Night Latch

by Anela Deen

  “You think I will interfere,” I accused. “That’s why I’m not allowed to see it.”

  “I think,” he said in as gentle a voice as the warrior-angel ever mustered, “that you care for this child. I think if you could see what awaits him, his blood and his suffering, you might be tempted to break your promises.”

  His blood and his suffering.

  My heart, never my strong point in either life or death, quaked at this.

  “Will he,” I cleared my throat. “Will he at least complete the task he was meant for?”

  “No. It is not a pointless death,” he added, “but it is not what he’d been intended to do.” An almost sigh. “It’s a shame. He has such potential. The Enemy schemes, seeking a way into this world and I have not yet uncovered their secrets. I’d have liked to see how Sam’s light would’ve battled the darkness when it came.”

  “Who will fight in his stead?” I demanded.

  “I don’t know. Perhaps no one. Such is the consequence and the blessing of free will. But know this, my charge,” he said, voice hardening in a way that sent a shiver up my spine. “If you interfere, you will be punished. It is not your place, and no mercy would follow in the wake of such an act.”

  “I know that,” I ground out, seeking refuge in anger from the terror of his words. “Or do you think after all this time I haven’t grasped the cost of forgiveness?”

  “Not cost, but a promise. An oath to be righteous in your deeds and unselfish in your heart. Your path to forgiveness has always been thus.”

  My eyes went to Sam, his face smooth with sleep, as it would be in death. My pathetic heart shuddered again. “Why send me here like this if you wanted to keep me unbiased? Don’t claim it was a simple Christmas wish. Was it a test?”

  It had the feel of one. It was cruel enough.

  “Are you not glad to have known him in this life before he passes from it?”

  I didn’t answer that, my thoughts too mired by fury and confusion. What was the point in caring for someone if it meant I’d have to endure seeing them come to harm?

  “You want me to grieve,” I whispered in terrible understanding. “That’s the reason, isn’t it? You want me to know what it is to watch the death of a saint and be helpless to stop it.”

  There was a poetry to that. The circle closing around me like a crown of briars.

  “You still search for explanation within the realm of vengeance.” I sensed him shaking his head. “You chose a new name and a new purpose for yourself. You have done well by this little one I tasked you to mentor. Retracing an old pattern of thoughts does not serve you.”

  But I could think of no other reason that it must end this way, like the sun setting without any hope for dawn.

  “Your time here soon expires,” Michael said, his voice closer. A warmth spread through the throb of my ankle, ushering away the pain. “Go now and enjoy what remains of it.”

  ***

  “You should’ve woken me up.” Sam rubbed his face in distress where he walked beside me. “I can’t believe I wasted that much time sleeping.”

  The night was quiet as we strolled through the empty streets of Sam’s neighborhood, windless and shadow-filled but for the lampposts pooling light at each corner. Above us, stars littered the dark sky like distant diamonds, lending a feeling of both intimacy and abandonment to our walk, as though we moved in a world outside the one we knew.

  “You were exhausted,” I replied. “Twenty minutes is still plenty of time to show me the houses with the best Christmas lights.”

  “I wanted to show you so much more. I’m sorry I made a muddle of everything.”

  “You haven’t.”

  “Alice, come on. I dragged you to an awkward brunch where my mother barely welcomed you and Matt’s son gawked at your chest so often, I was ready to punch him.”

  It amused me to imagine it. “That would’ve been interesting.”

  “Then, I haul you on a search for the kids where you end up getting hurt, missed the parade, and finished the night watching me drool passed out next to the couch. Not exactly Currier and Ives.”

  “Rare are the days that follow the map of our expectations.”

  “That’s just a nicer way of saying I messed everything up.”

  “You know me better than to think I would choose the nicer way of stating my opinion.” Feeling chilled, I slipped my arm through his. “I’ve enjoyed my time here. I might even forgive you for making this wish.”

  Sam glanced down at my hand on his arm, and then tucked me closer to his side. “Then it was worth it.”

  We walked on in silence for a bit, exchanging conversation only when Sam pointed out the houses with decorations he liked. It was companionable in a way that made me ache. Gazing at colorful lights, the winter air against my cheeks, the warmth of a friend beside me—I wished it could last a while longer.

  When we’d circled back to the corner at the far end of Sam’s street, we stopped beneath the lamppost. Only a few minutes remained before midnight.

  Sam tipped his eyes skyward. “It’s going to be strange to see you in your raincoat again.”

  “Did you grow so accustomed to the one I’ve been wearing?” I sent a look down at the white and gold-flecked coat. It didn’t seem all that extraordinary of a garment.

