Whispers

Deaths

Lucius walked out of his bathroom in unbuttoned jeans and nothing else. A long, languorous shower was what the doctor ordered after the night he'd been through. For fifteen minutes, his forehead was plastered to the tile in front of him, letting the heavy stream rain down his back to ease the corded muscle before he did anything else. An hour later, he dried his hair with a towel, not acknowledging the figure that stood by his four-poster in a crisp, navy suit.

Even in the guise of a sixty-year-old, Tomas still looked younger than men in their early forties. Vitality and power oozed out of him. It befitted his mentor. Other whisperers acknowledged Tomas as their superior. He'd been around longer than any of them; at least, that was what Lucius believed. He didn’t know anyone old enough not to have known Tomas other than Dee. Everyone had a recollection of meeting the gathering’s moderator.

“How long are you going to ignore me?” Tomas asked.

“For as long as I can. I have a feeling I'm in trouble,” Lucius answered.

When he was created, he'd been assigned to Tomas' tutelage. Everything he knew, everything he believed in, even his work ethic and sense of duty came from Tomas. If he considered anyone his parent, it would have to be Tomas. Dee was more like an older brother.

"Wipe that loony smile off your face, boy. Of course, you're in trouble!" Tomas shoved his hands into his pockets. "Do you have any idea how much distress your little stunt in the basement caused?"

Lucius dropped the towel and draped himself over a bedside chair he used for reading. He covered his face with one hand and peeked at Tomas through his fingers.

“I'm guessing that's why you're here.”

“Damn right I am! You let yourself get so weak that you pretty much drained all the energy from the souls you had in your basement.” His voice boomed like boulders bumping together down a mountain. “It's called residual energy because you only take enough to replenish what you've lost!”

“I did take just enough.”

“I looked at those souls, Lucius! They were emaciated when you brought them in. Some barely made it through processing. Why did you let yourself get so weak anyway?”

“I don't know.” He pushed deeper into the chair, unwilling to lift his gaze.

“You don't know?” Tomas paced in front of him. “What kind response is that?”

“I'm a teen, remember?”

Tomas cursed like a dockworker. “Do not give me lip, boy!”

Lucius sobered. He'd never seen Tomas so upset. Prickling energy radiated from the old whisperer, stinging everything it touched. Lucius eyed the shirt on his bed. Sitting bare-chested near an incensed whisperer of his caliber was far from comfortable.

“I apologize, Tomas.”

He stood and reached for the other whisperer's right hand and touched its knuckles to his forehead. A sign of great respect and bravery. If Tomas decided to get rid of Lucius then and there, all he needed to do was touch the palm of his hand onto the younger whisperer’s forehead and release enough energy to overload his system. Another way for a whisperer to die. Lucius considered how painful it would be. He’d already go through the Fade and wouldn’t want a repeat of the fun. If he really were suicidal, maybe having a whisperer older than he was overloading his system was the way to go.

“Oh, my boy,” Tomas softened, “you need to be more careful. I'd like to think that I taught you better.” He pulled his hand away from Lucius’ grip and ruffled his wet hair. “Sit down. I want to talk to you.”

“There's nothing to talk about.”

“Sit down.” Tomas nudged Lucius.

He tumbled back onto the chair, feet planted firmly on the floor. “I don't think—”

“How long have you been depressed?” Tomas interrupted. His voice took on a fatherly tone he rarely used. It caused Lucius to gape for a full minute.

In less than a second, Lucius found himself feeling like a newborn whisperer again. The way Tomas searched his face for answers always called to bonds of family they only shared in private, and not so much as of late. He tried to recall the last time Tomas had actually sounded like a father to him. The Civil War had still been raging. The North and the South locked in a bare-knuckle battle.

Since when, Lucius?” Tomas urged.

Heart in tatters, composure close to non-existent, Lucius choked up when he said, “Three, maybe four lifetimes ago. I can't really be sure.” His head fell into his hands. He watched dark dots spatter over the carpet directly below. “Everything just seemed the same. No matter how many times I wake up. No matter the time I'm in. Nothing really changes. Yes, the people change, but everything remains the same. Slowly, so slowly . . . ” His voice hitched. He had to swallow to continue. “I began to lose sight of what I was living for.”

“The job—”

“Yes, I have my job. I whispered and escorted the souls to the Crossroads. But what was I living for?”

