Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross

by B. L. Newport

  “I understand,” Rachel sighed. “Thank you for coming by. Maybe next time you’ll see us with some business. Call me. I’ll be sure your name is on the VIP list,” she promised.

  “Maybe,” Brigit laughed, “but I’m usually getting ready for bed by nine. Have a great first night,” she wished her friend as they hugged. Rachel suddenly reached for the towering head dress as it began to sway dangerously, causing them both to start laughing again.

  Brigit was still laughing as she let herself out and glanced at her watch. She knew she’d be lucky if she were able to catch a cab in the next five minutes. Perhaps it would save her from too harsh a lecture from Maggie as she readied herself for the carnival. Luck was rarely on her side though…

  The street was empty from her viewpoint at the end of the alley. Darkness had firmly settled over the city and Brigit shivered once more before striding down the alley. It still felt as if she were being watched by the invisible eyes; but she didn’t have the time to thoroughly process that thought now. She had to get home. She had to keep her promise to Maggie.

  Half way down the alley, she stopped suddenly and looked at her hands. She had forgotten her briefcase. She didn’t remember seeing Bobby at the bar when she left; but then, she hadn’t seen him sitting there when she had entered either.

  “Shit,” she cursed as she spun on her heel and began the path back to the door with the black cat painted on it.

  She was ten feet away when she heard the whoosh of the air over her head. Before she could raise her eyes to view the source, she felt the weight strike the top of her head. The stress knot Maggie had been trying to work out of her neck for a week suddenly popped like a rubber band snapping. The pain of it dropped Brigit to her knees and she felt herself fighting to control the urge to puke. She closed her eyes against the white lights beginning to flash behind them in rapid sequence. The broken glass scattered across the cement was biting into her palms as she pressed against the ground to maintain an upright position. Slowly, Brigit leaned forward and rested her forehead against the cement, gasping hard for breath…

  7:12 P.M.

  Rachel scanned the empty room around her and smiled. They had been preparing for this night for months. Halloween Night, she thought, was the best night they could have hoped for. Fliers had been passed out all over town. If she hadn’t given her notice earlier that morning, she was sure she would have been fired for using the company’s resources to pursue personal endeavors. The rest of the staff was due to arrive at any moment. It was going to be a good night…

  The door opened to the left and Bobby’s huge frame blocked the stark light that burned from within the room.

  “Bathroom okay, Bob?” she asked jokingly.

  “A little small if you ask me,” Bobby replied. “Where’s your friend?”

  “She left.”

  “Did she get her briefcase?”

  Rachel glanced over her shoulder and cursed. The case was still sitting where Brigit had left it, along with the wadded plastic bag and hanger she had taken her coat from. Her head dress toppled off its perch to the floor as she quickly reached for the black leather case and ran for the door.

  7:13 P.M.

  “Brigit, open your eyes, darling…”

  Slowly, Brigit let out her breath and began to focus on the gentle voice that seemed close to her ear. Her eyes opened, but she could only see the cement before her. The pain had subsided, but the nausea was still present.

  “That’s a good girl,” the voice cooed as she slowly began to lift her head from the cement. “The sickness will pass,” the voice assured her.

  It was a man’s voice that spoke to her. A man with an accent. British? Irish? Scottish? She couldn’t tell at the moment. She didn’t really care though. Slowly, she flexed her neck, rolling it from side to side. The stress knot was definitely gone. She’d have to remember to tell Maggie to just knock her head off next time.

  “What the hell did you hit me with?” She asked as she turned to look for the source of the voice. Her vision was taking its time in focusing.

  “I didn’t hit you,” he replied softly.

  “Where are you?” Brigit questioned as she finished loosening up her neck and tried to hurry the focus of her gaze.

  “Beside you,” the voice replied.

  Slowly, Brigit turned her head to the left and saw him leaning against the brick wall. His arms were folded patiently across his chest.

