Death is a Girl

Chapter 18: Saying Goodbye

They drove out of the graveyard, turned the corner, and pulled up alongside Morrigan’s house.

“Here we are,” Death said, his skeletal fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “Feel free to gather what you need. We’ll wait here.”

Morrigan stared out the window at her house. The rickety old house with green mold coating the siding, and a few visibly missing shingles that manifested a bucket of water in the kitchen whenever it rained. Her mom’s car was still in the driveway, and since she hadn’t left yet, that must have meant she had the night off.

“Think you can make me invisible?” Morrigan asked.

“I can not even make myself invisible, Morrigan,” Death said. “The best Noir or I can ever do is blend into the background.”

“Then can you blend me past my mom?” Morrigan took off her glove to show her white hand. “I don’t really got a way to explain this, you know.”

His skull turned slightly, then he said, “Noir will assist you.”

Good enough.

She would still need to come up with a lie about why she was leaving. Staying at a friend’s house would probably work. Well, not like her mom ever put much effort into checking up on her whereabouts anyway.

With a deep sigh, she stepped out of the car.

“Morrigan,” Noir said, as he appeared by her feet, walking beside her. “Be aware that should your mother focus on you, she may see through the viel and see you as you truly are.”

“That would be a first,” Morrigan said under her breath.

“Is that so?”

Morrigan pulled her hood over her head to help hide her face. “Let’s just get this over with.”

She opened the door to see a semi-clean living room. The beer bottles had been picked up, and there was only a reasonable amount of clutter on the coffee table, including an ashtray with only five cigarette butts in it.

It wasn’t like her mom never cleaned, but the house only tended to maintain this semi-clean condition for a day or two before the bottles piled up again.

She could hear her mom in the kitchen, and moved up the steps as quietly as she could manage.

“Hey, Morrigan,” her mom called, voice slightly raspy. Morrigan could smell the lit cigarette from the bottom of the steps.

She ignored her and kept going.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, kid.” Her mom came out when Morrigan was only halfway up. “How’d the job hunting go?”

She stopped. “Job hunting?” As she processed what that was supposed to mean she then became aware of her pale hand on the railing and drew it back to her chest so her mom wouldn’t see.

“This morning you said you were looking for a job.”

That’s right.

Morrigan had said that offhandedly this morning when she was leaving and her mom stirred awake. The fact that it hadn’t even been a full day shed light on just how long the day had been.

It was rare for her mom to show interest in what she’s been up to. Morrigan figured she planned to start asking for money if it turned out she did get a job. “Still looking.” She kept her back turned.

“Here.” There was a rustling sound. “Got something for you.”

Morrigan turned her head, just enough to see past her hood and down the stairs. She hoped that sliver of the side of her face wouldn’t be enough for her mom to see how she had changed. But, what Morrigan saw almost made her turn around fully because she thought her eyes must have been playing tricks on her.

Her mom was holding out a wad of cash. She was giving her money? No way, that had to be a joke.

“Summer just started, right?” her mom said. “Figured you might need a little pocket change. So take it.”

Morrigan stood there frozen, still only revealing one eye.

Her mom raised an eyebrow. “What’s with the new look? Thought you hated black.”

“Morrigan,” Noir whispered in warning.

Morrigan quickly turned her face away, and started heading back up the stairs. “No thanks.”

“No thanks? Hell’s the matter with you?”

Morrigan paused again. “Just… keep it for a rainy day or something. Or fix the roof.”

A tense silence enveloped the space between them.

Her mom clicked her teeth, a hint of surprise lingering in her tone. “Come on. Could help with your job hunting, too. Transportation, new clothes for interviews, you know.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Her mom exhaled. “This kid, I’ll tell ‘ya. Look, I’m putting it on the coffee table. Take it before you leave tomorrow.”

At the top of the stairs, Morrigan yelled down, “I’m staying at a friend’s tonight. Just grabbing some things.”

She went into her room and locked the door, just in case her mom followed her in. However, she didn’t hear the steps creaking, so she figured she was okay.

She scanned her room for her backpack and didn’t see it right away. After looking on the other side of her bed and opening her closet, she started to retrace her steps to the last time she saw it. Her stomach lurched as Pony-boy’s face entered her mind, recalling the moment he concluded the chase by grabbing her backpack and then punching her stomach.

