Reapers, Inc. - Brigit's Cross Part 13

"Are we done?" Belinda asked when she finally glanced up at Brigit. She had been scanning the pages of the field guide for any item she might have missed during the initial reading. Her mentor, Belinda noted, suddenly looked tired.

"For now," Brigit responded when she had finished ma.s.saging her temples. A phantom sensation had arisen in her head, reminiscent of the migraines she would occasionally suffer when the stress of a hectic work day would finally take its toll. " I need a break. How about you?"

"Oh, I could go for days. I feel great," Belinda chirped with a smile. "Where are we going now?"

"Back to the office. There's something there I need to check on, and, seeing that you possess a fountain of energy, you can set to work on recording the completed a.s.signments," Brigit determined.

"My first first task, goodie," Belinda said cheerfully as she fell in beside her mentor. Brigit sighed, but kept her silence. She hoped for the time being that her apprentice would follow the set example and be quiet as well. task, goodie," Belinda said cheerfully as she fell in beside her mentor. Brigit sighed, but kept her silence. She hoped for the time being that her apprentice would follow the set example and be quiet as well.

Belinda sighed happily as she tried to keep in step with Brigit. She was stoked about the new turn her 'life' had taken. She had watched Brigit like a hawk, observing every nuance of her teacher, every small movement the dark woman made through the completion of each a.s.signment. Belinda had found herself in awe when Brigit had fought with the dark spirits. The woman seemed to maintain a perfect sense of calm composure during the fight, her eyes never leaving the focus of her attention. Once, Belinda had asked a question in the middle of such a confrontation. The sudden asking had broken Brigit's concentration which resulted in the sudden death-hold of a monster Brigit was trying to cross over. Luckily, Brigit had quickly managed to regain her train of thought and, somehow, remove herself from harm's retched grasp. Belinda made the decision to save her questions until the a.s.signment was complete after that.

As she walked beside Brigit, Belinda began to a.s.sess her own skills. She had never been a fighter. If anything, she had always been able to talk her way out of a confrontation. Except on that day when she had ceased to be a mortal and became trapped on the subway. Talking had done nothing for her that day... Yet, as she pondered all that she had observed Brigit doing, Belinda was sure she would still not be one to fight. Deep down, she hoped there would be something else for her within the firm that she would be better suited for because fighting and confrontation was definitely not one of her strengths.

Together, they walked along avenues and boulevards of the city. Along the way, Belinda would occasionally notice the waiting spirits. Some would spot the Reapers and run to hide, obviously afraid of the idea of being crossed over. Others would simply stare at them with various expressions of indifference, boredom, anxious questioning or simply endless patience.

"There are so many of them," Belinda noted out loud.

"The fruits of Death are constantly blooming," Brigit replied quietly. "Can you tell the difference between a living soul and a waiting soul?"

"I think so," Belinda mused.

"How are they different?"

"Is this a quiz?"

"Yes," Brigit replied solemnly.

Taking a deep breath, Belinda launched into her theory that the difference between a living soul and a waiting soul had to do with the aura that surrounded them. The living were vibrant, creating waves of rippling energy as they moved from place to place. The waiting soul's energy seemed stagnate, confined to the s.p.a.ce immediately around them. Brigit only smiled as she listened. It was the same theory that she had formed during her own beginnings as a Reaper.

"Why are you smiling? Did I say something funny? Am I wrong?" Belinda questioned immediately when she spied her mentor's expression.

"No, you are correct," Brigit answered. "I'm proud of you for being so observant."

Belinda fell silent again as they continued walking. The wonderment of her new level of existence fascinated and elated her. In the back of her mind, though, she couldn't help but think that it all would have made a really good story.

When they entered 666 Bleecker Street, Belinda felt her spirit surge higher with its elation. The dark wood surrounding them and the eerie gargoyles peering down from the ceiling delighted her. It was every Goth girl's fantasy to be in a place so seemingly medieval. Belinda nearly made herself dizzy as she spun around and around to take it all in.

Brigit had not noticed her apprentice's sudden stop to marvel at the dark architecture. Instead, she had immediately gone into Seamus' office noting that the door was open though she clearly remembered the closure of it upon her departure. For a moment, her heart skipped a beat with the fear that John had already returned and discovered the ill Irishman. The skipping of the beat, however, was merely another phantom sensation. Brigit was aware that she had not heard, nor felt, her own heartbeat in almost a year.

