Night Latch

by Anela Deen

  While Sam clattered around in his kitchen, my gaze drifted over the room. Everything looked so different with living eyes. As Death, I saw the world in monochrome. Lights and darks. Shades of gray. I had forgotten colors. Even bathed in nightly shadow, there was astonishing subtlety: The gentle wood tones of the paneled floor. The cream-white of the walls. Even the couch I’d often found Sam reclined on was a story of detail I’d been blind to, patterned in threads of yellow and blue, one arm more worn where he liked to rest his head. The sight struck me hard. I had always known redemption required effort, that I would be denied the things I’d never appreciated in life, but I had never realized, never understood, the full measure of what I’d lost—what I’d forsaken with murder and indifference—until this moment of its return.

  Sam returned to the bedside holding a steaming mug with a dancing snowman on the side. “Here, drink this down.”

  I gave it a dubious look, glad to focus on something other than the bitter sorrow swarming my thoughts.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s tea, Alice,” he said. “Stop looking at it like hemlock juice and drink it. You’re still shaking.”

  As it turned out, my hands trembled too much to take the mug without spilling it everywhere. Sam moved closer to help me. He’d donned a soft-looking pair of pants at some point. I sniffed at the liquid within. It smelled of flowers warmed beneath sunlight, of green fields breathing in the bright skies. My eyes fell closed at the first sip. It went down my throat and through my chest in a warm glide, sweetened by something I had not tasted in the long winter since my death.

  “Honey,” I whispered.

  “Is that all right? I added some thinking you might not like it too strong.”

  “It’s perfect.”

  Sam’s wide smile was a boyish thing, all pleased to have pleased me. My lips wanted to answer in kind but I forced it away. He still had much to answer for. After my honeyed tea. Halfway through the mug, my hands steadied enough to take it from him.

  Sam watched me, still looking rather dazed. “I think I must be asleep.”

  “This does have the feel of a nightmare, I agree, however it’s quite real.”

  “But how?”

  I summoned the dregs of my energy into the glower I leveled at him and said through my teeth, “It was your Christmas wish.”

  He blinked. “My what?”

  “Don’t bother denying it.”

  “Deny what, Alice? I don’t make Christmas wishes.”

  I glanced down meaningfully at myself, at my presence here. “Oh really?”

  He nodded very seriously. “Really. My dad was killed this time of year. Christmas isn’t—it’s not a time of joy for me. I don’t make Christmas wishes.”

  I didn’t like the somber cast to his eyes. Brown eyes, I realized. Not black as I’d always seen them. Warm brown eyes shaded with sadness.

  “But you were born on Christmas Day, Sam,” I observed quietly.

  He shrugged. “I don’t make birthday wishes either.”

  “Well, obviously you made one this time. Michael wouldn’t have come up with it himself.” Though he had seemed to leap on the idea with uncharacteristic zeal. Was it possible for an archangel to play a prank? An odd one, given that he had assumed my duties during my absence.

  “Can you not name drop angels like that? It freaks me out. And I didn’t make any wishes, I…Wait.” Memory drifted onto his face. He blanched.

  I glowered at him some more. “Coming back to you, is it?”

  “I only—I mean, it was after our chat about the,” he reddened some more, “the hypothetical date, and I remember thinking that I—”

  “Wished you could show me what it was like to be alive?” I filled in the rest. “No, I’m not paraphrasing. That was your precise thought. I know because it’s what I was told before I found myself standing out in the snow wearing a raincoat.”

  “Seriously?” He pressed a palm to his forehead, mouth falling open. “But it was just an idle thought, not a wish.”

  “An idle thought? Really, I despair of you sometimes. You said it aloud. Did you think no one was listening? Now I’m stuck here until midnight.”

  His gaze returned to me. “You’ll be here for the whole day and night?”

  “Yes, and don’t think ignorance will grant you my forgiveness for this.”

  He only stared at me. Whatever thoughts went through that head of his brightened his eyes and sent a grin slowly spreading across his face.

  “This,” he said, “is awesome.”