Her backpack never made it back with her. It was left in the graveyard. Then, another realization touched her. The backpack wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make it back. Or rather, there was no making it back that the backpack was to be a part of. That was a different life that was now gone.

Looking around her room with that thought in mind, her eyes lingered on her sewing machine. Then, her piles of clothes, many of which she put so much effort into tailoring. The sinking feeling in her stomach only worsened, and she stood frozen.

Noir jumped on her bed and silently watched her with those analytical eyes, and she couldn’t stand to see him. So, she closed her own eyes and just stood there.

Don’t say anything, you stupid cat.

It was a long moment, subconsciously tempting him. Waiting for him to do something she could be mad about, but it never came.

With a sigh, she returned to her closet, where a bag of bags was stuffed into the corner. That is, one large tote bag stuffed with a bunch of other random bags. She shuffled through it and picked out a smaller plastic tote, then stared at the clothes in her closet. The nicest clothes she owned were kept hanging.

“I’d suggest packing for at least a few days,” Noir said, finally speaking.

“Only a few days, huh?”

“It may be that this issue is resolved shortly. But, just to be safe.”

“So what?” Morrigan asked. “I’ll be able to come back here?”

“Once I’ve dealt with whatever was summoned in the graveyard, or have determined it to be no real threat. I don’t see why not.”

Morrigan could think of a hundred reasons why not. Well, actually, she only needed one reason why not. Because this room didn’t belong to her. It belonged to another girl who was now dead.

She closed the closet door and walked over to one of the other piles of clothes. She didn’t want to ruin the other Morrigan’s favorite outfits by putting them on and turning them black.

Into the tote bag she stuffed shirts, pants, some skirts, stockings, and a pair of basketball shorts she liked to sleep in. After that, she collected her brush, ignored the makeup, and then stood in the center of the room, thinking over what else she would need. Toothbrush, she thought. Probably toothpaste too. She could take a guess that Death did not need to brush his teeth, so those things probably would not be at his house.

She made her way to the bathroom and grabbed what she needed, then stopped in the hallway to look at her bedroom door, left slightly ajar. Noir’s head poked out before he came to her side, and by the time she made her first step down the stairs, he had disappeared again.

Her mom was in the kitchen, probably sitting at the table smoking. When Morrigan was halfway through the living room to the front door, her mom spoke. “So when are you going to be back?”

Morrigan stopped. “I don’t know. A few days.”

There was a long silence, maybe a sigh. Then her mom said, “You trust who you’re staying with?”

The question took her by surprise, and she thought about it for a moment. Did she trust Death? How about Noir? She guessed she had to. If she didn’t, then that would mean she had nobody and was completely alone. But no, it wasn’t just by default. It had only been two days, but it was a long two days, and the answer was:

“Yeah, I trust them.”

Her mom took another moment, weighing her words, then said, “Alright, kiddo. Stay safe.” Morrigan nodded, even though her mom couldn’t see her. “Don’t forget the money.”

Morrigan looked down at the coffee table at the rolled up wad of bills, then reached down and took it. Without another word, she left.

Outside, the house was dark. There was a streetlamp a block down, which only gave enough light to cast a thin silhouette over Death’s car. Each step crunched in the night as she approached.

“Hey, Noir. Is my mom going to be safe?”

“If there is anything in the graveyard that is indeed malevolent, I don’t believe there is a reason your mother would be specifically targeted.”

“But it might target me?”

“It may be attracted to you, considering your blood was the medium. Thus, you would be in danger. But your mother’s connection to you is unlikely to be something that moves it.”

“She’s still close. Don’t demons take random victims?”

“I will place a protective ward on your house when I return,” Noir assured her.

Good enough.

She climbed into Death’s car, putting her bag between her feet. He was listening to soft jazz and tapping his fingers to the rhythm.

“Have everything you need?” Death asked. “I can make a stop if you require it.”

“Na, should be fine,” Morrigan answered.

Death gave a nod, then started the car. The engine roared to life, and soon they were off, cruising through the dimly lit streets.

Morrigan stared out the window, lost in her thoughts. The wad of bills her mom had given her felt heavier in her pocket than it should. Her mom’s sudden interest in her life, the offer of money—it was all too uncharacteristic. Morrigan couldn’t shake off the feeling that this really was a final farewell, even though neither of them had voiced it.