Seamus Flannery was sleeping in exactly the same place she had left him. The blanket she had placed over him, though, had fallen to the floor. Quietly, Brigit picked it up and gently covered him again. His skin burned a bright pink and Brigit guessed a high fever was running its course through him. She was about to touch his forehead when she heard a gasp behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Belinda standing in the doorway, her mouth open in shock.

"Is he okay?" Belinda whispered.

"He's very sick at the moment,"

"Who is he? Is this your boss, Mr. Blackwick?"

"No, this is Seamus Flannery. Mr. Blackwick isn't due back for another day or so," Brigit replied, looking down as Seamus grimaced in obvious pain.

"Will he be okay?" Belinda asked, coming closer so she too could have a better look at the burning pink red-headed man sleeping on the sofa.

"Eventually, yes. I think he will be back to his normal self. In the meantime, we shouldn't disturb him. Here, take that black book on his desk," Brigit gestured toward the large leather bound tome sitting on the desk against the wall. She heard the young woman grunt with the weight of it.

"What is this?" Belinda asked as Brigit turned and began to usher her from the room.

"It's the record book of completed a.s.signments. Mr. Flannery has been keeping his records up to date. I intend to continue his efforts. Here, you can use this room," Brigit guided the girl across the hall and opened the frosted gla.s.s door before them.

It was a spa.r.s.ely decorated office, containing only a small desk and a row of empty bookshelves. Both women stood just inside the doorway taking in the dreariness of the room.

"My own office," Belinda finally uttered. "Sweet,"

"I'll speak to John about some more furniture for you. Perhaps a sofa life Mr. Flannery has?" Brigit promised with a sigh.

"It's fine the way it is," Belinda a.s.sured her mentor as she crossed the small room and set the black book heavily on the writing desk. "What exactly am I supposed to do again?"

As the question sank in on Brigit, she hastily pulled the completed files from her coat pocket and extended them toward the young woman.

"You write their names and dates," Brigit quickly instructed. "I know it's not the kind of writing you aspired to during your life," she offered almost as an apology.

"Hey, it's writing. I'll figure it out," Belinda replied with a confidant smile. Brigit nodded in weary agreement as she watched the young woman shrug the coffin purse from her shoulder and drape its strap over the back of the wooden chair. Next, she watched as Belinda searched the desk drawer for a writing utensil.

When the search yielded a sharpened black quill and a small pot of ink from somewhere in the furthest depths of the drawer, Belinda smiled an even broader smile and opened the book. Eagerly, she seated herself and scanned the previous entries before poising herself to begin her new task. As she dipped the nib of the quill into the ink pot, Belinda noted a feeling of relief creeping through her senses. She had worried that she would not be able to rise to the occasion of reaping souls. Now, she was doing something she knew she could do in her sleep: Writing. Perhaps, she thought, this was the way out without having to give up the opportunity of remaining after all. She wasn't ready to cross over just yet and this was the chance to keep that at bay for as long as she could.

"Belinda, I'm going to step out for a bit," Brigit's voice broke the young woman's rampant thoughts. "I'll lock the main door, just so you're aware. Do me the favor of checking on Mr. Flannery in a little while?"

"Sure, oh-great-one," Belinda chimed as she picked up a file and began to carefully copy the name emblazoned on the cover.

"Stop that," Brigit groaned as she left the small room.

"Yes, oh-great-one..." Belinda intoned with a devilish smile on her face.

Seamus had heard them enter. His fever burned so fiercely, though, that he had been unable to open his eyes if only to silently accuse Brigit Malone of her inactions that had led to his present state. Through the roar of the inferno in his head, Seamus had heard the second female's voice. She sounded young, he thought. That was good, he thought further. The young were impressionable. The young could be molded and manipulated to one's advantage. When his next moment of lucidity arrived, Seamus determined he would reach out and make a good impression on the younger female. After all, charm was never in short supply for Seamus Flannery.

24: Mr. Blackwick's Discoveries

John turned the key in the door to 666 Bleecker Street and smiled. It was good to see that Brigit and Seamus were keeping with the policy of locking up when they went out. He had hoped that all had gone smoothly for them during his absence these past couple of days. He had every ounce of faith that Brigit's silence meant that she was managing the North American office easily. When he had stopped into the Bleecker Street Cafe, Giuseppe had indicated that he had not seen either of the Reapers since John's leaving. That was good as well, John thought as he closed the main door behind him. Their absence from the cafe meant that they were keeping themselves properly busy.

