Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross Part 8

"These are beautiful!" Maggie gushed as she examined the bouquet that had been pa.s.sed to her.

"I found them on my way here. I had the limo driver circle the block so I could buy them for you, hence, the reason I am late." the stranger bragged. Brigit rolled her eyes and looked to Mama Dee for support. Mama Dee only stood from where she was sitting, reminding Maggie that she was still in the room.

"Oh, Mama, this is Lorena Rubens. Lorena, this is Mama Dee. She's my neighbor and dearest friend," Brigit introduced. Lorena Rubens strode toward Mama Dee with her hand outstretched in greeting. Mama Dee took it and they shook; but Brigit noticed the hesitation in Mama Dee's actions. Brigit felt a sudden surge of relief. Mama Dee didn't like her either. Good Good, Brigit thought, it's not just me it's not just me...

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dee," Lorena said.

"And you," Mama replied politely.

"I better put these in some water," Maggie said.

"I'll take care of that for you, child," Mama Dee offered. She took the large bouquet from Maggie and turned to face Lorena Rubens. "Where are you taking my only daughter?"

Maggie and Lorena laughed lightly at Mama's question. Brigit and Mama Dee remained silent in waiting for the response.

"I've made eight o'clock reservations at d.u.c.h.evney's on Sixth Avenue. Would you care to join us?" Lorena offered. "They have a wonderful menu. The chef is a dear friend of mine."

Brigit rolled her eyes again. More bragging. It was not an endearing quality.

"Oh no," Mama replied. "You all go and have a good time."

"Thank you, Mama," Maggie said as she opened the hall closet and pulled out the black silk wrap Brigit had also picked out to go with the c.o.c.ktail dress. "I'll call you when I get home."

"Alright then," Mama Dee said as she received a kiss on the cheek from Maggie.

"It was lovely to meet you, Miss Dee," Lorena Rubens said as she opened the door for Maggie and waited for her to pa.s.s. Mama Dee made no reply as she watched the door close behind the two younger women. Finally, a deep sigh escaped the little old woman and she turned to make her way to the kitchen. Brigit followed closely, her anger and jealousy erupting.

"How could you let her do this?" Brigit asked as she followed her friend.

"She's got to move on, I suppose," Mama muttered.

Brigit stopped. Had Mama Dee heard her?

"The girl can't spend the rest of her life alone. It's a shame, really. She was so happy with Brigit," Mama went on. Brigit's shoulders slumped and she sank against the wall. "But this girl here, she looks like maybe she can take care of Maggie. That's what she needs. Someone to watch over her."

"I'm watching over her," Brigit replied.

"She needs someone to hold her and love her," Mama added.

"I hold her every night and I love her for all eternity," Brigit put in.

Brigit watched Mama Dee take a large vase from the cupboard and fill it with water. Then, she set to the task of removing the bouquet from the cellophane wrapper and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the stems before arranging the bouquet in the vase. A stubborn silence had over come Mama Dee as Brigit watched. When the bouquet was set, Mama Dee swept the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs into a pile on the counter before scooping them up in her plump hands and forcefully dumping them in the garbage. Mama was angry; but at what, Brigit had no clue.

Carefully, Mama set the vase on the kitchen table so Maggie would see it when she came in to make her coffee in the morning. She paused after setting it down. She could feel the cold spot to her left and she knew she wasn't alone. Mama had felt it before and she had the inclination that it was a familiar spirit that moved through the rooms of the apartment Maggie had shared with Brigit. Once, Mama Dee had thought, she had even heard the familiar voice. It was a feeling she had possessed since the night of the accident a gift she had carried silently since childhood. She could feel and hear the unseen and, lately, it had been growing stronger than ever. Slowly, Mama turned away and walked toward the hall. She paused in the doorway and looked back.

Brigit met her gaze.

"You should keep a close eye on your girl," Mama Dee instructed to the empty room before turning around again and leaving the apartment.

"I will, Mama," Brigit whispered in a promise.

Her attention turned to the bouquet Mama Dee had set beside her. Slowly, she extended her hand to touch the bright red rose that was on the verge of blooming. As her fingertip neared the edge of the outermost petal, it began to deepen in color. In seconds, it had turned black. Brigit pulled her hand away and eyed the result.

