Pain Has A Right To Be Felt
THE CRUELEST TRICK the Universe ever pulled was giving you free rein of your emotions. It opened up a whole can of worms, in my honest opinion. You weren’t ready for that sort of freedom. And so you all end up finding the smallest things to worry about and then letting your brain go into meltdown mode: no sleep, no appetite, no ability to stop and just think for a minute. It makes no evolutionary sense to let you get yourselves into such ridiculous states. And yet, here you all are, panicking at the drop of the hat, as if the fact that your train’s been canceled is cause for complete and utter despair.
And now who has to deal with that mess? Me, that’s who. Because, funnily enough, death can be pretty anxiety-inducing. I suppose, if I was being charitable, I could accept this as being reasonable. But reasonable or not, it causes me a huge amount of difficulty when it comes to bringing you up here.
I know, you have a right to your emotions, your pain. They’re what make you human, or whatever. But trust me, a guy who has witnessed a lot of death: feelings are overrated.
There are those moments, you know the ones, where the air seems to spark with anticipation. Where the entire universe seems to hold its breath and wait. When he asks her to marry her, when she’s seconds away from winning a world record, when the bomb is about to go off. We’ve all felt it, felt the laws of nature suspend themselves in respect of a moment that demands attention.
And here, in this bland office, I can feel it. Time frozen, poised in expectation of my answer to Death’s question. Do you fancy it, like he’s asking if I’ll go down to the store for a packet of potato chips.
“Really?” You can’t blame me for being skeptical: the role of Death’s assistant doesn’t sound entirely appealing, especially when Death has shown, at best, ambivalence toward me so far. Like a moth on his windowsill.
Death shrugs, hands resting loosely in his back pockets. “I mean, it’s not like there’s anything else for you to do.”
“Am I... I mean, I’m not sure I’m completely qualified...”
Another shrug. “You seem somewhat intelligent; I’m sure you’ll manage.”
Somewhat intelligent? Nice. Good to know all that hard work to get top grades in school and university has really paid off.
He hasn’t exactly sold it to me. And there’s a million and one questions raging around my head, unsurprisingly.
However, Death doesn’t seem interested in giving me an appropriate amount of time to mull things over. One foot taps against the floor, and he flips his phone over and over in his hand. If that wasn’t an obvious enough sign of impatience, a moment later he gestures to the door and says, “Shall we?”
“Shall we what?”
“You’re my assistant, I’m Death, someone’s dead—see how this works?”
No, no I don’t see how this works. But, despite the fog of confusion filling my head, one question comes out before I can think about it properly. “You said before about departments...so you don’t go to every death?” Death tilts his head, examining me with almost scientific curiosity.
“No,” he says finally. “No, I couldn’t go to them all. I’d have to be in countless places at once. Most of you don’t get the pleasure of my company. You just get one of the other chaperones.” He pauses, and there’s a flash of something across his face. Almost sadness, but it’s gone before I can get a proper look. “I just go to the unfair ones.”
Maybe it’s this moment of seeing Death display something other than cold indifference and sarcasm that brings a decision out of me. Or maybe dying has made me lose all sense. Either way, against my better judgment, I find myself nodding. “Fine, OK. I’ll—I’ll give it a go.”
Death nods, then breezes past me. “Good. Come on then, we’ll be late. You lot don’t really wait around when it comes to snuffing it.”
With that charming remark, he’s back out the door again and, without much of an alternative, I find myself hurrying after him. He heads confidently for the lift, looking at the screen of his phone with a thoughtful expression. “Jennifer Montgomery,” he reads out, though he doesn’t look back at me so I’m not sure if this is for my benefit or just something he always does. “Fourth victim of a killing spree—oh look, England. That will be nice for you.”
I’m not sure what to say to this. What do you say to somebody who thinks it will be nice for you to visit a murder in your home country? “So...you visit the unfair ones. That must mean quite a lot of murders?”
Death shrugs. “Some don’t quite qualify. It’s a complicated system.” He shoots me a searching look then, clearly trying to decide if he thinks I could possibly keep up with such a system. It’s the sort of look that sets my teeth on edge, because I’ve been dealing with those looks at work since I started there. As if the fact that I’m generally quiet and, God forbid, a woman, meant I couldn’t handle a simple budget sheet.
