His Name Was Death (Dead Man's Tale Book 1) (21 page)

XXIV

Ashes, Ashes

Emma slipped into a long black raincoat, loosely belted at the waist. As she moved, the coat provided brief, suggestive glimpses of what lay beneath. Instead of detracting from her allure, the coat whipped it to a frustrating intensity.

“Men are far more interested in what they can
almost
see,” she explained with a wink.

I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak.

“Give us a minute to get their attention, and then slip out the back.”

“Pardon me,” Elliott said warily. “Us?”

“Of course,
us
,” she said, flashing a wide, bright smile as she lifted the reluctant cat from his chair. “A lady needs a reason to be out, half naked, in the middle of the night.”

He mewed loudly as Emma carried him down the stairs.

I moved swiftly to the large window at the end of the hall, my pulse quickening.

Our “back door” was, unfortunately, a rickety metal fire escape. It dropped into a narrow alley between this building and the next. Heights are bad enough; trusting my life to a piece of rusty, decades-old engineering likely built by the lowest bidder was pretty much unthinkable.

Under normal circumstances, that is.

At least the rain threatened by the swirling clouds hadn’t yet arrived; visibility and traction would both be good.

Not that it made me feel much better.

The window swung inward with a soft groan. I only opened the glass a few inches, hoping it would go unnoticed from the outside. Emma’s diversion would be useless unless I heard it.

I didn’t need to wait long.

“Elliott! 
Elliott!
  Oh!  Come back here, you naughty kitty!” Emma’s voice drifted clearly through the still night air, followed by the clip-clop of running heels.

Five seconds, then ten; car doors opened and men’s voices joined Emma’s in conversation.

The bell tolled in my head with its accompanying frigid wave as I changed. The hallway’s single bare bulb flashed in response, accompanied by a wave of nausea.

I closed my eyes as my heart spun into overdrive; with a deep breath, I leaped to the short metal catwalk outside.

A comic scene was playing out in the street below. Three plainclothes officers knelt on the asphalt, struggling to pull Elliott out from under their van. My furry friend, playing his part well, hissed and swiped at any hand that got too close. Emma danced nervously on the outskirts, pleading for the men to be careful with her “good little kitten.”

When any man’s focus waivered for too long, a tantalizing glimpse from Emma’s outfit would capture his interest, seemingly by accident…just long enough for Elliott to swipe a hand and demand his full attention.

Emma’s eyes found mine over the production. With a wink, she nodded ever so slightly.

In the future, it would be wise to remember she could see the Reaper. Hell, maybe all Agents could.

I closed my eyes again, straining to suppress all thought. The ladder’s cold, rusted metal felt rough in my hands. With a long, deep breath, I began to scramble down.

The fire escape squealed softly during the descent, but never loud enough to be heard over the commotion in the street.

I nearly yelped as my foot found only open air beneath the last rung. With a thrill of terror, I shimmied down until I dangled from the ladder’s bottom, and dropped.

You know, the whole six inches to the ground.

I berated myself, took a deep, calming breath, and disappeared into the alley. Once the street was no longer in view, I let the Reaper drop away.

Robert Winston’s faithful green Mustang was three blocks from here. All the parking directly around my building had a two-hour limit. For once, I was grateful; otherwise I’d be walking to the hospital.

The ominous clouds continued to gather overhead as I drove. A week that had begun bright, warm and beautiful was turning dark and threatening.

A storm was coming.

Fifteen minutes later, I killed the engine across 9
th
Avenue from Harborview’s main entrance. Normally it would be nearly impossible to find street parking, or even a spot in the garage on 8
th
Avenue, directly behind the hospital. However, Steve’s unexpected visit had been late in the evening; after the time spent in Emma’s apartment, and the production of sneaking past my surveillance, it was already well after eleven o’clock.

The rain hadn’t started yet, but a cold, harsh wind whipped across the grounds.

I ran awkwardly for Harborview’s lobby, on a still tender ankle, trying to beat the weather. The lobby was devoid of staff and visitors, just as I would expect given the lateness of the hour.

Empty, unfortunately, it was not.

A dark, solitary figure stood by the bank of elevators. It wore a floor-length, black hooded robe. The outstretched left hand, skeletal white, rested on a silver-topped ebony cane. It tapped its foot, waiting.

I strode across the lobby until I was directly behind the Reaper. When he failed to notice me, I coughed politely.

The figure spun where it stood, black robe billowing impressively from the motion. He wore an obsidian-black suit beneath the robe. Empty sockets narrowed as the skull considered me.

“Hello, Joshua.”

Without warning, the end of his cane caught me in the left temple. A bright white flash filled my vision. The bell sounded deafeningly within my head and an arctic wave nearly overwhelmed me, all without my bidding.

Lights throughout the lobby exploded in a cascade of sparks.

The strike of his cane had forced the Reaper visage savagely on to me.

And it hurt like a son of a bitch, too.

I sank to one knee as a brief, but intense wave of nausea proved almost too intense to handle.

“Damn fool imbecile.” Joshua’s familiar voice rolled from the fleshless lips of his skull. “Reapers can
never
roam a hospital out of uniform…especially at night…
especially
when it’s the hospital where
I work
.”

“How can you work here, then, if you can’t roam a hospital out of uniform?”

Joshua grumbled, “I don’t
roam
the hospital. I always leave the morgue by the side door. Besides, I haven’t had an assignment in over four decades, until tonight at least. I’m a boss now, not a foot solider.”

