Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ A Touch of Death ❯ Chapter 3

WARNINGS AND DISCLAIMERS: These are all fictional characters and any similarities to anyone living or dead is completely incidental. And anyway, I'm not making any money off of this.

 

This is my NanoWriMo piece, which I managed to turn out in half the time allotted. If you don't know what Nano is, check out www.nanowrimo.org for information and a chance at a really good time.

 

Erec whistled loudly as he played with the paperwork sprawled over his desk. Any minute now and Ms. Anderson would come storming inside and demand to know just what he was working on. He chuckled softly; just who was the boss around here anyway?

Rose Marie drifted out from the shadows and hooked her arms around his neck, her forehead resting against the back of his scalp.

“I can hear your thoughts,” she murmured.

“I'll try to think quietly,” he answered.

“She's not normal,” Rose Marie whispered into his hair. “Not normal at all. She's special.”

“Are we talking about you?” Erec asked.

“I'm normal,” Rose Marie said and rubbed her nose against the back of his head. “It's her that isn't. Did you see them?”

“No,” Erec said quietly. “I got there too late.”

“That's okay,” Rose Marie said and petted her fingers over his neck. “She won't be the last.”

Erec sighed quietly and stared up at the ceiling, Rose Marie now singing softly into his hair. She paused then and hooked around him until their eyes met.

“Can I make you coffee again?”

Erec nodded and Rose Marie unwrapped herself from around him and glided across the room. She paused in front of the door, head cocked to one side before she swung the handle to the right.

“Left, Rose Marie,” Erec said.

“Not this time,” she said. “The watchdog's here.”

She pulled the door open and stared into a perfect wall of darkness.

“Here puppy, puppy,” she called.

A long sighing breath slid through the office and one hand gloved in black grabbed the doorjamb. It was like watching someone claw their way out of quicksand or deep water. He emerged with a dull gasp and grabbed the door away from Rose Marie. She stepped back and let him close it firmly behind him.

The shadows in the room seemed to get darker and all leaned forward around the man now standing by Rose Marie's side. He was dressed entirely in black, every inch of him wrapped in fabric and hidden away. A thick pair of goggles masked his eyes and a long hood kept the darkness pulled in even tighter.

“Well, well,” Erec said with a wry smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

The gloved fingers worked carefully, pulling back the hood to reveal razor cropped brown hair and unraveling the bandages around his face slowly. The goggles clattered over Erec's desk as they were tossed aside, and darkly annoyed eyes locked on him.

“What exactly are you doing?” the man in black asked coldly.

“Avoiding Ms. Anderson at the moment,” Erec answered with a smirk.

“And at other moments today?”

Erec took a slow breath and leaned back in his chair.

“You're going to have to be more specific, Lathe.”

The room seemed to get colder.

“I'm not in the mood for games,” the dark haired man said softly.

“But if you don't play, who will?” Erec asked.

“You're making him angry,” Rose Marie said, her voice oddly sing song against the perfectly blank mask of her face.

Erec smiled and flattened his hands against his desk.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Rose Marie picked up on them last night. She told me where to be today and who to watch for. They came just like she said they would.”

He shook his head.

“Car accident. Forty-six years tied up in the balance now. That's a lot of time,” he toyed with the dark goggles in front of him. “They're getting bolder.”

“Did they get it?” Lathe asked quietly.

“You were there,” Erec said.

Lathe's eyes twitched a little and Erec smirked.

“Did you think I wouldn't notice you?”

He tossed Kathryn's file to Lathe.

“They didn't get a second,” Erec said.

Lathe frowned and his eyes slowly lifted from the paperwork.

“Are you aware that she--”

“Yeah,” Erec said as he leaned back in his chair. “I'm keeping an eye on it.”

 

***

 

Kathryn's fingers dug down into the hard armrests, her teeth grinding together as the in flight television boredly advertised tropical hotspots that she'd never visit. The plane ride had been smooth so far, but every tiny jolt was enough to make her tense and turn to Slate.

The big man was still throwing back the drinks, his movements getting sloppier and head often lolling back lifelessly. He was starting to look a little bleary eyed, and was having a harder time getting the flight attendants to see him. Apparently it took some concentration to get them to think he was really there.

“Are you…we really going to do this?” Kathryn asked.

“What else are we going to do?” Slate said dully. “It's not like we can get off the plane now.”

“Then we should have never gotten on,” Kathryn snapped.

