Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross

by B. L. Newport

  “She still ain’t called?”

  “No,” Maggie sighed. “I’ve called her cell phone three times. The voice mail keeps picking up. Something is wrong.”

  “Maybe she laid her phone down somewhere. You know how she misplaces things sometimes,” Mama Dee suggested, remembering how she had spent an hour helping the girls look for Brigit’s keys just yesterday morning.

  “I know,” Maggie said as she passed another handful of candy to twin princesses. “She’d misplace her head if it wasn’t attached to her body. Most days, I have to give her a pat down list before she leaves for work,” Maggie said as a little boy without a costume came to stand in front of her.

  “I know, I’ve heard you,” Mama Dee laughed as her eyes fell on the little boy. “Sweetheart, what are you supposed to be?” she asked the child.

  “I’m a little boy,” the child replied. Mama Dee and Maggie exchanged glances. It wasn’t a little boy standing before them, but rather, a little girl in boy’s clothes. Mama Dee gave the child a handful of candy.

  “They’re getting started earlier and earlier these days,” Maggie muttered under her breath. Mama Dee shook her head and sighed in amusement.

  “Maybe you should go on home and wait for her,” Mama Dee suggested. “We’re about done here anyway.”

  “Are you sure, Mama?”

  “Yeah, go on home, honey. Just give me a call when she gets in so I don’t spend the evening worrying too,” Mama Dee replied with a wave of her plump hand.

  “I will,” Maggie replied as she turned and snatched up her purse and sweater.

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder at Mama Dee as she exited the shelter. The small black woman had fully returned her attention to the line of children parading before her, their pillow cases held wide open to receive their treats. For a moment, Maggie found herself smiling. Mama Dee loved children, but the little old woman had never been able to have any of her own. Instead, she doted on those who needed some love the most. Everyone in the neighborhood knew Mama Dee. Everyone could always feel the love.

  During the walk home, Maggie called Brigit’s cell phone three more times. Each time, she only heard Brigit’s voicemail message… Hi, this is Brigit, sorry I missed your call… Each time, Maggie would disconnect the call before she heard Brigit’s instruction to leave a message. It wasn’t like Brigit to not contact her. Even if she had misplaced her cell phone, Maggie knew Brigit would have found a way to call and explain the situation.

  Yet, no call was coming.

  As Maggie climbed the stairs to their apartment, a sinking sensation was forming in the pit of her stomach. Something was definitely wrong. Everything was too quiet in the building and her intuition told her it had nothing to do with the holiday.

  Glancing over her shoulder as she put her key in the lock, Maggie had the feeling something dark was moving in the air behind her. Quickly, she turned the key and stepped inside the apartment. With her back against the door, she let go her breath and tried to shake the feeling she had just experienced in the hall. The eeriness refused to go away, though. It was as though the darkness was had come to lurk just outside the door.

  “Brigit, are you home?” Maggie called out, not moving from her spot at the door. When silence answered her, the sandy haired woman allowed her brown eyes to scan the room. Her gaze went quickly to where she had left the note for her partner. It had not been touched. “Brigit?” she called again. Still no sound could be heard.

  Slowly, Maggie eased off the door and walked to her favorite reading chair. Every nerve was on edge and her hands were beginning to shake as she dug her cell phone out from the pocket of the sweater that had done little to block the chills now running rampant over her skin. Glancing over her shoulder as she waited for Mama Dee to answer her call, Maggie glanced at the windows to see if one had been left open. They hadn’t. All three were closed, yet, the chill in the room was growing by the second.

  “Hello, Maggie,” Mama Dee’s voice finally sounded in Maggie’s ear and the young woman returned her attention to the call. She could tell by the labored sound of breathing that Mama Dee had already begun her walk towards home.

  “Mama, she’s not home. She hasn’t called you, has she?”

  “No, she sure hasn’t. Did you try to call her again?”

  “Three times, no answer. Mama, something isn’t…”

  Maggie’s attention was yanked to the door by the sound of heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. She remembered Brigit walking out that morning with her boots on.

  “What’s the matter?” Maggie heard Mama Dee ask.

  “Hang on. Someone’s coming up the stairs,” Maggie answered as she rose from her chair and hurried to the door. She pressed her eye to the peep hole and frowned at the sight of two uniformed policemen on the other side. “Mama, it’s the police.”

  “What do they want?”

  A loud knock caused Maggie to jerk her head back from where she peered out at the two very serious looking men. Slowly, she opened the door with her free hand. Mama Dee was still on the phone, Maggie knew, but the sense that these men had bad news caused the woman to forget her previous conversation.

  “Maggie Devon?” The first officer spoke, perhaps more sternly than Maggie cared for.

  “Yes? Is there a problem?”

  “Do you know a Brigit Malone?” he asked in reply to her question.

  “Yes. Is she in trouble?” Maggie asked quickly. The sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach returned with such a force that caused her head to start spinning.

  “I’m afraid we have some bad news…” was all Mama Dee heard over the phone before the screaming started.

  Maggie hit her knees in the agony that ripped through her gut. Her worst fear had broken free.