She had never done anything malicious. She had never really fought with Maggie about anything. There had been spats, but nothing that had never gone unresolved before going to bed.... Yet, the feelings inside her now were churning like a bubbling brew in a large cauldron over a roaring fire. How could Maggie move on so quickly after ten years of happiness? Slowly, Brigit extended her finger to the large white Calla Lily at the top of the bouquet. She watched as it slowly turned brown and withered under her touch.

That was enough, she decided. She was sure she could find other ways to make her point, to let Maggie know she was unhappy with the situation. She couldn't entirely kill something that had brought a genuine smile to her partner's face no matter who it had come from. Brigit stood and walked to the front room. As she sank into Maggie's reading chair, she thought about Mama Dee's advice. She would keep a closer eye on Maggie. Something about Lorena Rubens didn't set right with Brigit. She couldn't put her finger on it yet, but she couldn't do anything to stop what had been started either. Not yet, anyway...

13: A Wish to Forget

Another two weeks pa.s.sed quickly, bringing Christmas at hand. Brigit had gone on about her business at the firm, reaping as many as she could between the times the sun rose and the sun set. John expressed his surprise that she had taken on such a heavy work load so quickly. Brigit had only shrugged and picked up another pile of portfolios before walking out.

Things at home were progressing as well. Brigit had watched as Maggie came in from her date that night, a slight flush present in her cheeks that Brigit immediately recognized. It could have been the wine they had enjoyed over dinner, but Brigit heard the voice in her head telling her firmly that she knew it was something else. Lorena had asked to see Maggie to the door, but Maggie had only allowed the woman to kiss her on the sidewalk outside. Brigit had felt the tiniest measure of relief in that action. Perhaps Maggie was unsure after all...

Maggie had noticed the dead flowers in the bouquet the next morning. She had merely shrugged and plucked the two stems out to throw them away. Brigit's effort had gone unrecognized and now lay in the garbage. She decided that she would have to work on another way of letting Maggie know her feelings.

Two nights later, Brigit had come home to find Maggie cooking dinner. The dining room table had been set for two and candles were lit. Soft jazz played through the speakers of the stereo in the office. Maggie was dressed casually, but not in her usual lounge pants and oversized t-s.h.i.+rt. She was entertaining and Brigit knew exactly who was coming to dinner.

Brigit had stayed long enough to watch them eat and converse. Lorena did most of the talking describing her exaggerated adventures in the Swiss Alps and the huge corporations she had taken on in behalf of the underdogs of society. Brigit couldn't help but roll her eyes when Lorena made a joke that was meant to impress Maggie. When Maggie stood to clear the table, Brigit's anger was ignited by Lorena's sudden move to catch Maggie by the hand.

"Dance with me," she said as a slow ballad had begun to play on the station that Maggie had chosen.

"I don't dance well," Maggie answered, a quick blush rising to her cheeks.

"It's simple. I'll lead," Lorena said as she stood. She pulled Maggie to the center of the living room and slipped her arms seductively about Maggie's waist.

Brigit felt her fingernails biting into the cloth on the arm of the reading chair as she watched the scene unfolding. She couldn't do this. She couldn't watch where the scene would end. Quickly, she jumped up and stormed to the door. With her anger at its height, she yanked the door open and slammed it behind her.

Maggie and Lorena both jumped at the sound of the slamming door. Maggie had felt the rush of wind that had swept past them before the noise had come. The energy within that wind was familiar. There had been a faint scent of French lavender on it. She had smelled it before, but she had thought it was just because Brigit had so recently been present in their apartment; but now... after so many weeks of Brigit's absence... She began to shake with the fear it had awakened deep inside her.

"What the h.e.l.l was that?" Lorena asked. Even though there was a tremble in her voice, she was trying to appear brave.

"Maybe it was a neighbor's door," Maggie suggested even though she had heard it clearly as her own front door. She was trying to suppress the s.h.i.+ver that had taken control of her, but it refused to go away. Even the weight of Lorena's hand still on her waist gave her no rea.s.surance.

"Does that happen often? Your neighbors slamming their doors?" Lorena asked.

"No," Maggie said. Lorena turned and looked at the shaking woman. A look of concern came into her eyes as she realized Maggie had turned deathly pale.

"What's wrong?" Lorena asked, raising her hands and cupping Maggie's face.

"I don't know," Maggie offered.

"Are you frightened?" Lorena asked in a purr, gently stroking Maggie's cheek with her thumb. Maggie tried to shake her head, but it barely moved under Lorena's firm hold. "I could stay tonight, if you want," Lorena offered. Maggie tried to shake her head again, but Lorena's hold was not easing up.