“You don't even know anything,” Slate slurred.

“How can you do this?” Kathryn said. “God, Hell would be better than this.”

Slate snorted and rested his head in one hand as he stared at her.

“That's right, you get a choice. You get to decide how this all works out, all because you screwed up and died before you were supposed to. Not all of us are that lucky.”

“What?” Kathryn yelled.

She immediately sunk down in her seat and nervously glanced around the cabin, but no one was even bothering to look half way in their direction. Kathryn shot back up in her seat and leaned in close to Slate.

“Lucky?”

“Yeah, lucky,” Slate said and a glint of irritation broke through the alcohol and indifference that filled his eyes. “You get to pick and choose what you do. I was born a damned gremlin.”

Kathryn's mouth opened to snap back a reply but then she paused and stared at him.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Slate said petulantly.

One big beefy hand shot out, his fingers numbly bouncing against the same spot on her forehead that Erec had tapped earlier.

“And now you're one of us,” he said. “Welcome to the club.”

Kathryn's hand shot up, her fingers half way expecting to find some kind of scar or burn to rub over. Her skin was smooth and unblemished. She stared up at Slate and he forced his eyes to stay open long enough to lock with hers.

“You had your chance at a life that wasn't unlucky,” he slurred. “So don't bitch to me because you have to spend forty years bringing bad things to everyone you meet. I've been doing it my whole life.”

“You do this all the time?” Kathryn whispered.

“Not always planes,” Slate said dully. “Cars a lot. Buses sometimes. A boat once or twice. You get used to walking everywhere.”

“Doesn't it…bother you?”

Slate's eyes dully mashed into her.

“Should it?”

 

***

 

“Mr. Cinna, are you finished with those files yet?”

Erec looked up from his desk as Ms. Anderson stepped inside, her eyes darting around the room suspiciously.

“Problem?” he asked sweetly.

“Are you in here by yourself?” she asked.

“You don't see anyone else, do you?” he said.

Her lips pursed.

“You and I both know that doesn't mean anything,” she said slowly and looked around the room again. “Now is anyone in here?”

“No one,” Erec chuckled. “You just missed the siblings.”

“Both of them?” Ms. Anderson said with a frown.

“I guess Lathe missed Rose Marie.”

Erec tried to pretend that he didn't notice the narrowed eyes and disbelief rolling off of his secretary. He hunkered down and scribbled some notes across his paperwork.

“Lathe doesn't make social calls,” Ms. Anderson said slowly.

“He…could start,” Erec said cautiously.

A well manicured hand spread across his desk and Erec swallowed before his eyes lifted to very dangerous eyes.

“Just what are you up to?”

 

***

 

Kathryn rested her head in her hands, the little airplane bathroom almost uncomfortably small. But she couldn't sit there next to him anymore. He really didn't care at all. A shuddering breath escaped her and she closed her eyes.

“I can't do this,” she said, sickness roiling her stomach. “I can't be responsible for this.”

She wanted to throw up or have a headache or just feel some kind of buzz from the drink she'd only half way choked down. But without whatever power Slate possessed nearby, she had no form and couldn't feel or touch anything. At least, nothing other than the self disgust her brain was manufacturing and spreading out through her entire body. She clutched at her stomach and clenched her eyes tightly.

“I don't want to do this,” she whispered and started to cry.

She couldn't even feel the tears running down her cheeks.

“This isn't right,” she said lowly.

The compartment door banged open and a tired looking man in a business suit pushed inside. Kathryn wiped at her cheeks and pushed her hair back out of her face. She started to say something, but the man just grunted and slammed the door shut. He slumped against the little counter at Kathryn's side and closed his eyes. A split second passed and then he was turning towards the toilet she was currently sitting on and fumbling with his zipper.

“Oh god,” Kathryn groaned and shot upright.

She passed through him, numbly balancing in the small space between him and the door now. The dull sound of urine spattering against the plastic toilet filled the air and Kathryn looked in the mirror to watch an unfelt blush fan over her cheeks. She crossed her arms and glared at the back of the man's head.

“Aren't you supposed to at least sense me?” she said. “Shouldn't you have some idea that I'm here? I thought you were supposed to know.”

Kathryn snorted with disgust when she suddenly realized she was waiting for him to answer. God, she hated being dead. Her hands twisted in her hair and she shook her head. It was just one confusion after another. She'd been alive that morning, alive and planning to live for a very long time. And then one little step.

