Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  Dorothy’s patience finally wore thin.

  “What would you have me do?” she snapped. “I don’t exactly have a great and varied resumé, you know.”

  “Oh, come on,” he countered. “It doesn’t have to be some big, full-time job, just something to make a contribution. Hell, pick up some shifts at a coffee shop.” Randy took a deep breath. “Look, anything you can do to at least show you’re trying would be great.”

  She paused, digesting the point he was trying to make. Trying to understand where he was coming from. A place of fear, she realized. Fear that I might get in the way of his little girl coming home. Dorothy forced herself to relax.

  “So you’re not mad about the floor?” she asked, shifting the subject.

  “Of course not,” Randy replied, calming down as well. “It’s only chalk. I just wasn’t expecting to see my place turned upside down when I walked in the door is all. You want to make chalk mandalas, or whatever that thing is, have at it. Just promise me you’ll look for a job too, okay?”

  Dorothy’s pulse slowed.

  “I understand your concern, Randy. Really, I do. Samantha is your priority. I get it, and tomorrow I’ll look for a job.”

  He moved close to her, the anger melting from both of them.

  “Thank you. It means a lot.” He held her close, breathing her in. “I’m sorry I flipped out on you. It was a shitty day, and this all surprised me—”

  “No, you had good reason. I just hope I can find somewhere that’ll hire me.”

  “You think about the morgue?” Randy joked.

  “I only deal with people before they’re dead. You know that. Besides, it’d be a pretty slow job. People aren’t dying like they’re supposed to these days.”

  “I don’t know, I still see stuff in the news.”

  “Yeah, but those are catastrophic events. Everyday deaths are slipping through the cracks. The slack is being picked up, somehow, but the ones they’re missing are piling up, and pretty soon it’s going to reach a tipping point.”

  “Well, you’re here for now, so it’s not your problem, right?”

  She stared at him a long moment. He still didn’t really believe her.

  “Yeah, right. Not my problem,” she lied. “Besides, it’ll be at least a hundred years before there are any irreversible problems.”

  Randy laughed. “We’ll be long gone by then anyway. Come on, get your shoes on and let me take you out for an apology dinner.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. Gotta fill up that tank. You’re gonna need your energy for that job hunt.”

  Having trekked all over town, it turned out getting a job wouldn’t be nearly so easy as Dorothy had hoped. Rejection after countless rejection turned her mood sour, and after a full day searching for a job, she realized an under-the-table gig was likely to be her best, and only, bet.

  It was by sheer luck that she happened to stop in a hole-in-the-wall coffee joint halfway across town before heading home from her unproductive day.

  The girl in dark makeup behind the counter who had served her didn’t make small talk, but was nice enough. Dorothy found her pour-over coffee more than adequate as she rested her weary feet in a threadbare wingback chair.

  She was beginning to decompress when the constant din of the somewhat crazy man at the counter finally cut through her calm. Despite the girl’s polite refusals, the man wouldn’t stop harassing her.

  “Come on, just one cookie. You know you can spare it. You’ll just throw them out at the end of the day anyway,” he whined.

  “For the last time, no, I’m not giving you free pastry. Now please leave me alone.”

  “Don’t be such a stuck-up bitch!” the man yelled. “I oughta show you—”

  Before he could react, the slender woman in black crossed the tiny space, getting right in his face.

  “You really should leave now,” Dorothy said, sharp ice dripping from her words.

  Something in her tone, along with a dangerously cold look in her eyes, made him agree.

  “Your cookies suck anyway!” he spat, trying to save face as he stormed out and slammed the door.

  The barista reached into the display case.

  “Hey, thanks for stepping in. I really appreciate it. You wanna cookie?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cool. I’m Nadine.”

  Dorothy shook her hand.

  “I’m Death—I mean, Dorothy,” she quickly corrected.

  Shit.

  “Ha! I love it. Nice to meet you, Deadly Dorothy,” Nadine laughed, embracing the moniker.

  The two women started talking and hit it off, the surly barista and the girl who thought she was Death bonding over mutual dislike of the idiots who seemed to fill the city. Their conversation eventually touched on the subject of the misery of job hunting, and by the time she left to catch the bus home, Dorothy had landed her first part-time coffee house gig.

  Randy was thrilled, not to mention impressed she had managed to find work so quickly. When she replayed the circumstances of her hiring, all he could do was laugh.

  “That is so you,” he chuckled. “So when do you start?”

  Dorothy breezed through training, mastering the machines in a day. Nadine was impressed and felt quite satisfied her new co-worker had her shit together. She penciled her into the schedule for a few shifts starting that weekend.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be working with you the first few weeks until you really get the hang of things,” Nadine assured her.

  Come that Saturday afternoon, Dorothy found herself enjoying the casual camaraderie behind the counter. Nadine, being a rather surly barista, shared her morbid sense of humor. Thus, the two actually got on quite well.

  “It’s official now, you’re part of the team. So, there’s one last thing you have to do,” Nadine informed her.

  “Oh?” Dorothy asked, intrigued.