"That's not really necessary," Maggie whispered. Lorena lowered her head and brushed her lips across Maggie's softly. Maggie felt her knees begin to gel, but she was sure it was more from the incident that had just happened and the knowing that it was supernatural than it was from Lorena's kiss.

"But I want to stay," Lorena whispered before pressing her lips against Maggie's again. When they finally parted, Maggie could only nod her head even though every instinct within her was yelling for her to do otherwise. As Lorena led her down the hall by the hand, Maggie couldn't help but glance over her shoulder and wonder...

Brigit found John at the Bleecker Street Cafe. He was sitting at the counter conversing with Giuseppe quietly and seemed somewhat surprised when Brigit slid onto the stool beside him. The angry expression on her face told him the answer to the question before he had even opened his mouth to ask it. Maggie had found someone new. Brigit was feeling betrayed. Instead of broaching that particular topic for immediate conversation, John feigned ignorance and expressed his joy that she had shown up.

"I was just telling Giuseppe about a potential new recruit. I found his file today. I think he would do well with the 'Potential Problems' department," John explained as Giuseppe slid a cup of coffee in front of Brigit. She accepted it with a silent nod. The fact that she had never heard Giuseppe utter a word made her briefly wonder how John could carry on anything more than a one-sided conversation. That thought, however, was quickly burned by the bonfire of her anger.

"That's great," she mumbled in response to John's revelation.

"I think we'll go together to interview him," John decided before picking up his tea cup and sipping noisily. He was being obnoxious, Brigit thought.

"I can't wait," she said.

Her mind was going elsewhere. She was wondering if she should have stayed and watched what she a.s.sumed would happen. She wondered if Maggie would allow the other woman to touch her like Brigit used to touch her. The thought of it caused Brigit's fury to burn hotter. John had fallen silent beside her, staring at the opposite wall waiting for her speak again. Knowing he was baiting her with his silence, she conceded by asking: "How long does it take?"

"How long does what what take, darling?" take, darling?"

John turned and leveled his ice blue eyes on her. He could see the emotions running wildly through her mind. Her face was as smooth as stone, but the energy flowing through her body was screaming it all. He knew exactly what she was asking, but, he wanted her to voice it out loud.

"To forget how long does it take to forget what Life felt like?" she asked. She turned and met his icy gaze with a level one of her own. John felt himself stiffen at the sight of the emotions churning in the depths of her soul. He forced a gentle smile to his face and relaxed.

"Oh that that," he sighed. "Well, love, it depends on you. If you truly want to forget it, you will with time. However, you run the risk of forgetting everything everything," he warned gently. He hoped she would catch the subtlety he was trying to invoke empathetically.

He had been there once himself, asking the same question of his own now-retired-mentor. He could still hear the ice filled answer that had pierced him to the core and helped him make the decision to try to remember how Life had felt. He would remember the good times and the bad simply because he didn't want to be as cold blooded as Araxius Herodotus. John had walked away from that discussion and consciously decided to remember everything. He could not fathom forgetting the feel of his lover's touch or the warmth of breath against his skin in the darkness. He never wanted to forget the long warm kiss in the middle of a cold September rainstorm that had etched itself into his mind as the absolute happiest moment of his life.

He had the instinct now that Brigit, despite her anger, would not want to forget such sensations from her own life either. Not really. He had not met Maggie yet, but, John could feel the love Brigit still carried for her. It was Brigit's cloak, her protection and courage. He had the sense that it had been that way during their mortal existence together. If she were to discard all of that just to sidestep the pain she would feel upon bearing witness to Maggie's continuation of life, Brigit Malone would be left vulnerable. The soul she would become would be an empty sh.e.l.l of the soul she was now. How could he make her understand that pain was part of the new existence she had chosen to honor her promise to Maggie? How could he teach her to be tolerant of Maggie's progression through life?

Brigit remained silent as John continued to look at her. She knew he was reading her as easily as he read one of their portfolios. She didn't care. At least someone could see her.

"Don't make the decision lightly, love," he suggested. "Take your time on this one, trust me." Brigit nodded in acknowledgement of his advice before asking: "How do you know?"

Her voice was soft and John realized that she was deep within her confusion at everything as a whole.

"Because I've been where you are," he answered.

"You weren't always a Reaper?" Brigit asked. She slowly picked up her coffee and blew across the surface.