  “Hello, darling,” he greeted with a faint smile. He wore a black suit over a white button down shirt. His thin tie, neatly knotted, was as black as his suit. Brigit looked him over for a half a second, trying to remember if she should know him.

  “Who are you?” she finally asked as she tried to stand. Another wave of nausea began to churn in her stomach. “Oh,” she groaned before reaching out to steady herself against the wall to her right.

  “You might take it easy there, love,” the man in black advised. “That was quite a blow you took.” His accent had a lilt to it, she noted; but she was still not immediately concerned with his origin. At the moment, she was more concerned with losing the late lunch she had finally found the time to eat.

  “I’m surprised it didn’t kill me. What the hell hit me?”

  “That.”

  The man pointed with a long, slender finger to an object laying a couple of feet away. It was manhole cover. Brigit was aware how heavy those could be.

  “Where the hell did that come from?”

  The man pointed up and instinctively, Brigit’s eyes followed. Standing on the rooftop, six stories up, she saw a bald man peering over the edge. His face was a deathly shade of white, as if he were looking at a sight so horrible it would damn his soul forever. Something about him, though, caused Brigit to think he was anything but a man. The black robes fluttering in the evening breeze only lent more weight to her last thought as she gazed up at him.

  “By the way, love,” the man leaning against the wall cut in through her thoughts, “it did kill you.”

  Brigit spun to face him just as she saw the door to The Black Cat open from the corner of her eye. Rachel emerged; Brigit’s briefcase was in her hand. Brigit turned quickly and watched as her friend stopped short. Then, the screaming began.

  “Why is she screaming?” Brigit asked.

  “I think it might be best if we go somewhere else to talk,” the man suggested as he pushed himself away from the wall. He took a second to button his suit coat before offering his arm to Brigit.

  “WHO ARE YOU?” Brigit demanded as she jumped back from his reach.

  “My name is John Blackwick. Please, I think it would be best if we left this place,” he suggested again.

  “No, I have to let her know I’m all right,” Brigit argued. Rachel’s sobs were reaching through to her brain now. She turned to go to her friend and tripped, falling to the cement once more. She turned her head to look at what had caused her to fall and caught her breath up short. She could feel the glass shards cutting new slits into her palms. Brigit pushed past the pain as her eyes focused on the grisly sight now gripping her attention.

  “Darling, I hate to point out this small fact; but, you are most definitely not all right,” John said firmly.

  “This is a bad dream,” Brigit decided out loud as she scrambled to her feet. Quickly, she turned and began to walk down the alley toward the street. She had to get out of there. Maggie was waiting for her. They had a date tonight, all-be-it, handing out candy to children harbored at the women’s shelter. Tomorrow was a celebration. She had to get home to Maggie.

  “Where are you going?” John called after her.

  “Home, to my wife,” Brigit replied as she looked at her watch. It was only twelve minutes past seven. She still had time to meet Maggie at the apartment before they were due at the shelter. If she was lucky enough to catch a cab, she would be spared Maggie’s ire.

  “Really? How do you expect to do that Brigit Malone?” John called. She detected the note of sarcasm in h
is voice, but she refused to answer him. Three empty taxis were coming her way. Desperately, Brigit threw her arm in the air to signal her need. Behind them, she could see the flashing lights of an ambulance flying down the avenue. Brigit waved frantically at the approaching taxis. The wail of the siren was growing louder, piercing her ears, hurting her head. She looked over her shoulder at the scene in the alley behind her.

  Rachel was on her knees, clutching the black briefcase against her breast and sobbing over the crumpled form that Brigit refused to acknowledge as her own body. Bobby was pacing back and forth barking orders into his cell phone. Scott had joined the scene as well, trying to pull Rachel away from the body. John, the man in the black suit, was standing in the foreground of it all, his hands helplessly shoved into his trouser pockets. His ice blue gaze was focused on Brigit as she waited for a taxi to stop.

  When the taxis rushed by her, Brigit looked at her watch again. It was still twelve past seven. If she ran, she wouldn’t be that late. Glancing at John again, she noticed him reaching into the waist pocket of his coat.

