Death is a Girl

Chapter 26 - Creeping Death

She saw a man—Micheal Roy, supposedly—standing at the window with a cellphone held up to his ear. He had white hair and his age showed on his skin, but despite that, he was broad-shouldered and stood with a strong posture. He seemed healthy. He certainly didn’t look like he was about to keel over.

“Look, Jason, it’s not about the money,” Michael Roy was saying, his back turned to the room. “It’s about responsibilities and obligations. Some things you can’t just run away from.”

Morrigan stepped further into the room, finding a corner with a potted fern to kneel beside and remain inconspicuous. Noir followed her, blending in with the shadows as if he were made of them.

A voice on the other end of the call—Jason, presumably—said something that Morrigan couldn’t hear, but it made Michael Roy pause and sigh deeply. “I wish it were that simple, son.”

Noir looked at Morrigan, gesturing toward the desk. She nodded, understanding she should take this moment to gather information that might help her identify an appropriate death.

Meanwhile, Michael Roy’s conversation rose to a heated climax. “I gave you everything! Opportunities I never had. And yet, you disrespect your heritage—the Roy family legacy!”

“So, Noir,” she whispered. “What happens if I screw up and don’t give him an appropriate death?”

“Don't worry too much,” Noir explained. “The fact that it is Reaper’s Choice often means the exact method of death isn’t as important as the fact that he must die. Just make sure it doesn’t raise unanswerable questions. For example, if your target has not shown suicidal tendencies, yet you make it look like a suicide, then you can cause ripples in fate.”

“Ripples in fate?”

“Yes, the structure which the fates adhere to. Ripples affect their ability to maintain order and in extreme cases may shift the balance further towards chaos.”

“And you said I’m not supposed to worry too much?”

“A single ripple is unlikely to shift the balance extraordinarily. And, just as a ripple in a pond, fate will likewise even itself out in time. As long as the damage is not too severe.”

The first drawers didn’t reveal anything too unexpected. Office supplies, like pencils, paperclips, and a stapler. The next drawer had what looked like contracts. The very middle drawer had a gun inside, which was not entirely expected but she figured not too out of the ordinary. A big important guy like him would probably want a little extra protection.

The middle drawer on the left side wouldn’t open as she tried to pull on it. “Hey Noir, is the skeleton key just for doors?”

“Any lock in the world can be opened by that key, Morrigan,” Noir explained as if that were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right… whatever,” she said under her breath, taking back her earlier thought that Noir wasn’t so bad after all.

She pulled out the skeleton key and moved it towards the lock. Once again, the key morphed shape, this time becoming much smaller to fit the tiny lock and when she pushed it against the opening it slid in smoothly.

“Oh, I found something,” she said, looking inside the drawer. “Drugs!”

Several white packages were wrapped tightly in plastic, one of which had been split open. Bits of discarded powder sprinkled the bottom of the drawer, and next to it was a mirror with a metal straw.

“I think this is cocaine,” Morrigan said, poking a bit of the dust and looking at it on her finger.

“And why would a girl your age know what that is?” Noir said sarcastically.

“Number one, I’m not an idiot. Number two, movies. Number three…” She sighed. “My mom…” She recalled a particular night when she was only five years old. Her mom came home with some men Morrigan didn’t know, and they were up late into the night partying and carrying on. None of them bothered her, but Morrigan kept her door locked and hid in her room anyway because she knew they were not acting right and she was scared. The next morning she had seen her mom passed out on the floor, with a square mirror and a rolled-up bill with that white powder sprinkled around.

Morrigan shut the drawer and locked it, then retreated back to her corner by the fern to wait.

“You’ve had quite an estranged relationship with your mother, haven't you?” Noir asked.

“What was your first hint?” she said bitterly.

Noir seemed like he was going to say more, but apparently decided against it as he kept his mouth shut.

Meanwhile, Michael Roy’s conversation seemed to be coming to a heated end. “You know what, if that’s what you’re going to say to me, then just go do whatever you want. I don’t care! But I don’t want to hear you coming back to me asking for anything ever again. You hear me!?” There was a pause as his son responded, and as Mr. Roy opened his mouth to say some last words, it seemed the call ended.

He grumbled as he slammed the phone down on his desk and took a deep breath, then walked back to the window and stared out as if contemplating something far greater than the room could contain.