***

Eventually, the city lights became scarcer, giving way to the flickering stars and the haunting darkness of the woods. Trees loomed on either side of the narrow, winding road, and the soft jazz from the car’s speakers seemed increasingly out of place in the surrounding wilderness.

Finally, they arrived at a clearing where a lone cabin stood, its facade partially hidden by overgrown foliage. It was a quaint and somewhat rustic dwelling, seemingly plucked from another era. In a way, the house mirrored its owner—out of place, yet perfectly fitting for its purpose.

“We’re here,” Death announced, switching off the engine.

Morrigan looked at the cabin. Last time she had seen this place, she was a lifeless body being carried in Death’s arms, and everything was upside down.

Now that she was seeing Death’s home while walking on her own two feet and not as a corpse being carried around like luggage, she had a little more peace of mind to take it in. Most notable was the sheer number of books that filled the space. They were everywhere—on shelves that reached to the ceiling and in piles on the floor. It was like a library had exploded, scattering its contents throughout the house.

In the middle of all of this, a section was carved out for his livingroom: a couch, a coffee table, a television, and stacks of game consoles and video games to match.

“I apologize, it’s all a bit untidy,” Death said. “I’ve existed long enough to collect quite a number of things, and I eventually run out of room for it all. Books have been my best source of entertainment for several millennia, so I have quite an extensive collection.”

“How many have you read?” Morrigan asked, walking over to the coffee table.

“I haven’t quite kept count.”

She stared at the living room setup. This is where she had spilled her blood on the contract, and, more amusingly, that coffee table is also where Noir had stood as he explained with some clear embarrassment his master’s affinity for video games. Trends in human entertainment was the dignified phrase he had chosen. Morrigan couldn’t help smiling as she thought about it.

“Do you enjoy games?” Death asked.

“Never played them much.”

“Would you like to give it a go?” His excitement was almost cute, and she almost felt bad for turning him down.

“I’m kind of exhausted. Sorry.”

“Ah, of course. Completely understandable. I’ll show you to your room.” As he led her through some other towering piles of books, he said, “If I disturb you at all, I do apologize. My body no longer has much in the way of needs, and sleep is one of them. So, when there are no names on my list, I typically fill my time with my games.”

Death led Morrigan down a narrow corridor, past more stacks of books, some of which looked so old they might disintegrate if touched. Finally, they arrived at a door near the end of the hallway.

“Here it is,” Death said, opening the door for her. “You should find everything you need: a bed, a desk, and yes, more books. If you require anything else, feel free to ask.”

Morrigan peeked inside. The room was surprisingly normal compared to the rest of the house—a bed covered with a quilt, a wooden desk, a lamp, and indeed, another bookshelf filled to the brim. She stepped in and set her bag on the bed.

“Thank you,” she said. Already, the bed tempted her as her exhaustion sank in.

“The bathroom is just down the hall, to the left. Towels are in the cabinet.” He lingered in the doorway for a moment. “And as I said, I don’t sleep. So if you need anything during the night, don’t hesitate to seek me out. I’ll likely be in the living room.”

Morrigan tiredly smirked at the thought of Death engrossed in a gaming marathon in the middle of the night. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Very well. Goodnight, Morrigan.”

With that, Death pulled the door closed, leaving Morrigan alone in the guest room. She sat on the bed for a moment, still taking it all in. Here she was, in Death’s home, in a room that felt almost like any other guest room in any other house.

After unpacking her bag and changing into more comfortable clothes, Morrigan crawled under the quilt. As she lay there, staring at the ceiling, her mind wandered.

Death didn’t sleep. He didn’t need to eat or drink, either. What was it like, she wondered, to be unburdened by such basic human needs? To fill endless hours with books and games because there was literally nothing else demanding your attention?

And yet, despite his otherworldly existence, Death had carved out a space that mimicked human normality—a living room, a kitchen, a guest room. Was it out of nostalgia for a humanity he had lost long ago?

She was only two days into the life of a reaper, but eventually, that would be two years, then two hundred years, then two thousand. Eventually, she would discard her flesh, and be just like him. That is, unless she decided to give it all up and accept taking her place in limbo.