She then made a list of suggestions of what she did or wished she would have done on her Mortal Nights:
Ride a roller coaster (Never did)
Sky dive (Never did)
Swim in the ocean (check)
Get in a bar fight (check)
Make Love (Sex not love)
Get a tattoo (Never did – Note: Impossible without Mortal Night)
Gone drag racing (Check)
Go see all of Family (Most of Family)
Hold a baby (Never had opportunity)
Skiing (Check)
I smiled, as I continued reading her suggestions and taking note of some I would like to try. It seemed as though she wanted to try the most terrifying things on her Mortal Nights. Something about the ability to be vulnerable to the dangers that surrounded these activities was exhilarating. As I came to the close of the list, the last suggestion she had included a disclaimer.
“End your life (Never did) – Your life will likely be an assortment of disasters, chaos, and pain. At times I wish I would have had the discipline to do so. I did not. There are only three opportunities for passing for a dual soul: during Mortal Nights, Soul Obliteration, and the Awakening and life draining of another dual soul.”
Well, my great-grandmother always did have a dark, twisted perspective of the world. Something she generously passed on to me. It made more sense now why my great-grandmother needed me there when she died. She wasn’t in bad health at all. She planned it the entire time. Now I understood, with her desire to die, why I was her favorite.
I surveyed her list of Mortal Night suggestions and knew which one I desired to experience first. I rolled out of bed and flipped open my phone to text Caro: Meet me at 4th and Main in an hour.
Two hours later, Caro showed up. I was relieved I had her meet at that location because I got to sit inside Roots for a while, expecting her tardiness. If Caro was told to be somewhere unexpectedly, it always took a long time for her to show up. She had to take the time to piece together every part of her outfit and makeup, so, of course, she showed up looking stunning. She hustled toward me.
“Don’t walk up here, all out of breath, like you’ve been rushing the whole time,” I said with a laugh.
“I was rushing,” she said, in an offended tone. She whipped her hair across her face, “It just takes time to look this good. I see you put in minimal effort.”
“That’s what I do,” I said, arms out, displaying my half-assed attempt to be presentable.
“So, what’s going on? What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Wrong?” I asked. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Oh, okay, good,” she said with true relief on her face.
“Everything all right with you?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everything’s fine. I just knew you had the meeting last night, and went out with Franklin after that. I didn’t know if something had gone wrong.”
“No, nothing went wrong. It was exhausting, that’s for sure, but I don’t know, in a way, I feel better after whatever they did to me. Anyway, I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, we’re on a mission.”
“Like a job? Franklin didn’t tell me anything about a job,” Caro said.
“Franklin? Why do you keep bringing work up? This isn’t work related in any way, shape, or form.”
“All right,” Caro said with a smile, “Then tell me, Danielle Blake, what are we doing?”
“We’re going to get tattoos,” I said, grinning.
“Shut the fuck up! You’re screwing with me.”
“Would I lie to you?” I said.
“No. Oh, my God, finally! I didn’t think you would ever get one. I’ve had one I’ve been meaning to get. This is so perfect,” Caro said, bouncing around in a giddy, childish fashion, which was undeniably adorable.
We walked along the city block to our destination a few blocks away, a small tattoo shop, wedged between a smoothie shop and a bar. It was tiny and obscure, but the artist did the most astonishing things with ink. I knew this was where Caro had come to get several of her tattoos. As we entered the glass door, a man stood at the front counter, only paying attention to the magazine in front of him. There were two other people in the back, one college age student, and a female tattoo artist working on him.
“You need an appointment,” the man at the counter said, without looking up. I hadn’t even thought to make an appointment, only then remembering people travel from all around the country to get tattoos here.
“Well, I want a tattoo right fuckin’ now,” Caro said. I jerked my head toward Caro, wondering how she could be so rude. She winked at me.
“Excuse me!” the man said, slamming his magazine closed, and looking up for the first time, “Carolina! God dammit, you got me. How have you been, girl?”
“Hey, Emmitt, how are you,” Caro said, as he came around the counter to hug her. When he stood, I noticed how massive this guy was. He was over six feet tall, in his late forties, tattooed everywhere, with a long graying beard.
“I’m good. It’s so good to see you. How are Law and the others doing?”
“They’re good,” Caro lied.
“That’s great. Hi, I’m Emmitt,” he said turning toward me and shaking my hand. I shook his back. He had a firm, almost painful, grip.
“Hi,” I said, shaking my hand, out of view. Caro let out a small laugh.
“Well, little lady, are you here to get a tattoo?” asked Emmitt.
“Yeah — well, I was actually hoping we could both get one,” Caro said.
“Sure, of course. One second,” Emmitt said, walking to the door and flipping the ‘open’
