When Death Loved an Angel

by Cheree Alsop

  Death walked away with his head low and eyes clouded. The names disappeared from his arm. He sat on a stoop of a bakery shop wishing he could smell the rolls and bread being baked within; those who passed by commented on how good it smelled. At least it would distract him from the heaviness in his chest. Some walked through him in or out of the bakery. They paused when they did so. One commented that a storm must be coming because the air felt chilly; another felt like crying, but couldn’t explain why. Death ignored them and kept his head bowed, wondering what the point was.

  “He’s having a heart attack!” someone yelled down the street.

  “Not again,” Death said quietly. He usually had to go looking for the names on his list. For some reason now they were finding him.

  Death looked up to see several people easing an older gentleman to his back on the sidewalk. He clutched his left arm and his face was twisted in agony. Wrinkles lined his skin, but they looked like they were caused by smiling rather than age. His hair was white and covered by a tan and orange cap that matched one worn by a young boy who knelt at his side. The boy looked up at a man who was no doubt his father by their identical eyes and the worried pucker between their eyebrows.

  “Dad, Dad, can you hear me?” the man asked.

  “Jeremy, is he going to be alright?” a young lady cried, clutching the older man’s arm.

  “Grandpa!” the boy called frantically, “Grandpa!”

  Death’s arm gave a twinge. He didn’t look down. He crossed slowly to the group. A man with red hair was talking quickly on a cellphone. By the sound of it, he was giving directions to the paramedics. The woman next to him held an infant in her arms. Her eyes were filled with tears.

  Another young man stood with his arm around an older woman whose hair was gray and laugh lines matched those of the man on the ground. She repeated a name over and over again. “Gordon, Gordon, it’s going to be okay. Gordon, please don’t leave me.” She tried to kneel down, but she held a cane and the man beside her braced her up.

  “It’s going to be alright, Mom. The ambulance is on its way, right Jeff?”

  The man on the cellphone nodded, but continued giving speaking into the phone.

  “I’m not ready.”

  Death looked down to see Gordon Jacobson looking directly at him. The older man’s eyes were wide with pain, but he was lucid and his aged green eyes bored into Death’s. “I’m not ready,” he repeated.

  Death crouched outside the ring of people that surrounded the man. “The list says you are,” he told Gordon.

  Gordon looked up at his wife. She clutched the arm of their son and tears rolled down her face. He shook his head. “I can’t go yet.”

  “Look at me, Dad,” one of the sons said frantically. The grandson with the matching hat held Gordon’s hand as though it was a lifeline.

  “I’m not supposed to leave you,” Death said.

  “Just for a while longer,” Gordon replied, his voice calm even through the pain.

  “Who’s he talking to?” a woman asked, her tone tight with worry.

  “What difference will it make?” Death pressed. It was the most important question, one he had to know the answer to.

  In answer, the air sparked between them. Death saw images in his mind. They weren’t memories. The edges shimmered and distorted.

  He saw Gordon watching a graduation. The grandson who wore the matching hat walked across a stage filled with other students. A sign in front of the podium said “Congratulations 8th graders!” The image shifted. Death watched a baby as it was brought into the world. The dad smiled and patted Gordon on the back. “Twenty grandchildren, Pops. What a legacy!”

  The final scene appeared in a blur of white. They were in a different hospital room. This time Gordon’s wife was on the bed. He held her hand, his gaze soft. “You promised to take care of me,” the woman said in a voice softer than a whisper. “You’ve done that and so much more. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Gordon leaned over and kissed her forehead, his tears mingling with hers. “I won’t be far behind,” he whispered.

  She smiled and closed her eyes.

  Death took a shuddering breath and lifted his gaze to where Gordon lay on the sidewalk. “I promised,” Gordon said.

  Death nodded. He rose and watched them load Gordon onto a stretcher. Gordon lifted a hand as he was wheeled to the ambulance. Death waved his in return. He drifted back the way he had come. The telling throb of the name on his arm told of another job left incomplete. He returned to the steps of the bakery.

  All at once, the smells came to him. He jerked his head around, staring wide-eyed at the open door behind him. Scents of rolls, sourdough, wheat buns, and loaves of bread tangled around him like a spider web, overwhelming him with the amazing smells. He rose in a daze and wandered through the door. Inside, people bought loaves and baguettes, packages of rolls and buns. He watched money exchange hands, and saw a little girl lick her lips at the prospect of a cinnamon roll.

  Death laughed.

  In his memory, he had never laughed, hadn’t so much as smiled, except for the one that brought the women to him and got him whatever he wanted; but that wasn’t him, not really. The laughter that rolled from his chest came from deep down in places he hadn’t known light existed until it escaped from him in waves. He inhaled the scent of yeast and butter, salt and the heat of ovens, and let out the breath with laughter that doubled him over and had him clutching his stomach.

  He didn’t know why it was so funny, or why he felt so good when he stood gasping for bread-scented air, but he couldn’t stop smiling when he left the bakery. Those he passed turned back to look; it wasn’t fear that tickled the backs of their necks but something else, some unexplainable sensation that made them want to smile and run away at the same time.

