Death is a Girl

Chapter 60 - A Shocking Discovery

They went to the hospital where Death reaped a soul from his list who had just arrived on a stretcher. Afterward, they had some time for a meal in the food court. Morrigan opted for something light, as reaping tended to kill her appetite. At the very least, taking a lunch break in the middle of her “murder list” felt a little heartless.

After finishing her salad, they went upstairs for Morrigan's second client. It was an elderly man who lay still in a hospital bed, surrounded by family in the small hospital room. No one seemed to notice her as she gently took the comatose man's hand and led his spirit out of the room.

“Young lady? What is this?” he asked uncertainly, looking back into the room as she led him out. “Is that me?”

“Yes, sir. Your time has come, and I'm here to guide you.”

“To… heaven?” he asked, looking at her. Only then did she notice the cross necklace around his neck, which he clutched tightly between two fingers.

Morrigan smiled warmly. “Yes, you are going to heaven.”

“So… you must be an angel,” he said, giving her a curious look.

“Well… more or less. You can think of it that way if you want.” When she noticed his skeptical stare, she summoned her scythe. “I'm a bit new to the job.”

“But… angels are… different,” he said, frowning.

“Oh? And how many angels have you met?”

“Well… the scriptures describe them quite differently.”

“Maybe those are the angels of heaven,” Morrigan said. “I'm more like an angel of death, but I'm here to guide you to your next journey. And maybe in heaven, you'll meet those other angels.”

“This is just not at all what I expected. I've been a devout worshiper my entire life. I just thought this moment would be more… familiar to me.”

Boy, this is awkward, Morrigan thought, glancing at Death, who waited down the hall. Death is letting me handle things on my own again, I guess. Well, what would he say?

Morrigan cleared her throat. “The afterlife shouldn't be familiar to the living, sir. But, look in there.” She pointed back into the room. “Look at your family. They are here with you, showing their love during your last moments here on earth. Watch them for now, and you’ll be in heaven soon.”

“I… I see…” he said, staring into the room.

Morrigan raised her scythe and gently swung it through his spiritual form. He rose upward as he dissipated.

“Very good, Morrigan,” Death said. “What made you think to handle it like that?”

“Well… I definitely didn't want to argue with him over the fact his scriptures are probably wrong.” She scratched her nose awkwardly. “I just thought about what was the best way to give him a good last memory here on earth, and that was it.”

“Well, good job. You have good instincts for these things.” Death began to lead her down the hall, and he said something next that made her feel… good. “I'm proud of you.”

Proud?

For some reason, that word stuck with her. She analyzed it even as they got into the car, pondering why it felt so good to hear.

It's no big deal. He's just giving you acknowledgment for doing your job right.

“Well, my next name isn't for another 3 hours. How about yours, Morrigan?” he asked as he started the car.

She reached into her sleeve and took out her list. She unraveled it to see the first two names of the day crossed off. She read the next one.

“Henry Thompson, age 37, 224 Mulberry Lane — electrocution, 12:45 pm.”

“Let's see…” Death pondered. “I do believe we will arrive a bit early. We'll just park down the street and wait.”

As they continued on their way, Morrigan thought back to the diary and how she had run away. Death never showed any particular anger or disappointment over the incident, other than giving her a hard time about his truck. She glanced over to him, watching as he drove for a moment.

“Hey, Death?”

“Yes, Morrigan?”

“Um… you know, I realized I never really said sorry about, uh… a few things.”

“If this is about the truck, do not worry. I can easily replace it.” His hand came up to the dashboard and patted it softly. “Though I would like you to promise me you'll never try a similar stunt with my phantom.”

Morrigan grinned. “Oh yeah, no worries. I wouldn't do that.” She paused, then sighed. “Um… also, I'm sorry for breaking into that room and taking the diary. I really shouldn't have done that.” She looked over when he didn't respond. “Um… are you mad?”

“Mad? No,” he said. “However, I do wish for my privacy to be respected as much as anyone else would. So, I would ask you to avoid entering any intentionally locked places in my home in the future.”

“Right… I'm uh… I'm sorry.”

“At the same time, however…” He paused in a way that seemed if he were capable of clearing his throat, he would have. “Let's just say, I understand your actions and do not hold it against you. Some of the blame is mine as well for not being more secure or even mentioning that I'd have preferred that room undisturbed. However, upon discovering the diary, I blame you not one bit for taking it. Seeing that I had another apprentice, it is only natural you'd want to learn more.”

“Why do you keep the room like that?” Morrigan asked. “I mean… considering it's been so long since you've seen her.”

