by J A Campbell
The glassy skull face of Santa Muerte seemed to wink at her on the bedside table. Remembering his words earlier, she tucked the grim saint into the pocket of her oversized leather jacket and left, stomach twisting into knots.
All the way home the nasty, treacherous thought continued to dance through her mind. She'd only shared her immortality with someone once, and she'd regretted it ever since. This was no life. It was just an eternity of damnation, a grim afterlife in this world. Everything she'd been taught told her she was damned, and nothing she'd seen in the long nights since had changed her mind.
Sleep eluded her though, even after she'd settled down for the day and scraped wet dirt on top of her. His words chased through her head as darkness finally began to close in.
If you have all eternity, you always have the opportunity to try to make things right.
* * *
Three days went by before he saw Aurora, and in the meantime Harriet passed away. She slipped away quietly in the night while he slept across the room, only waking when the machines that monitored her vitals began to screech. Nurses rushed in and Javier sat bolt upright despite the pain in his wasted muscles.
"Is she okay?" He already knew the answer. Death had stolen into the room quietly in the middle of the night, and she was gone on to what he hoped was somewhere better. Maybe she'd find his grandfather there; he'd always figured the two shared a belligerent approach to old age that would make them soul mates. They were the two best card sharks he'd ever met.
The nurses came in later to clear out her bed and few belongings, including the withered bouquet Aurora had left on her table.
He dreamed of the silent, dark girl almost every night, and wondered what he'd said or done to scare her away. You're sick and dying, a nasty, grim part of him whispered. If your own family can't stand to see you, why would she? The only woman in your future is Lady Muerte. He shoved that voice aside. Maybe knights in shining armor were in short supply these days, and magical princesses were left to molder in eternal sleep, but there was no point in brooding about it.
"I guess she's gone then?" The nurse looked up as though she'd forgotten he was there, and nodded.
"Yes, last night. Nothing we could do and she had a do not resuscitate order."
He sighed and leaned back. "I'm not surprised. She seemed like she was ready to go. Did you notify Aurora?"
The nurse frowned while folding up sheets. "Who?"
"The girl who came in here to visit. Harriet was her grandmother."
The nurse shook her head slowly. "She didn't have any grandchildren. We notified the nephew that had her power of attorney, but he hasn't flown in to pick things up. Closest relative she had."
Javier stared at her, a cold lead weight sinking slowly into his stomach. He wanted to scream and rage and call her a liar, but the simple confused certainty on her face kept him silent. He sank back into the pile of pillows and stared out the window until the nurse left. September frost rimed the edges of the glass, soon to be dispelled by the morning sunlight. In his eyes, they looked like sickly diseased veins–or pale figures shrinking away from the bright sky.
She came back that night right after sunset, as silent as the deathly specter that had visited a day before. He could have sworn she just appeared in the darkened room, standing at the foot of the newly made-up bed. A bouquet of roses hung in one hand, and her face was utterly empty. No grief or pain, just a complete loss of everything human.
"You're back." She started at the sound of his voice.
"I...when did she...?"
"Last night. You weren't here." His voice sounded harsh even to his ears, and she flinched as though he'd struck her.
"I was... I've been busy. What happened?"
Javier shrugged, one bony shoulder slipping free of the blankets.
"She just passed in her sleep. Nurses came in but she had a DNR so they just let her go."
"Oh, God."
She was a good actress. He had to give her that. He sat quietly, watching her. Aurora looked up, met his eyes, and frowned.
"I... What's wrong?"
"Funny thing. When the nurses came in to clean up her stuff, they said she didn't have any grandchildren. Or children. Closest relative is the nephew who put her here."
The emotion drained out of her face like pulling the plug on a bathtub. She stood there as beautiful and empty as a glass figurine, watching him.
"Which is, you know, weird. So I've been trying to figure out all day if you're either some kind of sick freak obsessed with dying people, or a pathological liar. Or both." Neither would really explain the startling resemblance between the two women, but he mentally shoved that to one side. No time to let that distract him, or else he simply wouldn't have the energy to keep a good head of anger going.
"Javier..."
His voice turned raw. "But more importantly, I wonder what else you lied about."
She stood there, the flowers drooping in her hand, and her eyes looked pained and lost. He ignored the lump in his throat, keeping his anger as honed and ready as possible.
"What do you want me to say?" Her voice was so soft he could hardly hear her over the machines around him.
"Oh, gee, I don't know... maybe start by telling me who you really are?"
She gave a harsh laugh. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Fuck that. You don't know that. Hell, for a while I almost believed you actually came here to see me because I was interesting. I burned one of those damn Santa Muerte candles the night you showed up and prayed for a miracle before I died, and I was thinking maybe someone actually listened. Don't tell me what I believe."
She stared at the tile, silent for a long moment. "She was my granddaughter."
"What?"
"Harriet was my granddaughter. I lived during the Civil War, and she was my daughter's daughter. I kept tabs on them and I wanted to see her again before she died."
They locked eyes for a long moment, and he finally shook his head.
