Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross

by B. L. Newport

  "For true love, I’ll wait forever. Surely, you of all people would understand that concept, Miss Malone.” Brigit nodded in silent agreement under his knowing gaze. Surely he would have overheard her conversations with John regarding Maggie.

  “What was her name?” She finally asked.

  “Liliana Margarita de la Huerta. She was so beautiful,” Edmund sighed. “We were going to elope that night so many years ago. It was our plan to use the money my father had given me for college to board a ship and sail for Spain. Liliana had family there, you see. We had the intention to seek out their assistance in starting our lives together there.”

  “Why elope? Why not stay here and build your lives?” Brigit asked. “You were in love. Surely no one would have denied your happiness,” she pointed out. The old man only shook his head.

  “My father would have. It would not have been proper for someone of my social status to marry Liliana. She was our housekeeper, you see? My father was a very prominent business man with many social and political ties. It would have been a scandal if our romance had ever been discovered. You still seem confused, Miss Malone,” Edmund J. Polly pointed out as Brigit suddenly realized he was telling the tale of a young man.

  Her confusion arose from the visual sight that was sitting across from her. Edmund J. Polly, as Brigit saw him, was a man that appeared to be well into his seventies or early eighties at the time of his death – not a young man of maybe twenty.

  “Well, I apologize for saying so, but; you’re old. You’re telling me a story of young love,” Brigit finally admitted. A slight smile touched the old man’s face once more.

  “I was young,” he confirmed. “The vision of me that you see now is the soul that was within the body that perished that night in the fire. I’m sure you have come to realize by now that not everything is as it appears on this side of living,” he chuckled.

  “I suppose I should have thought of that,” Brigit sighed.

  “There is still much for you to learn, Miss Malone; but in due time you will possess a wisdom of this world that will rival Mr. Blackwick. You are a quick study. You must simply remember to keep an open mind.”

  A comfortable silence fell between them, as if they were long time friends. Edmund J. Polly had become that, Brigit thought. He had listened to her and reassured her as an understanding and caring friend would have and that amount of kindness meant the world to her at the moment. He had been a young man with an old soul and he had taught her the simple truth of the lesson behind having an opened mind. One could hear so much more if they just allowed themselves to hear with more than their ears. One could say so much without ever opening their mouth. This was what she had learned from the old man with the sad blue eyes.

  After awhile, Birgit returned to her thoughts of work and the idea that she should get back to it as soon as possible. When she said as much to her new friend, she found a small measure of reassurance in his blue eyes as he reached across the table and gently patted her hand.

  “Have faith, Miss Malone. Mr. Blackwick is a sensible fellow. Just be sure to be completely honest with him. All will go well for you,” Edmund J. Polly predicted.

  “Thank you, Mr. Polly,” Brigit said, forcing a slight smile to her face. Considering the fact that Edmund J. Polly had been sitting in this very same booth on the day that John Blackwick had first entered the café himself, she guessed he would know better than she about her mentor’s character.

  26: The Confabulating Irishman

  Seamus groaned loudly as he heaved himself into a sitting position. The gash in his side sent a sharp pain through him with the sudden movement. It was enough to cause the Irishman to suddenly feel nauseous. When the room finally stopped spinning, Seamus exhaled a long breath and ran a hand through his hair to make sure it really had been the room spinning and not his head.

  The fever had finally subsided at some point, although, Seamus had been unable to pinpoint the exact moment. All he could remember was that he was no longer on fire and that he could hear her. She had been singing something. There were no words, exactly, but he had heard her voice reaching across the charred remains of the landscape of his mind. Realizing that the fires were finally gone, Seamus had opened his eyes and decided it was time to start moving again.

  His sudden movement had caught her attention. Through the blur of his focus, he had seen her rush from the office across from his own and scurry down the main hall toward John Blackwick’s office. Ah, that’s right, Seamus thought, the boss is back… As the thought finished its procession through his mind, John Blackwick appeared in the doorway, a serious -- yet concerned -- expression set firmly on his face.

  “Ah, so ye have returned. I thought me mind might be playin’ tricks on me in me sickness,” Seamus quipped as she struggled to focus his vision. “I think the fever burned me blind, though. I can barely see ye,” he added.

  “Just take it easy, Seamus,” John instructed. “The blindness is only temporary. How long have you been down?”

  “Since the last assignment,” Seamus groaned as he tried to straighten his back. All the days of sleeping on the sofa had left him feeling crumpled, like an arthritic old man. “How long have ye been back?”

  “Two days. What happened?” John asked. Seamus snapped his emerald green eyes to John Blackwick’s face in sudden seriousness. He noticed the glare had no affect on his mentor.

  “Have ye not talked to yer lovely assistant?” There was an edge to his voice that bordered disrespect, but given the situation and the state of his present condition, Seamus didn’t care. He hoped John Blackwick would at least understand the force that would follow that edge should he have taken Brigit’s side.

  “I’ve not seen her. Miss Yaris says Brigit left the office two days ago. She has yet to return,” John explained. Seamus eyed the other man for a second before deciding he was being honest. “Now, tell me what happened to cause this.”

