Chapter 59 - Back to Work
Morrigan felt a sense of ease that had been rare since she died. The ambient hum of the restaurant mingled with the clinking of dishes and soft music. At their table, Hilda and Death continued their animated conversation about the intricacies of classic cars—a topic they had delved into for the entire ride over. Most of it flew over Morrigan’s head, and she could tell it was the same for Emma.
Though Morrigan did notice when Hilda tried to change the subject to reapers and their powers, Death pivoted around it and came back to more mundane topics.
Morrigan found herself smiling more easily as the evening wore on. The conversation moved on to movies, and Death, unsurprisingly, had much to say about silent films, leading to a debate on the topic.
“I’ve seen some silent movies,” Hilda said. “Sorry, but they are boring.”
“I have to agree,” Emma grinned.
“Ah! But that is only because you lack the context of the era!” Death insisted, his voice brimming with enthusiasm.
Morrigan, finding the debate amusing, couldn’t help but chime in. “Maybe it’s an acquired taste?”
Emma shrugged, swirling her drink in her glass. “I guess. It’s just hard to get into when you’re used to... action and dialogue.”
“But think about it,” Death continued. “The constraint breeds creativity. It’s the limitation that pushes artists to explore new ways to tell their stories.”
As the conversation flowed, the evening wound down with some final thoughts on various classic and modern films. Hilda threw in her two cents on the portrayal of magic and witchcraft in newer movies, which she found wildly inaccurate yet entertaining.
“Don’t get me wrong, I loved Harry Potter,” Hilda said, “But waving a wand and saying a few magic words isn’t how a spell works. There is almost a science to it. Magic interacts with the world in specific ways, and as a mage, it’s all about knowing how to manipulate it. Not to mention, the movies never say a single word about attunement. Where does their magic even come from!?”
“I don’t think J.K. Rowling was a witch herself, though,” Emma said. “Can’t blame her for getting a few things wrong.”
“Yeah, and I love saying muggles,” Hilda grinned. “She definitely gets points for coining that term.” She then turned her attention back to Death. “How about you? What do you think of media portraying the Grim Reaper?”
“I quite enjoyed Terry Pratchett’s portrayal,” Death conceded. “Though, in general, I find it baffling how most assume there to be only one reaper. Did you know two people die every second? Even if he could teleport instantly, he’d still have to swing his scythe twice per second, and he’d have no time for breaks!”
The dinner eventually wound down, and Death paid the check in cash, after taking a wad of bills out of his robe. The ride back was a little quieter, Morrigan leaning against the door and Emma sitting next to her. Tonight, she realized, was somewhat of a new experience. She’d been out to eat with friends before, but this felt different. Tonight, it felt closer than that—almost like a family.
Back at the cabin, Hilda stretched and said, “Well, it’s been fun.”
“Yeah, thanks for having us,” Emma said.
Morrigan gave a slight smile when Emma looked her way. “See you nex—”
Emma suddenly closed the distance between them and put her arms around her. Morrigan, being utterly unused to physical contact, stiffened up and awkwardly hugged her back.
“I had fun. Let’s do it again soon,” Emma said.
“Y-yeah, definitely.”
Emma held her in the embrace for a long moment before stepping back and giving her a warm smile. “Really, it was great. We should make this a regular thing.”
After watching them go, Morrigan stared at her gloved hand. She realized it was kind of sad and pathetic, but she was trying to remember the last time she’d been hugged. There had been a few playful, friendly hugs from Emma in the time they’d known each other, but none like that.
She thought about this as she cleaned up for the night and eventually made it to bed. As she stared at the ceiling, a certain memory resurfaced. She was kneeling over a small mound of fresh dirt, her head pounding, and hot tears rolling down her cheeks. There were a pair of arms around her—her mom’s arms.
It had been when she was about ten years old, and she’d taken to feeding a stray cat on her walk to school. It would be there waiting for her every morning, and she always had a little piece of ham or preferably some tuna she pilfered from their cabinets to feed it. She’d leave a little early in the morning so she could spend ten minutes with it before going to school. She’d talk to the cat as if it were her confidant, telling it all her little secrets and worries. The bond she formed with the stray was one of the few sources of comfort in her young life.