He laughed. Tears still streaming down his face, he laughed. Then he straightened from his position to stare Tomas in the face.

In a blur of movement, the old whisperer wrapped Lucius in a firm embrace. Lucius used Tomas' shoulder to cover his eyes, dried the river that refused to stay inside him. He knew Tomas wouldn't care if his suit was ruined. He probably had a thousand more just like it hanging in a huge closet in a mansion somewhere in California.

The voices that had reemerged when he'd woken up that morning softened like they sympathized.

“Tell me the rest,” Tomas said. “Finish your story.”

A deep breath later, Lucius said against Tomas' soaked jacket, “Without really knowing it, I'd let myself fade. I stopped taking in residual energy. Shamus saw it, was worried about me, but I ignored him. Played the tough guy. Snapping at Janika gave me an out. If she killed me, I would have the perfect excuse. But the b***h wouldn't do it. So, I tried to go home, but the last of my powers took me to a bench near a hospital instead. I didn't know why until my angel came down from the heavens and saved me."

Tomas held Lucius at arm’s length to lock gazes with him. “Angel?”

“Karina.” Lucius swiped the back of his hand under his nose and sniffed. “Would you believe she quoted Kofi Annan at me?” The facial expression on Tomas told Lucius his father didn't quite get what he’d meant, so he said with a half sigh half laugh, “To live is to choose. There's more to it, but that's the part I like the best. She said: to live is to choose. I don’t quite understand what this means, but I intend to find out.”

He stood and walked to the towel he'd dropped to the floor. After picking it up, he used it to dry his face. Under Tomas' watchful gaze, he exchanged the towel for the buttoned-down shirt Shamus had laid out for him and put it on.

“Why are you here?” he asked as if they hadn’t shared a moment together. “I don't believe Dee sent you just to tell me what a mess I'm in.”

Tomas returned his hands to the safety of his pockets. His lips disappeared into a thin line. “I'm sorry, Lucius, but you've been placed on probation.”

Lucius ignored the hand of dread that closed around his neck. “What does that entail?”

“That I'll be watching you.”

“Well, thank you, Big Brother.”

“Lucius, you know what I mean. And I agree with Dee’s decision. You need to be watched. You’re still a potential danger to yourself and your fellow whisperers. I hate to admit this, but you’ve become reckless, boy.”

“I won't repeat what happened yesterday. You have my word on it.”

Tomas squeezed his charge's shoulder. “I believe in your word. But I would also like to see for myself that you're alright. What happened to me all those years ago is nothing compared to what you did. You let yourself get to the point where you were actually in the process of the Fade. I will not allow that to ever happen again, even if I have to siphon energy for you.”

“You can do that?”

“You won't believe what I can do.”

“How long are you babysitting?”

“Until Dee and I come to an agreement that you won't put yourself in harms way again.”

Lucius grabbed his jacket from the foot of his bed. He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know.

“And Karina?”

Tomas raised an eyebrow at him. “The girl?”

The flippant manner in which Tomas addressed her stirred tendrils of anger within Lucius that he couldn’t quite understand the reason for. He breathed out slowly.

“Yes, the girl.”

“Her memory of assisting you yesterday has been wiped away.” Tomas shrugged. It was a very human habit. “She won’t remember she’d ever met you.”

Lucius didn’t know how to feel about that. To have her forget him was necessary, he understood that much. Humans had no place knowing that whisperers existed, let alone what they did.

“I have to go,” he said, moving toward the door and shrugging on his bomber jacket.

“Where?”

“You know where”

Tomas smiled before he disappeared.

***

The sun wore a gray shawl of clouds around it that day, muted in its brilliance despite the early afternoon. It seemed appropriate considering the occasion. Lucius sought solace in the company of a stately oak, about fifty yards from those gathered. Its branches stretched out in all directions, providing shade to anyone who sheltered under her loving embrace. He rested his hand on its trunk, feeling its life force like every beat of his heart.

Stoic outside yet troubled inside, he watched mourners drop daisies into a grave. The casket had been lowered not five minutes before. It was the ninth one of the day. The cheerleader.

The ceremony had concluded and those gathered were invited to pay their final respects. Mostly students and teachers. The family huddled together, a pack united against those who approached to give their sympathy.