I raised my hands to placate him, while regaining my feet. “I’m only here to visit a friend, Joshua.”

His cavernous eyes narrowed further. “Whom, might I ask?”

“Michelle Harris.”

My boss visibly tensed within his suit. “Damn it all to hell, Henry.”

“It’s Michael now.”

“I know,” he snapped.

Silence hung heavy on the air, shattered only by the ding of an elevator’s arrival. The doors slid open, spilling light into the now dark lobby.

Joshua stepped briskly into the car, barely relying on his cane at all. After a wordless grumble, he spoke without turning around. “Come along, Michael…we’ll work this one together.”

I tried, unsuccessfully, to swallow the lump in my throat. Heavy with apprehension, I entered the elevator and the doors closed behind me.

Far too soon, they opened into a small waiting area. A half-dozen benches with unevenly faded, teal vinyl cushions filled the room. The heavy metal door at the far end was flanked by barred windows. A uniformed policeman dozed in a plastic chair on the other side, snoring.

Joshua put a single finger up to his mouth, the bone clacking softly against the jaw.

The gesture was unnecessary.

Locks ratcheted back loudly as we approached, and the door swung open. The officer stirred briefly in his slumber; after adjusting positions, he drifted back to a sound sleep.

I followed the senior Reaper through a number of turns. He would stop briefly at each intersection, as if awaiting direction, then confidently choose one of the available options.

The behavior was unmistakable, though I’d never before observed it.

Only experienced it.

My heart beat heavily, my hands slick and my breath shallow.

Finally, after I could hardly take another step, he strode into a patient’s room. The whiteboard by the room’s door bore only a name.

Janice Harrison.

The lump in my throat grew until it was nearly impossible to breathe.

From the foot of the bed, Joshua motioned me to join him.

I did so…reluctantly.

Michelle lay in the bed, as I knew she would.

The unconscious woman was barely recognizable as the bright, vibrant person I’d known. Her once beautiful hair lay in long, greasy strings. The dark skin of her face was sallow and sunken. Her hands, cupped into rigid claws, were wrinkled like those of a woman decades older.

The most disturbing thing, though, was her aura. Deeper black than the darkest night, a single hair would be thick by comparison. At various points along its length, drips seemed to fall from the razor-thin line into Michelle’s frail body.

I had not been a Reaper long, and there were many things I didn’t yet understand, but the symbolism was not lost even on me.

A few drops were killing her.

And I knew exactly who to blame.

Joshua’s hand squeezed my shoulder; though the fingers were hard and cold, the touch nonetheless reassured.

He withdrew silently from the room, leaving us alone.

A white-hot flash filled my vision, resolving briefly into the pulsing red beacon above her hospital bed before vanishing. Michelle’s heart and veins burned darkly in my
Sight
, roads of inky black traveling throughout her body.

I cried out with sudden understanding.

Joshua had given his assignment to me.

Silently, I both cursed the man and thanked him.

“Michelle Ha…Harris.” Though my voice caught on the lump in my throat, the rich power was still present.

And regretfully effective.

The woman I knew sat up from within the withered shell she’d become, and my heart froze. Every aspect was as beautiful as my memory, down to the simple pink dress she’d worn the night we met.

Did she appear to me in the manner of my choosing, or did she choose the nature of her appearance? I honestly don’t know.

Wide-eyed, Michelle examined me, the room, and finally the husk that shared her bed.

“How long?” she asked hesitantly.

For her, or for me?

“You were shot in early January; it is now the middle of July.”

She nodded, tears filling her eyes. I wanted to hold her in my arms, to comfort her, to make everything right.

“You’ve come to take me, but I’m not ready to go.”

My entire body went numb.

“I’ve come to help you. Your life has reached its end, and yet you linger.”

Michelle nodded, but didn’t speak further.

I could barely say the words. The answer terrified me. “Why do you fight the inevitable?”

Her eyes locked defiantly on mine.

“For love.”

My breath became labored as something in my chest ripped.

“I know it sounds foolish,” she continued, unaware of my struggle. “I’ve always laughed at those people who fall in love so quickly. But that first night, on the deck, in the moonlight…I
knew
.”

Tears rolled freely down my cheeks, though they were hidden by the late night darkness of the room.

“Please,” Michelle pleaded, “please can you tell me what’s happened to Henry?”

This was too hard. I couldn’t do it. It was killing me.

If she knew the truth, she might hang on for hours, days or even years. Times like these could be stolen whenever my duties allowed. We’d share a pale shadow of a life together, but it was far richer than the empty alternative.

She would suffer most of her days.

I would mourn almost endlessly.

And the magic might kill us both.

The lump threatened to suffocate me.

But I couldn’t lie to her. I would tell her only the truth—but just those parts that she needed to hear.

“Henry Richards was shot three times that night in January. He died in your arms, and his spirit traveled on.”

Michelle crumpled forward into uncontrolled sobbing. She cried for nearly ten minutes, interspersed occasionally with an unintelligible word.

Finally, her tears exhausted, she looked hopefully into my eyes. “Will I ever see him again?”

Chris’s voice echoed through my mind. “The future is a dark pool, ripe with possibilities,” I barely managed, in a husky voice.

She smiled sadly. “If you see him, please tell my Henry that I will always love him.”

My voice shook as I struggled to hold myself together. “Rest easy, Michelle. Be certain that he knows.”