“Jennifer lives in a shitty part of a shitty town, has very little prospects and doesn’t get on with her family,” Death goes on, unaware of the irritation he’s caused me. “If she’d died a month ago I wouldn’t have been giving her my time. But, according to this,” he pauses to wave his phone as he comes to a halt by the lift before continuing, “she’s just met a guy who could be her ticket up and out. If she wasn’t about to die, this would probably be a positive turning point in her life. But no such luck. Ergo, she’s my business.”
His careless attitude is rather difficult to hear. He’s talking about a young woman who is about to be tragically murdered, not just a trying pile of paperwork. Clearly my thoughts show on my face because, as we step into the lift, I can feel him watching me carefully. But if he wants some sort of understanding from me, he’s not going to get any.
“Just like that,” I finally say, and there’s a definite edge to my voice.
This edge seems to bounce right off Death, though. He just gives me a brisk nod of confirmation. “Just like that.” We fall into silence for a moment, as the doors close and the lift thrums into life. Then Death holds up three fingers. “There are three categories of death that I visit. You ready for these?” He gives me a half second to nod, then goes on.
“One: your death causes a child to be left without a parent or significant guardian. Two: your death happens right before your life was about to significantly change for the better. Three: you’re a wholly innocent person and you’re killed by someone else—that last one is the rarest. You don’t get many truly innocent people these days.”
Apparently satisfied, he turns away. But I’m nowhere near finished. “That’s—that’s it?” I splutter. “That’s your complicated system?”
Death shrugs, then holds up a hand to bring this conversation to a definitive halt. “We’re getting close and there are some things I should probably tell you.” He turns and fixes me with an intense gaze. “Now, this is important: you’re not to interfere. We are here to ferry her from her world to ours, not to stop or avenge her death. You stand back, you watch, and you do nothing.”
“Nothing?” I echo. “What’s the point of me being here, then?”
Death smooths his collar as the lift begins to slow down a little. “Undecided. Just follow the rules,” he says simply, as the lift comes to a halt.
The night is dark, and the street we step onto is relatively quiet. A few passing cars, dark houses, a nearby park with stationary swings. But it’s life. Ordinary and yet so fascinating when you’re no longer a privileged member of the club. The little things draw me in: the glittering red of the rain-soaked car parked beside the road, the warmth of the lighting within a pub, the muted sound of a television in someone’s house nearby.
Distantly, I feel my feet moving forward.
“Woah there.” Death comes before me, his face stark in this vibrant, living world. His eyes meet mine, holding my gaze. “Life is like that kid offering pills at the party—you have to step back and ignore it, especially when it’s early days for you. It can draw you in, and then you’d be lost forever down here.”
I scowl. “Would that be so bad?” After all, I am from this world—unlike Death who clearly never belonged here.
He smiles bitterly, awkwardly pats my shoulders. “You are not one of this lot anymore, Daisy. You would be forever lost at a party which you weren’t invited to.”
“Sounds just like life,” I mutter, before returning to the matter at hand. “So, where is she? Jennifer—where does she die?”
In response, Death takes my arm again and tugs me across the street. A bus draws up and a stick-thin girl stumbles from it. She looks underfed and exhausted. She secures a clutch bag in her armpit so that she can hitch up the dress she wears, dusting it down with a critical eye. Like she knows that it’s not quite clean enough but can’t do anything about it. Beside me, I hear Death check his watch again and I glance at him with a small scowl. “She’s going to die, have some respect.”
Death frowns. “What’s her dying got to do with anything?” he asks, as if it simply does not make sense to him. I just shake my head, looking away. Now is not the time.
Jennifer is now leaning against the wall of the pub, one leg bent beneath her while she taps rapidly on her mobile phone. The faint smile on her face makes it clear who she is texting, and I can almost smell the fresh new love in the surrounding air.
But then a shadow dislodges from the pub wall, and a young man appears. He is totally average looking, except for a pair of piercingly cruel blue eyes that light up as they fall on Jennifer. For a moment, I wonder if this is the man Death mentioned, the one to turn her life around. Then I see the scornful look he receives from the girl, and I realize it’s quite the opposite. She does not know him, but now she will probably never forget him.