  “It is decidedly not awesome, Sam.”

  “Yes, it is!” He took the empty mug from my hands and clasped my shoulders. “There’s so much I want to show you. We’ll go sledding, watch movies. The Christmas parade is tomorrow night! Nana makes her famous cookies, and—oh! Bacon, Alice. You’ve never had it before, have you?”

  Unsure what to do in the face of his outrageous enthusiasm, I shook my head.

  His grin widened. “You’re going to love being alive.”

  “Sam,” I started to admonish but then he pulled me into a tight embrace, shocking me into silence. Strands of his tousled dark hair tickled my cheek, the hard ridge of his shoulder under my chin.

  I had not been held in so long the tangible contact of another person pressed against me lifted a panic in my chest. Memories I’d thought long forgotten flooded my mind. The use I’d made of my body and the ways others had used it.

  But this was Sam. Sam who would sooner put his life in jeopardy than use someone. Sam who had given me a gift, a bell with my name engraved upon it. Sam who had covered his face so I would not see him weep for the soul he’d been unable to save, who I’d watched struggle with the grief of what he called his failure. There was a desperate relief in the sturdy clasp of his arms around me, as if he had carried an unbearable weight that my physical presence somehow eased from his shoulders.

  My arms, heavy with fatigue, came around him to return his embrace. “I suppose since there’s no way out of it, I might as well see what there is to appreciate about the living world.”

  “Leave everything to me.” He pulled back and flashed me a crooked smile, at once innocent and devious. “We are going to have so much fun.”

  With a groan, I sank into the covers. I should’ve stuck to the original plan and just strangled him.

  * * *

  Sam was right about one thing. Bacon was a divine experience. The chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, buttered toast, granola with yogurt, and fresh strawberries he delivered to my bedside on a tray this morning were quite satisfying, but bacon was clearly the superior food. It surprised me to see his normally empty larder this well stocked, but then that was the case in most houses at this time of year.

  I handed him the empty plate and requested more of everything, especially the bacon.

  “Alice,” he laughed. “You’ve eaten almost half a pound of it already.”

  “Your point?”

  “Let it descend a little before cramming more in. You haven’t eaten in, what, a thousand years? Give your belly a chance to catch up.”

  I relented with a sigh. “I suppose it’s unwise to sicken myself.”

  “Exactly.” He took the tray of empty dishes from my lap, calling over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen. “Plus, it would ruin all my plans.”

  “Plans?” I asked warily.

  “Oh yeah. Since we only have until midnight, we’re going to have a busy day.”

  “Starting now? It’s only nine-thirty in the morning.”

  “That means we have less than twenty-four hours to do it all.” His words accelerated as he went on. “Don’t worry about clothes. I already left a message for a friend who’s in town and she’ll be by in about an hour with something you can borrow. I told her your luggage didn’t arrive with you in case she wonders why I have a girl in my apartment with nothing to wear. You should be about the same size—Uh, not that I was memorizing anything I accidentally saw or—o
r that I saw anything at all, but…What’s with the weird look?”

  He’d returned with the snowman mug filled with tea, and another cup—his fourth so far—of coffee he guzzled from.

  “You are speaking very fast, Sam.”

  He sat next to me on the bed with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. I’m just excited.”

  There were shadows under his eyes and he looked a bit pale despite the eagerness in his gait. “Did you sleep at all last night?” I asked.

  I remembered little after reclining, exhausted, into the pillows except for Sam’s quiet murmur and blankets tucked around me. Then sleep. That, too, I had forgotten; the tender silence of thought. The gentle oblivion. Yet one more thing the living took for granted.

  “I slept some,” Sam said.

  “And by some, you mean…?”

  “Well, I didn’t count the minutes, Alice.”

  “Because there weren’t enough of them.”

  “Maybe.” His grin became self-deprecating. “I’m just a little wound up. I never sleep great this time of year anyway.”

  He hadn’t slept well since November, in point of fact. After Maggie, I’d assumed his conscience made him restless. As time went on, it became obvious something else troubled him, yet when I asked him about it his replies were cagey as ever.