“So Noir,” Morrigan whispered. “He’s sixty-five, and he does cocaine. Is a heart attack a reasonable death?”

“I would say, yes. It seems this one will be easy for you.”

“Alright,” Morrigan said, slowly slipping the glove off of her right hand. All she had to do was walk over and make contact with his skin and he would die. Everyone would assume it was a heart attack, then she just had to reap his soul and she could cross him off her list. Simple!

Just before Morrigan would have made her move, Roy returned to the desk. His eyes paused momentarily on the locked middle drawer, a fleeting expression in his gaze. He shook his head as if dismissing a thought and sat down behind his desk, opening another drawer to retrieve a laptop.

“Now's your chance,” Noir whispered.

Morrigan tip-toed away from the fern, extending her hand as she came up behind him.

“Damn it!” he muttered, slamming the laptop closed and picking up his phone when Morrigan was just inches from grabbing the back of his neck. Her hand receded as his phone came back up to his ear.

“What are you waiting for?” Noir asked.

Morrigan slowly stepped away and whispered back. “I don’t want to do it while he’s on the phone.”

“Why not?”

“Well, it’s kind of rude.”

“Killing someone while they're on the phone is rude?”

“Well yeah, wouldn’t you think so?”

Noir shook his head, clearly not understanding. “Morrigan, politeness isn’t exactly something a reaper needs to be overly concerned with.”

“Well, it's a concern for me.”

“Very well. Have it your way.”

Whoever Roy was calling finally answered. “Trish, how have you been?” he said, a much softer tone in his voice. Morrigan could just barely make out her muffled voice from the phone. “Yes, the merger is going well. As long as nothing unexpected comes up everything should go through by the end of the month.” He paused, listening intently to Trish’s voice on the other end. “Yes, well, let's not talk about that right now. I... I wanted to talk to you about Jason.”

A long pause, punctuated by a sigh from Michael Roy.

“Yes, yes, I know. But look, I was just speaking with him. I don’t know what to do with that boy. It’s like every single thing I say he will just take in the worst way possible.” There was a pause, then Roy’s voice got a little more aggressive. “He’s going to cause some serious problems for the company if he does that! I need him to listen to me!” He started fiddling with something in his pocket, then took out a key. As Trish responded he opened the locked drawer.

“Do you understand what he’s planning to do, Trish?” Roy’s voice was tinged with frustration. “I’m not asking him to bend over backward for the company. I just want him to act like a responsible adult! Is that too much to ask?”

Responsible adult? Morrigan thought, as she watched him pull out the mirror along with the straw and the open package. Ironic from a CEO doing drugs in his office. I wonder how that would affect your company.

Roy took out a credit card which he used to shovel a bit of the white powder onto the mirror, then continued to cut it into a few straight lines as the conversation continued.

“Give him space? Trish, I’ve given that boy everything.” He picked up the straw and lowered himself down towards one of the lines. “WeIl, don’t think—” he was cut off by Trish who’s voice became louder and more assertive. He exhaled in frustration, accidentally blowing the powder over his desk. “Damn it!” he cursed. “No, no, not you…” He started raking the scattered powder together with the card as Morrigan could hear the tiny voice continuing to rant at him.

Roy sighed and sat back, seemingly more docile. “Alright, alright… I guess his birthday is coming up. I'll try to clear the air then… No… yes, you’re right, Trish.” There was another long pause as she spoke. “Yeah, of course, I love him and all of you more than anything… and you’re right, I’ve just been so busy I’m sorry if our relationships have taken a hit. I’ll… I’ll try to do better.” Another pause. “Yes, I’ll be sure to be there for his birthday. Thank you, Trish... Love you too, sweetheart.”

With that, he hung up the phone.

“Alright, Morrigan, now's the time,” Noir said.

Morrigan nodded, feeling a slight pull in her chest. Reaping was so much easier when they were already dying on their own. The fact he was still alive and breathing, and she got a glimpse of the unresolved dramas of his life, made it much harder to step forward and complete her job. It was difficult to write off her actions as simply being a member of the clean-up crew when she was the one spilling the juice, so to speak.

“What’s wrong?” Noir asked, as she had not started moving yet.

“I’ll wait until he does the drugs. That’s the perfect time. It’ll look like he did too much, and his heart stopped…”

He organized the powder into lines once again, and grabbed the straw, but didn’t go for it right away. He had a contemplative look in his eyes. His gaze turned away from the powder as he looked at a picture on his desk. It was a younger version of himself with two children, a boy and a girl, under his arms. The girl was a few years older than the boy, and Morrigan wondered if she was Trish.

