Chapter 36 - Homecoming
She drove the rest of the day after her call with Emma, and made it all the way to Idaho by the time she decided to stop for the night. She found a hotel and snuck into an empty room with the skeleton key. She certainly felt more relaxed on a bed with four walls around her, rather than sleeping in the truck. Still, her heart had a strange mix of loneliness, anticipation, and fear. Once she made it back to Oregon, what would happen? Would her existence end there? How would Emma react? The relief she would get being somewhere safe might turn out to be short lived and not safe at all.
She plugged in her phone and sent Emma a text. “Hey, I’m in a hotel in Idaho. I’m going to sleep so I don’t want to talk. See you tomorrow.”
She then reached into her bag and grabbed the diary. As lonely and depressing as the passages in this diary were, Morrigan somehow found a sense of comfort in its pages. Reading always did that for her, but this was so much more personal, and it felt like she was reading words from the only person who might understand her own dilemmas.
April 29th, 1694,
It was a short list today, so I took the afternoon off. There wasn’t anything to do back at the cabin other than play board games with Death. He is frustratingly obsessed with those things, and he has had so much longer to learn them he is impossible to beat.
I guess some things never change… Morrigan thought. Then, she frowned, realizing part of her missed him.
He still refuses to teach me any more magic, and I resent him for it. I’d like to leave, but I suppose I lack the willpower after all. There’s nowhere else for me, after all. I want to be stronger, and I want to face the world alone but I can’t.
I went down to a pond I used to visit quite often when I was alive, and sat under a tree. As I sat there, I wished I had brought a book with me, as it was such a beautiful day. But, I was content to just watch the water. That is, until a family showed up. A man, a woman and their boy. For a flicker of a moment I thought it was my family. I don’t know if I felt relieved or dissapointed to find it wasn’t them after all.
As I watched this other family, the father showing his son how to fish, hearing their laughter and seeing their high spirits… I felt… hatred. Sitting under the tree, watching from across the pond where they couldn’t see my unnatural hair and skin, or my scarred, goulish face. I was tempted to go down there and introduce myself; perhaps enlighten them on how quickly their peaceful happy lives could change.
It was only a passing thought, though.
I left them alone.
Morrigan set the diary down and thought about it. It was natural to have such bitter feelings, she supposed. She wondered about the mention of scars on her face. The previous entries never fully explained what had happened to her and how she had died. Morrigan wished it was a bit more structured. But this wasn’t a fiction book with the author stringing the readers along on a compelling narrative. It was a personal account of this girl’s life, written only for herself.
May 2nd, 1694
I sent my first spirit to hell today. Honestly, I enjoyed it. Death became upset with me, saying I should never take that kind of pleasure in my duties. When I asked him why, he became truly angry—a rare thing to see from him. He said if I had to ask why then I’ve taken in none of his teachings up to this point.
The person deserved hell. Criminals being punished is supposed to feel good. They’ve wronged their victims and need justice. We would not have law otherwise. When I explained this to him, he gave me a look I truly hated. He looked at me with pity. He told me to go back to the cabin and to rest, for it's been a long day. That disappointment in his tone infuriated me. He stands on such a moral high-horse, yet I can’t agree with his morals. Despite what he says, I can only see it as apathy. He is apathetic towards this world that surrounds him and that he plays such a key role in but is not truly a part of.
I know that this is what he wants me to become—an emotionless tool that adheres only to her duties. I won’t forget what it is to be human, nor will I forget what it is to be a victim. When I come across a soul destined for hell, I’ll know that it is because they lived a truly despicable life, and I will always take pleasure in knowing that they are being sent to where they belong.
Morrigan closed the diary. She didn’t know what to think. The words were a bit unsettling. She couldn’t judge this girl, though. Her feelings were a result of her experiences. As Morrigan knew all too well, becoming a reaper did not discard your humanity and focusing solely on the job was unrealistic.
She turned off the lamp and curled up under the covers, forcing her eyes to stay closed and hoping she would get some sleep tonight.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
The next day Morrigan passed a “Welcome to Oregon” sign around noon. She had no spare money for food, but the hungry pit in her stomach was becoming something she just accepted. It only took a look in the mirror to see that there were more changes than just her hair, skin, and eye color. She had lost so much weight this last week and a half it was even beginning to show on her cheekbones.
Her phone dinged, and she glanced to the preview of the message.
“Call me next time you stop, or at least send a text. Okay?”
Morrigan sighed, wondering not for the first time if meeting Emma was a bad idea.
Needing gas, she pulled off the interstate and into a truck stop. She lifted her hood over her head to hide her face as much as she could, then went inside to pay, handing the cashier her last twenty-dollar bill. She now only had three dollars left.