  “No, it’s just, now I know the answer to something I always wondered about.”

  “The answer to what?”

  Reluctance seized him and he grew very still. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Now I had to know. “I’m afraid you’ve given yourself away. Face the consequences and tell me.”

  “You’ll think I’m gross.”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  He shuffled his feet and didn’t meet my eyes. “I’d wondered whether, you know, if under the raincoat you…”

  A sound of disgust scraped up my throat. “Really, Sam.”

  “Sorry. It’s not like it was a voluntary thought.”

  “Your involuntary thoughts require improvement.”

  “Probably. Once I knew you were Death, it sort of curbed my curiosity, you know, mostly. Sometimes, when I see you I still—that is, I don’t mean to—”

  “Sam.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Stop talking before I kill you.”

  His side vibrated with laughter he swallowed down. “Maybe it’s a good thing I’m already supposed to die soon, huh?”

  Annoyance drained away, replaced with sorrowed dread.

  His blood and his suffering.

  Why did he have to bring that up?

  “You’ve gone quiet, Alice. Should I be worried?”

  I pulled my arm from his. “I’d prefer you didn’t jest about the subject.”

  He turned to face me. “If I don’t joke about it, I’ll be too afraid to leave my apartment. If the end is inevitable, I’d rather meet it with a smile than living my last days in terror. Does that make sense?”

  “It does,” I replied softly, struck by his courage. “It is only…I escort the dead into the afterlife. They pass on into bliss or torment, and I never see them again.”

  His smile was both sad and self-deprecating. “Well, at least I won’t be getting in your hair anymore, right? Distracting you from your schedule with my irritating troubles.”

  More of his jokes, but I didn’t laugh even knowing he wished it. Did he truly think I thought so low of him? That he mattered so little to me?

  “I have grown accustomed to you in this world. It’s been so long since I had any real company. That I will never see you again…troubles me.”

  The fear he hid so well behind his eyes gentled at this. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  Headlights from an SUV turning the corner flashed over us. The car slowed as it neared, a window rolling down. I tensed, lifting a hand to pull Sam back, but he must have recognized the vehicle for he waved as an older woman stuck her head out.

  “Happy birthday, Sam,” she called. “Heard what
you did for the Sanderson kids.”

  “Just a lucky guess.”

  “Well, good job all the same.”

  A man sitting in the passenger seat leaned over her, grinning broadly. “Hey Sam,” he shouted, slurring the ‘s’ heavily, his voice too loud on the quiet road. He waved a hand that nearly smacked the woman’s nose. “You picked a great place to stop, kid. That’s the best lamppost on the block.”

  “Henry, get yourself back over. You’re squashing me.” The woman sighed heavily out the window. “He had too much of the spiked nog this year.”

  “I have not,” Henry insisted, blinking heavily. “I’m just pointing out the mistletoe I hung there, Deb.”

  In unison, Sam and I looked up to find a length of ribbon-tied plant hanging down from one of the wrought-iron curlicues directly above our heads.

  Deb’s expression brightened like a gleeful tormentor. “Ah ha, you’ve been caught! Give her a good one, Sam, not one of those pecks on the cheek. That’s bad luck.”

  “Yeah, it has be a lip-smacker,” Henry added helpfully. “Like the French. You know about the French, don’t you Sam?”

  Sam closed his eyes. “Any chance those Hunters could show up right now?” he muttered to me.

  “Enjoy yourselves,” Deb said, rolling up her window, but not before Henry sent out a few kissy noises as they drove away.

  “Sorry about that,” Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Just ignore them. Apparently, I have randy neighbors.”

  It was endearing, really, this thoroughly mortified expression he wore. After all that he had seen and endured over the past months, even in the midst a death threat hanging over his head, the idea of a kiss beneath mistletoe flustered him. It was impossible not to smile. And tease.

  “So, you’d rather not then?” I asked.

  “What?”

  I gestured at the cluster of leaves above. “Engage in the tradition, of course.”

  His startled gaze ricocheted between my mouth and my eyes for a moment. “Did you—I mean, I didn’t think that you—that I—that you, uh, wanted to—to do that…Do you?” He winced.

  I gave him an arch look. “Eloquent.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed at himself. “Yeah.”

  This was too easy. I almost took mercy on him.

  “It’s fine,” I sniffed, shrugging. “I understand if you suspect it would be disappointing.”

  He dropped his hand. “Disappointing.”

  “Indeed. Perhaps you don’t find me as impressive in this form. Or do you doubt your technique? That could be it.”