  “Every employee gets to create a drink. See that one, ‘Brew-ha-ha’?” she said, pointing to the chalkboard. “That’s mine. Triple shot with almond milk foam, a dot of salted caramel syrup, and a bad joke.”

  “A bad joke?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a whole book of ’em, so don’t worry. If someone orders it, just look at the cheat sheet I taped up on the register.”

  “And people order this?”

  “Mostly for the coffee,” Nadine replied. “But some like a joke in the morning. Anyway, be creative and have fun with yours. It’s just coffee, after all.”

  “I’ll give it some thought,” Dorothy mused. “I’m sure I can come up with something interesting.”

  Fortune smiled upon her, and the rest of her first day went smoothly, especially as the weekend crowd tended to be a bit more laid-back than the frantic workweek morning rush.

  By the time she returned home, hands fragrant with the caffeinated tinge of work, despite several washings, Dorothy was more than ready for a relaxing evening of nothing more than take-out and a movie, and Randy happily obliged.

  Just a few days later, when Dorothy stepped off the bus and walked the few blocks to work, she opened the door to see a new menu item had been chalked on the board behind the counter.

  Coffee of Death, a cold-brew iced coffee with an additional double shot of espresso made with a cinnamon/cayenne blend mixed in.

  “It will touch your soul, but watch out, you might get burned!” Nadine quipped with a chuckle. Of course she liked the name. She was the one who had helped come up with it, after all. “Hey,” she said as she pulled her sketchbook from her bag, “you wanna check out my new tattoo idea?”

  Over the next several weeks, with the employment speedbump smoothed over, Randy and Dorothy hit their stride, really thriving as a couple, despite having been thrown together into a completely unexpected cohabitation situation. The widower, and a girl who thought she was Death.

  Dorothy also found her paranoia about being recaptured and dragged back to Camview was finally easing, at least a little. Working a few days a week help
ed, giving her a surprising sense of structure as well as extra cash, some of which went to acquiring more books on the occult. Unfortunately, no matter which store she visited, no book she found contained the wealth of information of that first tome. The one taken by Dr. Vaughan.

  Eventually, after another futile attempt at a gateway incantation, Dorothy had to accept the very real possibility that her weeks and weeks of chalk-work and study was for naught.

  All these runes. I’ve learned so many of them, tried every combination, but I’m no closer to home than before, she grimly realized, sitting cross-legged on the floor of their living room. If these really won’t work, then the only other option has to be the watch. I just don’t know how.

  She looked at the time. Her shift started in a couple of hours. Carefully putting the rug back in place over her sprawling maze of runes, Dorothy got ready for the bus ride across town to work. Well, it should be a pretty relaxing day, at least, she reasoned. I have to thank Nadine for putting me on afternoons this week.

  Calm and content, Dorothy locked up and headed off to work, happily settled into a satisfying routine, at least for the time being.

  Despite whatever comfort level Dorothy had found, one person was quite the opposite, and still had his escaped troublemaker firmly in his mind.

  Every day, Doctor Vaughan would still habitually scan the streets in hopes he’d catch another glimpse of the woman he’d come to see as the sole reason for his troubles and woes. She’d been gone long enough that he simply couldn’t cover it up, and news of the escape had finally reached the board. He still had a job, but was desperately clinging to it with only his fingertips. To him, she was worse than just an institutional nemesis. She was quite possibly the death of his career.

  He couldn’t paper over things this time, and besides the wrath of the board, he was under scrutiny from the state regulators as well. Desperate to save his job, his nerves were on edge constantly. Doctor Vaughan had just picked up an afternoon cup of coffee and muffin from the shop around the corner from Camview, allowing himself a rare break, when his cell phone rang.

  “Yes?” he answered, weary, but still determined. “No, I don’t care,” he snapped into the phone. “Keep looking!”

  Doctor Vaughan ended the call and sighed. He needed a break. A moment to gather his thoughts, so instead of heading straight back, as was his usual routine, he took a seat on one of the vacant chairs in front of the establishment and watched the throngs of humanity flow by. The act of sitting, just for a moment, to zone out a little, allowed him a brief moment to decompress, even if just the slightest bit.

  His phone rang again.

  “Yes?” His shoulders slumped ever so slightly as he listened to his caller. “I see. Tell him I’ll be there shortly. Of course, we can use the conference room. Um, exactly how many members of the board came with him? I see. Very well, I’m on my way now.”

  He took a deep breath as he rose to his feet, steeling himself for the browbeating he knew he’d receive when he returned.

  “They have no idea what I have to deal with,” he muttered as he stepped out into the human traffic and headed to whatever fresh reprimand was awaiting him.

  CHAPTER 29

  It was a beautiful morning down at Lafayette Park as the lovers stood in the shade of a large oak. It had all started off as a bit of friendly banter the night before, but when Dorothy answered Randy’s innocent question, he was shocked.

  “You mean you really haven’t? Not ever?”

  She had shaken her head no, and Randy had declared that simply would not do. It was a basic a rite of passage for everyone, and this horrendous oversight would not stand. The next morning, they were about to remedy that.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. I mean, is this really necessary?”

