Don't Fear the Reaper (6 page)

But I was beginning to suspect there wasn’t a way back.

You’re dead, Sunshine...

I shook my head, throwing off the thought, as if Daniel’s words echoing in my ears were nothing more than a pesky, buzzing insect.

I trailed behind as Banning and Daniel followed the BMW driver inside. Even the lobby looked more like a home. Wood floors had been highly polished. Queen Anne chairs were arranged along the wall nearest the fireplace and bookshelf. To most people passing through, the room gave the illusion of comfort. If they looked hard enough, they’d see what I did—the tiniest of details: tattered edges of the wallpaper along the corners and chair rails, the occasional scuffed chair legs, and the worn spots on the cushions.

The BMW driver stopped at the reception desk. Banning kept going. Daniel and I followed.

Banning turned right down a hallway where a white sign with blue letters and an arrow pointed toward rooms twenty-four to thirty-six. Banning and Daniel never hesitated as they passed through a set of wide double doors. When I finally appeared on the other side, my eyes were still closed, which made Daniel laugh. I couldn’t help it. It reminded me of when I first learned to swim under water. For months, I always held my nose and closed my eyes. And, no matter what Daniel or Banning said, passing through things wasn’t normal. At least not for me.

Seven. Those doors made seven times I had passed through something. I don’t know why I kept counting. This wasn’t some game where Jordan and I counted horses and certain cars while on long road trips during family vacation. That was a stupid, childish game. How long had it been? Five years ago since we’d last done that? A pang of longing hit me squarely in the chest.

We were in a fairly large sitting area with chairs and couches arranged in clusters. A few televisions, each tuned to a different station, were on, but no one was watching them. A boy of about thirteen played a game on his Nintendo as his family tended to an old man in a wheelchair. His grandfather, I supposed.

The other visitors stayed close to one another, doting on the loved ones they had come to see. Most of the patients were old, but one—a pretty black woman sitting in the corner—appeared young. Thirty? Thirty-five perhaps? Two small children played at her feet as she smiled at them. She appeared too young to be here, but her thin face and the look in her eyes told me differently. A man and two women sat with her. One might have been her sister. All of them looked seriously deprived of sleep.

In science class, we learned our sense of smell elicited memories better than any of our other senses. It was true. The hospice center smelled differently than a hospital. There, I might have said the combination of antiseptics and bleach reminded me of sickness and disease. Here, I swore I detected impending death—musty and faint, like old memories and dried flowers tucked away in a box of keepsakes. The scent made me think of Gram and her last days.

“Hey,” Daniel said, tugging on my sleeve. “Don’t start crying again, okay? If you want to hang out here, I’ll stay with you.”

Banning walked into room thirty-three. The name Manero was written on the nameplate under the room number. Morbid curiosity, I guess, but I decided that I had come this far and I had to see how Banning had done it. How he’d taken my soul.

It was as though he was the world’s greatest magician and I was about to be privy to the trick.

Don’t be ridiculous, Keely. You’re dead.
Dead! Your body is in the freaking morgue! You don’t come back from that.

“You sure you want to see how he does it?” Daniel asked.

Our eyes met and held. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes, but I think I know what I saw in his. Concern, rather than his usual annoyance.

“I’m good,” I lied. “Really.”

He nodded and motioned for me to enter the room first. When we walked in, Mr. Manero was awake. He was older, eighty something I guessed. Thin wisps of baby-fine white hair clung to the sides of his otherwise bald head. His skin, pale and dotted with age spots, sagged on his skeletal frame. His eyes were sunken as though they were retreating from the world.

Two women stood vigil at his side. One bent over him and kissed his forehead. The other held his hand. The resemblance was clear—mother and daughter. Both shared the same high cheekbones and slight frame. Mr. Manero shifted his tired eyes from his wife to his daughter. He tried to speak, but his tongue was unable to articulate and his words were more tired groans than sentences. He seemed trapped inside his ailing body.

His eyes gravitated toward the doorway and a single spark lit his face. “Good dog, Jake,” he managed to say, his words soft and raspy.