"So you're crazy. Awesome. I poured my heart out to some fucking psycho."
"I told you that you wouldn't believe me."
"Lady, the only person you should be talking to is a damn therapist. Probably from a padded room."
She sighed. "I know, I sound mad, but you have to–"
"Get out."
"Don't–"
He sat up, pointing at the door.
"I said get out! Now!"
Aurora stared at him, the pain in her eyes very real. She shook her head and tossed the bouquet on his bed.
"'Bye," she whispered, and shut the door on the way out.
The flowers she brought filled the room with the sharp smell of rose and marigold. A coughing fit seized him, and he folded his arms over his chest against the deep stabbing ache it brought.
Javier stared out the window at the night, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. The tears on his face felt as cold as the frost outside, and he waited to die.
* * *
September gave way to October and still she didn't know how to move on.
The woman, sometimes known as Aurora, had only come here to be with Hattie while she died, but some strange inertia dogged her as the nights lengthened and days turned colder. The dirt under the abandoned apartment grew harder to scrape away at, and the morning of Halloween she lay on a pile of cold earth that she simply couldn't get comfortable in.
She hadn't gone back to see Javier. Not really, anyway. One time she'd climbed the looming castle walls of the hospital as quick and silent as a spider to peek in the window, but he was asleep and she was afraid of being spotted. He was noticeably thinner and the sight of him tormented her in the dim hours of her mornings.
She rolled around, shoving dirt about fruitlessly, all too familiar with the scenery of her underground bed. The Santa Muerte candle sat propped in a little hollow of earth, the smiling skull regarding her serenely for the past month or so. Aurora dug a lighter out of her jacket pocket and lit it, t
he warm light filling her tomb. Fire was a danger to her kind, but something in the tiny flame comforted her.
"Happy Halloween." she said to the spiders and mold. She stared at the trembling little light, seeing a pair of brown eyes in her mind until sleep claimed her.
In the evening, she wandered the streets aimlessly. Halloween was one of her favorite holidays. The revelry, the over-the-top spookiness, it all amused her to no end. In older days, people had believed that the dead walked the land of the living unobserved on All Saints Eve, and her parents had raised her to believe that as well. Now she was proof of it. Crowds of revelers surged around her, warm with passion and alcohol, sweets and excitement, but she continued through as slowly and calmly as a blood clot on its way to the heart.
Her wandering steps led her–whether by unconscious desire or pure chance–to a Dia de los Muertos celebration. The smell of marigold, melted sugar, and candle smoke called her from a block away. All the signs on the street were in two languages, and her face was the only pale one there, but she felt oddly at home. The celebrations here were less flashy and loud, but a sense of warmth and good cheer was palpable in the crowd.
On a sidewalk shrine wreathed in flowers and candle flames, people had placed pictures of their lost loved ones and tiny skulls made of sugar. She stood behind the main press of people in front of the altar, staring at the photographs. Would his family put his face on one of these shrines next year? Did they already pray for him like one of the dead?
Or did they think of him at all?
A passerby handed her a sugar skull out of a basket, and she broke a tiny piece off the top to nibble. What had Javier called these? Calaveras? Something like that. Vanilla and sugar warmed her mouth. Absently, she tucked the rest into her pocket as she continued down the street.
A church had its doors propped open and bathed the sidewalk in candlelight. She glanced in the doorway and the grinning face of a huge Santa Muerte figure at the altar greeted her. Like a moth to the flame, she drifted over to the church and warily stepped across the threshold with no problem. It must not have been blessed when it was built; some were not, and chapels not on holy ground didn't cause her any problems.
Aurora walked along the line of burning votives and bundles of marigold. She trailed her fingers over a beautiful image of the Virgin and jerked away, burnt. Foolishness; any of the candles that didn't belong to the Santa still scorched her hands. The other saints didn't want anything to do with someone like her.
She plucked a marigold off the altar and tucked it into her long dark hair behind one ear. Silent as one of the statues, she stood there and looked up at the skeletal figure above the altar. This Muerte was robed in black, with her hands poised in prayer and a rosary wrapped over them.
"Why me?" she asked, not particularly expecting an answer. "I've done things. Terrible things. For years, centuries even. Was he right? Why would you send me to help someone like him?"
The saint smiled enigmatically, candlelight shining off the bared bone of her skull.
"Am I all you could come up with? You're their ruler for death, disease, all the things no one wants to think about. The things no one can control. Does that mean I belong to you, too?"
Tears stung at her eyes and she wiped them with the back of her hand, leaving splotches of red.
You always have the option to try to make things right.
"How?"
The answer was already there, though, in that dark unpleasant place in the bottom of whatever passed for her soul. The light in the polished eye sockets of the skull made it look as though Santa Muerte winked at her again. A strange, creeping warmth filled her, and the image of Javier's sad, thin face drifted across her mind's eye. Aurora let out a shuddering breath and backed away from the altar, nodding. Her steps picked up speed as she ran back out into the city, leaving Saint Death to hold court for the night.