He set the straw down and picked up the picture instead, sitting back in his chair and looking at it as he rubbed his temple. There was something on his face: shame, maybe. He then set the picture down, and picked up the mirror, shoveling the powder back into the bag.

Morrigan frowned as she looked down at her ungloved hand—the hand that was going to kill this man. Then, as he returned everything to the drawer and locked it, not partaking in a single grain of the fine powder, Morrigan whispered, “I can’t do it right now, Noir.”

“You do have a few hour window,” Noir conceded, “But I see no point in waiting. He is here now, and with or without doing the drugs a heart attack wouldn’t be too unusual for a man his age in his stressful position.”

“But he has unresolved issues with his son. He thinks he’s going to get another chance to clear the air with him. He isn’t expecting to die,” Morrigan argued, raising her voice slightly.

Micheal Roy’s head came up, and he looked around, before his gaze came over to the fern where Morrigan had been stalking him.

“Sssshhh, quiet,” Noir said with a look of concentration on his face.

Normally, they’d be spotted instantly, but Morrigan guessed his magic was strong enough to hide them, and soon, Roy’s gaze returned to his desk.

“Please finish your task so that we can move on.”

Morrigan looked at her hand, and back at the man she was to kill. He was staring at the picture of his family. “Noir… reapers don’t necessarily have to hide themselves, right?”

He turned his head. “There is no particular rule, but doing so can cause ripples in fate, which is something you would have to answer for.”

“Death revealed himself to Mrs. Meyers months before reaping her. And it seemed to me he waited until some time after the official date on his list…”

“Master is far more experienced than you, and understands the nuances of his actions,” Noir spoke sternly. “I would strongly suggest you stick to the list until you are at least a few hundred years more experienced.”

Morrigan stepped forward without another word, walking towards the front of his desk.

“MORRIGAN!” Noir hissed at her.

“Excuse me, Mr. Roy?” Morrigan said, standing across from him.

He jumped and glanced at the door before turning back to Morrigan. “Huh? Who are you? How did you get in here?” His gaze turned into a harsh glare.

“Listen, this is going to sound crazy, and you need to hear me out for a sec, but…” she scratched the side of her nose. “I really think you should call your son, and say any last words that haven’t been said.”

For a moment, Michael Roy stared at her as though he expected her to sprout a pair of wings. When none appeared, he leaned back in his chair, squinting suspiciously.

“Last words?” His voice carried a note of incredulity. “Who are you to come into my office and suggest something so morbid?”

Morrigan glanced back at Noir, who was staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and concern. Ignoring him for now, she focused on Roy. “Call it... a gut feeling. But, you should really do it right now. Tell him you love him, or whatever, because…”

“Stop being so cryptic, girl,” Roy said, standing up, his face turning red with anger. “Why are you here? How did you even get into my office?” He started stepping around the desk and coming towards her. “You better start explaining yourself!”

“Wait, wait, calm down!” Morrigan said, backing away and waving her hands. “I know this is shocking, and crazy, but just trust me when I say you’re about to die, and nothing can change that, but I can give you a last chance to—”

“That’s it! I don’t know what kind of joke this is supposed to be.” He turned back to his desk and pressed a button. “Security!”

“Wait! Don’t do that!”

“Security, there’s someone in my office. A teenage girl wearing…” he glanced at her. “Some kind of costume… Escort her out and look into how she got in here immediately!”

Morrigan glanced at Noir for help, but the cat only shook his head, an expression of frustration. He had warned her, after all.

Morrigan’s heart raced as she pleaded with him to heed her words. “Listen to me, Mr. Roy. You don’t have to believe in me or the situation. Just... call your son. That’s all I ask. One call!”

The door behind her burst open, and two tall security guards strode in, their eyes quickly assessing the situation.

“Miss, you’ll need to come with us,” one of them said, his tone firm.

“Please,” she said, her voice cracking. “Just one call, Mr. Roy. You’ll regret it if you don’t!”

“Get her out of here!” he spat angrily and sat back behind his desk. Before Morrigan could say any more, she was whisked out of the room and down the hall. She kept her ungloved hand clenched in a fist to avoid accidentally touching one of them.