Beside me, Death nudges my ribs. “Don’t interfere,” he reminds me, and I feel myself scowl as I notice that I’ve taken an instinctive step forward. I’m a perfectionist and it bothers me that I’m getting a reminder already. I force myself to step back again, as the man finally breaks the silence.
“Going anywhere special tonight, love?”
Jennifer laughs, cold and sharp. “Nowhere with you, sweetheart,” she shoots back, quick as a whip.
This guy is undeterred, though. He laughs back, his own laugh a touch warmer than hers. Still determined to disarm her with charm. He steps forward, hands jammed in his pockets. “Aww, come on...”
But Jennifer is a girl of the real world, and she’s not going to be so easily swayed. She glares, shoving her shoulder deftly into his side as she pushes past him. “Piss off,” she calls back, sending a rude gesture his way. From where we stand, we can see this man’s, this killer’s, face. He smirks, and he twists his neck until it clicks eerily. Like the safety catch on a gun. Then he turns and walks after Jennifer.
I start after them, but Death catches me, squeezing my arm tight. I glance back at him, confused. “What?” I demand when he simply shakes his head.
“You don’t want to see it. The cause of us being here. You don’t want to see that.” Death looks like he’s trying to be helpful for once, but his words send another bristle of irritation through me. I tug my arm free and point a finger at him.
“No, I’m sure I don’t. But I bet she doesn’t want to see it either. Or feel it. No one does, but we have to. So if someone can be there at that moment, they should be, right?” Death says nothing. I roll my eyes, but then a screaming whistle pierces the air, so loud that I have to grip at my ears. I look around, certain that everyone will be out of here in a moment, because surely the whole world will have heard that. But there’s nothing. No one comes.
“What—what is that?” I demand as Death walks past me.
“It does that.”
“What does?” I hurry after him, my hands still clutching the side of my head even though the screaming, dreadful sound has stopped. It sounded like a kettle whistle when the water has reached boiling point, mixed with the wailing of a hungry baby. It makes me terribly afraid, and I don’t know why. It hits me a moment later, makes me stumble to a halt. I’ve heard it before. As my head smacked into the ice-covered pavement in the dark, empty street where I died.
Death glances back, stops, then walks the short distance to stand before me. “It’s life. When it leaves, it screams. It usually doesn’t want to go.” I open my mouth to say something back but he stops me with one raised hand. “No. No, Daisy. Whatever it is you’re dying to say, it can wait. We can’t miss her.”
He barely spares me another glance as we round the corner into the pub’s car park. And there she is, Jennifer Montgomery, the girl who was about to feel her life shifting beneath her feet, about to have fortune smile upon her weary face.
The girl who now lies in the puddles with her hands clutching at her throat. Blood spills between her fingers and she coughs, over and over. The culprit is already gone, blade in a back pocket as he strolls into the pub. I bet they’ll never suspect him; not the young man with the twinkling eyes.
Death stands beside me and for once his face is devoid of anything mocking or joking. But there’s also no sympathy. He is shadowy now, and so terribly blank.
“What do we do?” I whisper, and he looks to me with some surprise, as if he has forgotten my existence entirely. It wouldn’t surprise me.
“We can only wait.”
It’s possibly the worst thing he can say. I do not want to wait for the light to leave Jennifer’s eyes, second by second.
Before Death can stop me, I have stepped over to her body, splashing through the rainwater that fails to soak my simple white plimsolls. “Daisy...” he begins, sounding almost weary. But I shoot him a glare as I tuck my feet beneath me and sit down at Jennifer’s side. I have never experienced death before, except my own. And even that was so much cleaner, so much simpler. Other than that there’s been nothing. My grandparents aren’t dead yet. I had a fish but I was only five when it died, and I was told it had been sent on to a bigger tank. I believed my parents until thirteen-year-old me recounted the tale and my brother teased me mercilessly for about a week.
Silly old me. Somehow, I know what to do now though. I feel it within me, like the instinct to breathe. My hand reaches out and takes hers, tugs it away from her throat and holds it tight. She stares at her hand, tears clumping in her mascara eyelashes. Then she meets my gaze.