  Chapter Twenty

  ANGEL

  Nyra paced the room. Devon had said he would return. The thought made her stomach do a little flip. She couldn’t remember being so nervous.

  All at once, a memory rose from her mind. She let it soak through her, brimming with all the enthusiasm and eagerness of youth.

  She was a child at a spelling bee. She sat on the front row, the third seat from the left. It was almost her turn. Mother had gone over the list with her so many times both of them lost count. She couldn’t hold still. Her fingers were shaking. She wanted so badly to run away from the stage, but Mother was down below, watching with shining eyes.

  When her name was called, Nyra walked slowly to the podium. The presenter said a word. Nyra had to ask her to repeat it. She still couldn’t quite understand, but she tried anyway. “E-N-D-I-B-L-E,” she spelled.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s incorrect,” the presenter said. “Please take a seat below.”

  Nyra glanced at her mother. It didn’t matter that she had spelled the word completely incorrect. She still wasn’t sure what word she was supposed to have spelled, but the pride that shone on her mother’s face took away any guilt or sorrow. She had tried, and that was all Mother wanted her to do. Mother was proud of her.

  The memory drifted along, carrying Nyra away. She seldom let herself get caught up in her memories. It was a different life, a different time. She was an angel now, far from her life. Yet it was a part of her as well.

  Memories drifted through her childhood and teenage years. She saw the beat up purple Volkswagen that had been her first car, one that flooded inside if she ever drove through a puddle, and if she turned on the heater it filled the interior with exhaust, but she loved that little purple car. She saw her first crush, her first kiss, and then the kiss that pronounced her as wife to the most wonderful man in the world.

  “You don’t have to go,” Tyler said, tucking her hair behind her ear as he smiled down at her.

  “It’ll be alright,” she reassured him, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “I’ll be back in a week.”

  Though they had been married a year, a week away felt like an eternity. She waved at
him as he walked back through the airport terminal, clutching the box of chocolates he had surprised her with before her flight. He waved back and held up his hand in the sign language for love. It was their sign; they did it whenever they parted. She held up her hand and he grinned before disappearing around the corner.

  The man in front of her shuffled his steps. When everyone else was busy placing their shoes and purses in the bins to be scanned, he stalled, checking his phone for the hundredth time. Behind Nyra, a young couple smiled and joked as they helped their son put his Mickey Mouse backpack in a bin. He was worried about his stuffed bear, but they reassured him the bear would be just fine.

  Nyra turned just as the man in front of her pulled something from his jacket. Shots rang through the air. Time slowed. A security officer dove toward the man. The young father behind her reached for his son’s hand, but the boy was trying to pull his bear from the backpack. The man with the gun turned. A bullet drove into the metal next to the conveyor belt with a sharp ring. His finger tightened on the trigger again.

  Nyra grabbed the boy and turned, shielding him with her body. She felt the jarring impact of the bullet that entered her back. She knew the pain would follow later, but it never did. Three airport security officers tackled the man. The gun hit the floor and slid next to Nyra’s foot. The young couple knelt beside her.

  The father took his son gently from her arms. The mother held Nyra, tears streaming down her face.

  Nyra closed her eyes and let the memory fade away.

  “Are you alright?”

  The sound of Devon’s voice brought her back to the present with a jolt. She opened her eyes and wiped the tears from her cheeks.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Don’t mind me.”

  Devon’s eyes were bright with worry. He stood by the foot of Gregan’s bed as if he wanted to go to her, but wasn’t sure how to help. His concern filled her with a hundred emotions. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. It had been so long since someone was concerned about her.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  The warm syllables of his voice made her smile. She wished she could tell him just how much she had missed him. “I’m alright,” she said.

  He gestured toward his brother. “Gregan looks better. I think he’s on the up side of it now.”

  It was suddenly important to her that he knew her tears hadn’t been for Gregan. He was getting better, and he had Betsy. Gregan’s fiancé had shown her love in a thousand ways since he had been in the hospital. She would take care of him far better than Nyra was able to. She pushed the guilt down. “I wasn’t crying for Gregan, I was just. . . .” She didn’t know what to say. There was no protocol for talking to humans who saw guardian angels. She didn’t know if she should tell him anything or not.

  Devon took a step closer. He looked as though it cost him to stand next to her, as if it took every ounce of willpower to hold still. Dark hair fell in front of one of his eyes. She wanted to push it back, and imagined how it would feel. It had been so long since she had felt anything. “What made you cry, Nyra?”

  Her heart sang at her name from his lips. She couldn’t deny him the truth. “I was just remembering my life.”

  Devon stared at her. She immediately regretted the statement, but before she could take it back, he said in a soft voice, “You were alive once, like Gregan?”

  “Like you,” she replied.

  He blinked, then glanced at Gregan. “You remember it?” His words were bare, stark as if they were the most important thing in the world even though he tried not to show it.

  She wondered what made him look so sad, so empty. Perhaps it was the thought of her life that had passed; perhaps he had just had a rough day as an exterminator. She gave him a gentle smile. “It was a wonderful life.”

  He watched her, his eyebrows pulled together and something unfathomable in his eyes. “I’m glad,” he said finally, the hint of a smile at his lips. “You deserve a beautiful life.”