That is, until one day, she left early with her can of tuna just as usual but found the cat lying on the side of the road, its hind legs and back bearing the damage of being struck by a car.
Morrigan ran over and picked it up without thinking. She didn’t know what to do or where to go, but she cradled her little friend to her chest as she ran.
The next thing she could remember was her mom jumping up from the couch. “Morrigan!? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you at—”
Morrigan showed her, tears in her eyes, screaming to get the car started because they needed to take it to the vet. Her mom, however, took one look at the cat and knew what Morrigan couldn’t accept. She gently took the animal from Morrigan’s arms. “Honey, I don’t think the vet can help now,” she said softly.
Morrigan had wailed in response, feeling crushed. “No! We have to try! Please, Mom! We have to try!”
But her mom just shook her head. “I’m sorry, Morrigan,” she whispered. “There’s only one thing we can do for her now.”
After that, they buried her. Morrigan kneeled over the grave for a long time, with her mom’s arms wrapped around her. It was the one time she could recall her mom emotionally being there for her.
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Now, thinking about that day, Morrigan had tears falling from her eyes as she lay in bed. She had completely forgotten that day until just now, and wondered how she could have. It seemed like that should have been an important memory, so why did she forget?
The demon flesh on her back began to bubble up, though the pain didn’t register as much due to the grief she was feeling. Still, she got up and put the hoodie back on, the seal succeeding in stifling it, and she curled up, hugging a pillow until eventually crying herself to sleep.
***
The next day, it was finally time to get back to work. Morrigan sat on the couch with a bowl of cereal on the coffee table while Death finished up his all-night gaming session. Morrigan’s attention, however, was on the list in her hands. It had been weeks since she had looked at it to see actual names listed, and there were four of them. Four human beings who’s lives would be ending and who she would have to reap.
She took a deep breath and rolled it back up, then returned her focus to her breakfast, though she really didn’t feel like eating. It was an issue she hadn’t faced in a while, having gained back some of the weight she had lost, but now, as she spooned the bite of Rice Krispies into her mouth, she found no joy or desire for it.
Death glanced over, noticing her troubled expression. “Something on your mind, Morrigan?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Just the list. It feels like it’s been a while.” She then took a deep breath and let a smirk touch her lips as she put a thumb up. “I’m ready, though! Time to get back to work!”
“Very well, then. Finish your breakfast, and we will be on our way. I’d like us to go together today, just to be sure the demon flesh truly won’t cause you any problems.”
***
As Death pulled into a modest suburban neighborhood, Morrigan took another look at the first name on her list.
Marie Fletcher, 42, expected time of death 9:30 am, 2324 Aubrey Lane—accidental medical overdose.
The street was quiet, with well-kept lawns and children’s toys scattered in several driveways. Most of the houses in this neighborhood were in pristine shape, but the one Death eventually parked in front of was different.
The lawn at 2324 Aubrey Lane was slightly overgrown, with a few weeds poking through the flowerbeds. It wasn’t neglected, Morrigan had definetly seen worse, but it was clear that maintaining it was not a priority for its occupants. A few garden tools lay scattered near the porch, indicating a recent but unfinished attempt at yard work.
Morrigan and Death stepped out of the car and approached the house. As they stepped up onto the porch, Death said, “This is your client, so I will just observe.”
Morrigan took a deep breath, feeling that familiar anxiety. “Alright, let’s do it.”
Come on, you’ve done this dozens of times, Morrigan reminded herself. It’s just been a while, so you need to get used to it again. Go in there, say some nice words, and send her on.
At the door, Morrigan took the skeleton key out of her pocket and opened the door. Inside was… well, her own house definitely tended to be just as messy if not more so, but it wasn’t exactly unlivable either. There were a few plates stacked on the coffee table, some empty boxes thrown about, and random pieces of discarded clothing here and there.
