Eerie Silence

Without protest, he took her hand in his and began walking quickly, his cloak sweeping over the graveled ground and lifting in the slight breeze. Her mind raced, stretching in too many directions at once. Like a rubber-band it snapped and her world spun around her. She walked along beside him, legs stretching to keep up and her mind working to process everything. It had been a call, silent but strong, reaching out to creatures of death, like her and her beloved Damian. It had been explained to her more than once, but as feeling it was unbelievable. While something in her worked to understand, she moved forward, squeezing his hand once.

They twisted down streets, moving closer to the right neighborhood. Instinct carried them forward, information hitting her each time she got close to a new street. Turn left, something whispered in her mind, then turn right. Signs blurred around them and she felt a duty sweep over her. It was like for the first time she had a purpose, she had a reason for doing something. There was a place she was needed, and a place she belonged other than with Damian. She knew things about where she was going to, a weight in her mind telling her that it was heart failure and a woman.

Suddenly Amy took off running, dropping Damian’s hand and jogging over the cement in a rush. She moved with swiftness she did not know she held, hair flying behind her and her clothes twisting in the rush of wind. The houses grew around her and her senses tumbled over each other. The sweet smell of grass swirled on the wind, and the cold of the night lashed out at her. Her skin was freezing yet on fire, and each hair on her arms stood straight. It was as if a cord was wrapped around her, pulling her forward, towards a familiar house.

She passed freshly mowed yards and white fences. Street signs fell behind her and grew before her. Her feet kicked rocks as she ran, something gripping her and forcing her movements. Control and fled her limbs, and her mind had slipped into a dark spiral. Behind her, she knew, Damian was following, his movements fluid and graceful. She could feel him there. His power was orbiting him. But he didn’t matter as she kept running. Finally, the right house was before her and she could sense the source of the call.

“Mom,” she whispered as recognition dawned on her and the call loosened its grip. Her feet skidded to a stop, her eyes opening wide and her lips parting in a gape.

Damian stood behind her and rested his hand on her shoulder. With his lips close to her ear, he said,
“I can’t go in with you.”

“Why not?” she asked, tears brimming in her eyes as she thought of her mother, slipping away from
her body due to the grief of her daughter’s death. It was clear in her mind, vivid even. Every sense Amy had was on fire with the knowledge. Here she was, seeing her mother’s death, feeling the rattled breaths that just passed over the dry lips. Sharp, ragged pains stabbed at her and a scream was building in her throat. Her bones felt brittle and weak, but she knew with great clarity why she was here. How could she be the one to take her from this world?

“It’s your first,” he said, a smirk playing on his lips only for a second. “I’ll be waiting right here for you,” he whispered. His words were gentle, as if she were frail and breakable and she hardly felt the squeeze he gave her shoulder.

She filled her lungs with a shaky breath, and then, setting her gaze on the front door, Amy glided forward. The tears were slowing their climb to her eyes, and with each step forward the pain dulled. Up the stairs and through the front door, she entered what was once her home. The cold struck her first, nearly knocking her off of her feet. Her parents had lived in the months of spring; this was in the waves of winter. Chills ran over her arms, raising the fine hairs and a panic settled in the pit of her stomach. There was nothing about her mother in her mind now that she knew where she was going, but the sick feeling that had settled on her and mixed with horror still clung to her.
Moving quickly, her feet carried her up the stairs, down the hall and to her parent’s bedroom. The door was pushed open already and she had a clear view of the gray room. The room had been washed in bland hues. The life had been drained from every corner. Washed from the accessories was any happiness. On the bed was her mother. It was the image she had previously seen.

Nothing, however, compared to really seeing it. Her body was limp and radiating cold. Cloth stuck to her, making her flat. Hair was draped around her in weak strands. Another stab of pain caused Amy to sob. Instinct lifted her hand to her mouth to smother the sound. No tears rolled down her cheeks.
A single shiver shook her body. She allowed her eyes to see it, to see it all.

Her father sat on the edge of the bed. His hair was un-brushed and his clothes rumpled. Dark circles covered the bags that hug under his eyes. Every now and then his lips parted and then closed. He cried. Silent tears chased down his cheeks, catching in his beard. For once he was unshaved, something Amy could not remember. Broad shoulders held his frame. His spine was straight, his neck bent only to look down at her. He held the hand of his wife and sobbed in silence.

