My Soul Immortal

by Jen Printy

  He stops abruptly, looking at me with exasperation. “Jack, keep up. No time for play.”

  I sigh and run to catch him. Mother sent us to fetch Father from town. Mrs. Piler, the schoolmaster, has been ill for weeks, and today, she took a turn for the worse. As vicar, my father is needed. Despite the nature of our mission, I cannot contain my excitement, and I bounce along at my brother’s side.

  Henry smirks and ruffles my hair. “I do hope you’re not pinning your hopes on Old Vile Piler’s death. Hasn’t her switch taught you anything? She’s too nasty to die.”

  I screw up my face, shake my head, then smile. “It’s the gift for Mother. Father was buying it this afternoon.”

  “Ah, yes, the remarkable music box.” He chuckles.

  Another burst of anticipation charges through me, and I run ahead. Around the next bend, I catch sight of Father’s gray speckled mare grazing in the Edmunds’ field. I stop, and Henry halts at my side. “Look. Mags.” I point and look up at my brother.

  He stares into the distance, paying me no attention. His face is a ghostly white.

  “Jack, stay here,” Henry commands and runs toward a black mound lying in the middle of the road.

  Instead of obeying, I follow him. Splintered wood litters the roadway. Sunlight glints off brass workings of a music box, strewn like rubbish in the dirt. I slow. Blood stains the ground. A pathway of crimson leads to a dark figure lying face down. My mouth goes dry, as parched as the dust covering my boots with a thin film.

  Henry bends down. Grabbing the figure’s arm, he twists the black heap over. My father’s vacant eyes stare into mine. I scream, but no sound escapes.

  The memory recedes. Trembling, I boost myself into a sitting position and slump against the iron ornate railing, finding my breath. With effort, I stand. The door swings open. A group of guys rush out in an explosion of laughter. The last boy catches the door for me. I look up to thank him, discovering Nathan smiling at me with mocking expression.

  “Leah’s gonna love this, dude. You’re drunk.”

  I ignore him and stumble in though the open door. Outside Leah’s room, I rest my forehead against the doorframe, regaining my composure before knocking.

  “Hello,” she says through the closed door.

  “It’s me.”

  The door flies open. “Jack Hammond! If you ever pull a stunt like—” Her angry expression morphs into concern. “Are you hurt?”

  I look down to discover a brownish-red smear along my fingers and across my palms—Ed’s blood. Still having trouble finding my words, I shake my head. She tugs me into her room, and I collapse into her arms, burying my face in her hair. “Ed died this morning.”

  “Oh my God! How?”

  “He—” My mouth is dry. I clear my throat. “He was murdered. It was hard seeing him like that.”

  “You found him?”

  I thrust away and rub my temples with my fingers, attempting to scour the images of Ed’s lifeless body out of my head. It’s useless. “Yes.”

  “Go sit on my bed. I’ll be right back.” Leah slips out into the hall, and I stagger to the bed, dropping to the soft mattress with a thump.

  She quickly returns, a wet washcloth and towel in hand. She sits beside me and begins to scrub away the leftover gore from my hands. “What happened?” she asks, keeping her attention on the task.

  “It looks like a robbery.”

  Leah’s posture becomes rigid. “Looks like? You don’t think it was?”

  “The police are still investigating.” Neither fact is a lie. Both details are one hundred percent true. Ed’s death looked like a break-in gone wrong, and the cops are surely scrutinizing every clue, although I’m sure they’ll never discover the truth.

  Leah clearly trusts what I say wholeheartedly, which triggers my guilt. Needling me at the back of my mind is the obvious—Artagan is a carrier of Death. My only solace is his obvious hatred for what he does. He is a stark contrast to Vita, who seems to consider harvesting souls no more than swatting a mosquito. Yes, Vita is a completely different beast. How am I ever going to keep Leah safe from the monsters like her roaming the world?