Morrigan stepped inside, the door creaking as she closed it behind herself, then she led the way to the stairs and walked up to the second floor. The entire house was dark for being daytime with all the blinds pulled closed. Morrigan noticed the bathroom door was open with the fluorescent light casting into the hallway.
She looked at Death and nodded, then went inside to see the spirit of a woman standing over an identical body that lay sprawled out on the bathroom floor. Both were wrapped in a towel. Marie Fletcher’s spirit stared down at her own lifeless body with eerie stillness. Morrigan glanced at Death for reassurance, and he gave her a nod.
“E-excuse me. Miss. Fletcher?” Morrigan called softly, not wanting to startle her.
The spirit slowly lifted her gaze, her eyes filled with confusion and a deep sadness. “Is that... me?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Morrigan nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“But how? This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, it seems you’ve accidentally overdosed on some medication.”
“No! I took the right amount! I’m sure of it!”
Morrigan took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady and soothing. “You know, sometimes accidents happen. It wasn’t your fault.”
Marie looked back at her lifeless body, her expression a mix of disbelief and sorrow. “That’s right… I usually take my pills after my shower, but sometimes I take them when I first wake up. I did both this morning, didn’t I?”
Morrigan glanced at Death who remained stoic behind her. Morrigan nodded. “Sorry, but it seems that way.”
“Such a stupid mistake…” she sighed. “Well, not the first time. I’ve just been so out of it lately. Ever since my diagnosis, things have just kept getting worse and worse.”
“What do you mean?” Morrigan asked.
Marie sighed, her spectral form shimmering slightly as she gathered her thoughts. “I was diagnosed with cancer a little over a year ago. It started small, something they thought they could treat, but it spread faster than anyone expected. The treatments... they made me forget things. Basic things, like what day of the week it was and if I had to go to work or not. Leaving the oven on… things like that.”
Morrigan nodded sympathetically. “That must have been incredibly difficult.”
Marie stared listlessly at her body. “It was. And it wasn’t just the cancer. My husband... he left me. He said he couldn’t handle it; the treatments, our financial situation... everything. I’ve been barely keeping things together, but I’ve been trying so hard. My house used to be in good condition. I used to take such pride in it.”
“I’m sure it was a difficult fight, but on the bright side, you’ve been given passage to heaven.” Morrigan materialized her scythe and held it with both hands. “I’m here to guide you there. You don’t have to keep fighting anymore, and you can finally be at peace.”
“Well… that does sound nice…” she said, her eyes moving over the blade of the scythe. “Is it going to hurt?”
“Not at all.”
Marie looked around the dim bathroom one last time, her gaze lingering on her lifeless body. “I suppose it’s time then,” she said softly. She seemed quite resigned.
Morrigan took a steadying breath, feeling the weight of her scythe in her hands. “Yes, it’s time. But I promise things will be better for you from here on.”
Marie nodded and closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. Morrigan hesitated for a fraction of a second, then lifted her scythe and brought it down in a swift, clean arc.
The blade passed through Marie’s spirit with a faint shimmer, and for a moment, the room was filled with a soft, ethereal glow. Marie’s form dissolved into a cascade of light, her essence ascending towards the ceiling before dissipating into the air.
As the light faded, the room returned to its dim, somber state. Morrigan lowered her scythe, feeling a mix of sadness and relief. She turned to Death, who gave her a nod of approval. “Good job Morrigan. Let’s go now.”
As they left the house and walked back to the car, Morrigan placed a hand over her heart. It wasn’t beating as anxiously as it was earlier today. She inhaled through her nose, smelling the warm summer air as she looked toward the sky. Reaping wasn’t easy, and not every spirit was going to be as accepting as Marie Fletcher, but it meant she would get to stay here. Thinking about Emma, and the fact her own life had been cut so short... she felt like she wanted to stay. At the same time, however, there was a gnawing doubt about it.
Can I really stay? Do I even deserve to? What if it were better for me to just move on?
For now, however, she figured she would take this chance to keep experiencing the world, and maybe in time she would find it in herself to keep existing.
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