Shaking her head, Amy moved further into the room. Her eyes scanned the area, remembering the vibrant colors that once covered the interior. Laughter filled her ears as she recalled jumping on the bed as a child. Her mother used to chase her around the room, cackling like a wicked witch. At night the three of them had crawled into the bed for a story. Amy had grown out of that, but still read there when they where out. She had nearly broken a wrist tripping over a pile of her mother’s clothes. By the window her mother had hemmed a dress for her and she had done her hair, a large smile on her face. Last year her mother had wanted a change, so, she took out everything and painted the walls. Then she bought new curtains, sheets, pillows and extra things to redo it all.

Her eyes landed once more on the broken body. There was no color to her skin and no emotion on her face. Some people say that in the last moments people are happy, the pain leaves them and you can see that joy on their resting faces. They softened the idea by saying resting instead of dead, but that didn’t matter to Amy. You couldn’t see a smile on her mother’s face. Her lips were flat and cracking, her eyes closed and not turned up at the corners like when she was happy. She was dead regardless of what it was called: resting, at peace, moved on. It was all the same. It all meant that there was nothing left but a hollow shell. Her mind had shut down. Her body had failed. Amy knew it had been a long process. Her own death had been quick, and she had come back as something different. Her mother would not get that chance. Pain had consumed her body. Greif had taken her mind. Each moment she had slipped away, falling into despair. Now there was nothing. There would be no more jumping on the bed or hemming by the window. No one would stash presents under the bed for holidays. The color would fade from the walls until the paint was nothing but smears. Half the bed would remain smooth and cold, the pillows fluffed and new looking. Dresses and heels would rest in the closet, unused and uncared for.

She was dead. It had already happened. Now Amy stood, her arms hugging her stomach and the air around her growing cold. It was what she had been brought back to do. Damian had just been a tool to get her to agree to it, and it had worked, the perfect trick. The grip on her weapon tightened, blood flow stopping in her hand and her knuckles turning white. She would have gotten rid of the blade a long time ago, but it was the only thing holding her up now. Her own grief was clouding her mind, and Amy had to fight against the tears.

It hit her then. The straw that broke the camel’s back, so to say. With her death, her mother had died. That left her father alone, in a house full of memories and with no local family to relay on to get through it. Amy had gotten her fighting spirit from him, but everyone broke at some point. The pain he had already suffered was apparent, but things were always capable of getting worse. He could go into a state of shock or suffer like her mother had. She was taking the only thing he had left in the world, that’s what she was thinking when her composure cracked. Rivers of tears streamed over her cheeks as shaky breaths pumped into her lungs.

This is what it meant to be an Angel of Death, to take what people cared about the most from them, to cause pain and suffering, to leave people without comfort or help.

She had to believe her mother was moving on to another life, a new place, something good, but her father, he was stuck in this life.

Behind him there was a shimmer of warmth, a ripple of light that Amy’s eyes locked on to. It seemed to fill the room with color, shades of pink touching the walls and the area coming to life. There was no change to the figures on the bed, and her father appeared to be unaware of the occurrence. The light shook, swaying this way and that like clay being molded.

“Mom?” Amy said, stepping further into the room and reaching out to the spirit. “Mom, you need to-” she found herself fighting tears and choking on words. “Come with me, mom.”

The spirit seemed to look her way, a splash of warmth entering the chilled house and light painting the room in shades of violet and blush. Her mother was in the same dress she’d warn to her cousin’s wedding, a soft salmon painted with flowers and spotted with beads. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and her feet bare against the floor. The only thing wrong with her image was the tears that stained her face.

“Amy,” a light shimmered around her as she spoke. “Amy,” her words were just a whisper and in seconds she was gone, a blink of light that swirled around the girl before vanishing entirely.

“Mom?” Amy sobbed, moving further into the room. She touched the cheek of the body knowing it was nothing but a shell that had once been home to a kind and loving person. The leather like flesh dipped beneath her touch and a shock wave ran up her arm, knocking her back. She backed out of the room, giving one last glance at her father.

