t understand. “I hurt them,” he said in a whisper. “I was cold, callous. I can’t forgive myself for what I did.”
“Watch,” the voice said simply.
A wave of memories filled his mind, but it was different this time. They felt familiar, comfortable.
A little boy sat in the middle of a room with bare walls. The wall closest to the door had a big hole in it; he stared at the hole, wondering why he recognized it.
The memory flowed backwards. He saw the little boy rise, limp to the door, and pull it open instead of slamming it shut. A black form entered, shouted at the boy even though there wasn’t sound. Death watched the boy fly through the air into the wall. The hole repaired itself. The man picked him up and shook him. There were no tears on the little boy’s face; he bit his lip to keep from crying. Death took a shuddering breath. He was biting his lip as well. A surge of realization flowed through him.