  I’d thought to let him toil about defensively and pet my ego at the same time—this might be his Christmas wish, but I deserved some fun too—but he didn’t do either of those things. Perhaps if I’d noticed sooner the intensity that overtook his expression, the way it lit a fire in his eyes and filled it with certainty, I could have anticipated what happened next.

  “I don’t know what I imagined when I made that wish,” he said, “but you’re absolutely not disappointing. You’re—” He paused, a hint of shyness returning. “You’re beautiful. Is it okay if I say that?”

  My cheeks burned. Was it possible I was blushing? That couldn’t be. I hadn’t blushed in millennia.

  “I am not averse to the observation.”

  He smiled. “That’s good, because it’s true. In this form and in the other. I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that so I said nothing. He didn’t seem to mind my silence, but then, he never did. I always thought our relationship required ample patience on my part, but now I realized the same was true for Sam. In his gentle way, he never judged me for my frequent acerbity and my evasiveness.

  He glanced up at the mistletoe and back down at me. His smile went a little lopsided. “So, do you want to?”

  My pulse sped up. “Do you?”

  He nodded.

  “You really want to kiss Death?”

  The smile faded. “No,” he said. “I want to kiss you. If that’s okay.”

  There was nothing shy about the way he took my hand and drew closer. It must have been this that held me in place, the way it recalled my youthful passes at physical expression with boys and men. Always, they had begun with hands tugging me in their direction, drawing me into shadowed corners as though their desire held the gravitas of the sun.

  Not Sam. It was himself he pulled, toward me, as though I were the sun and he a mere supplicant. His fingers against mine was the only point of contact, easily released if I wished it. And I didn’t. One day of life had been granted me, and I would not allow the sorrow of lost moments to follow my return to death. I did not wish my soul to wander in the geography of regret anymore.

  “Yes,” I said. “It is okay.”

  An exhale of relief. The smile flickered back. “Good.”

  He leaned down, his head angling slightly as his mouth neared mine. My heart beat faster, the thrill of something unexpected in my chest. A mixture of his warm skin and the cool winter air teased my nose. My free hand slid up his arm, past his shoulder to rest my palm along the side of his face. With a shiver, he twined our gloved fingers together, connecting us. His lips touched mine, softly, a brush of heat that promised more.

  The bang and clatter of crashing garbage cans erupted down the street. We startled apart as the unholy yowling of several cats followed. Sam turned toward it.

  And in that moment, the world tipped to greys and blacks. The warmth and smell of him—of everything—vanished from my reach. My heart stilled. A devastatingly familiar cold seeped into my limbs as the clothes slipped to my feet, leaving me clad in my black raincoat.

  Midnight had come.

  Still gazing the other direction, Sam shook his head. “They couldn’t wait another ten seconds?” he muttered.

  It was a moment worthy of tears, but I was incapable of them now. Once more, I became the wraith, a shroud moving among the living. Deliverer of grief. I suddenly couldn’t bear for Sam to see me as Death when a moment ago he had seen me as something else. Something more.

  Yet, neither I could I get myself to leave. I stepped back from the clothes and made myself invisible to him instead. When he turned back, he seemed more startled to find me gone than he’d been by the noise down the street. It took only a moment for realization to reach his eyes before they turned somber. He glanced down at the heap of clothing, then at the time on his phone. His shoulders drooped.

  “You didn’t have to disappear,” he said softly, his gaze casting about the empty roads. At length, he gathered the fallen garments in his hands, briefly pressing a cheek to the coat. “Merry Christmas, Alice.”

  Then he turned away, his head bent low as he retraced his own footprints. The trail I’d made stretched alongside him, and for a moment, it was as if part of me accompanied him home.

  Part of me did, I realized, more than I dared admit. I understood now why Michael chose to deny me the knowledge of Sam’s death. It wasn’t a test, but a chance to treasure his life without dwelling on its end. All things turned to dust, I knew that well, but the universe was made of endings and beginnings. Light, followed by darkness, followed by light.

  Though I could no longer leave a trace of myself on the path Sam walked, I swore to see him to the end of his journey. Whether he lived or died, I would be there as I’d promised him. Not as Death, but as myself.

  “Merry Christmas, Sam,” I whispered.

  He glanced back, a frown on his face, but if he heard anything, it was only the wind.

  ~ The End ~

  About the Author

  A child of two cultures, this hapa haole Hawaiian girl is currently landlocked in the Midwest. After exploring the world for a chunk of years, she hunkered down in Minnesota and now fills her days with family, fiction, and the occasional snowstorm. With a house full of lovable toddlers, a three-legged cat, and one handsome Dutchman, she prowls the keyboard late at night while the minions sleep. Coffee? Na
h, she prefers tea with a generous spoonful of sarcasm.