  “I’ll be at the café on Bleecker Street if you decide to talk,” she heard him say gently as the ambulance came to a screeching halt beside her. Brigit jumped out of the way and took off running north. Maggie was going to be beyond angry.

  2: Things Broken

  She ran until her legs began to feel as though they would cramp. As her feet pounded against the sidewalk, Brigit was sure that the thundering of her heartbeat in her ears was the reason she couldn’t hear the sound of her boots hitting the cement.

  A light was burning in the front window of the apartment. Brigit paused long enough to determine that Maggie was still home and most likely pissed off to no end. Quickly, Brigit rushed up the stoop and through the opened door, taking the stairs two at a time to the second floor. She skidded to a stop in front of their door and began to pat herself for her keys. A desperate fear began to rise up in her as she realized they weren’t in her pockets. They were in the briefcase. Rachel had the briefcase. Brigit cursed loudly and kicked the door.

  “Mags, honey, let me in. I know I’m late,” Brigit pleaded as she pressed her forehead against the door. “I’ve lost my keys. Please, Mags….”

  Her hand fell to the door knob and, on a whim, she turned it. Slowly, the door opened. Hesitant, Brigit stepped in and scanned the room. It was empty. The lamp next to Maggie’s reading chair by the bay window had been left on. A note lay on top of the book Maggie had been reading the weekend before.

  “Bree,

  We’ve gone to the shelter. Come as soon as you can. Yes, you are in trouble.

  Maggie”

  Brigit sighed heavily and looked around again. The clock on the wall read eight-thirty. She was an hour late. Even if she left now, she would get to the shelter just as the festivities would be wrapping up. By then, the adult celebrants of the neighborhood would fill the streets in costumes more imaginative and risqué than children should see. That was life in the city, though.

  Slowly, Brigit sank into Maggie’s reading chair. She had to think of a good explanation. Maggie would expect the truth, but, would she believe it? Brigit’s gaze fell on to the picture frame resting against the small lamp on the table.

  It was an old picture, taken during the first year they were together. It was a day at the beach, their smiles revealing their happiness at finding each other and being together. They had met by chance, having mutual friends of friends. Their connection had been immediate, their chemistry enigmatic and their passion all-consuming. Brigit smiled at that last thought. The fire between them had barely died down during the last ten years. They had never spent a night apart. They had never slept in separate beds. It was only during the day, when they were fulfilling their required hours at work that they were ever not in the same room. Maggie was her one and only and Brigit couldn’t imagine ever being without her.

  Her life prior to the moment of meeting Maggie Devon had been such a patchwork of scenes. Her earliest memories of her childhood were fragments overshadowed by dramatic moments involving her mother and the various men that had been brought into Brigit’s life. Brigit couldn’t remember her father. He had left the scene long before his only daughter could form any kind of attachment to him aside from bearing his last name. She had once rescued a shredded image of him from the trash can after her mother had gone through one of her ‘purifying’ episodes. Carefully, Brigit had pieced the photograph together as best she could with glue and paper; but it was never right. The image remained broken and, eventually, Brigit lost it after leaving her broken childhood behind. Her life had been like that picture, pieced together as best she could until the moment she had met Maggie. After that, Brigit had found herself suddenly whole and the past was nothing more than a hazy memory hidden in the furthest shadows of her mind.

  Her gaze focused on Maggie’s face in the photo. Her sandy brown hair had been cropped short that fall – a mistake Maggie admitted to when the first cold day set in and she found herself purchasing a knit cap to keep her head warm. Maggie let it grow out again, revealing a head of natural curls that Brigit loved to bury her face in as they were falling asleep at night. A light shined in Maggie’s dark brown eyes as they looked into the camera. That light was always present, even when she was mad. That light was part of what made Brigit feel complete.