Kathryn closed her eyes. She'd lost one of her shoes when the car hit her, how cliché was that? It was probably still lying back on the side of the road. Maybe someone had washed off her bloodstain by now.

Something was scraping through her ears. It was a ragged deathly sound and Kathryn clamped her hand over her mouth as she realized that it was the sound of her own breathing. The shock was wearing off.

Kathryn sobbed as she slumped down to the floor, her hand tightening over her mouth as more of the useless tears ran down her face. She was dead. And Erec had been very clear on the fact that you didn't come back from dead. Forty-six years.

“Oh god,” she moaned.

She'd lost so much time. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, goddammit, and anyone who was alright with that was a cheap bastard in an expensive suit. She ground her teeth together and listened to her breath noisily rasp in and out. Now wasn't the time for this.

A sharp flushing caught her attention and she looked up as the businessman boredly washed his hands. That's right, she didn't matter anymore. She was already dead. And now wasn't her time.

Now was his time. He couldn't even see her, but she was going to rip him out of the sky and he wouldn't even know she was there.

Now was the time to crash his plane.

 

***

 

Erec hummed a little as he finished the last of his reports, the paperwork all neatly swept aside into a single disorderly pile. It would drive Ms. Anderson crazy, and that was precisely why Erec did it every single day. He chuckled a little and scrawled his real name across the bottom of a financial report, the words sparking in red before they faded completely from the page. He flicked it a little, the paper crackling sharply, and then casually tossed it on the stack.

A soft sigh caught his attention then and Erec paused. Silence filtered back into the room and a faint smile pulled over his lips. Rose Marie was there; only she could make him feel entirely alone in a room.

“What is it?” he asked quietly.

“There's a break,” she breathed.

Hot breath ghosted over his arm as she appeared next to him, the shadows that had pooled in the office with the coming of night now pulling in close. Her lips teased against the hair on his skin and then her teeth lightly bit down.

“It's a big break,” Rose Marie whispered when her lips parted. “Bigger and bigger. They're going to get away from you.”

Erec closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He didn't know when he had first noticed Rose Marie's strange abilities, but they had come in handy over the years. He had a little arrangement with Lathe, one that basically involved Erec keeping her safe and reasonably sane and Rose Marie making herself useful whenever she could.

Rose Marie grabbed his hand and placed it firmly on top of her head. She worked his wrist until he was absently petting her.

“Are you a dog like your brother?” he asked lowly.

“No,” she answered.

He wondered how old she was. She seemed too young sometimes, but Lathe had had the girl with him for a long time and he was approaching the ripe old age of a few thousand years. So maybe Rose Marie had to be somewhere in the neighborhood. He frowned blankly; he really should find out details like that. It could come in handy. There must be some blood tie that he could investigate. Erec took a deep breath. Of course, things like that could never really be counted on.

“Where's the break?” he murmured.

“Where the shadows pull together,” Rose Marie said cryptically.

“I need a place, Rose Marie,” Erec said. “Not a mystic point.”

Rose Marie was silent and Erec's hand stilled.

“Rose Marie?”

“It doesn't matter,” Rose Marie said. “You don't need to go.”

Erec frowned, but before he could say anything her head was rolling back to pin him under two utterly lifeless eyes.

“They'll handle it on their own.”

 

***

 

Kathryn could practically hear her breath whistling out of her nose as she clawed into the arms of her seat. The roar of the engines had increased as they gracefully descended towards the air strip, and some part of Kathryn kept chanting that it was almost time. Another part of her was feebly insisting that this wasn't real. She wasn't about to crash. She wasn't dead. And she sure as hell wasn't going to spend her afterlife working in some dead end unlucky job.

The wheels thudded against the ground, almost bouncing the plane back up in the air, and Kathryn's heart tried to wrench out of her chest.

Am I feeling this or do I just think I am?

She cast a side long look at Slate, but the drunkard was lolled back in his chair and snoring softly. Maybe she shouldn't have come back and sat with him again. She was definitely feeling things again, and the greedy part of her wanted more, but the realist in her knew that she wasn't going to take this…crash…well. It might be in her best interest to be numb for it. Guilt rippled through her and she ground her teeth together. Kathryn's eyes swung back to the front as the plane began to slow, now gently rolling over the ground before…it came to a stop.

Confusion pulsed through her temples and Kathryn cautiously unpeeled her fingers from her seat. She took a calming breath and lightly nudged Slate.