  “Thank you,” she said, touched.

  He watched her a few more seconds, then turned away as though realizing what he was doing. He took a seat at Gregan’s side and smiled at her again. The glow in his eyes filled her with warmth. She drifted closer.

  “Want to hear another memory?”

  “I would love to,” she replied.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  DEATH

  “I followed the path to the lake. I don’t know what made me walk that way, but when I got there, it was the most amazing thing.” Death sat back in the chair in Gregan’s room and smiled at Nyra, recounting the memory as though it was his own.

  The woman he had taken earlier had been in a care center forgotten by her family. When he showed up, she cried tears of relief. Death showed her the pathway with a light heart, grateful to help someone who truly wanted it. “A doe was drinking from the lake. The sun was rising behind her, casting her in shades of orange and red. She raised her head and looked at me. The water that fell from her mouth looked like drops of gold. We just stared at each other. Her beautiful brown eyes were so large and warm. I felt like I knew her, like we were friends somehow. A noise startled her and she bounced away, but for that one moment we were connected.”

  “That’s beautiful, Devon” Nyra breathed. “I’ve never seen a deer. I’ll bet it was amazing.”

  “It was,” Death agreed, remembering how he felt when he had seen the memory. “One of the most amazing things I have ever experienced.”

  Nyra shook her head with an appreciative sigh. “How incredible.”

  Death smiled at the wistful look in her eyes. Her beauty was in subtle shades, the kindness that colored her eyes, the warmth that rounded her smile, the honesty of her voice, and the truth in every look. Death had never met anyone like her. She stole the breath he didn’t have to take; his heart beat in rhythm with hers whenever he entered the room. He felt real, alive, like he mattered when she looked at him the way she did, like he was the only person on earth. He was used to feeling the opposite. Nobody saw him until lately. Nyra had turned his entirely existence on its head.

  “Do you know what bread smells like?” he asked.

  She laughed, taken aback by the question out of the blue. “I used to,” she said. “It’s been a very long time.”

  He smiled. “It’s my favorite smell in the entire world, so warm and rich, like, well, like warm bread.”

  “Not a good analogy,” she pointed out, her smiled filled with laughter.

  “Oh, right.” Death gave a self-conscious shrug. “I guess I don’t have anything to compare it to, but it’s still my favorite.” Before she could get curious about his response, he rushed on, “I can just imagine that not smelling anything would be so frustrating.”

  “Touching is worse.” Nyra blushed and ducked her head as though the admission had come by accident.

  Death stepped around the bed toward her. “Don’t do that,” he said gently.

  “Don’t do what?” Nyra asked without looking up.

  Death stopped in front of her. “Don’t hide from me like that. You can talk to me honestly. Don’t feel embarrassed about telling me.” His tone was soft, encouraging.

  The warmth in his voice made her head lift, but she kept her eyes on the floor. “I miss being able to touch anyone.”

  Death watched her, his expression kind. “I can imagine how hard it must be,” he said gently.

  She nodded. “It was long ago,” she said, her tone wistful. “But that was another life entirely.” She finally met his gaze. “I shouldn’t be telling you.”

  “Who am I going to tell?” he asked. He stood only a foot from her, the closest he had allowed himself to get since she almost touched his face. “Your secrets are safe with me,” he said.

  Her gaze held his. There was something in her green eyes that kindled an answer in his soul. He wanted to hold her; he wanted to kiss her. He wanted things he had never had, a true, honest, deep relationship with another person, with her. He l
ifted a hand without knowing it. Her chin raised slightly and she closed her eyes. He was about to put a hand on her jaw, that perfect place along the neck and the curve of her face that begged to be held. He was about to pull her to him, to kiss her deeply and tenderly, to answer the yearning in his soul.

  Barely a millimeter waited between his fingers and her skin when he caught himself. He took a step back with his heart in his throat. He stared at his hand and the perfect hue of her skin. He had almost touched her. He didn’t even know if he could touch an angel, but if he did, what then? He was Death. His touch meant the end of life for those he encountered.

  Except when you’re living, the voice in the back of his head reminded him.

  But she’s an angel, he argued, staring at her for what felt like centuries when it was only the space of two breaths, enough time for his heart to shatter into a million pieces. I’m Death. Even if I my touch doesn’t kill her, her life will be ruined. What am I thinking?

  “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. He stumbled around Gregan’s bed and ran to the door. He fumbled with the handle, then flung the door open and hurried down the hall. People stared in his wake, then back at the empty doorway Nyra stood in, watching him go.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  ANGEL

  Nyra felt as though her soul left with Devon. He had almost kissed her. That knowledge pulsed through her, beating within her as if she had a heartbeat. She had wanted to be kissed, had believed that he could do it. For the barest moment, she believed she would feel the brush of his lips against hers. She sang inside and couldn’t stop smiling.

  With Gregan, love had come gradually. She had come to love him through the way he treated his neighbors and the way his laughter made those around him join in. She loved the way he courted Betsy, opening her door and telling her sweet things whenever they were together. She loved his smile and the laughter in his eyes.