Death is a Girl

Chapter 43 - Smooth Operator

Emma paid for the hotel through a cellphone app, but the only problem was checking in would require that she was eighteen years old. However, she concocted a story about how her parents would be there in a few hours and they wanted her to just go ahead and check in. The clerk at first tried to deny her, but she threw on her charm and was convincing enough that it ended up working out.

Emma met Morrigan in the hall, holding up the keycard triumphantly with one eye closed tight in an exaggerated wink. “Who needs magic when you have a woman’s charm?”

Morrigan couldn’t help smirking at how proud she looked. “You know, using my skeleton key would have been easier.”

“Probably, but you won’t even let me see it. Plus, now we know the room won't get rented to anyone else while we are here. Either way, doing it like this is more fun and gives me a chance to practice.”

“Practice?”

“Yeah, many spells work off of the power of suggestion. Manipulating people to see, or do, what you want them to. Being naturally cunning helps a lot.”

“So you’re saying witches are basically con artists?”

“Hey! Instead, say ‘witches are smooth operators.’” Emma winked. Arriving at their room, she slid the card in the door.

“So, you learned most of this from your cousin?” Morrigan asked as they stepped inside and Morrigan dropped her bag on the floor.

“Yeah, Hilda’s the coolest. I’ll try to introduce you sometime.”

Morrigan laughed. “I think I’m starting to see why your parents don’t want you hanging around witches.”

“You’re one to talk, Miss. Car Theif.”

“Fair enough,” Morrigan said as she kneeled next to her bag and started going through it for some of her essentials. “Anyway, I’m going to take a shower. It’s been a few days.”

***

Once in the shower, she let out a deep sigh of relief as the hot water washed over her skin. She hadn’t bathed since leaving Death’s cabin, which was rather gross to think about once she realized. She had a few outfits with her so she had been able to stagger them out, but she was likewise past the point of needing to do a load of wash. Luckily, her tank top and basketball shorts she slept in barely had any use, so once finishing the shower, she put those on. She was still drying her hair with a towel as she came out.

Emma was lying on one of the twin beds, fingers dancing along her phone. She put her phone down and looked Morrigan’s way with a smile. “Feel better?”

“Definitely feel a little more human now,” Morrigan said as she flopped down on the other bed. Being clean and feeling the soft comforter beneath her, she felt the exhaustion suddenly melt through her. “Sorry, I guess you don’t have a change of clothes.”

“Eh, I’ll be fine for one day,” Emma said. “Uuuh, seems like you need clothes too.”

“Yeah, I’m running out… I’m thinking I’ll sneak back over to my mom’s house and grab some things tomorrow. Hopefully, I can manage it when she’s not home.”

“Hey, can I see that diary again?” Emma asked.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag.”

Emma hopped off the bed and crouched in front of Morrigan’s bag as she went through. Once she retrieved it she hopped back on the bed and sat cross-legged with the diary in her lap. Emma spent some time reading while Morrigan stared absently at the TV, not registering much of what was happening on the random sitcom.

“Hmmm… so it sounds to me like she wasn’t burned,” Emma suddenly said.

“Hm?”

“So, some witches managed to escape burnings by casting spells on the fire. If you try to burn a powerful enough witch, she might just turn the flames on the crowd and burn the mob instead.”

“Never heard of that happening.”

“Hilda said a lot of the true history of the witch trials has been hidden. It was much bigger than most people realize, and officially, it is all choked up to superstition.”

Morrigan took a moment to think that over. It was true, there were a lot of obvious things about the world that people denied. Ghosts, for example. Likewise, there were plenty of impossible things that people one hundred percent believed to be reality.

“Anyway,” Emma continued, “there are a few problems with killing a powerful witch. First of all, she could just transfer her spirit somewhere else. Or, bewitch her body so you only think she’s dead. Not to mention the possibility of her cursing you.”

Morrigan turned and raised an eyebrow.

“Sooo anyway, what’s got my attention is this diary entry here, about the things they took from her. Notice how abruptly it ends?” Emma’s voice became dark. “There’s something missing between losing her family and then losing her life.”

“What are you talking about?” Morrigan asked.

Emma let out a sigh. “The best way to kill a witch… is to bury her alive. For extra assurance, sometimes they’d even sow their eyes and mouth shut first. That would make it impossible for them to cast a spell. That’s what I think happened to this girl.”