  “Trust me, you’ll get the hang of it,” he said, then gave her a shove.

  He ran alongside her, hands planted on the bike’s seat as they gained speed.

  They may have looked a slightly odd pair, the two grownups running through the park, one on a bike, wobbling side to side, the other yelling encouragement, but odd as they seemed, their exuberance left a smile on the faces of everyone they passed.

  “Keep pedaling,” Randy called out. “You’ve got it!” And she indeed did.

  He let go of the seat. Dorothy wobbled a bit, but the centrifugal force of the wheels kept her upright, and as anyone who has learned to ride a bike knows, everything suddenly just seemed to click. She pedaled a wobbly, wide loop that finally brought her back to her waiting fella, coming to a somewhat off-balance stop in front of him.

  “Piece of cake!” Dorothy crowed, throwing a triumphant, lopsided grin his way.

  He gave her a congratulatory high-five.

  “Yup. A natural. That’s my girl, everyone!” he shouted. “Made of awesome, this one right here!”

  “Shut up!” Dorothy blushed.

  “Make me,” he laughed.

  “If you insist,” she chuckled in reply as she leaned in and gave him a kiss.

  A few loops around the park later, they returned the bike to the rental kiosk and found a nice spot at the foot of a small rise, where they could people-watch the park-goers to their hearts’ content.

  Randy gave Dorothy a quick kiss, and rose to his feet.

  “I’m gonna grab us a couple of hot dogs,” he said. “You want a root beer?

  “It tickles my nose.”

  He cracked a smile.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he said, then trotted off to fetch their afternoon snack, taking a quick glance at the time on his pocket watch as he walked to the vendor’s cart.

  A funny thing had happened in the time she’d been living with Randy. While she was still actively working on her mystical rune gateway and fretted about crossing back, she also noticed that she’d sometimes get so caught up in life that she’d forget to be worried about it for days at a time.

  So, it’s not a total catastrophe. At least not yet, she rationalized. I mean, people still die, it’s just at a lesser rate. The big question is whether the gateway will work. If I don’t get back, it’ll only be a matter of time before the ripples grow and start having a serious effect.

  She decided it was too perfect a day to ruin with worry and made a conscious effort to think of more pleasant things, at least for the time being. As she surveyed the people lazing in the park, her eyes fell upon an old man sitting in the shade on a bench just up the rise. Squinting, Dorothy realized, much to her surprise, that she recognized the ornate cane in his hands.

  It… it can’t be.

  The failed suicide from her first moments awake in this realm. Dorothy rose to her feet, unsure.

  Why here? Why now?

  There was only one way to find out. Steeling herself for whatever may come, she slowly walked over to where the old man sat, lost in thought.

  “Mind if I join you?” she queried.

  He looked up at her from his iron and wood throne. She detected no glimmer of recognition from his eyes as he gazed at her. None whatsoever.

  “Suit yourself,” he answered with a Russian accent. It wasn’t thick like a tourist, but rather had the sound of a man who had moved to the country as a young man and had made his way, learning the language and customs, but never really shaking the part of his old life that formed his early identity.

  Dorothy seated herself on the bench next to the old man, her posture a bit rigid as she waited to see what would happen next.

  Nothing.

  “Um, isn’t it a beautiful day?” she finally asked him, breaking the silence hanging thick around him.

  He turned his sad gaze to her.

  “Just another day, like all the others.”

  She recalled the small framed photo of his wife next to his bed. Much of that morning was a blur, but for some reason, that image stuck with her. The man tired of living. A man who had nothing left now. A man on his own.

  A lonely man who simply
wanted to die.

  Empathy had never been Dorothy’s strong suit. Hell, it wasn’t even in her vocabulary until recently, but she found that today, it came easily.

  “I used to feel like that, you know,” she began. “Nothing was special, every day was just more of the same. Even when things were different, they really weren’t.”

  “You’re young,” he replied. “You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t know loss. You have no idea how tired you get.” He looked as if he was going to continue, then fell into silence. After the brief surge of energy from conversation with another person, he seemed to deflate like a jostled soufflé as his depression slid back in its place.

  Dorothy gently placed her hand on his arm, fixing him with a warm gaze.

  “You know, for a long time I thought every human life was just a clock waiting to run out. No matter what they did, it made no difference. At the end of their time, no one was special, no one was unique, and no matter who they were or what they’d accomplished, they would all die, just like any other.”

  He turned, engaged by her tone, strangely comforted, though he couldn’t quite figure out why.

  “Do you know what happened?” she continued. “All of a sudden, out of the blue, my life was turned upside down, and I realized that I had been wrong. That every moment of every day was unique for every single person.”

  She looked into his eyes and saw much sadness, but she also saw a flash of vitality from this man who had lived such a long life. She glanced at Randy standing in line to buy their snacks and felt a surge of warmth in her chest.

  “I realized that every moment is a gift that people should cherish. It’s not just a greeting card line or cliché. It truly is precious.”

  “You say all these things, but you are too young to truly understand,” the man replied. “When you get to be my age there is nothing more to enjoy. Life runs out. My wife…” He started to tear up.

  “I remember.”