His wife and daughter glanced at the foot of the bed and nodded. I looked too, but didn’t see a dog. I followed his gaze to the doorway. A large, pointy-eared dog, presumably Jake, entered the room, tail low but wagging. Jake padded up to the edge of the bed and rested his head on the edge of the mattress.

“Where did he come from?” I asked. I liked dogs. Mom never wanted pets, no matter how much Jordan and I begged.

“Heaven,” Banning said. “Sometimes, they’ll come and wait for their masters to pass, especially when death is so close.”

I patted Jake, who licked my hand, then went back to resting his furry head on the edge of the bed. I stood aside, waiting for the moment of death. What would it be like? Would I see his soul rise from his body? Would an angel or demon come for him? A loved one other than Jake? Did he have a brother? A sister?

Maybe a door, a portal, or something would open. Yeah, like a doorway between the dead and the living. Because, seriously? This whole dead thing wasn’t working for me. Not that I had a choice.

One of the women shivered as Banning wove around them before sitting on the bed. He gingerly took the old man’s hand in his. After a long moment, Banning sighed and his expression appeared pained. “We’ll have to come back.” He gently laid Mr. Manero’s hand on the bed.

“What about Jake?” I asked.

Banning seemed confused for a moment. “Jake? Oh!” He waved a dismissive hand. “Dogs often do that, being as loyal as they are. They come and go. Some have been known to stay close to their dying masters for weeks.”

I looked at Jake, bewildered. “Doesn’t anyone stop them? Don’t they cause bad things to happen?”

“Not animals,” Banning said. “Only humans. We’re the only ones who deal negatively with death.”

I motioned to Mr. Manero. “But...but I thought you only came for those who were ready to die.”

“Death isn’t an exact science, Keely. He’s just not ready,” Banning said.

Banning was a reaper. How could death not know about—
death
? “I don’t understand. I thought that in death we were told all the answers. I know nothing! What if you were wrong about me? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to die right then!” I said.

“With you, I was certain, Keely. I just know,” Banning replied.

“Don’t ask why, Sunshine. It’s just the way it is. Manero’s just cheating death for a while,” Daniel assured me. “He’ll die soon enough.”

A flood of emotions swam to the surface—fear, confusion, frustration. “Cheating death? How?”

Mr. Manero didn’t appear strong enough to cheat his next breath, much less death. And, for a moment, I was angry with him, too. Why did
he
get a chance to hold on and not me? Clearly, he was suffering and it was obvious his time was near. His family was visibly tired. No doubt they’d been by his bed day and night. Yet, there he was, feebly looking between his wife and daughter as if searching for something in their faces. It’s not that I wanted him to die. Not really. But he had something I didn’t—something I wanted more than anything—a chance to cheat death. No matter how fleeting the time, no matter how short, he was with his family.

Shame washed over me. Shame for wishing for Mr. Manero to die so I could see how it was done. Daniel was staring at me with an expression of curiosity and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Pity? No. Probably just trying to come up with something to use against me later.

“I’ll wait outside.” Daniel strode from the room without looking back.

“I don’t understand,” I said to Banning. “Why does he get another chance? How is he doing it?”

Banning looked out the window into a garden basking in sunlight. Where he saw flowers, I only saw a bleak horizon stretching before me—an unending afterlife as vast and empty as a parched desert. There was no hope of life on that horizon. Just the powder blue skyline with a whisper thin moon that hinted at the coming darkness.

“The will and the soul are two of the most powerful things in the universe when there’s a reason, Keely. But they can only hold on for so long. Why him and not you? Like Daniel said, it’s just the way it works. Death is no more fair than life.”

“But, you’re a
reaper!
” Tears flowed hot and freely down my cheeks. I swiped at them, furiously. “How can you not know? Jordan didn’t get a second chance. A lot of people don’t. He can’t be the only person with a strong soul who wants to live.” I sucked in a great breath, fully out of control. “Look at his family, how they’re hurting! Why couldn’t he simply decide to stay in purgatory forever? Be with his family that way?”