After filling the tank she climbed back into the truck. She sighed, thinking on if she should call Emma or try asking around for spare change and continuing her arc as the homeless teenage reaper. With a sigh she muttered, “I’m an idiot… why did I even leave in the first place?” She sat with her hands on the wheel, still undecided on what to do when the phone began to ring.
It was Emma, of course, and she stared at the incoming call, thumb hovering over the answer button. Before she could make a decision, the phone went to voice mail. She tossed it onto the passenger seat, then put her hands over her head and curled against the steering wheel. “Damn it…” she whispered. “What am I going to do?” The phone started ringing again, and she ignored it until it went silent. It instantly started ringing again.
Finally, she reached over and answered.
“Morrigan?”
“Sorry, I was paying for gas,” she lied.
“Are you getting close?” Morrigan didn't answer. “Morrigan, where are you? Are you getting close?”
“I’m in Oregon. About an hour away.”
“Good…” Emma said with an audible sigh of relief. “So where are we meeting?”
“Do you know the old cemetery across town?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay, sounds good… I’ll head that way in a minute.”
“Just…” Morrigan exhaled. “When we meet, dont get upset and… there’s a lot I have to tell you. It’s going to be hard to explain.”
“Alright. Whatever it is, don’t worry. I’m here for you, okay?”
Morrigan wasn’t sure she believed those words. Once they met, she figured Emma would either be scared, or at least angry over all of Morrigan’s lies. If she even managed to get the truth out.
“Morrigan? Want me to grab anything? Have you been eating?”
“Um… yeah I’m hungry.”
“Alright. I’ll bring something.”
“I should get driving now.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon, alright? I’ll text you when I get there. You do the same if you get there first.”
“Okay.”
“See you soon, Morrigan. And don’t worry, everything's going to be fine.”
Morrigan hung up the phone without another word. She turned the ignition and muttered, “I shouldn’t be doing this…” Emma was expecting a different Morrigan, and there was no way to prepare her for what she was about to see.
She got back onto the highway and as she got closer to her town, familiar sites began to reveal themselves. She had only been gone for five days, but it felt like it had been weeks, maybe even months. Before she knew it, she was in her neighborhood and it was a surreal experience for it to be so familiar but so strange.
Finally, she pulled through the front of the graveyard and parked the truck to the side, the tires crunching on the broken asphalt.
She looked around over the many tombstones, some lopsided and covered in vines, all poorly maintained. Her eyes set on the willow tree where she used to love to read, and without thinking she started walking towards it. She pulled out her phone and texted Emma. “I’m here.”
She inhaled through her nose, phone dropped back into her hoodie pocket, and took in the familiar atmosphere of the graveyard. So ironic that this, of all places, was where she felt most comfortable. At school she wore a mask, at home she felt disgusted with her life, but here, hidden amongst the tombstones, she always felt calm and relaxed. She supposed it was fitting that this is where she died.
Her eyes drifted over to the angel statue, the exact spot where her life had ended. That memory put a good deal of bitterness on her reminiscing about this place. Its cracked, and broken face stared permanently towards the crypt that it watched over, where Morrigan had laid for hours and where her body might still be lying had Death not decided to take her as an apprentice.
She made it to the willow tree and sat down with her back against it, hood drawn over her head. Her phone began to ring. She answered it.
“Hey Morrigan I’m here.”
“Do you see a black pickup truck?”
“Yeah, I’m right next to it.”
Morrigan would have seen her if she stood and looked over her shoulder. She didn’t though, letting her gaze linger on an endless sea of old forgotten tombstones, some cracked or reduced to a pile of rubble. Some fallen over or at least tilted in the ground.
“Do you see the willow tree? That’s where I am.”
“Okay, be there in a second. Oh, is that you? Dressed in black?”
Morrigan took a moment to respond, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, that’s me.”
When she next heard Emma’s voice it was not through the phone; she was coming up behind her. “Hey Morrigan. Thanks for meeting with me.”
Morrigan drew her hands into her chest, still hiding her face under her hood. “Can you just… stay back for a second?”
She heard the crunch of Emma’s footsteps slow, uncertainly. “So what’s going on?” When Morrigan didn’t respond she said, “Here, why don’t we eat and we can talk about it later. Or, you know, maybe don’t even talk about it. Just hang out and relax.”
Morrigan let out a deep sigh, then put a hand against the tree as she stood up. Emma should be able to see the unnatural whiteness if she paid close enough attention. “Emma… just please don’t be scared.”
“Scared?” Emma took an uncertain step backward.
With a deep breath, Morrigan finally turned, keeping the hood up as a warm breeze blew her white hair so it danced past her collarbone. She looked Emma in the eyes and saw her cheeks go pale as she took a full step back.