  3: Stalked

  Brigit had tried to stop Maggie from going to the door when the policemen had returned to deliver the news of ‘the accident’. As soon as she had walked through the door, Brigit had jumped to her feet and began the useless rant about what had happened to cause her delay. It was only when Maggie had called Mama Dee that Brigit grasped the fact that Maggie could not see or hear her.

  As the realization sank in, Brigit had gone to the window and looked out. She could see him – John Blackwick – standing on the sidewalk across the street. He was leaning against the wall of the building with his hands in his trouser pockets. Even from the second floor through the heavy darkness, Brigit could feel his ice blue eyes boring into her. Anger began to well up from her gut as she returned his stare. It was only when she saw the police car pull up to the curb in front of her building that she broke her gaze and her attention snapped back to Maggie.

  Mama Dee had arrived as quickly as she could. Brigit had watched helplessly as one of the policemen noticed the cell phone in Maggie’s fist. Gently, he took it from her and handed it to his partner as he tried to coax Maggie from where she had crumpled to the floor to the sofa. His partner, noticing that there was a call still active, quickly began instructing the person on the other end to please come at once. When the call was ended, Brigit watched him place the phone on the table where they normally tossed their keys and assist his partner in helping the hysterical woman from the floor over to the sofa. It was only when Mama Dee arrived that the policemen took their leave after giving her some final instructions regarding identifying Brigit’s body.

  Brigit never felt so helpless in her life as she watched her partner falling apart and their dearest friend trying to comfort her while grieving as well. Finally, Brigit turned away again and returned to the window. The sobbing of the two women who had loved her most pierced her brain. The sound branded itself in her ears as she looked out at the darkness that had completely shrouded the street below.

  He was still there. He had moved from leaning against the wall to leaning against the post of the street light that blazed brightly against the darkness of the night. Their gazes locked again and Brigit wondered momentarily why he was stalking her. As they stare
d each other down, she searched her memory thoroughly for any hint of a John Blackwick in it.

  After what seemed like hours, she finally came to the conclusion that they had never crossed paths before. By the time she found this conclusion, Maggie had fallen asleep and Mama Dee could be heard shuffling around in the kitchen. An occasional sniffle indicated her tears were still falling as she washed that morning’s breakfast dishes the girls had left in the sink.

  Brigit finally ceded her position at the window and stood over Maggie as she slept on the sofa. Mama Dee had covered her with the plaid throw they kept over the back of the sofa. They had spent many a cool evening snuggled beneath it as they watched T.V. It wasn’t a heavy blanket, but it was warm enough to create a sense of coziness when shared with the one she loved.

  Brigit reached out to smooth back a curl from Maggie’s brow. She was startled to find that it would not move. Her fingers passed through it, sending a shiver down Maggie’s features. Brigit felt her lip begin to quiver as she raised her hand to look at it again. She still appeared solid. She had felt the warmth of Maggie’s skin as she had brushed her forehead. Yet, it confused her that she was unable to feel anything else. As she turned away from her sleeping partner, she could feel her heart beginning to ache with the thought she would never again be able to touch Maggie with the familiarity that she had known before this evening’s event.

  The funeral was on a Wednesday. Despite the crisp chill that was in the air, the sun was shining and the sky was clear. It seemed such a contrast to the feeling that seemed to prevail in the energy surrounding the services and the subsequent funeral procession through the cemetery to the site where Brigit’s body was to be interred.

  Brigit stood beside Maggie, unable to cease her irritated stare at the row of faces on the other side of the dark brown casket that held her body. Maggie should have been the one sitting there – not the one standing through her grief; but then, if Maggie had remained in charge, none of this scene would have been happening in the first place, Brigit mused. The party would have already started.

  She had come to accept the fact that she was indeed dead during the course of the last week, but none of this was part of her final wishes. She had-had the conversation a few times with Maggie regarding the disposal of her remains should anything happen. They had made the agreement to cremation. Their final instructions were to combine their ashes and then throw them from the highest peak their friends could find. Even in death, they had mapped out the intent to always be together. Brigit stared hard at the casket containing her body and frowned. The map had been shredded, torn from Maggie’s hands before she could even realize it. Brigit had suspected it would happen as soon as Maggie had made the phone call to the woman she had never met.

  Her eyes rested on the woman sitting directly in the middle of the family row. She wondered why her mother had bothered to show. She wondered how, after so many years, Liana Evans could suddenly have a care about any part of Brigit’s life – or death.

  Actually, she didn’t wonder. She knew.

  Liana was hoping to snag the spotlight. She would be the grieving mother who had lost her only child in a bizarre accident. She would rue her actions as a homophobic mother that had shunned her daughter for being an embarrassment. She would lament her grief at never knowing how happy her daughter had been, how strong she had been to make a choice that went against all the rules of her conservative upbringing just to be happy with someone who had filled her heart with so much love. Liana Evans, though, would never admit that Brigit had truly been happy though. She would eventually find some way to belittle the life Brigit had shared with Maggie.

  Brigit imagined Liana at the dinner after the funeral. What she imagined made her smile. Her friends – their friends – would easily see through Liana. They had all lived through their own hardships with the lives they had been born into, with the paths they had walked to find their own peace and happiness with their place in the world. Brigit smiled because she knew that, standing behind her, were some bigger drama queens than Liana Evans could ever imagine being.

