Hold the Light (21 page)

He lifted his head and turned to me, revealing a twinkling wet line that ran down his cheek.

Randy had never cursed, been derogatory, or shown an abundance of emotion until recently. But now, he was crying. I knew that he had more years than anyone to reflect and change his ways, but he was stubborn and all his years had probably made him even more stubborn. Seeing him cry, I knew he was scared for his life for the first time in his six decades, but I don't think that was why he cried. I think it was for me. He had dragged me into a situation of life and death and didn't know how to save me.

The difficulty of understanding his own death, since he had been Death for a lifetime, was understandable. Yet he knew more about demise than anyone. Randy had seen plenty of people scared to die, but experiencing the fear of death for the first time in ages was completely different. His tears told me that he realized he hadn't the slightest idea how to deal with it. Knowing he was being watched and his days being numbered finally broke him down, but with a stiff hand and pride, he wiped his tears away.

"No. Death comes only in moments of weakness and I will be strong. I will beat this demon. My own and the other," he spoke to the window.

"We will find a way," he said, turning to me. And I believed him again.

Chapter 38

We tried to stay out of my sister's place as much as possible, only using it for sleeping and bathing. Randy figured the convict and the demon would show up there once I was involved. We ate out often, caught lots of movies, and wandered the city. We did whatever we could to stay occupied and keep our spirits up, but we only had a week and a half left until my sister came home and only so much money.

One sunny day, when out walking to get groceries, I noticed a church up a block ahead of us.

"Could we hide out in a church Randy?"

"No."

"Why not? It's holy ground. Demons are unholy. Makes sense to me."

"That does not matter," Randy answered.

"Fine then," I pouted.

Randy let out a sigh, "What do you want to know, George?"

Biting on my lower lip, I asked, "How did this all come about? Why doesn't the church protect us?"

"I truthfully do not know. I have pieced together much from the sparse memories of the convict left in the gift," Randy replied then sighed. "It is all about sparse memories. And only the bad ones. It skips over all the good in my life and the convict's life..."

He paused and in his head, I'm sure he followed with "...and your life."

I might have caught it then but I didn't realize it later.

"Yet" Randy continued. "I have no idea where or how the gift originated and I really do not care. There is no reason to wonder."

"Is it the devil?" I asked as we both stopped in front of the church.

"No, I do not think so."

"This all doesn't sound much like what the Bible or anything else says about death," I queried.

"I have given up on figuring that out. All the holy books are either misinterpreted too much to trust fully or this may have nothing to do with any religion."

"How can that be?" I asked. "What else is there?"

"Everything. Everything is your answer. Everything down here. All I know is what I am. Nothing else matters. The best that I can figure is that I am to play this game and take lives from people. From the good and the bad. I am not privy to the great scheme of life, if there even is one. What I do know is that I feel like a vigilante. All the evidence I have gathered is so shaky that no logic stands strong. All I do is take souls, I do not even know where they go and why I take them."

I could tell Randy was growing weary, but he knew I was curious. It was better to have me know the ropes than go into the ring blindfolded.

"All right, that's enough school for now. Let's go home," I concluded.

We walked in silence for a moment. My legs and arms felt heavy.

"Let us spend the rest of the week here and then head to my sister's place," Randy added, changing the subject. "It is only fair, plus she is not too far from here."

"Oh yeah, that's right," I said, "How old is your sister?"

"She is about eighty," Randy answered.

My eyes bulged in amazement as I stared at him. I quickly blinked and shook my head. "Yeah, I forget that you stayed looking like a super-model."

"I guess," he smirked. "Do not make fun or I will get a group of my model friends to vomit on you."

He lightened up for the first time in days. That quick smile he flashed got me thinking about our carefree college days. He reverted back into the Randy I knew so well, the one I knew before I knew he had the gift. Well, before I knew he had it. I began to wonder how he was so carefree in college with such a depressing burden on his soul. I guessed he had gotten used to the struggle, but my real worry was that if he was able to be so jovial with the gift before, why is he so sad now? Does he know something? Does he know he or I will die?