His trip had been a success. Only one soul had declined his offer to be a Reaper, but John had antic.i.p.ated more. So, one refusal was not so bad in his book. The others had understood the concept of their new occupations quickly and John had felt confidant in leaving them long enough for a quick check in with Brigit and Seamus. Once that was done, he intended to return to Rome to complete the re-establishment of what he hoped to be one of many European offices.

It had felt good to be back on European soil, all be it in a country where his grasp of the language was as rusty as a hundred year old coffin's nails.. John had managed, however, and the first hurtle had been overcome.

John stopped suddenly in his advancement toward his office. He had pa.s.sed by Seamus Flannery's office, aware that the door was open. From the corner of his eye, however, he had glimpsed the flaming red hair of the Irishman on the sofa. Suddenly alarmed that the other man might be sleeping during business hours, John took a step backward and peered into the office. The sight he found alarmed him all the more.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!" John muttered as he rushed to Seamus' side. "What the h.e.l.l has happened here?" he asked to no one in particular. He pressed his palm against Seamus' forehead. The heat that met his fingertips caused him to quickly jerk his hand away from the scorching skin.

"She left me," Seamus groaned miserably.

"How long have you been like this?" John inquired as he lifted the blanket covering the sick Reaper.

The wounds he discovered peeking out from the tears in Seamus' leather jacket and underlying t-shirt incensed him all the more. The meat in the gash between the two ribs had began a slow mend, but John could see that it had been a deep wound to begin with possibly all the way to the man's lung. Seamus had returned to his silent suffering. John gently returned the cover and stood. Brigit had some long and serious explaining to do.

John turned to exit the office and stopped short again. The sight of the young woman sitting at the writing desk in the office across the hall startled him. The fact that her bright blue eyes were train on him made it all the more unnerving.

"Who might you be?" he asked when he had regained a slight piece of his normally professional composure. He was angry, to be sure; but it wasn't this stranger's fault. Not yet, anyway...

"Belinda Yaris, sir," the young woman offered meekly.

"How did you get in here, Miss Yaris?" John asked sternly as he began to take slow and measured steps toward the office where she sat. If she was an accidental inhabitant, John was fully prepared to oust her one way or the other. He saw her swallow hard. She could sense the ire he was trying so hard to remain in control of. Good Good, John thought, maybe I'll get some answers maybe I'll get some answers.

"Brigit brought me here. She hired me two days ago," Belinda offered cautiously. The answer was a double-edged sword through John's comprehension.

"Did she? And where is Brigit now?" John inquired steadily, never letting the girl's gaze stray from his own icy glare.

"She stepped out, sir," Belinda answered. Something in the pale man's eyes warned her to remain with the facts and only the facts as she could offer them.

"Where did she go?"

"I don't know, sir. She only said that she was stepping out and locking the door. She did ask me to check on Mr. Flannery in a bit, but I've been so caught up in my work that I've forgotten..." Belinda's words trailed off into nothingness with a slight wave of John's hand to silence her.

"Would you happen to know what has befallen Mr. Flannery?"

"I don't, sir, I'm sorry," Belinda apologized. Frustrated, John broke his gaze with the young woman and looked at the floor in the deepening struggle to control his temper.

"What are you working on?" he finally managed to ask.

"Records, sir. Brigit has been reaping for two days straight. She instructed me to record the completed a.s.signments."

John stepped closer to the desk to observe the young woman's handiwork. He noted the correct entries of names and crossing dates in as fine a penmanship as he had ever seen and he nodded approvingly. Most Reapers scribbled their records, whether in haste or laziness, John had never been completely sure. Brigit, it seemed, had found a proper scribe to keep the firm's records. That was one plus in her favor at the moment.

"Very well, Miss Yaris. Carry on," John sighed before turning away.

"Yes, sir," Belinda gulped.

As he exited the small office Brigit had stationed her in, John was sure he heard a deep sigh of relief escape the odd looking young woman. After taking a final glimpse at the stricken Reaper in the hall across from the one he had just come from, John Blackwick let loose the control over his rage and stormed the remaining length of the main hall to his own office. The slamming of the door behind him echoed back down the hall.