“Are you serious?” Morrigan said in a low voice, sitting up and looking at Emma.

“The witch trials got more screwed up than people even realize. It wasn’t the first time in history, either. That’s why witches and wizards have learned to keep a low profile. Whenever the public becomes too aware of magic users, they always eventually turn to violence.”

“But this other reaper wasn’t even a witch,” Morrigan said. “She said so herself in the diary.”

“Yeah. There are a lot of people who were not really witches who got hunted. Sometimes all it took was a suspicion.”

“Why are you so sure that happened to her? The whole being buried alive part?”

“It’s only a guess, but the part about hating to see her own face because of what they did to her. Plus, other context doesn’t make it sound like she was burned.”

“It kind of does though. I wouldn’t want to look at my face if it was burned.”

“Yeah I don’t know for sure, it’s just a feeling I have. Well, sorry, I guess with those pleasant thoughts, should we be getting to sleep?”

“I guess so. Leave the TV on though,” Morrigan said as she got under the covers and nestled into the pillows. She stared at the TV, not taking much in but wanting some noise to keep her mind distracted. Spending the day with Emma distracted her from all the traumatic thoughts that had been swirling around in her head. Now that she was faced with the quiet solitary experience of a night of sleep, she feared the anxiety that had gripped her heart working its way back in. She wanted to pass out without another thought crossing her mind, and wake up refreshed with some other distraction to move on to. But fate wouldn’t be so kind.

***

She slept restlessly, plagued by nightmares. She walked through the graveyard, moonlight casting its soft glow over the tombs and sending out distorted shadows. As she walked along the path, the graves seemed to twist towards her forming a low concrete forest. The angel stood among them, in all its apathetic divinity. As Morrigan approached, her eyes were drawn upward, it seemed so much taller, its marred face and broken wing more lifelike than she remembered.

As her eyes came down to the thorny vines gripping its legs, she saw someone sitting at its base. She froze as her mind took it in, because she was staring at herself, at least, an old version of herself, dressed in the denim jacket and skirt she had died in, and most notably was what was at the center of her chest.

The knife was there, with dark red blood soaking the white shirt. Morrigan approached with quicker steps, coming to her knees in front of the dead Morrigan. The dead girl’s eyes stared forward lifeless.

She grabbed the handle of the knife and started to pull, but it wouldn’t budge. It was as if it was melded to her former self, and the dead Morrigan was as solid as the stone statue she sat in front of.

Then a cool, resonant voice spoke. “Morrigan, you can not change what has been done.” Morrigan tensed, her fingers clenching around the handle of the knife, and with a resigned tilt of her head, her fingers gave up and slid away.

“I want it all to go away,” Morrigan said.

“Would you rather cease existence? To be banished to limbo?”

She could feel someone approach as a shadow cast over her.

“I want to still be alive. I want my old life back.” She stared into the blank unseeing eyes of her former self.

“Time moves in only one direction. There is no changing what has been done.”

Morrigan clenched her teeth. “So there is no other path for me? I can only exist as a reaper or not exist at all?”

“Are you so attached to your old life? You were living a lie. Even before your death, you had no attachment to yourself as you truly were.”

“Even if my life was a lie, it was still my life.”

“Be that as it may, that life is gone. You now have a choice to embrace a different existence. If you can not accept it, then the only mercy that remains is a quick end to your suffering.”

“I need time to figure things out. Please just wait.”

The graveyard was silent for a while until broken by some last foreboding words. “If you do not choose soon, the choice will be made for you.”

The shadow receded from hovering over her; then she heard the familiar sound of stone sliding against a stone. She looked back to see the crypt opening. Before she could react or even move, vines shot out of the darkness of the crypt and seized her legs. They wound themselves around her calves and thighs, cutting into her flesh and dragging her back. She let out a scream and tried to dig her hands into the soft earth to save herself from being dragged into the darkness.

Her nails ripped up the earth until they were torn off, then the skin peeled off her fingers until they were nothing but bone. As she was dragged back, the skin on her hands and arms turned grey and fell from her until nothing more than white ashy bone remained. Finally, she was pulled into the darkness, swallowed whole by the crypt as her tongueless mouth screamed, and the stone doors began to close.

***

Morrigan woke up screaming, shooting straight up in bed.

“Morrigan?” Emma flicked the light on and stood.