“Hey,” she said. “We stopped.”

Slate snorted and one hand slapped at his face before he groggily wiped at his eyes. He pushed them open and stared down at her with little recognition. The big head pivoted around the plane and then fell back against the seat.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“We didn't crash,” Kathryn said and felt a sudden grin breaking across her face. “We didn't crash.”

Slate sighed.

“Return flight,” he said flatly.

 

***

 

Lathe scented the air.

It was like watching a wolf move, slow and fluid and almost dangerously contained. The darkness was curling around him in ragged flags, the night that he always traveled through still clinging to him. It was like a battered cloak that he could never completely throw off, just a waving flag of eternal black.

It shifted suddenly and his head jerked in answer. He'd felt it. They were gathering and close by. He'd learned to sense them now and that meant that he could hunt them.

And hurt them.

 

***

 

“We should have gotten off,” Kathryn whispered. “Let's get off. We can just walk through the plane, right?”

“It'll blow the door,” Slate said. “And getting off doesn't fix things anyway. We'd have to walk all the way back.”

“I don't care about that,” Kathryn snapped. “All these people would be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Slate muttered and closed his eyes again. “Flag down the stewardess and get me another drink.”

“You do it,” Kathryn said. “They always look right through me.”

“You're not concentrating hard enough,” Slate said and forced his head back up again.

“There has to be more to it than that,” Kathryn said and anxiously shifted in her seat. “Look, there has to be something we can do!”

“There isn't,” Slate said. “So just sit back and let it happen.”

“I hate you,” Kathryn whispered.

“You've got no reason to,” Slate answered dully. “I'm just what I am.”

 

***

 

The plane glided effortlessly through the air. It gave Kathryn time to think, about everything. Plane crashes were always a top story. They covered the news for days while reporters morbidly and gleefully examined every little detail. She wondered how long it would be before people stopped talking about it. Would they give it some other title, some other name, or just refer to its flight number? Kathryn frowned a little. What flight was she on?

It would be on the news for a long time, and there were sure to be follow up stories in the months and years to come. Would she feel this choking guilt every time? Would it rise like bile in her throat as she looked around the plane at all their faces? Kathryn forced her eyes closed and slumped back in her seat.

“Don't think about them.”

Slate's voice was a low rumble now, and for a split second Kathryn picked up on the soothing tones in it as he clumsily tried to comfort her.

“Just think about it like anything else that happens in your life,” he murmured.

“This isn't my life,” Kathryn answered numbly.

Slate's sigh was like air escaping some great balloon, all hot and loud and filled with the kind of power that could lift things high.

“It is now,” he said.

The plane cut through the sky and Kathryn wanted to cry. She clutched tightly at the arm rests and tried to think about anything else. A bitter laugh escaped her. How wasn't she supposed to focus on the fact that she was about to crash a plane?

“You get used to it,” Slate muttered.

“That doesn't make me feel better,” Kathryn bit out and shook her head violently. “I want to throw up.”

“Go ahead,” Slate said.

Kathryn's eyes rolled back and she shook her head again.

“Can I even do that anymore?”

“You're too stuck on this being dead thing,” Slate said.

“Do I get used to that too?” she asked with another shaky laugh.

Oh god, she was rolling towards hysteria. How fitting when she was riding a chariot to Hell, because there was no way she was going anywhere else while she was responsible for all these people.

“Haven't died yet,” Slate said. “Wouldn't know.”

Kathryn blinked and stared at him with confusion.

“You're still alive? Then how…”

“Gremlin,” he reminded her. “The rules are always different for us than they are for you. Of course, there are similarities. No one wants to see you, and no one damn well wants to see me. I'm death's little lackey, when I'm around, something very bad is going to happen.”

His eyes rolled down to her, but they weren't flat anymore, they were dully sad now.

“Excuse me,” he said. “When we're around. We're bad luck now. Cinna pulled a low trick in not telling you what he was doing to you. You're in for a rough patch.”

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“Why did I stop drinking?” he muttered.

Kathryn stared down at her own hands, and carefully curled them into fists. Slate was right. If there was anyone here that she could blame, anyone that could bear the brunt of her rage, it was going to be Cinna. That punch to the face was going to be the least of his worries. She was going to make him pay.

The plane dipped slightly and Kathryn's revenge was quickly snuffed out as her stomach lurched with terror.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to thank you for flying with us today, and remind you that the captain has turned on the seatbelt light. If you are up and moving about the cabin, we ask that you return to your seat as quickly as possible as we begin our final descent.”

