Death Angel

overlying everything she was and did. Anger flared; she’d done the best she could to survive, and if he didn’t like it-

Just as abruptly as it had flared, her anger died and was replaced by a wash of shame. She’d never done the best she could do. She’d been very skilled at manipulating men to get what she wanted, she’d been a damn good lay, she’d used sex as a weapon, she’d lied, she’d stolen, and though she’d been very good at all of those things, none of her decisions had been based on the best of anything, except maybe the best of two bad choices. She had certainly never looked for a good choice.

She looked squarely at the man, reading him. He’d been an undertaker, she saw; he’d made a living from death, helping families through the grieving process by walking them through the traditional steps. He’d seen everything; he’d prepared bodies ranging in age from babies to the very old. He’d taken care of people whom hundreds had loved and mourned, and those no one had mourned. Death held no surprises for him, and no fear. Death was part of the natural order of things.

Because he’d seen so much, he’d long ago lost any blinders he might have had. He saw people as they were, not as they wished they had been.

He saw what she was, and he knew she was worthless. Worthless. Without worth. She had no excuses, no defense. She bowed her head, accepting that she shouldn’t be in this place of peace. She didn’t deserve it. Everything she’d ever done, everything she’d touched, was poisoned by her lack of regard for anyone except herself.

“She’s here for a reason,” said the woman, though she looked just as puzzled as the man. “Who brought her here?”

They all looked at one another, searching for answers, but there didn’t seem to be any. This was a…a tribunal of sorts, Drea thought, though not a formal one. Perhaps a better description was “gatekeeper.” Today was their turn at the gates, to guide people to their correct places.

Except this wasn’t her correct place, she thought miserably. She’d never done anything to earn this place. The ignominy of being unwelcome made her ache with embarrassment. This was the good place, and she didn’t belong here because she wasn’t good. Yet, she hadn’t come here on purpose. Maybe it was stupid of her, but she didn’t know how she’d gotten here, and she didn’t know how to leave.

It stood to reason that, if this was the good place and she didn’t belong here, then she belonged at the bad place. Perhaps the great nothing she’d expected was the bad place, the true end with no form of continuing life, but perhaps that was wishful thinking and there was a really bad place, the way the fire and brimstone preachers always said there was. She wasn’t religious, never had been. Even as a child she’d thought, Yeah, right, because her own life was proof that no compassionate spirit was holding her safe.

And maybe this wasn’t heaven the way it was traditionally imagined, maybe the setup wasn’t the same, but there was definitely goodness, and peace, so maybe this really was heaven. Or maybe this was the next life, and only those who had proven themselves worthy got to go on. For the others, like her, there was no going on, no continuity of her spirit or soul or mind.

She looked at her life again, weighed it, and found herself wanting.

“If you’ll show me how to leave,” she whispered wretchedly, “I will.”

“I would,” said the woman with some sympathy, “but someone evidently brought you here and we need to find out-”

“I did,” said a man, striding up to the group and joining the loose circle, with Drea standing in the middle. “Sorry to be late. Things happened very fast.”

The others turned to look at him. “Alban,” said the woman. “Yes, they did.” Drea wondered if Alban was his name, or a greeting. “There are extenuating circumstances?”

“There are,” he said gravely, but he smiled at Drea with piercing sweetness, and his serious dark eyes searched every detail of her face as if committing it to memory, or reaffirming some old memories.

She stared at him, knowing she’d never seen him before, but there was something so achingly familiar about him that she felt she should know him. Like everyone else there, he seemed to be about thirty, as if prime adulthood was the oldest anyone ever got. She looked for those layers that would tell her about him, but like the woman, he was mostly free of the blurring overlay of past lives. He drew her, somehow. She wanted to be close to him, wanted to touch him, yet there was nothing carnal about her longing. Pure love welled in her, poignant in its simplicity, and unconsciously she held out her hand to him.

He smiled and took her hand, and it was then that she knew. Beyond all doubt, beyond reason, she simply knew.

Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, but she smiled through them as she clung to her son’s hand, lifted it to her lips, brushed a gentle kiss across his knuckles. This was her son, and his name was Alban.

“Ah,” the woman said softly. “I see.”

Drea didn’t know what the woman saw, and in that moment didn’t care. After all these years of empty pain, she was holding her son’s hand and looking into his eyes and seeing the spirit that had once resided, however briefly, in her baby’s tiny form. This form wasn’t the one her baby would have had, these features weren’t what he would have grown into, but the essential part of the person…yes, this was her child, who had lived after all, just in another existence.

“She loved me,” Alban said, still smiling that perfect, radiant smile. “I could feel it, and you see how pure it was. When I was leaving her and coming back home, she tried to save me by offering her life in exchange.”

“That shit never works,” said the undertaker, in the weary, slightly cynical, but sympathetic tone of someone who had seen the same heartbreaking scene played out many times, always with the same result.

“Gregory!” said the woman in a tone that was both amused and an admonishment. To Drea she explained, “He hasn’t been here all that long, this time, so he-”

“Still remembers a lot,” Drea finished for her. She couldn’t help smiling, because Alban was smiling and holding her hand, and no matter what happened now everything was okay.

“She meant it,” said Alban, and he duplicated her action of a moment before, taking her hand to his lips and lightly kissing her fingers. “She was a child herself, just fifteen, but she loved me enough to sacrifice herself to save me. That is why I brought her here, because though there has been a lot of darkness in her life, there has also been love of the purest kind, and that deserves a second chance. I stand as witness.”

“I say yea,” said a blond woman, tall and willowy. “There was love, she wears it still. I stand as witness.”

“And I,” said a man. His layers said that he’d endured a lot, that his previous body had been bent with a painful deformity that had confined him to a wheelchair for most of his life, but here he was tall and strong and straight. “I stand as witness.”

Of the eleven people surrounding her, three thought there was no point in giving her a second chance, but even those three were free of any sense of malice. They simply thought she didn’t belong there. She didn’t resent them, because there was no room for resentment here even though there was evidently room for disagreement.

The woman stood there for a moment, her face lifted slightly to the sky, her eyes half closed as if she were listening to some song only she could hear. Then she smiled and turned to Drea. “Your mother-love, the purest form of love, has saved you,” she said. She touched Drea’s hand, the hand that still clung to Alban’s hand. “You’ve earned a second chance,” she said. “Now return, and don’t waste it.”

THE MEDIC WAS packing up his bag because there was nothing he could do, nothing that could have been done even if he’d been there when the accident happened. Blue and red and yellow lights strobed the highway above, while blindingly bright emergency lights had been rigged to shine down on the car. People were talking, radios were crackling, and the rumble of the wrecker’s engine gave a bass underlay to all the other sounds. Still, he heard something strange, something that made him stop and cock his head, listening.

“What?” asked his partner, pausing too, and looking around.

“I thought I heard something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like…sort of like this.” He demonstrated, taking a quick, shallow breath of air through his mouth.

“With all this noise, you heard something like that?”