Terror rages through her eyes, in a way that I’ve seen only once before. When I held Violet’s hand in the emergency room and waited for them to either pump her stomach or pronounce her a lost cause. I remember how she looked up at me, half-conscious, and all I saw in her eyes was fear.
It’s the same now. It burns through the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and almost seems to burn right through me. Distantly I feel her hand grip back, her fingers scrabbling for purchase. Maybe she thinks she can use me to hold on to life like this, and suddenly I’m filled with guilt for somehow misleading her.
“I can’t help you, I’m sorry,” I find myself whispering.
As if my words have had some sort of magic power, I feel her hand go slack in mine. I watch her eyes go blank, lose signal with the life within, then flutter shut. In other words, I witness the death of Jennifer Montgomery.
“Daisy.” It’s Death; I’d almost forgotten about him, which is ironic considering this is his big moment. “Are you done getting in the way?” Apparently he’s not interested in an answer for this though, as he half nudges me out of the way a second later. “Honestly, it’s like having a puppy,” he mutters to himself, as he places one hand on Jennifer’s forehead.
Deciding to let that comment slide for the moment, I shuffle back a little. “What are you doing?”
I get a grunt in return. With his hand now on her forehead, Death has closed his eyes and seems to be concentrating greatly, judging by the deep frown on his face. He doesn’t reply for a moment, fully immersed in his task. Then his eyes snap open and he hops up, dusting off his jeans a little critically. “She’ll be here soon,” he states, apparently satisfied.
“What did you do, Death?” I demand, standing up as well.
“I guided her...well, you’d probably call it her soul. I guided her soul. The essence of her, the thing that makes her Jennifer. A bit like what makes you Daisy is apparently a busybody who can’t keep her beak out of my business.”
I cross my arms, shaking my head. “Why are you acting like me comforting her was so horrifying?” I demand, eyes narrowed.
“Because you’re messing with emotions that you don’t understand.”
But before we can carry on, a voice speaks out from behind me. “Um, excuse me?”
Death and I turn. Standing beside a silver Ford Fiesta is Jennifer Montgomery, in a white dress very similar to mine. Except hers is floor-length, floaty. It looks beautiful on her, but I can’t help thinking that it won’t be very practical as something to wear for eternity. Her spots are gone, her hair is shiny and even her skinny little wrists seemed to have gained some meat to them. It’s like in death, she’s gained a new lease of life. Except, as our silence continues, she grows increasingly anxious.
“Did—did you say his name was Death? Am I...am I dead?”
I hear Death heave a sigh and mutter something that sounds like “denial.” “Yes, Miss Montgomery, I’m afraid you are dead. Let’s talk away from here, shall we?”
“That’s it?” I whisper across to him. “That’s how you’re going to break it to her?”
Indeed, Jennifer looks like the bottom has just dropped out of her world. “I’m dead?”
Death places a hand on her shoulder. “Yes. But no need to worry, you’re in safe hands now.” The moment his hand touches her shoulder, she seems to relax a little.
“Right...um, OK, OK.” Death gives her an approving smile, already guiding her toward the lift. She stumbles a little, legs seeming a little shaky.
Something doesn’t quite sit right with me, and I tug Death back a little.
“What’s going on?” I demand in a hushed voice. “Why is she so calm? Shouldn’t she be freaking out?”
“And delay my schedule? I don’t think so. There’s this little trick I have. It’s like a—a magic touch, just to calm them down.”
“You mean, like sedating them?”
Death gives a little shrug, already turning away. “I guess.”
“Take it off.”
“What?”
“Reverse it, whatever. I don’t care how. It’s not right. You need to let her feel her own damn death!”
I can practically see the cogs whirring away in his mind. Then a sly smirk slides up his face. “Fine. You clearly know better after all.” He tugs his arm free and moves to place a hand back on Jennifer’s shoulder. “Sorry, Jennifer, where were we?”
It’s like somebody has thrown a switch. Complete panic immediately takes over. “Please! You don’t understand! He killed me! Oh my God, that man killed me!”
Death looks over to me. “Well, perhaps Daisy can help you.”
