I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that the young couple we met yesterday were immortal. Incapable of aging. Unable to die. Well, unless one of the other immortals decided to kill them. And those other immortals! Three couples! Six people cursed by Death before us. It was a lot to process, much less put into words.
These other two couples had been friends with the Smiths at one time, loyal enough to be considered their family. Now? Now the Smiths wouldn’t even stay in the same city if they sensed one of them was nearby. They were afraid of running into one of their former friends because it was the only way they could die, but they were also afraid of normal people figuring out the details of their curse and persecuting them for their immortality.
So much fear. How could they stand it?
Of course, if the Smiths knew what we went through, they might think the same. It was all torture, plain and simple; we were just going through different kinds. Charlie’s was mental and emotional. Mine was physical and spiritual. The Smiths’ was psychological. And why were we all living through torture? Because Death showed up in our most vulnerable moments and thought she might help us see why our greatest desires were in fact terrible things.
The immortals wished to preserve the happiness and camaraderie they’d wanted all their lives for and had finally found in each other. But even if their bodies were frozen in time, personalities and convictions rarely stayed the same throughout the ages. Feelings couldn’t be captured or preserved like pictures in frames. They were beautiful and precious because they were temporary. It was just part of life. Nothing could prevent moments from passing us by, not even Death’s dark magic.
Our parents had dreamed of creating a family, a noble thing in its own right, but they’d allowed that idea to become an obsession. They’d been willing to go bankrupt and even bargain with Death in order to make their obsession a reality. They’d been blind to the fact that they already were a family, just the two of them. Even if Charlie and I hadn’t been claimed by Death at birth, we never would’ve belonged to our parents the way they craved. Kids became their own persons when they grew up enough to venture out into the world. Again, it was part of life, one of the reasons why parenthood was so hard and so wonderful at the same time.
Neither the immortals nor our parents would’ve seen the error in their way of thinking—or so to speak—if Death hadn’t chosen to intervene. But was that really her motivation for showing up like a twisted version of a fairy godmother?
I thought about the little I’d been able to learn about Death, especially in the last few weeks. She seemed impatient, tired, sad. And a tad bit superior. Not the kind of magical entity that seemed interested in teaching mortals the true meaning of gratitude. More than eight people in the entire world needed to be cursed if that was Death’s goal.
Besides, if she did intend for her curse victims to learn lessons, wouldn’t she have appeared to them a second time once they’d realized the moral of their stories? Wouldn’t she tell them why they’d been cursed or give them the opportunity to thank her? And, afterwards, wouldn’t she free them from their curses?
I shook my head, tapping the end of my pencil on my desk. It still didn’t explain why she chose us specifically. Was I reading into this too much? Was I looking for a greater plan when there was none? She could’ve just chosen us at random.
An ache was starting to build along the crown of my head. I let go of my pencil to massage the pain away.
I couldn’t break my head trying to figure out Death’s motives. I’d just have to ask her the next time I died, and hope she was in a talkative mood. Angela Smith gave me her journal not just so I could learn about their connection to Death, but also so I could know everything they knew about the Wards. But I was a third of the way through her diary and I still hadn’t heard mention of the soon-to-be senator or his wife...
Or had I?
Angela didn’t call her husband Jerald in her diary entries. She referred to him as Dymeka. Of course, with all the years they’d lived and all the different places they’d been, they’d had to change their names to blend in. Dymeka had to be his real name, just like Ashki was hers. The Wards had called the Smiths “old friends,” but it was obvious from Angela’s journal that the Smiths had only ever had four friends. All of which were also immortal.
My heart ticked a little bit faster.
The Wards had to be the couple that was always involving themselves in government affairs. It was the only thing that made sense. The Wards admitted they had a falling out with the Smiths, many, many years ago and Angela mentioned a big argument with the other immortal couple back in Salvador. Oh, what were their names?
Anthony waved a hand in front of my face, derailing my train of thought. “I’ve lost you. Where have you gone?”
“To Brazil.” I hopped out of my rolling chair and dashed over to my bed. I practically fell over the mattress on my belly to swipe the book from my pillow.
“You’ll be quizzed on this material tomorrow, Jazz. You need to pay attention.”
“It’s for the case, Tony!” I hurriedly flipped through the pages, looking for that