  “Does this have something to do with why you’re frequently in communication with your witch friend?”

  “Her name is Jo,” he said, which he always did when I referred to her thus. As if I didn’t know the girl’s name. An edged concern touched his eyes. “You haven’t been eavesdropping on my conversations with her, have you?”

  “I promised I would not when it comes to her,” I said stiffly. “I have kept my word, your doubt notwithstanding.”

  The edge softened. “I don’t doubt you.”

  “But you are hiding something from me.”

  His gaze skittered away. “It’s not really a secret.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “I will. As soon as I know more.”

  “Sam,” I warned, a shard of some uncertain emotion dragging through my stomach. “Tell me.”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Tomorrow, okay? I promise. You’re only here for one day. This is the first time I’ve actually looked forward to Christmas. I don’t want to spoil it.”

  I leaned back, startled for two reasons. First, that whatever he hadn’t told me was as dire as I feared, and second, that because of me he looked forward to Christmas. I couldn’t fathom what I’d said or done to merit such esteem. As his mentor, I had done my best to counsel him. It was a responsibility I’d railed against, questioning my methods at every turn, but it was one I had come to accept. And perhaps enjoy. It was impossible to spend time with Sam and not be drawn to his bright heart. Still, I possessed mostly cynicism rather than a collaborative spirit, and was frequently impatient with him. Why had he wished for my company during the time of year he found most difficult?

  I opened my mouth to ask him just that, but a knock came at the front door and a voice called in.

  “Sam? Feliz Navidad, m’hijito! Time to wake up.”

  Sam went rigid. “It’s my nana.” His gaze whipped toward the door, then back to me in his bed as horror spilled over his face.

  “Let me guess,” I said dryly. “You want me to hide.”

  He winced. “Do you mind?”

  “I suppose not.” I pulled back the blankets and stepped out of the bed.

  “Alice,” Sam choked and clapped a hand over his eyes.

  “What?” I glanced down at myself to find the sweatshirt had ridden up. “Oh, pull yourself together, will you? It’s just a body.”

  “Your body, Alice.”

  “Don’t be so puritanical.” I smoothed the garment down so it fell again to mid-thigh and glared at him when he still didn’t move his hand. “Is there a reason this situation makes you look like you want to gouge out your own eyes?”

  “Listen, you have a very,” he swallowed hard, “human shape right now. And you’re wearing my shirt which is affecting some lizard part of my brain I didn’t even know I had. I’m trying not to embarrass myself and—”

  The knocking grew more insistent. “M’hijo, answer the door, cariño. They’re waiting to take me to church.”

  Sam dropped his hand and took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, that helped.”

  “Where do you suggest I hide?” I surveyed the open landscape of his apartment.

  He grabbed a pair of jeans off his dresser. “The bathroom. It won’t take long. Her friends are waiting to take her to Christmas mass. If she sees you here, I’ll have to explain and she has this way of knowing when I lie.”

  “That’s because you’re terrible at it,” I said, heading for the door he indicated just beyond the bed.

  “Hey, we can’t excel at everything, right?”

  I stepped into the bathroom, half-closing the door to conceal myself. A moment later, Sam let his grandmother inside to the sound of crinkling plastic bags and her joyous exclamations.

  “Feliz cumpleaños, mi amor! I make you buñuelos for breakfast, your favorite.”

  “Ah, Nana, you’re the best.”

  “You sure you don’t come with me to church? You don’t have to wear a tie, just one of your nice sweaters.”

  “Nana…” Sam sighed.

  “Fine, fine. I not pressure you, okay? I’m only asking. I tell Father Chuck hello for you—What is happening to your kitchen, Samito? You are cooking this morning?”

  “Yeah, uh, I woke up hungry.”

  “Very hungry. Two mugs and two plates?”

  “It wouldn’t all fit on one.” The hasty clatter of dishes going into the sink followed the remark and I shook my head. Not just a bad liar. An abysmal one.

  “Let me see your face.”

