Chapter 2: You Killed Her, Frank!
“D-dude!” Pony-boy gasped, blood leaking from his wounded face.
“Oh crap…” Frank muttered.
Morrigan slid down the rough stone until she was seated at the angel’s feet. Her fingertips lightly touched the handle of the knife, lips quivering. Everything was suddenly so cold.
Her throat convulsed as she tried to breath… or make a sound… but all that came out was a sputter that speckled her hand with red dots.
“Is she dying?” Pony-boy asked.
“Shut up…” Frank said under his breath.
“Fuck, man! Fuck! You killed her, Frank!” Pony-boy yelled. He touched the wound on his cheek and then stared bewildered at his bloody palm. “We are so screwed, man!”
“Shut up!” Frank snapped. “Look, all we have to do is hide her and—” he looked over to see Todd making a run for it. Pony-boy chased him half-heartedly but was apparently too woozy from his own blood loss. He gave up the pursuit after only a few heavy steps.
“Forget it,” Frank said. “He won’t say anything.” He then walked over to the crypt. “Over here, help me with this.”
Morrigan watched, barely enough strength to keep her head up. They were moving the stone slab from the front of the crypt.
No... don’t put me in there…
Her vision faded and she lost what little strength she had left. Her head rocked forward limply and the last thing she saw was her own blood pooling between her legs.
***
What’s happening?
She could hear stone sliding against stone.
Stop it…
She had vague awareness of being dumped on the ground, her limbs splayed around her. The subtle noises from outside became muted.
Is this the crypt?
She heard the stone sliding again.
No!
Please don’t.
Don’t leave me in here!
There was a final, determinating thunk as the soft sounds of the outside world faded completely.
This isn’t real.
It’s not real!
Let me out of here!
She wanted to move but felt no attachment to any kind of sense of touch. She couldn’t scream, or even breathe. There was just total stillness.
It’s not real.
It’s a dream.
It’s a dream!
…
What if it’s real?
Am I dead?
That would mean…
She then thought she could see something.
A thin ray of light cut horizontally through the darkness, glowing against a concrete floor.
The bottom of the crypt door.
I’m…
She couldn’t feel anything, yet somehow, her mind was alive. Is this what death was? Was she going to be stuck like this forever? Forced to stare forward, watching the days pass through the sliver of light beneath the door?
What about when her eyes rotted? What if her eardrums collapsed? Then would she spend eternity only trapped in darkness?
If she could breath, she’d be hyperventilating in a full-blow panic attack right now.
Let me out!
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Somebody help me!
Please!
PLEASE!
Surely, that boy would go to the police. After all, she lost her life trying to save him! Otherwise, it would probably be days before her mom noticed she was gone.
What about her friends? Would they search for her when she did not show up at the party? She did tend to be aloof, so they might write it off as her bailing on their plans.
I don’t want this…
Please, somebody help me…
Don’t leave me like this!
More hours passed, and the light under the crypt door slowly faded as night set in. If that boy had gone to the police, they would have been here by now. She hated him as much as the two sociopaths who murdered her. She stood up for him, and he abandoned her! She never wanted to give her life to save him, and now she had a meaningless death.
It’s not fair!
Her life had sucked, and her death was pointless. Nobody would even care that she was gone! It would probably be a relief to her mom that she had one less responsibility to trouble her. How could it end like this? How could she have lived such a pointless life?
Why didn’t I run faster?
Why didn’t I get away?
I can’t be dead.
I can’t be dead!
Then, she heard the stone sliding once again. Was it the police? Did that boy come through for her after all? At least she would get a proper burial now.
Or… or was it the two sociopaths coming back to find a different solution for her body?
It was none of the above.
A man walked into the crypt wearing a black cloak with the hood drawn over his head. A black cat sitting near his feet. He stood there in the doorway, illuminated in the moonlight, looking down at her as the cat walked over with a prowl before leaning down to sniff her face.
“Master, there is something odd about this one. She’s dead… but…”
…Wait… Did that cat just talk? Is this really a dream?