"I was mortal once. I didn't choose this particular occupation when I was alive, if that's what you mean. No one grows up saying they want to be The Grim Reaper," John laughed.

"I guess that would be kind of on the morbid side. Can you imagine how many mothers would put their child through a life time of therapy if the kid's first words were 'Grim Reaper'?" Brigit smiled at her own joke. She was beginning to relax. John was glad.

"Or worse, exorcism... the church's business would be at an all time historical high," John continued with the joke.

"So why did you take the job?" Brigit asked.

"For love."

"Oh,"

"You sound disappointed," John chuckled as he turned and reached for his tea again.

"Oh, no, I'm not. I just thought maybe you had a slight morbid streak. That's all what was her name?" Brigit asked, reaching for her own cup.

"His name was Dillon." name was Dillon."

14: For the Love of Dillon

John s.h.i.+fted in his seat and nodded to Giuseppe in indication that he would need another cup of tea. The time to answer Brigit's question on her first day regarding John Blackwick's hardest a.s.signment had finally arrived as he had known it eventually would. At this point, John considered it best to tell the tale if only to show his protege a new lesson about the existence she was now pa.s.sing through.

Brigit waited patiently for him to begin the story. She could sense the discomfort emanating from her mentor as he wrestled with where to begin. Giuseppe took John's teacup away and returned it promptly without a word. When the waiter stepped away, John took a deep breath.

"I was born in Dublin. My father was a delivery truck driver and my mother stayed at home with us. There were four of us children. I was the only son in the bunch, so expectations were somewhat high. My father hoped I would grow up to be a banker or a solicitor, but I had other dreams. I wanted to be a poet. All day, I would daydream and write the words as they flowed from my mind through my hand to the small notebook my eldest sister had given me. I was very introspective. I listened to everything the wind, the noise in the street, conversations that I had no business overhearing. It was all an inspiration to me. I paid close attention to the emotions that came to life within me because some little aspect of drawing a breath and being there to witness some second in the continuous flow of life all around me as it ignited a string of words that had to be recorded.

"Dillon was the neighborhood hero. He was the one all the mothers loved and all the fathers wished their sons would be like. He was athletic, smart and extremely handsome. We had grown up on the same street all our lives, but, we had never crossed paths until I decided to sit on the front stoop one day to write."

"How old were you?" Brigit interrupted as she lifted her coffee cup and prepared to take a sip.

"I was sixteen. By then, my mother had begun to encourage my writing. My father was somewhat disappointed. I think he realized I wasn't going to be anything truly financially beneficial to the family. I wasn't interested in sports or politics. I was doing my best to keep out of everyone's way so I could revel in my daydreams.

"On the day that I met Dillon O'Shea, I had been sitting on the front stoop writing. By now, my poetry was evolving into short stories. My second eldest sister had found an advert for a short story contest in a London magazine she subscribed to and urged me to enter. I was working hard on it when Tommy Higgins and his cronies came around. Tommy s.n.a.t.c.hed my notebook from my hands and began taunting me about being a sissy, cursing and laughing at me as he turned this way and that... I was jumping around like mad trying to take my notebook back. All my dreams were recorded there. My opportunity to be a famous writer was taking shape on those pages. Tommy Higgins had a reputation for destroying everything he touched and I was suddenly embolden to make sure my writing wasn't going to be another one of his casualties.

"So, there I was, jumping around trying to s.n.a.t.c.h my book from Tommy Higgins when Dillon appeared. In all the dancing around and scuffling, I hadn't seen him approaching us. Tommy was a head taller than I was, so I was having quite a time in reaching my book. His buddies, Billie and Collin, they were pus.h.i.+ng me around like a punching bag. I had just hit the sidewalk when I saw Dillon finally. He reached up and easily s.n.a.t.c.hed my book out of Tommy's hand.

"What's going on here?" I remember Dillon asking. Everything seemed to come to a screeching halt. Tommy Higgins puffed out his chest and tried his best to look intimidating. Dillon was unfazed. He was too busy scanning the pages Tommy had been making fun of to notice the challenge Tommy Higgins was issuing. I was somewhat embarra.s.sed, naturally. The neighborhood hero was reading my words. I was just waiting for him to turn and join in the melee of persecution.

"Mind yer own f.o.o.kin' business," Tommy Higgins had told him.

"What did you just say?" Dillon had demanded. I was just laying there on the sidewalk.

"Are ye deef? I tol' you 'to mind yer own f.o.o.kin' business'." Tommy repeated.