  “Ye might want to take a seat,” Seamus suggested.

  Obligingly, John Blackwick fetched the wooden chair from the writing desk and positioned himself on it. Seamus saw a slight movement in the office across the hall and strained his vision for a better look at the young woman that had fetched the boss. She had dark hair and a pale face, but Seamus could tell nothing more than that.

  “Mr. Flannery,” John addressed him. Seamus quickly returned his attention to John and found a look of slight impatience on the other man’s pale face.

  “Well, ye see, it was a tough assignment ye handed me…” Seamus began.

  John watched the Irishman intently as he launched into the telling the tale of the glorious battle between himself and the merciless members of the Chupacabra gang. John kept silent through the saga, noticing the slight movements that gave away the truth of Seamus Flannery’s over-exaggeration in certain parts. The Irish, John Blackwick was well aware, could be prone to great confabulation when they were telling a story. Being an Irishman himself, he knew the impulse well. His restraint of the urge had only come from the many years under Araxius Herodotus. The Old Man had possessed no patience for anything more than the simple truth in any tale and John had learned early on to temper the bardic notions that had once ran so strongly within him.

  Despite his knowledge that the injured Reaper was lying to a degree, John couldn’t help but to feel his temper beginning to spark. It was not so much over Brigit’s lack of action in regard to Seamus Flannery, but rather, it was more the fact that she had remained absent from the office since her subsequent return and deposit of Belinda Yaris. John felt slighted in the thought that his protégé, his assistant, would not trust that he would understand once he had heard her side of the story. Brigit’s continued absence from the office added to the waning of John’s understanding. His only hope, as Seamus Flannery finally concluded his tale, was that he could regain his sense of understanding once he did hear her side of it all.

  27: Brigit’s Side

  The door to 666 ½ Bleecker Street had never appea
red so bleak, Brigit mused as she stood on the sidewalk staring at it. Behind that door, she thought, is a mess I created. Seamus was undoubtedly still unconscious from the suffering of his wounds. By now, Brigit was sure, Belinda would have run out of names to record and was possibly meddling in things she should not. Beyond that, John Blackwick would have returned from his trip and discovered the mess that had accumulated with Brigit’s absence.

  She had not been back to the office since leaving Belinda two days before. Brigit had originally thought, after leaving Edmund J. Polly at the Bleecker Street Café, that she would head straight back and resume the break neck pace of Reapings so that she could appear busy when John did make his return. However, after leaving the café, Brigit had turned north and made her way to the cemetery where her mortal body had been put for eternal rest.

  It had been quiet there. As she had walked amongst the grave stones and monuments, she listened hard for any sound that would indicate she was not alone. Yet, she had heard nothing during her passage. She had found it somewhat strange that a cemetery should be so completely void of waiting spirits. During her life, she had always thought a cemetery would be filled to the brim with souls waiting to meet their judgments, and as a result, Brigit had maintained a quiet reverence for the acreages that had been separated from the rest of the landscape by iron bars and stone walls.

  A small stone marker had been set at the head of her grave. It was simple, bearing her name and dates as most grave stones did. Below the dates, Brigit found the wish: May You Know Eternal Peace.

  Brigit bit her lip as she read the words. Maggie had picked those words, she was sure. Despite Brigit’s calm demeanor during life, Maggie had been aware of the turmoil that could occasionally come to Brigit’s mind. Her partner of ten years minus one day had always been in tune enough to know when the ghosts and demons of Brigit’s memories would rise up to haunt her. Brigit had always thought she had let them go, blocked them from her conscious thought so that the ghosts and demons had no hand in defining her; but every once in awhile, she could feel their spectral fingertips on her skin. Apparently, Brigit mused as she stood by her grave and read the wish once more, Maggie could feel it too.

  She had remained beside her grave longer than she had intended. Her thoughts on her own life before the accident and after the accident had wrapped around her, holding her there to view them like photographs. She had to remember them. She had to honor them – no matter how painful or sad they had been. Somehow, Brigit knew that in doing this, it would free her to continue on with her present existence. It would free her to further open her mind to all this side of living would show her.

  Her last stop before making her way back to 666 ½ Bleecker Street had been to see Maggie. It was early enough in the morning that Maggie would still be asleep. Brigit had stood over her lover, watching her sleep peacefully. She wished for a second that she could lie down beside Maggie, wrap her in her arms and hold onto her until the end of Maggie’s days; but there was work to be done and Brigit knew she could no longer put it off. It was the bargain she had agreed to for Maggie’s sake. As she exited the bedroom, she heard Maggie’s sleepy voice call to her.

  “I love you, Bree,” Maggie sighed. Brigit stopped in the door way and looked back at her sleeping lover.

  “I love you too, Mags. Forever, I love you.”

  The office was quiet when Brigit entered. From where she stood after closing the door, she could tell that John Blackwick was present in his office. From the sound of shuffling papers in Belinda’s office, Brigit assumed the girl was still hard at work on her original task. Guessing that it was best to get the explaining over with, Brigit squared her shoulders and began her approach toward The Grim Reaper’s office. She and Belinda had only a second to exchange a glance as she passed the young woman’s office. A surprised, yet relieved, look emanated from Belinda’s blue eyes. Brigit, however, had no time to interpret any message that may have been sent her way.