He was strong, living. He was living, and if she stayed here any longer she would linger on the death when the whole reason she came back was for a life.

Her life, she thought.

Amy ran back down the stairs and out of the house, throwing herself into Damian’s open arms.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry.”

She sobbed softly against his chest, her dainty hands gripping his cloak as she shook. Tears pelted his clothes as he tried to quiet her, running his hand down her back and whispering into her hair.
When her crying stopped, the girl pushed away from him and wiped the back of her hand across her cheeks. They were alone on the street, and she had a feeling that they were both invisible to the human eye. Yet she feared that someone she knew might come running around a corner and see her. She feared she would cause even more pain with her return now that she was dead to their world.

“Can we go home now?” she asked.

Damian nodded, tucking a lose strand of her hair behind her ear. Then, taking her hand in his, he pulled the new angel to his side. They walked in silence, the warm air of the night curling around the couple and fragments of moonlight bouncing off their pale skin.

“What’s happened Amy?” he asked when the apartment door closed behind them.

She sat on his bed, her legs folded beneath her and layers of material curled around her thighs. Dropping her jacket onto the floor, she let down her hair, the soft locks curling around her jaw and brushing her shoulders. “I woke up in a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones and drifting spirits.
They were so beautiful drifting back and forth across the patches of grass, a soft wind sweeping over them.” She could picture it so clearly in her mind now, like the same people were there in the room with her.

Damian sat down beside her, curling an arm around her waist and letting her drop her head on to his shoulder. “Then what?” he asked when she fell silent, her clear eyes traveling across the room.
“There was a figure, darkness in the distance, and I went to in and was sucked down, spiraling into this empty room. Voices filled in and out in every language, and they taught me. ‘Death is not to be feared.’ That’s what they told me, and then everything you had told me suddenly made sense. The power was within me. I got a second chance. Somehow I got sent back to you, back to my life…only it’s not my life… Now I’m filled with that darkness I walked into and I can do these things. Death is natural. Death will happen with or without me, but now I’m in the middle of it. The night I died, you proposed to me and I said yes with all my heart. I think that that brought me back. I was just thinking about how I could be with you, how we could be happy. It is the only thing that makes sense. This is how we get to be together.”

“Damn them,” he growled, his arm tightening around her and his eyes becoming thin slits of anger.

“Damian,” she whispered, nuzzling in the curve of his neck. “Don’t be angry. I had my say in this. I wanted to be with you more than anything else. It’s just so cold now.”

Stroking her hair gently, he kissed the top of her head and then slowly stood up, moving into the makeshift kitchen. “It changes you,” Damian said. He moved around the kitchen heating up some water to make tea. “The things you’ll see, Amy…”

“I understand,” she said, appearing behind him and stroking his cheek as he turned to her. “I just helped my mother pass, and as long as I’ve known about this I’ve seen the good that you do. I don’t see it as grim reaper, the bringer of death. This is all about helping others get to a better place and to no longer be in pain. I can’t let it get to me. I won’t break down again.”

He handed her a mug of tea and took a long sip from his own. When the mug was empty, he moved back into the bedroom, pulling a black shirt from the dresser. “Maybe we should get some sleep,” he said, tossing the shirt her way.

She twisted it around and pressed the thin material to her face, breathing in his scent deeply. “I’m not tired. Can’t we just stay up and talk or watch a movie or something?”

“You really are one now, aren’t you?” he asked.

Slowly, tauntingly, she slid out of the dress she was in and pushed her soft hair off of her shoulder. She gazed at him with longing, a smile tugging at her lips, but the sadness still hung around her like a cloud. “I’m still me, Damian. Nothing can change that, and I still love you. I always will.” Amy slid the shirt over her head, tugging at the hem and conjuring a pair of shorts for herself.

“Did they say where they assigned you?” he asked, pulling back the covers on his small bed and crawling beneath the blankets.

Amy hesitated and then went to his side, pulling a blanket to her waist and pressing herself into his chest. She pushed strands of hair from her face and looked up at him, his wide eyes staring down at her, black hair fanning around his sharp face.

“No.”

“I guess we’ll deal with that tomorrow,” he whispered, holding her to him and breathing in the light scent of lilies.