I cut off my line of thinking and focused back on Randy. It was nice to see him this way again even it was only for a short time.

"So I guess it must have been hard for your sister to watch you stay the same age while her and your family grew old?" I questioned.

"I imagine her friends thought she had a young gentleman caller as of late," Randy laughed and then quickly turned serious. "Her and her husband had been the greatest help to me all these years. Well, until her husband died."

Randy became encompassed in a far-off and remorseful gaze then continued, "I wish I could see my niece and nephews more, though."

"Seems she's quite the sneak," I said.

"She was and still is perfect."

We continued to walk until we passed the church and a gated cemetery appeared from around the corner. Randy quickly became fully engrossed with the graveyard.

"What do you see?" I asked.

In an unexpected turn, Randy ran for the cemetery. All the groceries he was carrying plummeted to the sidewalk and he sprinted away from me. I leaned over and scooped up the bags between the things I was carrying and watched him. He stopped at the fence that lined the cemetery and stared in. Walking along slowly, he gripped each thin metal bar of the fence like he was hunting something. Eventually, he stopped and peeked his nose through the bars as if he spotted prey.

I slowly followed, but couldn't see much. I tried not to disturb him. We both must have looked ridiculous. I got about ten feet from him when he slapped his hand against the bars, creating a low vibrating hum.

"Damn it," he said.

"What?"

"Come out you coward," he yelled, ignoring me, "You are always around, stalking, lurking, scheming - just show your putrid face!"

A flock of pigeons fluttered a fit into the air, scattering off far and away.

"What're you ..."

Randy ran around the fence into the cemetery, erratically weaving past headstones. His boots were loose and he couldn't maintain much speed, but didn't go far until he slapped his hands atop a tombstone.

"You are worse than a disease," Randy said, turning around and walking back towards me, "At least a disease has the guts to stick around to fight."

A little rattled and confused, I watched from behind the bars as his shadow stretched out towards my feet. Randy flipped up the bottom of his black trench coat, leaned up against the palisade with his back facing me, and sat on the grass. He raised his hand and gave a big wave for me to join him. Air hung low and damp around us, heavier than the surrounding smoggy streets. Wind trembled by unevenly, but never disturbed the humid air. It became cumbersome to breathe.

"Come on in," Randy beckoned. "It is safe."

"No way, graveyards give me the creeps, and especially more so now," I replied as I leaned against the fence. Dusk was falling fast yet gently.

"Come George, this is the most peaceful place I know of," Randy implored.

"There's just something about a place with a bunch of dead people...it's unsettling."

"George, you have no idea."

The graveyard was spacious. It looked too big to be inside the city. It should be out in the open, not able to be compared to the skyscrapers. Yet Randy fit right in with the tombstones. I had a strange feeling so I stayed out.

"It is nice not to see faces, though," Randy blurted.

"What faces?" I asked trying to keep up.

"Anyone's. These people here don't have faces anymore. They're all dead and gone, only left in someone else's memories. Not mine."

"What're you talking about Randy?" I asked, growing worried.

"I have to look into their faces, into their eyes. I retrieve their souls from their mouths so they see me when I take it. All of them, every single one, look into my eyes. Then they give me a look."

"A look of what?"

"Of terror, of hope, of distrust - the point is, whatever the look is, it is their last. And it is horrid. I have to see his or her eyes tremble and lips plead, and it seems to be a new look each time from each person. Their souls get sucked out so quickly, that it is like looking at the sun. The image is permanently burned into my mind. After awhile, I got used to it and began to purposely look. Now, I have to see. I had to remind myself of just what I am. I am a killer. A vigilante. I just wish I knew my purpose. Death has me and life cannot outweigh it. I cannot ..."

"Take it easy Randy," I interrupted.

He sat there for a moment, deciding not to finish his sentence. He diverted himself to the ground and dug into the soil. Fingers burrowing deep, he slowly scooped up a chunk of dirt and grass, lifted it up to his face, and stared at it strangely like it induced a memory. A recollection that hurt him deeply. The way he was examining it - the sorrow in his face - began to worry me.