  Brigit eyed her mother with amusement. Liana was dressed well, meaning to draw attention to herself; but the drama queens in the crowd behind her were in drag. Their glitz and glamour having gone all out to show their celebration and admiration for their friend lost too early. The sequins and feather boas, the lipstick and beehive wigs, the broad rimmed ladies’ hats brought more attention and festivity to the service than Brigit could have hoped for. Today, they had Liana beat hands down.

  Brigit turned to her right and smiled faintly as Mama Dee brought a handkerchief to her eye. She watched the older woman dab away the tear and sniff lightly as the preacher droned on the final words of the burial rite. Behind her, she could hear the quiet sniffles of the people who had been her and Maggie’s friends. In Brigit’s opinion, they should all be standing on the family side – not the people who were sitting there.

  A movement in the trees behind the family row caught Brigit’s attention and she stiffened. He was there, looking the same as he had every day since their meeting in the alley leading to The Black Cat Club. His hands were shoved in his trousers and he had that infuriatingly patient look on his face as he locked eyes with her. Brigit suddenly felt her anger spark as the final words from the preacher reached through to her brain: ashes to ashes, dust to dust…

  Quickly, Brigit left the group surrounding the grave and strode across the lawn toward John Blackwick. She could feel her anger sparking in an effort to ignite as she approached him. He made no effort to move despite the obvious look of intent on her face. Instead, a gentle smile came to his face as he waited for her to confront him.

  “What the hell do you want?” Brigit demanded when she was within earshot of him.

  “A conversation, Brigit Malone, that’s all,” he replied.

  Brigit stopped three feet from him, her hands clenched into fists at her side. She wanted so badly to strike out at him physically. She had the feeling, however, that it would not wipe the smile from his face.

  “You’ve been stalking me all week. What could we possibly have to talk about?”

  “I have a proposition for you.” John Blackwick revealed.

  “Regarding what?” Brigit demanded. Her voice was shaking. Her anger was rising. She hated being pushed to the point where her anger would take control of her. It had always been such a draining emotion and Brigit had often been able to avoid it easily. Today, at the sight of John Blackwick, her anger suddenly seemed too near the surface and she didn’t care.

  “I have a job offer.”

  “A job offer? I’m dead, Mr. Blackwick, as you so eloquently pointed out last week. What kind of job can a ghost do?” He wasn’t making any sense to her and it seemed to only urge her anger to rise all the quicker.

  “There is a point, Brigit, where phantoms have the potential to become something more. You possess skills that I am most interested in and it is obvious to me that you have no intention of letting go of the life you had. I have a way to maintain some level of connection to it, if that is your true intention. It’s a choice you have to make, darling.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Brigit snapped at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about an opportunity to remain. Are you interested?”

  Brigit glared hard at him. The urge to raise her fist and punch him square in the nose was still riding through her mind even though a tiny spark of interest was beginning to form behind the urge. She kept her silence as he reached inside his breast pocket and withdrew a small business card before extending it out to her.

  “If you think about it, meet me at the Bleecker Street Café tomorrow and I’ll explain your options. Otherwise, I’ll have no choice but to carry out my assignment in regard to you, Brigit Malone.” There was a suddenly a serious tone to his words and Brigit felt a small shiver run down her spine. Something about the seemingly serene man before her suddenly felt very mena
cing.

  “Is that a threat?” She asked, her own tone matching the seriousness of his.

  “No, love, it’s a promise.”

  Brigit snapped the card quickly from John Blackwick’s extended hand and spun on her heel, turning her back on him. As she strode away, she heard his voice in her head.

  “Enjoy the celebration of your memory, Brigit. Soon, their lives will move on and you will still be here. Make your choice wisely, love…”

  4: Someone to Watch Over

  Brigit had gone home along with the crowd that had attended her funeral. Once there, the food was brought out and the wine began to flow. Her friends had spared no expense in honoring her memory. They had hired caterers and ordered Brigit’s favorite wine by the case. Glass upon glass was filled as stories were told about their various experiences with Brigit Malone and Maggie Devon. Accolades were posthumously lain out for all to see and agree and exalt as the autumn sun passed quickly through the sky and began to descend to his resting place on the other side of the world. Brigit watched the face of each person as they spoke, sometimes through tears, sometimes through laughter and she found herself tapping into the emotions swirling inside them. With the amount of bodies crowded into the main room of their apartment, feeling the energy was easy for Brigit. They had never entertained such a large gathering before.

  The only person unable to speak was Brigit’s mother, Liana. What could she say after so much adoration for her daughter – the woman she had never allowed herself to know – had been displayed?

  When the crowd began to disperse, she was touched by each friend’s offer to be there for Maggie as they bid good-byes. Brigit watched her partner as she accepted the offers with a forced smile, a nod and a hug. Even in her grief, Maggie was still beautiful to her. They had been together ten years minus one day. Brigit had hoped it would have been a full life spent with Maggie. She had hoped they would have been old and grey before they no longer looked at each other every day.