She was staring at her hands, sweat dripping from her face. Then, she let out a sigh of relief as it caught up to her that it was just a dream and her hands were not bones. Not yet, anyway.

“Sorry, I’m fine. Just a dream,” Morrigan said, looking around the room. She definitely wasn’t in the crypt, and Emma was right here. She was okay.

“What was the dream?” Emma asked, sitting on the side of her bed.

“I don’t know… just a nightmare.” Morrigan looked for the alarm clock on the nightstand and saw it was 7:30am.

“That sounded like more than a normal nightmare.”

“Well, I’ve had a lot of crap happen recently.”

“Yeah, fair enough. Well, we’re awake now. Want to go get some food?”

Morrigan shook her head. “I’m going to take another shower.”

“Another one?” Emma asked as she watched Morgan stand and head to the bathroom. Soon, the sound of running water filled the small room.

Morrigan stood in the shower, turning the temperature way up until the hot water was nearly burning her body. She was just glad she could still feel something. She wondered if that was really a dream, or if Death had sent her a vision. Could he do that? Had he actually been watching her this whole time? It wouldn’t surprise her. Even if it was just a dream, it reminded her of something she was well aware of. She was no longer human, and if she did not embrace her existence as a reaper she would become nothing.

After a while, she climbed out and dried off. She grabbed her clothes and sniffed, picking whatever smelled the least dirty.

Leaving the bathroom, she found that Emma still hadn’t returned from grabbing food. Yesterday was a nice return to normalcy, but Morrigan knew she couldn’t be that anymore. She wasn’t sure if she could be a reaper either. Maybe she really should have just stayed in the crypt.

Her thoughts returned to the graveyard; to spring afternoons sitting amongst the headstones and reading or even taking a nap… There was a pull in her heart that longed for it.

She quickly grabbed her clothes and stuffed them into her bag. Before leaving, she grabbed a pen off the nightstand and scribbled on the little notepad the hotel provided.

“Emma, thank you for your help but I have to leave. I’m sorry. Yesterday was one of the best days I’ve had in a while. So thank you. You have no idea how much it meant to me.”

With that, she slipped out the door and hurried down the hall. Glancing back to make sure Emma was nowhere in sight. Once she stepped outside, she found it was raining.

“Great,” she muttered, then quickly jogged to the truck. Once inside, she shut off her phone, then threw the truck into reverse, maneuvered it to the road, and drove off. She felt a bit of guilt leaving Emma like that, but she knew she needed to.

She knew she only had two choices. One, become a reaper and live a life of solitude, or two, let Death reap her and go to limbo. There was no third option where she could pretend to be human.

Morrigan drove aimlessly, yet, somehow found herself driving along the road she would always walk home from school, heading toward the graveyard. It was always a good place to go and think, so she figured there was nowhere better for her now.

However, just a few streets away, the truck groaned, and smoke puffed from the engine.

“Shit!” Morrigan said as she pulled into an empty parking lot. Smoke was now billowing from under the hood.

“Seriously?” she growled as she tried turning it back on, but it only sputtered and refused to come to life.

Eventually, she grabbed her bag but left the keys in the ignition. She pulled up her hood and climbed out. The rain had turned into a light drizzle and it was only a short walk from here.

She had no clue why she was heading back to the graveyard, but it just felt right. Anything else she thought to do she could talk herself out of, but thinking about the graveyard, there was comfort.

By the time she made it there, the sky had turned dark with storm clouds, but thankfully, the rain remained a light drizzle.

Morrigan walked amongst the tombstones and her chest suddenly started to hurt where she had been stabbed. Her hand reached up and clenched the spot.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and as she looked up, she found herself standing in front of the angel statue. The blood had long since been washed away but the look on the angel's face was still as haunting as ever. It looked like it also wanted to escape but was trapped. Just like her.

She fell to her knees and let herself rest against the base of the statue, clutching her chest, thinking about the knife that had ended her life. She should be dead, she shouldn’t be here, still walking around. People died unfairly all the time, but for her, she couldn’t even go to heaven. She didn’t want to just cease existing and have nothing left of herself here in this world or anywhere else. But at the same time, existing was so much harder.

She sat against the statue for a long time, just thinking, watching the dark grey clouds moving overhead as a light sprinkle of rain touched her face. The wing of the angel seemed like it could wrap around her. She imagined if it did, they could escape to a new place together, and both be free from their respective nightmares.