His fingers dug deep gouges into the rough bark. Eight of the nine funerals that day were packed. Only the ninth had a poor attendance. Lucius figured no one would want to be a part of the ceremony of the boy who’d killed children in cold blood.

What they didn’t understand in their grief was Tommy Humphrey deserved sympathy more than any one of the children buried with him that day. He’d been driven toward his actions by Lucius’ whispering, for sure, but he’d been a battered child. Someone who had no one until the very end. He didn’t deserve that loneliness. This Lucius was sure about, but he could only observe. His job wasn’t to interfere with the business of humans. Let them mourn their loss.

“See this is what I don’t understand about you,” came a familiar Southern drawl.

Lucius turned to his left to see Desmond running his hand through the tight curls atop his perfectly proportioned head. “And what is that?”

“You drive them toward unspeakable acts yet you attend their funerals.” Desmond shook his head. “Why do you do this to yourself, man?”

In all fairness, Lucius considered Desmond’s question. This was the first time his friend actually showed himself at one of these things. He’d known for some time that Desmond had the tendency to spy on him. Not that Lucius minded. He had nothing to hide. Just that he was surprised that it had taken Desmond this long to finally show himself. Maybe the mass murder aspect of his latest whispering really bothered the easy-going whisperer by his side.

“I don’t have a clear answer to your question, Des,” Lucius admitted, returning his gaze to the thinning crowd.

He looked up. The clouds had gotten darker as the afternoon deepened. Would it rain? During a funeral? How cliché would that be? Albeit appropriate.

If Lucius had the power to make it rain, he would. But nature was beyond the realm of creatures like him. He was nothing more than a grunt for Fate, Destiny, whatever they wanted to call themselves. Those who decided who lived and who died.

“I guess . . . I just need to see that all is right with the world. That everything is in its place,” Lucius continued when Desmond didn’t seem like he would say anything until given a satisfactory answer.

“I don’t know what to make of that. A part of me thinks it’s sick that you have to watch the funerals of those you’ve helped leave the world of the living.”

“But you know we don’t do anything until the idea enters their minds without some conviction, right?” Lucius studied the groves his fingers had made on the trunk of the great oak. He felt increasingly uncomfortable having to explain his actions. “Certainly you understand that we only assist. Nothing more.”

“Don’t feed me that bull. You know what I mean.” Desmond turned his back on the grave being filled by the grounds keeper with fresh dirt. Soon it would be blanketed with grass like the rest of the graves that surrounded it. Lucius found some justice in that. In life, they worked hard to distinguish themselves, but in death, they were all the same.

“Then I don’t know what to say to you.”

Lucius’ attention was captured by a flash of red streaked with bright orange and gold strands. Even in the graying light, her hair still burned like the flame imprisoned by his massive fireplace. The black dress she wore acted like the perfect canvas for the cascade of silk down her back. An urge to follow her tugged at the center of his chest. The voices in his head encouraged him for once. What was it about this girl that calmed them? Usually, they attempted to give him a migraine just for the fun of it.

Desmond’s voice distracted Lucius for a second, breaking the spell Karina’s presence cast. “In the centuries that I’ve known you, bud, this is the first time I can truly say that you confuse me. And I’m not the type easily confused by things.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Lucius’ lips. “Then you’re about to witness me do something even more confusing.”

Without waiting for Desmond to respond, Lucius moved away from the giant tree to follow Karina. In her hand, she held a single white rose. Lithe steps had her skirting graves left and right. Her hair fanned out behind her. The lightest of breezes danced among the locks. Lucius had to suppress the urge to reach out and run his fingers through the golden red strands.

She’d feel it as tugging, but if she happened to turn in the search for the touch, she wouldn't see him. He was at full power again, which meant he'd be invisible to her eyes. He could show himself if he wanted to, but he wanted to see where she was going first.

They’d been the only two at the cemetery. The mourners had left the graves of their loved ones. He wanted to ask Karina if her parents were with her and why they would allow her to wander the grounds alone. Well, technically she wasn’t alone. But the need to protect her from anything that came to harm her punched Lucius in the gut. The realization came at him hard enough to stop him in his tracks. He stood between a praying angel and a large cross, staring at Karina leave the rose she held on top of a simple headstone.

Apparently, they had reached their destination: Tommy Humphrey’s grave.