Randy studied the clump briefly, dust and dirt raining through his fingers, as the grass danced free into the wind. He fixed his gaze to his feet and wiped away some of the dirt that trickled onto him. The wind quickly changed directions and gusted back at his face, stabbing the grass blades that blew away, against his cheeks.

"You see? Everything I do will come back to me. I am going to get what I give."

"Randy ..." I nagged.

"Do not worry. I am Death," he replied looking up from his boots.

"Don't do this to yourself Randy."

"The people in the crowds hold the most anxiety though," he interrupted, "More than what will happen to me. For them, anyone could be next; no-one knows. At least I know what my fate is."

I couldn't help but think about the simple tasks in a day that are devastatingly impaired by the gift. Even just walking down the street must be a chore. The people in the crowds must have given him a kind of opposite paranoia. Instead of someone in the crowd looking for him, out there with anonymous iniquity, he was looking for someone in the crowd. Never knowing whom. Everyone was painted with a bloody target; a mark that can't be seen until it's too late. I finally realized why he kept to himself. Once he got to know someone, he could be sent to take his or her life without warning. It was the unluckiest draw, chosen from some other authority, and he didn't want to get close to any potential victims. Close to anyone.

"Hey Randy, let's get out of here. Everything has come to a head and you need some sleep."

"Do you ever wonder if you're going to Heaven or Hell, that is, if there is even the choice?"

Randy said, focusing solely on me with his big round eyes.

"Until a little while ago, I wasn't sure if there were such places," I said.

"I wonder all the time."

"Obviously. You deal with death everyday," I tried to comfort him, still wanting to leave. My feet itched to run away.

"Besides, it is different for me. I do not think it is a tough decision with me."

"How do you mean?"

"I am Death," Randy said, letting his legs rest limply on the ground, leaning his full body weight against the fence, "I am not exactly the highest on the good list."

"But people have to die, it's a part of life. There has to be someone to take them there. Wherever that is. So what, you're not a saint, big deal."

"Yes ...but when you get the gift passed on by a demon ..."

"You don't know, so don't assume you're doomed," I scolded.

"Guilty by association," Randy said, "I have to be just as evil as the demon who gave me this. I still cannot believe I got you into this, George."

"Hey, I could have walked away, but there's no way I'm doing that to you. I'll see this through. Besides, you admitted you don't know all the facts. This all could work out."

"You are right, but I should not have burdened you with this."

"Over and done with, Randy. Let's just focus on what we know and what we can do, alright?"

"Alright," Randy said gathering himself.

"So," I said. "What do we know?"

"That for the last two hundred years, Death has been misplaced, infecting only two people."

"Sounds like a virus."

I shivered under a sudden realization. He was there when both my parents died. I felt like a fool only realizing it then. Randy noticed and paused.

"Indeed," Randy continued. "One that needs to be diagnosed. Over two hundred years without a cure. I was always hoping in the back of my mind that some mystical creature would just come down, find me and the gift, and end everyone's misery. But it is time to look at this more scientifically."

"Well, we can't cure death. Right? I wouldn't want to."

"True, but I feel like I want to. Death is different when it is inside you. Violence is prevalent, but the world is still caring. Existence is brief, but drags on. Life is precious and belittled. There is no fear left when death cannot scare you. No safety either." Randy's face grew melancholy. "I bet it was beautiful before the convict took over."

"Dying?"

"I bet Death, whatever it was, saw dying like it is suppose to be. Another stage in living and not a pitiful, degrading hindrance that ..."

Randy jittered into a convulsion. I knelt, staying behind the fence, and watched through the bars. He stared out into the rustle of green leaves, gray tombstones, and navy blue sky. The sun spewed long, warm shafts of light across the city, delaying its duties on the other hemisphere to hover around Randy, melting his stoic nature and frozen skin. He jolted awake a few seconds later.