  “Nana, come on—”

  “Let me.” A lengthy pause ensued. “You look like you not sleep last night.”

  “I had things on my mind. I’m fine.”

  “Whose jacket is this?”

  I palmed my face. He hadn’t thought to hide the one article of clothing that belonged to me?

  “Uh, that’s mine.”

  “Not that one. This black one. Is too small for you.”

  “That’s um…”

  “You no lie to your Nana on Christmas,” her tone turned waspish and I imagined the pendulum of a reproachful finger. “Vamos, tell the truth.”

  “The truth? The truth. Right. Well, the truth is…”

  Enough. I pushed open the door and strode out.

  “The truth is, I was stranded outside and Sam let me stay the night. Now he’s worried you might jump to conclusions if you found a girl wearing his sweatshirt in his apartment, though obviously he’d never take advantage of anyone in need of his help.” It wasn’t until I reached them and noticed their shocked faces that I realized I’d said all this in Spanish. I hadn’t intended to but it came out automatically. No matter. Extending a hand to Sam’s grandmother, I added, “Good morning and Merry Christmas, Doña Alvarez. I’m pleased to meet you.”

  She blinked wide brown eyes at me and then shook herself enough to take my hand. “Un gusto.” She frowned a bit. “You are Sam’s friend?”

  She probably wondered why Sam had never mentioned me before now.

  “Alice,” I clarified, following her switch to English. “Forgive me for my current dress. My luggage did not arrive with me and my…conveyance left me out in the street last night by myself.”

  She pursed her lips in sympathy. “Pobrecita. It is hard to travel during holidays.”

  “It is. As I have no living family, Sam invited me to see Bellemer’s Christmas parade with him.”

  Her eyes softened. Still holding my hand, she patted it. “Of course, he did. He’s a good boy,” she reached over to pinch his cheek hard enough to make him grimace, “when he’s not assuming the worst of his nana. Carajo, mi amor, why you don’t just tell me the truth?”

  Sam rubbed t
he back of his neck. “I didn’t want you to think, er…”

  “What? That you have strange girls you just meet in your apartment?” She tsked at him. “You have always treated las chicas well. If I find a girl here is because she’s important to you. The rest is no my business.”

  Sam hung his head, penitent. “I’m sorry, Nana.”

  She clucked her tongue with immediate forgiveness. “No matter. Does your mother know you have a friend here this year? I don’t think she’s expecting anyone but you for brunch at Señor Lindenbury’s house.”

  Sam frowned. “Brunch?”

  “Ay, no. You don’t remember? They expecting you at eleven, m’hijo. The señior’s son and daughter are in town visiting and they want you all to meet.”

  Sam groaned and raked a hand through his hair. “I completely forgot.”

  She sent me a conspiratorial look of exasperation that made me smile. A polite honk from the driveway had her rushing to rebutton her coat.

  “I have to go, but don’t be late and wear your tie.” She pulled a beautifully wrapped box from a plastic bag at her feet, curled ribbons of red, green, and silver spilling over the sides, and thrust into Sam’s hands. “This is for you, mi amor.”

  “Nana, we go through this every year. You know I don’t do Christmas gifts.”

  “I am your abuelita. You can’t stop me. Or do you think I really believe Santa Claus left me a pair of gold earrings on my bathroom counter, hm?” She cupped the bottom of one ear where a small, gold hoop dangled.

  Sam smiled. “I’m glad you like them.”

  “Me encantan. You sure they not cost too much money?”

  “You can’t take it with you, right?” He shrugged, which struck me as a particularly odd thing to say. Was he going somewhere?

  “Well, if you think I won’t get my only grandbaby a Christmas gift, estás loco. Besides, I made this one so you can’t complain.” A car horn honked a bit more forcefully outside. “Vamos, I’ll see you at the parade tonight.” She clasped Sam by the cheeks and tugged him down to kiss each one. When she turned to me, I extended a hand, and was startled when she did the same to me too. She pulled back and held me a moment longer, dark gaze studying me with all the sober intent of a tribunal.