  John was sitting at his desk engrossed in a stock of portfolios before him. Brigit stood just inside the door, watching her mentor. He was usually a blank slate when it came to expression. It was usually impossible for Brigit to determine her mentor’s thoughts or mood. Today was no exception.

  “Have a seat, Brigit,” John instructed without looking up at her. Brigit obeyed by entering the room and filling the chair across from the head Grim Reaper. She was not surprised that he had known it was her. “You have some explaining to do,” he pointed out quietly.

  “Yes, I do,” Brigit confirmed. “Where would you like me to start?”

  John Blackwick looked across the massive mahogany desk that separated them. He was expecting to see some humor on the woman’s face. Instead, he found a seriousness to match his own. It was as if Brigit had developed some sense of understanding to the gravity of the situation and realized there was no humor to be found in it. As John looked deep into her dark eyes, he saw the seriousness planted deep within her and he wondered if perhaps she had lost her sense of humor all together. Quickly, John pushed past that thought and leaned back in his chair. She had asked him where she should begin.

  “Start with the assignment,” he instructed, making himself comfortable. Although he was sure Brigit would not be prone to confabulating the story as Seamus Flannery had, John knew he needed to provide his full attention in order to see it all. The sin of omission was just as bad as the sin of confabulation in his book.

  Brigit nodded solemnly and began the tale. She explained the meeting of Seamus Flannery on Pier 13 in San Francisco and her observance of the other Reaper’s taking of the gold locket from the spirit he had crossed over. John acknowledged the slight tinge of annoyance with the idea that a Reaper would be so bold as to take souvenirs and he made a mental note to have a discussion with Seamus regarding it. Brigit continued on with the story of the next assignment and the details of it, John observed, were not as glorious as the first version he had heard. He had already guessed that Seamus’ arrogant nature had taken over the scenario and that his hot-headed determination to over-achieve was what had landed the Irishman into the resulting state of non-commission. John was most interested in Brigit’s sense of responsibility of the scene and whether she would own up to that responsibility in the end.

  Brigit explained the facts only. John could see from her expression that she was being honest. There was something, however, that she was omitting. John saw her pause in her tale, as if deciding whether to admit this one detail. When he saw her push it aside in her mind, he realized that she had deemed it a personal issue not worth his consideration and therefore, not important to the tale. She ended it all in explaining that she could think of nothing else to do but to return to the main office with the mangled Seamus Flannery and to leave him to suffer through his infection as he would.

  “I made him as comfortable as I could,” Brigit offered quietly.

  John pursed his lips as his assistant fell into a waiting silence. She was prepared, he thought, to receive whatever discipline he would hand her. He wasn’t ready to do that just yet, tough. There were other things to be considered.

  “Where did you find Miss Yaris?” John asked.

  “She was one of the assignments I had scooped up. I apologize for not consulting you before bringing her on, but, I saw potential in her. I was surprised that we missed her when we were going through the files the first time.”

  “She was a good find, Brigit. I’m not upset with her presence. She’s been quite efficient in her work. Where have you been since bringing her here, though? And why didn’t you send for me when you returned?” The questions had been present since the moment Brigit had set foot in his office, but John knew he had to hear her side before scolding her for her lack of forethought.

  “I was unsure of how to reach you. It’s a weak excuse, I know,” Brigit replied, “but I have learned a couple of things these last two days that will ensure it won’t happen again.” John met her level gaze.

  “What make
s you sure your employment will continue?”

  The question sounded cruel as he uttered it. John wished almost immediately that he could take it back. Brigit, however, did not flinch with the iciness of the question. It was as if she had been expecting it all along.

  “I have hope,” she replied.

  John looked away form the dark woman as he pondered his next action. There were many things to consider before he could make a just decision. Finally, he returned his attention to her and found that hers had never left him. The somber air around Brigit was beginning to unsettle him.

  “Go home, Brigit,” he finally said. “I’ll deliver my decision in three days.”

  “I don’t understand,” Brigit admitted. John could hear the confusion in her voice. She had expected a severe and immediate sentence.

  “You’re suspended until I can decide what to do. I think it’s the fairest thing to do at this point. Go home. I’ll come to you once I’ve made up my mind,” he said quietly.

  Finally, Brigit stood and exited his office as quietly as she had entered it. He heard a short exchange between the two women before the main door to 666 ½ Bleecker Street was opened and Brigit was gone.

  John remained relaxed in his chair for quiet some time after she had left. While she had mismanaged the assignment and failed to ask for help, Brigit had made some recovery of balance by increasing her work load and the discovery of Belinda Yaris. Brigit had admitted her mistakes. She had taken responsibility fearlessly. John knew he couldn’t discount those facts. Yet, there was one thing she had omitted and John found that to be an irksome thought. Whatever it was – personal or not – John wanted and needed to know what it was before he could allow her to carry on. He had told her three days. There was time to determine his sentence in a cool manner. He had time to find justification for what his heart demanded of him in regard to Brigit Malone.