The Seven Faces of Death

Walk a Mile…-1

Walk a Mile…Stepping out of the church, I found myself in a big, busy bullpen. People in suits hurried through the narrow aisles, their paces so brisk that they almost stomped on the thin, blue carpet. And the constant clicking of their heels echoed their impatience.

Several men and women sat at their fragile, simple desks and worked while others were on the phone… and a few grouped around pots of stinking coffee and what looked like tea, chatting among themselves as if they were having a break. And… for some reason, they all had British accents. Weird.

Or…

I shook my head, my eyes widening. It couldn’t be...

Suddenly, a woman appeared out of the aisle next to me, startling me… and before I could jump to the side, she rammed me – no, not ramming – she walked straight through my body.

“What the-,” I gaped panicked, but something ice-cold landed on my shoulder, silencing me.

“They cannot hear you, nor see, nor feel you,” Death said next to me, his bony hand on my shoulder. “You are completely insubstantial to anyone and anything but me for your entire visit.” He turned his skull downward to fix me with his glowing orbs. “But fear not,” he said as if I gave two shits about his words and actually listened. “You will get your body back once we’re done. And this state of existence is necessary so you can see what you need to see and learn what you need to learn. Look.” He pointed one of his fleshless, bony fingers to the figure of a woman nearby.

She was middle-aged, with dirty blond hair that was combed out of her face and a pristine suit. She looked like the nose-up-in-the-air, elite woman I loathed like Death himself. Naturally, he would have brought me to her.

“You’re not looking,” the Grim Reaper informed me coolly. “Stop focusing on the surface.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I looked again, and suddenly…

“C’mon, Lesa,” I scolded myself under my breath. “It’s not like this is hard.” Gosh, I hated how unfocused I was today. Ineffective. Worthless! And I’d given in to the temptation of Lettie’s Oreo Cake, so I needed to hit the gym today. Great. Another one-and-a-half hour of less free time.

Panic rose in Mitch’s body as he was sucked into another human being. But the emotion was far away from him, unreal… unlike the woman’s – Lesa’s – self-loathing. That hurt him like a knife to his heart… to her heart.

He shook his head – or imagined to since he didn’t actually have a head… GOSH! It was like he’d lost half of his identity overnight, and his entire body! It was insane, like the worst nightmare you could have – only it was real.

“Watch. Listen. Learn,” he heard the Grim Reaper’s growling voice in his head and watched how his hands – Lesa’s hands – moved over the papers in front of him to straighten them out...

“Hey,” Lettie’s flute-like voice chimed over me and forced me out of my thoughts.

Lettie was the kind of woman I didn’t like. Her face might get prettier the more I talked to her, but it was technically plain. And still, she had a healthy self-esteem as if she wasn’t at all bothered by her looks, or her tiny belly pouch. That, in itself, was really unfair, because I could never be like that.

But more importantly, Lettie was the kind of woman who slipped into my life, made me care about her with her sharp wits and compassion. The kind that distracted me from work, and then, ultimately, left again, taking everything with her that I’d ever had and leaving a bleeding hole in my heart.

Sharp pain sliced into Mitch’s – Lesa’s heart. But Mitch felt it too inside him, somewhere in a far, far away place where he was still entirely himself… it was as if a part of their emotions merged.

Or maybe it was just because he was as used to rejections as Lesa was. And he was used to rejections… almost everyone he’d ever loved had pushed him away.

The one who didn’t? She’d died. And in the aftermath, he might have killed a seven-year-old boy…

Mitch wanted to shout at Lesa to do whatever it took to hide from Lettie and everyone else. Because it was better to not get close to anyone, ever, than to go through the hell that was loving somebody, and how much messes that created.

But Mitch had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to hear him. He wasn’t her to change the story, only to observe… and earn his answers.

So he allowed himself to be sucked further into her psyche, and watched how her hand flew to the back of her neck to check her hair knot…

… something I did every time I was nervous. I wished I could have pushed Lettie out entirely. But she was my colleague. I couldn’t hide from her forever. So I had to be at the very least polite.

“Hullo,” I conceded self-consciously.

Lettie sat her butt on my desk, her pencil skirt’s waistband pushing up the fat tissue on her stomach. I would have never dared to wear anything like that. God knew my fat tissue was visible enough as it was. But… I kind of also respected her for being so courageous.

“You fancy going out for dinner on Friday with me and some of the lasses?” Lettie asked her Scottish accent as thick as my hard-won Oxford one.

I hated that the dialect just made Lettie more endearing.

“Sorry,” I gave back immediately. “But I’m not free on that day.”

Her face fell, but I had no clue why – it wasn’t like I had ever said Yes to the countless offers she’d thrown my way in the past. Or that I’d ever let on that I’d say Yes in the future.

My co-worker sighed. “This is getting ridiculous,” she told me quietly. “You never agree to do anything but work. And I know that you don’t have anyone other than your family. You know that this is unhealthy, right? You need to have fun, and you need to hang out with other people, Lesa.”