“Yes, there is an abnormality about her soul,” said the black-robed man as he stepped inside. He kneeled down, and his hand came out of its sleeve, except, his hand was nothing but bone! It was a skeleton! She would have screamed if she could.
The skeletal fingers grabbed under her chin and moved her face up to look at him. Inside the darkness of his hood she could just barely make out the whites of his skull, the lumpy cheekbones, the uniform teeth and empty eye sockets.
What do you want!? Let me go!
“Forgive the delay,” he said calmly. “The fates did not plan your death, and thus your name remained absent from my list for some time. Regretfully, your soul has been claimed by neither heaven nor hell, so I’ll instead send you to limbo. That is, you will simply cease to exist.”
Don’t say all that like I’m supposed to understand! What list? Limbo? Just leave me alone! This is a dream anyway, so…
There was a sorrowful weight to his movements. He turned her cheeks in his hand, looking over her face. “Yes, I see it. Very little evil in your heart—trivial deceits, petty theft, but no true sin. At your age, being robbed of life so pointlessly… you deserve a welcome passage into heaven. Unfortunately, I can not give that to you. I am truly sorry.”
He released her, then stood. He held out one hand and rolled back his sleeve with the other, revealing nothing but bone all the way down to his elbow joint. Then, his skeletal hand clenched tight, and a spear of blue light shot from between the gaps. The top of the light widened and began to form an object. Morrigan already guessed before it fully materialized, but of course it was a scythe. “This will not take long, child, and I promise you will not feel a thing.”
Please no! I don’t want to die! My life hasn’t even really started yet, so please!
She tried to beg, but she was completely without motion. No voice to plead with the reaper.
I’m not ready, I’m not ready!
The scythe swung down, the point aiming for the center of her back.
Please! She tried to scream once more, and a very small sound came from her lips. It was barely a squeak, but it was enough to stay Death’s hand.
The scythe stopped, its point just barely touching the clothes on her back.
“Master?” the cat asked, looking up at him.
“Noir…” Death spoke with a low voice. “Is this truly alright?”
“I know you wish not to give her such an end. Yet, I see no alternative.”
Death brought the scythe away from her and repositioned it to stand parallel beside himself. The other hand raised its skeletal digits to his chin, contemplating. “It feels wrong. She does not deserve limbo, but that other child’s haphazard ritual has done enough to defile her soul. Heaven will not claim her now.”
I don't understand any of this… just… just please leave me alone.
“You can not simply leave her to rot, master,” the cat said, licking at the back of his paw, seeming to care less for this situation.
“Perhaps…” Death mused aloud. “There is another way.”
Morrigan's heart, if it could still beat, would have skipped.
What other way? Can I go back to my life!?
“Master, no, you can not do that.”
Oh, screw you, cat! I was always a dog person anyway!
“Don’t tell me what I can and can not do, Noir,” Death chided. He held that contemplative posture as he continued to muse under his breath… or, not-breath. “Logistically, there’s a slight hang up here…”
“B-but Master,” Noir tried once again but was quickly silenced.
“Hush, Noir! I’m trying to think. Now… I don’t want blood on the seats, so…”
Death suddenly flicked his wrist and the scythe disappeared, then he pounded one bony hand into the palm of the other. “I’ve got it!” His skeletal mouth opened just slightly in what Morrigan guessed was his best version of a smile.
“Master?”
“I’ll go get the truck!” Death said. “For now, we will toss her in the back with the shovels! Yes, I know just the thing to do with this wayward soul!”
Shovels!?
“I beg you to reconsider…” the cat looked up with his ears folding back.
Though Death seemed to not pay any mind to his companion as he turned and exited the crypt. “Yes, yes, that’s it! Come Noir, we have preparations to make!” In the doorway he looked back to Morrigan. “I shall return for you, child. Rest easy until then. I’ll be back shortly!”
Shovels? Truck? Morrigan stared at the open doorway as that odd duo left her to lay on the floor of the crypt in silence. She wished more than anything she could move now because she wanted to scream: WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!?