As the sound resonated until it was silent again, Belinda Yaris concluded that she had just encountered the Grim Reaper himself: Mr. Blackwick.

25: Edmund J. Polly

Brigit entered the cafe feeling even more deflated than when she had left Belinda back at the office. She had hoped to spend a few moments with Maggie, to relax and perhaps vent everything that had gone on lately at work. Maggie was gone, though. By the time on the clock in the kitchen, Brigit quickly realized that Maggie was still at work. It was probably just as well, she decided as she exited the apartment they had shared together. Maggie wouldn't have heard a word she said anyway.

Giuseppe gave her his usual nod before turning to make her a cup of coffee. Brigit thanked him quietly when the cup of the steaming brew was slid before her. He had already added the cream and sugar for her. The aroma of it was sweet to her phantom sense of smell. She wished for half a second that Giuseppe was a conversationalist. Yet, in the time since her first entrance into the Bleecker Street Cafe, the smiling man behind the bar had never uttered a word.

Brigit turned her attention to the window. She knew that she needed to return to work soon -- especially if she was going to have any kind of argument to present to John when he returned tomorrow. Perhaps, she thought as she sipped the coffee, he would be somewhat considerate of the fact that she had tripled if not quadrupled her work load on top of sacrificing her time with Maggie just to maintain the pace during his absence. There were so many scenarios to envision, though. Brigit decided it was probably best if she wasted no more time trying to find the perfect one to hope for. John would do whatever he would do. Brigit would simply have to suck it up and face whatever he decided to mete out in the form of discipline. Her last remaining hope was that, at the least, he would give her the chance to explain what had really happened. She had the deepening sense that Seamus Flannery would tell a story that was far from the truth...

She was emerging from this last thought when she felt it. It was an odd sensation, she thought as she looked over her shoulder at the spirits seated in the booths behind her. The feeling wasn't coming from them. They seemed to be lost in their own thoughts and conversations ignoring completely the fact that a Reaper was sitting amongst them. Slowly, Brigit scanned the room for the eyes that she could feel boring into her.

They were trained on her with a determination she could not have imagined him to have. The sad blue eyes that met hers seemed to silently beckon her to join him in the booth next to the front window. As if under a power not of her own, Brigit stood and crossed the cafe until she was standing before him. With a wave of his hand, he invited her to join him.

"What's on your mind?" Brigit asked, trying not to sound confused.

The old man with the sad blue eyes merely stared at her. She noted that the sadness she usually felt when pa.s.sing him was currently not present. She wondered what had changed that he would finally release such an emotion.

"Well?" Brigit pressed before raising her coffee to take another drink. The silence from the other side continued. Brigit sat her cup on the table between the, trying to decide whether to continue to be polite and remain at the table or to be rude and simply walk away. Finally, she decided it was best to get going. Obviously, the old man was wasting her time. As she made to slide out of the booth, the old man caught her arm.

Surprised by the agility of his motion, Brigit looked at the withered hand on her forearm and then slowly back at the old man. A gentle smile came to his lips as he stared deep into her eyes. Though his lips never moved, she could have sworn she heard his voice clearly.

"Listen with your mind, girl..."

At first, it was a clear whisper and it startled her. It must have shown on her face. A bigger smile began to emerge on the old man's lips.

"You didn't move your mouth," Brigit said out loud. The old man nodded in agreement. "I don't think I understand."

"Just hear with your mind." The instruction was somewhat louder this time and Brigit felt herself relaxing. "Can you hear me clearly?"

"Yes."

Brigit was still confused by it, but she noticed that she was beginning to hear it all. The conversations from the booths behind her flowed easily to her ears. She glanced over her shoulder at the other patrons of the cafe and saw that their mouths were not moving despite the fact that their attentions were clearly focused on the other spirit they were engaged with. Suddenly, even Giuseppe had a voice all be it one with a very heavy Italian accent.

"How did this happen?" Brigit asked, returning her attention to the old man.

"It is a simple process once you open your mind to it," he answered. "My name is Edmund J. Polly."

"Brigit Malone," Brigit introduced herself.

"I know. Mr. Blackwick thinks quite highly of you. He was so excited the day you came in. I overheard him telling Mr. Cincotta all about you before you arrived. He was so relieved to have found someone with the proper qualification to be a Reaper," Edmund J. Polly related. Brigit suddenly felt the weight on her shoulders double.

"His perception may change after tomorrow," she sighed.