His heart contracted. Karina was the only one from Blackwood High who visited his grave that day. When Lucius arrived to attend the services, only Tommy’s family showed up.

In fact, it was surprising to him that the local police released the body for burial so quickly. In most cases, the suspect would be held at the morgue for a couple of weeks at least. Maybe the family declined the autopsy. And since the assailant took his own life, the case was practically closed.

Lucius pushed away the mechanical way he thought of Tommy. He wasn’t a suspect. He was a boy who lost his way, and it seemed that Karina understood as well. She bowed her head, clasped her hands together, and murmured a prayer.

That was another thing Lucius didn’t get about humans. Their propensity to pray. God heard them, this he knew, but there was nothing He could do. Everything was laid out once a human was born. All the events that would happen in the infant’s life had been planned out. If Karina knew this, would she still pray for Tommy? If she knew his soul had already been processed, would she still be here leaving a flower on his grave?

After the moment of prayer passed, Karina caught a stray tear from the corner of her eye with her fingertips. Breathing in, she looked up at the sky. The light bathed her face, bringing into focus her sculpted cheekbones, the straight line of her nose, and the supple bow of her lips. The sight of her took Lucius’ breath away.

In all the years he’d lived, he’d never seen anything quite as exquisite as Karina standing there with her face toward the sky. She might as well join the angels in heaven, she was so beautiful.

Lucius froze when she turned her head toward him. For an instant, she stared right at him, her eyes intent. Lucius had to remind himself that she couldn’t really see him. He looked over his shoulder to see what Karina was really looking at.

A part of him wished she really could see him, and the voices approve, which annoyed him slightly. It was hard enough trying to figure out why he felt this way without a group of voices agreeing or disagreeing with him like a chorus straight out of a Greek tragedy.

Karina moved toward the bench set along the path created for mourners so they wouldn’t have to walk among the graves to get in and out of the cemetery. She sat down and sighed. A look not quite sad but not entirely happy arranged her facial features. The best Lucius could tell, she seemed confused, like a battle waged inside her.

Curiosity sparked, Lucius circled the bench until he was directly behind her. Then he did something he’d never done before.

“May I join you?”

The question left his lips without him needing to thinking twice about it. He needed to know what she was thinking, and not being a mind reader, the only way he could do so was to appear before her.

Karina looked up, and as he expected, she was surprised to see him there. The part of him that wished she’d seen him when she turned her head wanted her to remember him. But it was clear from her expression that she didn’t. Dee had done a great job having her memory wiped.

Sensing Lucius waited for her reply to his question, Karina slide to one side of the bench and made room for him. To his chagrin, the other half of Lucius begged for Desmond to materialize so he could talk him out of something potentially stupid. Whisperers didn’t show themselves to humans. Why would they? Their job was to push someone over the edge.

“Who are you visiting today?” she asked.

Lucius copied the shrug Tomas performed earlier. “All of them, I guess.”

Speaking to humans. Lucius mentally shook his head. His mentor had called him reckless. Maybe he was right. What did he stand to gain by engaging in a conversation he could never have again? But hearing her voice talking to him—to him—in itself made the risk he was taking worth it.

She studied him. Lucius had to fight the urge to stare into the deep pools of her eyes. He kept his gaze on the rose she left on Tommy’s grave.

“You’re the only one from school who visited him. Why?”

His question had her looking at the rose as well.

“I don’t know.” She shrugged as well. It was definitely such a human habit. “In the back of my mind, I hate him for what he did. Butt . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Lucius waited for her to continue, but she seemed to slip into a daze.

“But?” he encouraged.

His gaze fell to her hands. No rings. No polish. Perfectly rounded nail tips. He was tempted to take one of them and lean his cheek into a palm he was sure was petal soft. His fingers ached. Sweat rose from them.

In order to keep his hands busy, he rubbed them against his jean clad thighs.

Karina licked her lower lip, which effectively killed Lucius’s composure. Heat crawled over his cheeks. If he didn’t leave, he would end up doing more than talk to her.

In a jolt that startled him more than her, Lucius stood up and said, “I-I-I . . .” He cleared the tightness in his throat. “I need to go.”

He jerked to his right and power-walked away from the bench. His legs wanted to run, but he forced himself not to. When he was sure he was far enough, he veered right and disappeared.