Banning shook his head wearily. “I don’t have any better grasp on death than the living. I don’t have all the answers to the afterlife. Stay? Because it’s purgatory, Keely. He wouldn’t want to stay here.” He turned to me. “There’s no sense in us waiting here. He won’t be ready again for days. Leave him alone with his family. I understand your grief and confusion. You hardly had a chance to learn what it was like to live. It’s hard to learn how to be a part of death.”

Banning walked past me, patting Jake on the head and giving a slight respectful nod to Mr. Manero’s family, although they couldn’t see him. I took a steadying breath and started to follow him, but turned back to see the faces of the two women. Mr. Manero wasn’t dead yet, but he was already there, in his own personal sort of purgatory.

Guilt washed over me once more. Looking at the women, at their red eyes and drawn faces, I understood why Mr. Manero fought death so hard, why he clung to every breath. He didn’t know what was on the other side of life. How many times had I asked God if Jordan was okay? Every single night since her death. Every
single
night. It was an obsession. Mr. Manero had his own concerns—would his family be okay? From his point of view, his weary eyes staring into their frightened, grief-stricken faces, the answer was clear. They wouldn’t. Which meant he probably felt he had no choice but to keep fighting despite the tremendous pain he endured. I resisted the urge to go to his bedside and hold his hand myself. I understood why Banning looked so pained when he touched his hand. Mr. George Manero would do anything for his wife and daughter, except ask them for one thing. Freedom from whatever disease had ravaged his body.

I swiped at my eyes again. It wasn’t Mr. Manero who wouldn’t let go. It was his family.

I left Mr. Manero’s room. Banning had either gone outside or into another room. Daniel’s focus was on the Nintendo-playing kid who seemed less than thrilled to be visiting and was sitting several seats away from his parents. Daniel grinned and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder. The game made a warbling noise that could only mean the boy had lost.

“Piece of crap. I
hate
this stupid game!” the boy yelled.

People from nearby couches looked disapprovingly at him and his family. The boy’s father pushed an old man in a wheelchair back into his room. Oblivious, the boy returned to his game. His mother offered an embarrassed, fleeting smile to the onlookers.

Daniel rested both hands on the kid’s shoulders. Within seconds, the game made the same warbling noise and the kid went on another swearing tangent. Mindful of a fresh round of stares, the mother got up from her seat, walked over to her son and snatched the game from his hands.

“Great!” the kid said in protest. “
Now
what am I supposed to do?”

Another guest leaned into the person sitting beside them and whispered, “Leave, I hope.”

Across the room, the young black woman coughed and her family gathered closer to her. I ached all over. Right now, all I wanted was my sister.

But Jordan was gone. Taken. Not by cancer or some other disease, but murdered. She didn’t die with the people who loved her by her side. The last person she saw before taking her last breath had been her killer.

I clenched my fists.

“Show some respect,” the boy’s mother was saying, recapturing my attention.

The boy looked at her as though expecting a tiresome lecture.

“Your grandfather...he isn’t well,” the mother continued, fervently looking at the room her husband had disappeared into.

“Yeah, I know.” The boy stood, palm extended. “Gimme your phone. I want to call my friends.”

The mother retrieved her cell from her purse. “Fine, but go outside,” she said, handing him the phone. The boy pocketed it and shuffled out of the family area.

I had the urge to drag Daniel outside with me so he could teach me how he’d affected the brat’s game with mortals so close by. I wanted revenge—I wanted to find Jordan’s killer and unload every ounce of my
negative energy
on him. Daniel seemed to enjoy proving the bad-things-happen theory by messing with the kid’s game. But it didn’t seem
all
bad. Like Daniel said on the way here—spill their drinks, have a flat, break a coffee mug. In this case, lose at a computer game. If I could find Pete—the bastard who’d killed Jordan—maybe I could do
something
to him. Sure, it’d be small change compared to what he’d done to my sister. But, what else was there for me to do? Since I couldn’t undo my actions, I had all the time in the world, didn’t I? If Daniel got a vacation from hell, then I’d find a way, too.

Geez, what was I doing? Embracing the afterlife? No. Not ever. I was just thinking thoughts anyone in my shoes would think. It was perfectly logical.