“I'm not sure… part of me hopes to see her again, perhaps, but it could also be… it would just feel wrong to change it. That was her living space for many years.”

Morrigan turned her gaze out the window. It had been over a month since she left home. Would her room be left undisturbed? How long before her mom accepted she was never coming back and packed up her things or threw them away?

“Do you miss her?” Morrigan asked.

“Of course. She was with me for several hundred years. Even when she had mastered reaping and would no longer be considered an apprentice, I remained quite fond of her and enjoyed her company. Though, we did indeed have our differences…” He paused to think. “She'd always come over on Christmas, you know. We'd celebrate her birthday, and while I don't remember my birthday, she chose a day for me.”

“Oh? What day is that?” Morrigan asked. She couldn't help but smile at Death's story. It was very… wholesome.

“April 25th. No particular reason other than that it's the day it first occurred to her. I believe this was just a year and a half after her death and becoming my apprentice. She asked me about my birthday, and when I explained I didn't have one, she said, ‘Well then how about today?’ That day happened to be April 25th. Every year since then, she’d wish me a happy birthday on that day.”

“That's… cute,” Morrigan said with a chuckle. It sounded quite different from the dark brooding girl she had discovered in the diary. Morrigan fell silent as she thought about how to keep him talking about her. “In the diary… she seemed really angry a lot of the time.”

“Indeed. Well, she suffered greatly, and as a result, much darkness lingered in her heart. I believe the diary was a bit of an outlet… though not enough of one.” Silence filled the car for a moment as he focused on driving. Then he said, “Morrigan, I have thought about this and… why don't I give the diary back to you? Actually, she had written several more that are still in my possession.”

“Really? I mean… if you'd be okay with that.”

“Do you want them?”

“Well… yeah, kinda.”

“Then they are yours. I'll just say on the chance you ever meet Alice, don't let her know.” He looked at her in a way she could almost imagine one of those hollow eye sockets closing in a wink. “Keep it our secret.”

Morrigan returned a conspiratory grin. “Alright. Gotcha.”

They parked down the street from their next client's location and saw a work truck parked outside the house. It had ladders on top and an emblem of a lightning bolt along the side. “This Mr. Thompson is an electrician?” Morrigan asked.

“Seems that may be the case. Now, Morrigan, I will help you, but I want you to use your magic yourself this time to block your perception.”

“Um… so I kind of started to learn glamour, but…”

“Glamour, as witches call it, functions much the same way, but what you must do is camouflage your very existence. It is not as simple as changing your face. If you cross paths with a member of the household they could see you as a member of the work crew who is busy with the job. For the workers, it could be vice versa. It’s not about being invisible but appearing to just be part of the surroundings or an object in the background with no need to interact.”

“Okay… so how does that work?”

“Place your magic over yourself much the way you would when using the witches' version of glamour, but instead of focusing solely on your physical appearance, focus on what those who observe you ought to see.”

“What they… ought to see?”

“It's all about perception,” Death said, his tone patient. “You need to make them see you as something that belongs in their environment, something ordinary and unremarkable.”

“Can I bring my scythe out first? Magic is easier to control with it out.”

“Of course.” He took a look at the clock on the dashboard. “Well, it is almost time. Just proceed as normal, and I’ll instruct you on your perception blocking along the way.”

“Alright, let's do it.”

Morrigan summoned her scythe as they began walking down the street. She felt for her magic in the palm of her hands and let it spread up her arms and over her body, then stopped it at her legs. Having her scythe out made it much easier. Without the scythe, it was like trying to paint with a brush that was twenty feet long; she’d have some control of the general direction, but no real precision and the smallest movement might send it messily streaking across the wall.

“Good. Now, pretend someone was walking down the street in the opposite direction of us. What ought they see other than two reapers, or a girl holding a scythe?”

“I don’t know… a lady walking a dog?”

“Very good,” Death answered. “Now, if you were inside someone's house when there ought to be nobody there?”

“Uh… I don’t know… a coat rack?” She didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but it just slipped out of her at times.

“And if they observe a coat rack moving?”

“A pet, then?”

“What if they don’t have pets?”

Morrigan sighed, mildly annoyed. “Any hints?”

Death’s skeletal finger rose and pointed as a car came down the street. Morrigan looked but didn’t understand. She wasn’t even sure if he was pointing at the car or not. “A… car?”

“Indeed.”

“I don’t think they’ll expect to see a car inside their house,” Morrigan said, not making much of an effort to control her tone this time.

“But what of the light and shadows that come through a window at night? Or a simple inconsequential blur of motion in the corner of their eye?”