I know a challenge when I hear it. I just wish I knew what to do. But if Death wants proof that the recently deceased don’t need to be bloody bewitched, I will just have to show it to him. Somehow.
I offer Jennifer my hand. “It’s going to be OK. You’re safe now.”
Jennifer immediately shoves me away. “I’m dead! That’s the fucking opposite of safe! Don’t you take me anywhere!”
“We have to, Jennifer. I’m sorry, but we’ve got to leave.”
I might as well have told her to dye her hair pink, the good it’s done. She shakes her head again, her whole body seeming to collapse into itself.
To stop her from simply falling over, I pull her into a hug. It’s like hugging an earthquake. And she cries and cries, not listening to anything I’ve got to say to her.
All the while, Death leans against the door of the lift and watches, expression inscrutable.
After a good few minutes of this, I manage to hobble her into the lift. Jennifer seems to have become almost primal in her grief. And nothing that I can do seems to help.
I’m so lost in helping calm her down that I barely notice the lift moving, then stopping, until Death clears his throat.
“Jennifer,” I try, as Death steps smartly back into the corridor then turns around to watch us. “Jennifer, it’s time to move. We’re here.”
Jennifer shakes her head, sobs a little louder again. Death looks at his watch, then clasps his hands behind his back. I can feel time ticking away relentlessly. How many people die in a minute? How many people like Jennifer need fetching? How many people are we holding up?
He’s watching me expectantly, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Can’t give up, not yet. I find the fingers that are clutching at my dress and pull them away. Miraculously, she releases her grip, lets me start to lead her down the corridor toward Death’s door.
By the time we’ve made it to the office, Jennifer is a little calmer. But that doesn’t stop me feeling the wasted time like a weight on my back. Death finally takes over, gestures to a filing cabinet behind his desk. “Her file will be in there, Daisy. Jennifer, please sit.” His words are as wooden as his desk.
There’s a bitter taste in my mouth as I drag myself around the desk and pull open the cabinet. I do it with more force than necessary, though, just so he knows I’m still not happy. I’m expecting rows and rows of files; I’m expecting the drawer to keep opening and opening like in a film I saw once. But it doesn’t. Instead, it opens as far as my arm goes, and it’s empty except for one gray file. Jennifer Montgomery is stamped across the top.
Death takes the file from me and sits himself down at the desk. “Right, Jennifer. Let’s get this sorted out, shall we?”
Once Death has handled the paperwork and ushered a panic-stricken Jennifer through the official door, he turns to me, expression one of supreme frustration. “What the hell was that?” he asks and, despite his expression, his tone is eerily calm.
“Excuse me?”
“Do you realize how much time you’ve wasted now?”
For a moment, I can only stare at him. Outrage has stolen my voice, but not for long. Soon, I am stepping toward him, arms crossed defiantly across my chest. “At least I’m not robbing people of understanding their death, just so you get an easy ride!”
Death shakes his head slowly with disbelief, eyes hard. “She was traumatized, Daisy. Death is shit enough without having to be terrified about it. There’s a time and a place and a dirty car park next to her still warm body was not Jennifer’s place. These sort of things need careful handling.” He slides his hands into his pockets, shifts a little. “Besides. There’s not time. Don’t pretend you weren’t thinking it. I saw you. I saw you consider it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snap. It’s a lie, of course, and I think he knows it, because he shakes his head, looking away.
“Next time I’ll wear my cloak and bring my scythe, shall I? Would that make you happier?”
That does it for me. “Yes! Yes it would! At least then something would actually fit with my bloody expectations!”
I find myself pushing his chest with all my might. He hardly budges, a wall of inflexibility. Huh, just about sums him up, really. We’re standing glowering at each other; two immovable forces that just won’t stop colliding.
But then, after a few seconds of this silent fuming, the phone rings, and he moves to answer it. “Yes?” A pause then he nods, hangs up. “I’m overdue. You. Just. Stay. Up. Here.” He takes a step toward the door, then turns back. “When I come back, we’re finding a way to get you out of here. This isn’t working.”
And with that, he leaves. I’m left alone with those words hanging over me, unable to work out if I’ve just been offered a lifeline, or an execution.