A slight shift pulled Kathryn's eyes up to Slate and she watched a faint uneasiness pass over his face.

“What?” she whispered.

“Nothing's happened,” he answered. “It should have happened by now.”

“It could always come at the last minute,” Kathryn said. “Something on the runway…”

Unreality slammed through her veins and she gnashed her teeth together.

Or maybe it won't happen at all…

She swallowed back on the thought and tried to ignore it. Being hopeful in a situation like this was only going to make things worse. Slate shifted again and drummed his fingers across the armrest next to her with a force that probably would have bruised skin.

“You can usually tell if it's going to be something like that,” Slate rumbled. “You can feel it when the plane starts to drop, something like it's never going to come back up again, but tonight…”

His words faded and another great sigh escaped him. Kathryn frowned and glanced around the plane again. It still just looked like a plane to her. What would it look like when it slammed into the ground?

She winced back on a small sound that tried to escape her and shut her eyes.

“It starts pretty slow usually,” Slate said, as if reading her thoughts. “Just a faint feeling that something is going wrong. It starts to build, and it's usually wrapped around you like a shroud before all the screaming starts.”

His words buzzed through her ears and she wanted to lift her hands to cover them, but for some reason she kept listening. Maybe it was that guilt that was bubbling through her again.

“They don't sense it until it's too late,” Slate said dreamily. “Then, when things start moving, they…it's like they wake up into a nightmare.”

“Stop,” Kathryn breathed.

“There's always fire,” Slate mused. “Usually a big blast of it that rips up through everything and spread out like a golden blanket. And sometimes I can almost imagine what it must feel like to be burned up in that. Sometimes I wish I could just wrap myself up in it and disappear in a flash of ashes.”

He'd done this before. Kathryn had known that, but now it was more than just a fact. He'd done this before and he would do it again. And again. And as many times as a creature like him ever did. Her lips pulled back in a snarl and she spun on him.

“So why don't you?” she hissed. “Why don't you just die?”

Slate met her anger with flat indifference and shook his head.

“Death doesn't get you anything,” Slate said. “You going to tell me it's a better alternative than living?”

She flinched back and his head cocked to one side.

“Come on,” he said. “Say it. Tell me to choose death. Do it.”

Kathryn tried to think of what he'd done. She wanted to feel something now, some kind of hatred or rage that could justify it. He was sitting right there, she had corporeal form with him, so why did she feel so numb?

“I can't,” she murmured finally. “I don't want to be dead.”

Her lips pursed together and she shook her head.

“And they don't either,” she said finally. “No one here wants to die, so why are you doing this?”

Slate stared at her and then his eyes dulled again.

“You think there isn't a purpose behind death,” Slate said. “I can understand that coming from you. Your death was special, but death isn't usually like that. It's something that has to come, and it's not always popular and it doesn't always seem right, but it's always there.”

Slate's eyes closed.

“But I guess not everyone is cut out for dealing it. Cinna can usually tell, he should have known with you.”

“Maybe he did know,” Kathryn said softly.

The wheels bounced against the tarmac and Kathryn tensed. She tried to find that rising dread that Slate had talked about, to steel herself into pretending she was ready for this, but nothing was happening. She closed her eyes tightly and listened to the plane slowly roll into position. Slate grunted and when she looked up at him, he was staring with open bewilderment at the front of the plane.

“We didn't crash,” he said and a little awe bled into his voice. “This has never happened to me before.”

Kathryn's eyes darted around and she vaguely heard the flight attendants instructing passengers about their gates and their luggage and distantly she knew everyone around her was getting to their feet.

“We didn't crash,” she whispered and was surprised at the relief that flooded her.

She'd really been sure that it was going to happen. She gasped for air and shook her head. He'd really convinced her that the plane was going up in flames.

“I wonder what happened,” Slate said and Kathryn picked up a note of disappointment in his voice as he leaned across to look outside.

Kathryn slumped into her seat and closed her eyes. That was it. She was fired, or quitting, or doing whatever it was when ghosts weren't going to do their job anymore. She'd make Erec agree to it and if he didn't, well, Hell was suddenly sounding better than doing the jobs he wanted her on.

“Oh, shit.”

Kathryn's head jerked up with surprise at the raw fear suddenly in Slate's voice.

“What?” she said. “What is it?”

“Phantoms,” Slate said. “Get off the plane.”