Anger flared inside of me, and I glowered at her. “Last time I checked, I didn’t ask for your opinion on my life,” I snapped. “Now, if you have anything about the Carton’s project you want to tell me about, please do so. But otherwise,” I waved around the stack of papers in front of me. “I have work to do.”

Hardness slammed Lettie’s face shut like she’d put on a mask, and she stood up. Without another word, she turned around and left, heading towards a group of people standing by the tiny buffet of coffee, tea, scones, biscuits, and croissants… And she somehow managed to make it look like she’d intended to go there all along.

Strangely… I felt bad about that. About rejecting her.

Don’t, Mitch wanted to tell her. You’re protecting yourself and everyone around you. She'll just break your heart.

But Lesa couldn’t hear him, and he couldn’t change her feelings.

I tried to push away the guilt and the inexplicable knot of… pain. And loneliness. None of that mattered. I had work to do.

The grey, old-fashioned telephone started to ring, and I automatically picked up.

“Cartwright & Co., you’re speaking to Ms. Chenning. What can I do for you?”

“Ms. Chenning,” a voice I had come to hate said, and I just managed to swallow my groan. “Here’s Mrs. Jenny Klein from the bank. I just wanted to remind you that your deadline for the next rate of 12,000 pounds was due last week…”

“Yes,” I interrupted, my eyes automatically finding the remainder of said deadline on the magnetic pad with my to-do list. “I know. I’m sorry, I’ll pay as soon as I’m able.”

Damn my ex to hell and back for indebting me and my son up to the ears before bailing on us for good. I could barely afford the kind of education and medical care Aiden needed!

“You have been late with the rates for a while, Mrs. Chenning,” Mrs. Klein said, unamused. “I do hope this is not a trend.”

“If you want to know about trends, I suggest you consult the Vogue,” I gave back helpfully, my fingers moving to my temples. “I’ll pay within the week.” With that, I excused myself and hung up.

God, I needed to ask my boss for extra hours. And I really needed to make that Carlton project the best thing I’d ever done – because that’d give me a raise.. And if I got a raise, we had money. And if we had money, these phone calls would finally stop happening.

Ripping a pink post-it to shreds just for the heck of it, I went to work, ignoring the constant headache that haunted me every time I thought about our financial situation.

Mitch swallowed. This woman… had a child. A child that still went to school and would lose the only parent he had left!

He saw him in Lesa’s thoughts, a twelve-year-old boy. Blind, with crippled legs since that fire three years ago. Both disabilities made him a special needs kid in school and… everywhere else, basically.

Mitch had worked with people who’d lost limbs. They needed barrier-free homes, special means of transportation, special furniture. Wheelchairs. Physical therapy. And so much other stuff that was important. The blindness would make things even worse. And he was twelve…

Mitch quickly calculated the living costs for Aiden and Lesa in London, of all places, and then added the debts they already had.

Shit.

Lesa was… up to her eyebrows in debt and would likely never get out of there.

Mitch swallowed again as he felt the radiating love the woman had for her son.

She regretted nothing. She’d rip out her own limbs to make sure Aiden had what he needed, to make sure he was happy.

Mitch shook his head. Aiden was one lucky boy to have her.

But if she died…

He shuddered at the implications. A boy like Aiden in the system… Mitch wanted to vomit at the thought. And goodness knew, the poor guy had gone through enough already. Ripping his only parent away from him…

Exactly something Death would do, he thought grimly, disgust flooding what wasn’t even him anymore.

The next time my phone rang, it was one of my sisters. I first wanted to snap at her for calling me at work, but… she was right. It was technically my break time, and it wasn’t her fault I’d attempted to work through it.

“Let me guess, the demoness from hell called again?” she asked as she heard my “the b***h is back” tone, and I knew what she’d say next. “Please, Lesa, let me help…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I huffed, tapping my stylish blue bullet pen on a stack of post-its. “I can manage.”

“I love you and Aiden to bits, and my hubby and I make enough money to spare some,” she reasoned. “Please. He’s my nephew, and you’re my sister. This is what family’s there for. We’re not meant to do it all alone.”

“Good-bye, Shauna.” I slammed the phone back into its station hard enough that it rattled.

I had this discussion with both of my parents and my three siblings on a weekly basis. Hanging up was the only way to get them to back off – and I needed them to back off.

Letting Jaimie into my life all those years ago had been my mistake. This was the price I had to pay for my stupidity, so I’d bloody well pay it.

A shame though that the paying was literal.

I groaned and just managed to ignore the urge to rip another post-it to shreds. Better use my rage for something more productive: work. I turned back to my computer, needing to get some money into my bank account.

In the afternoon, I rose from my office chair with an ominous squeak – time to pick up my son from school.

But as I huddled in front of the elevator with four other colleagues I barely ever spoke to, my private cell started to ring.

For some reason, a chill snaked up my spine, and I got a terrible, terrible feeling. “Hullo?” I answered, my heart in my throat.

The line was silent, and immediately all my warning bells started to ring. A sob cracked through the speaker. “It’s Dad,” Shauna whispered in a tone that belonged to a horror movie. “He’s dying.”