  Brigit looked at her watch again. It still read twelve past seven and she realized it was broken. She frowned and shook her head in sadness. It had run perfectly for ten years. It had been a gift from Maggie after discovering that Brigit lacked the ability to be on time for anything. It was a basic watch on a basic black leather band, but Brigit loved it. It was from Maggie. It meant something.

  A knock on the door brought Brigit from her thoughts. She stood to go answer it but stopped short when she saw the deadbolt. It was turned. The door was locked tight and she knew she had not touched it when she closed the door. The knock came again. She held her breath as she slowly crept to the door and peered through the peep hole. Two uniformed policemen stood on the other side.

  “She must be out,” Brigit heard one of them say as she pulled away from the door.

  “Should we wait?”

  “Nah, we’ll come back,” the first officer decided out loud with a sigh. “I hate these calls. They’re so depressing.”

  Brigit went back to Maggie’s chair and sat down. Maggie would be home soon and everything would be fine. None of this was really happening. It couldn’t be and Maggie would reassure her of that as soon as she came home.

  She sighed heavily and crossed her legs. From Maggie’s chair, she could see the street below. She’d be able to see Maggie coming home. Her gaze slowly rested on the picture again. Her mind had stopped racing, but it was still grinding over the events of the evening.

  It was a bad dream. That man – John Blackwick – he had to be wrong. She was alive. She was fine, no matter what she had seen after getting to her feet in the alleyway. He had called her by her full name. How did he know her? Brigit knew Maggie would help her make sense of it. If only she would hurry up and come home…

  Brigit bit her lip to quell the emotions that were beginning to rise from the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t be dead. She had picked herself up from the pavement. She had seen John standing against the wall, heard his voice telling her what happened. She had seen the crumpled body wearing her coat. She had seen the pool of blood growing over the cement. Yet, she had picked herself up and ran full tilt form the alley up 8th Avenue to their apartment on 68th Street. While it was a distance she had traveled by foot before, it was not one she had ever traveled in less than two hours.

  As if to reassure herself, she looked at her palms. They were smooth and pink. Her mind began to revolt again as she peered at them in disbelief. She had felt the glass cutting into them when she had caught herself on the cement. Yet, there were no cuts, no blood – there was nothing…

  She couldn’t be dead. She had a promise to keep – a p
romise she had made to Maggie.

  They had stood on the beach where they had first met, on the one year anniversary of their meeting. It was the first of November and a crisp breeze had blown off the ocean all day, but they had ignored it. They were bundled in their favorite sweaters and their enigmatic love for one another. As the light of the day faded, the stars became crystal clear against the sky that was the deepest shade of blue. The small fire Brigit had built burned steadily and a bottle of wine sat opened on the blanket where they had spent the afternoon watching the horizon slowly, ever so slowly, give birth to the full moon. As they stood at the water’s edge watching the moon reach it’s zenith, Brigit had held Maggie’s hand and gazed deep into her eyes and promised a long life together until the last breath.

  Brigit had been so sure that she would be the last one to go, that she would outlast Maggie by at least a day. She had never imagined that she would ever leave Maggie alone. She had made the promise that she never would and now, she had broken it.

  Maggie forced a smile as she handed another miniature goblin a handful of candy. Mama Dee was declaring how scary the pint sized ghost behind the goblin seemed as tiny hands peeked out from under the flora-print sheet the child’s mother had decided to use as a last minute costume. Despite the cheerfulness of the crowd, Maggie couldn’t help but think that the nagging feeling at the back of her mind would only go away at the sight of Brigit striding through the crowd. The world could completely dissolve and everything would still be fine in Maggie’s mind so long as Brigit was beside her.

  Mama Dee turned to face her companion. Despite the smile on the young woman’s face, Mama Dee could see the worry deep behind her dark eyes. Like Maggie, she too had a nagging feeling that would only go away at the sight of Brigit coming toward them. It was a feeling Mama Dee had come to know too well in her sixty plus years of walking the earth. She prayed tonight was just a false feeling brought on by the holiday that so often played on her superstitions and senses…