“Oh…” she thought about it. “Oooooh, okay, that makes sense.”

“Now, just keep that in mind when we enter.”

As they approached the front steps, Morrigan noticed the porch light flicker, but she ignored it and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, so no need for the skeleton key this time.

They stepped inside to hear someone calling up from what seemed like the basement. “Sorry! Just realized I had the wrong one! Got it now?” There was no answer. “Boss?” Then there were footsteps coming up the stairs.

Morrigan panicked and looked around. Okay, what should he see… uh… well, he doesn’t live here, he’s just working, so…

She walked over to a bookcase to her left and pretended to look at it while impressing upon herself the image of a normal girl her age. She thought about her blonde hair and the bright colors she used to wear. She watched through the corner of her eye as a man came from the basement stairs. He seemed to glance her way momentarily, but continued down the hall.

“Excellent job utilizing the bookcase, Morrigan! You used your environment to your advantage. I hadn’t even taught you that.”

“Heh, yeah, piece of cake,” she smiled proudly.

It was cut short when she heard a yell. “Oh shi—M-Mr. Thompson!? Boss!? HEY!”

Death looked at Morrigan. “It sounds like your client is waiting for you.”

Morrigan took a deep breath and steadied herself. She led the way quietly down the hall towards the source of the commotion. They found Mr. Thompson lying on the floor in the living room, his face pale and eyes closed. His coworker was frantically trying to revive him, but since he was on her list, she already knew it was too late.

“He’s distracted enough. I do believe you can make this a quick reaping with your scythe,” Death said.

Morrigan nodded, clutching her scythe and preparing to raise it when she saw a translucent arm emerge from Henry Thompson’s physical one. The spirit rose to his feet, brushed himself off, and looked down at his coworker. “You damn idiot! I told you to—w-wait… what the hell!?”

Henry stopped; staring at his own dead body with complete bewilderment as the younger electrician seemed to give up on shaking him awake and reached for his cellphone.

“Mr. Thompson?” Morrigan asked.

He spun around and froze when he saw them. He took in the scythe in Morrigan’s grasp and the tall skeleton who loomed behind her. His mouth dropped open.

Morrigan smiled warmly. “Sorry, I’m sure this is a shock—oops, uh… no pun intended—but… the thing is, you just died, and we’re here to send you to heaven.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” Henry said as he placed his hand on the side of his face with an audible slap.

He looked back into the room at his coworker, who was pacing around the room now while talking on the phone, saying, “Yes, the address is… uh… Mulberry Street, there will be a white truck outside. There’s been an accident, and someone’s been electrocuted.”

“That…” Spirit-Henry’s fist clenched. “That damn rookie killed me! God damn it!” he stomped the ground hard but his spiritual form made no sound or vibration from teh impact.

Morrigan winced. “I’m sure this is upsetting, sir, but if you’d like to step outside with me, I’ll answer any questions you may have.”

Henry stared at her, then laughed. “Oh! I get it. This is a dream.”

Morrigan’s grimace spread a little wider. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t a dream. You really did just die.”

“Haha, no, no, it has to be. See,” he pointed at her. “I saw you before. Just this morning, in fact. Not so pale, but you wouldn’t be, uh… some kind of grim reaper girl or something. So, therefore, this is a dream.”

“You… saw… me?” Morrigan raised an eyebrow and glanced at Death for help.

“Yup! Sure did! What was the name again… it was something weird. Like Morgan, but…”

“Morrigan!?” her mouth fell open.

“Yeah! That’s it!” he snapped his fingers. “Morrigan Livingston. It was such an unusual name I couldn’t help remembering it.”

She tried to trace back to seeing this guy, but they had gone right to the hospital this morning and spent most of the day there. But even if he saw her, he shouldn’t know her name. “Where exactly did you see me?” she asked.

“On the TV! I was at home, having a coffee before work, and I was watching the news!”

“The news? And it was me? Are you sure?”

“Yup, it was a missing persons report!” he laughed and put his hands on his hips. “I remember my wife and I talking about how screwed up this world was becoming. Cute young girl like that going missing, probably killed or something.” He shook his head as if he were disgusted with the world. “But anyway, that’s why I know this is a dream. I had been thinking about it, so I just inserted you subconsciously, and that’s why you’re here!”

Morrigan ignored his rambling, already pulling her phone out of her pocket and completely forgetting her scythe for now.

“Morrigan… your client,” Death warned her.

“Hang on!” she snapped, googling her name. Sure enough, it popped up right away. A news article with her picture, the headline reading, “16-Year-Old Reported Missing.”

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