Nothing could have prepared her to see him again. In her head, she knew he would be worse, but the reality was unbearable to see. The room was completely silent except for the beeping of his heartbeat on a machine and the gentle wheeze of a respirator. His chart on the wall listed him as unresponsive for the past few weeks. She slowly circled the bed and tried to keep back the tears stinging her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
He was so thin and pale, almost buried beneath machinery. The image of the frightened, helpless little bird came to mind again. She sank into the chair next to the bed and sat the little sugar skull on the bedside table.
"I brought you something. I know you can't hear me, but... God, I'm sorry. I should have come sooner." She swallowed, the lump in her throat painful. "I was scared. I... I've made a lot of mistakes, and I've hurt so many people. I couldn't bear to hurt you, too." She took a deep breath. "But I think I understand now. There's no one else who can help you, so it's on me. Not exactly a knight in shining armor, but...you've already helped me, so now it's my turn. And I hope... I just hope it's not too late."
One by one, she began to disconnect machines. She pulled the ventilator out and the IV lines were carelessly tossed to the floor. A nurse ran in to answer the shrieking alarms from the machines, and as Aurora caught the woman's gaze, her eyes turned a burning yellow.
"There is nothing wrong in here," she said, and the wide-eyed nurse nodded.
"Nothing wrong."
"You're going to turn all these things off and then stay out of this room all night."
"Yes. Of course I will."
After she left, Aurora sat on the bed, taking one of his hands. His breathing was ragged and painful, and she could tell death wasn't far away. It might be too late for him already. Like a dying candle, he was rapidly flickering out. She sighed.
"I don't know if I'm the miracle you asked for. But I think I might be the one you're getting. I... I think you'd appreciate that. Just please, God, anyone, don't let it be too late."
Fangs slid down from her gums and she bit her wrist, blood flooding her mouth. Like a grimmer image of Sleeping Beauty and a charming prince, she leaned over the bed and kissed him. The blood trickled into his mouth, and she wiped a bit off his lips gently.
All that remained was waiting. She was familiar with this part; she had done many, many deathbed vigils. His family should have been here, and some deep part of her was furious at their omission. As though they'd just given up on him, even though he was still here and still thought about them every day. It was the same part of her that had gone to the bedsides of all her children–and now, all her grandchildren–at the end. She shook her head. No one should have to die alone.
Even if the only person here to hold a vigil for him was already dead.
Another Santa Muerte candle sat on the bedside table, this one half-burned, and she re-lit it. Shadows danced around the dim room. It was silent in there as if the rest of the hospital had been turned to stone while she sat, patient as death. Another person might have prayed, but she hadn't prayed for anything in centuries and suspected no one would listen even if she started now. His hand was feverish against her own cool and waxy skin, and her yellow eyes focused on nothing in particular, lost on some grim inner musing.
The candle guttered and burnt out around midnight on the Day of the Dead as he breathed his last and went still. Her fingers tightened around his and she squeezed her eyes shut, taking a shuddering breath. He remained still and cold on the bed and she leaned over to whisper in his ear.
"I know I did you wrong by lying like that. I never meant to do any harm. I... I never meant any of this. I didn't think I would care this much. But I do. God help me, I do. Please. It's all I can do to help you." She sighed. "Please. You already helped me. Let me do that much."
The minutes became hours and ticked by as long as years. She sat there in the dark, never letting go. There was no way to tell if it had worked or not except to stay here and hope. It would be dawn soon, she knew distantly, and she couldn't stay here when the sun came up. But at the same time, she couldn't bring
herself to leave either. To leave him alone.
Ice-cold fingers suddenly clenched around her hand and he drew a harsh, ragged breath that trailed off into coughing.
Aurora gasped softly, and tears of relief came to her eyes. He blinked and squinted at her, eyes a brilliant shade of yellow. His eyes went wide and Javier slowly reached a hand up to touch her cheek. His hand felt as cold as hers, but she rested her face against it gratefully, thin red tears trickling down her cheeks.
"Am I dreaming?" A confused half-smile crossed his face.
She gave a strangled laugh and kissed him on the forehead.
"Not anymore."
* * *
I've always liked my fairy tales a little... grim. (I'm so sorry: that pun had to go somewhere) Even as a child I didn't particularly like the cleaned up, sanitized versions that get peddled these days. Fairy tales were meant to be more than children's entertainment–they were warnings, life lessons, morality plays, and spooky fireside stories all wrapped up into one lovely package. I tried to bring that setup into the modern world. At the strange edges of life here there still be monsters, even if we don't recognize them on sight and the affliction is something unfortunately more familiar and more frightening than any witch's curse. The themes from the Dia de los Muertos were inspired by growing up in a small town with a very large Hispanic population. I love Halloween in its many incarnations, but ever since I've moved away I miss the Dia festivities.
I'd also like to give credit where credit is due and thank Tyler for the clever title and not being alarmed by my strangely detailed questions about late-stage AIDs.
~Shoshanah Holl
The Glass Coffin
by
Emmalyn Greyson