  The days that follow are a blur, one bleeding into another. I miss Ed, his sense of humor, his and quirky ways, but most of all, I wish he hadn’t died alone. He must have been so frightened. The idea gnaws away at the pit of my stomach.

  I watch Sally while helping her with the funeral arrangements. Each decision wears on her. My grief is merely a shadow compared to hers. Pale and forlorn, Sally’s exterior claims she’s as tough as nails, but her sharp brown eyes betray her. She’s still wearing Ed’s ring—a lost promise of a future cut short by a creature whose lineage I share.

  The night before the funeral, Leah spends the night at my place.

  “I feel so sad for Sally. I can’t even imagine how she must feel,” she says, crawling into bed next to me. “I mean, losing my dad was hard, but losing the one you’re in love with—I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. This must be dredging up some difficult memories for you.”

  “I’m focusing on counting my blessings. You’re her now.” I coil my arms around her, squeezing her tight, and kiss the top of her head.

  Leah smiles. “We’re lucky, if you think about it. How many couples are sure they’ll have a second, third, and even fourth chance?”

  “Let’s not discuss this tonight.”

  She looks up at me and rolls her eyes, forcing patience into her voice. “Seriously, do you really think I’m going to forget you?”

  Not willing to rehash this argument, I keep my mouth shut.

  She stares straight into my eyes. “You’re wrong, you know?”

  “Please drop it,” I say firmly. The anger and fear I’ve been hiding over the past days bubbles to the surface, and I find myself practically shouting. “I don’t understand how you can believe we can beat the odds. It’s a naïve view. It’s not reality.”

  She yanks away and stands. Anger flickers in her eyes like a green flame. “Listen to me. I know our odds. I’m not stupid. Our separation will be difficult, but it won’t be the end, not as it is for Sally and Ed. I know it in my heart, and there’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise. The last time I checked, having hope wasn’t a sin.”

  I take a deep breath and push the air out slowly, calming my emotions. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Call it a gut feeling.” She plops down on my bed next to me.

  I suck another gulp of air. “I have to admit, I like your take of the future better.”

  “I’m not saying there aren’t rough roads ahead. I’m just asking you to trust my view.”

  “I will,” I lie and let the argument drop. What good is convincing her I’m right if the truth leaves her miserable? Leah will never know if she is. I will be the only one suffering in the end, and I’ll handle that burden in my own way.

  The next morning, I dress in the black suit Leah helped me pick out two days ago. After the third attempt at tying a half-Windsor, I chuck my tie into the sink. Dreading the day, I’m already wearing thin.

  “Can I?” Leah says from the open bathroom door. “I used to have to tie Grady’s all the time.”

  “Thank you.” I hand her the strip of black silk. Leah lifts my collar then twists and turns the fabric a perfect knot. “You look handsome,” she says, rolling up on her toes and pecking me on the cheek.

  Hand in hand, we walk into the church at one o’clock. Having her here with me will keep all the old pain at bay, but these events have raised a new, unpleasant debate that I’m sure will revisit us again. I wish I could share Leah’s hope, but I can’t.

  Like me, the old gray stone church is a piece of the past in the midst of the present. Towering redbrick buildings around it overpower the aged structure. The center steeple barely reaches its companions’ top-story windows. Three black arched doors stand open to welcome the mourners. Small clusters of people stand near the altar. The hum for their chatter echoes off the bright-white w
alls.

  Leah and I slide into a pew halfway toward the front. Ed’s picture is sitting on a dark mahogany coffin. His smiling face looks back at me. Again, I wish I could have been with him in his final moments. I close my eyes and bow my head. Faces of all the people I’ve lost parade pass my eyelids. The weight of their loss feels like the weight of the world on my shoulders, and the ache is vivid today. Tears trail down my cheeks and drip onto my crisply pressed pants. Leah twines her arm around mine and leans her head on my shoulder. She whispers, “I love you, Jack. It’s going to be okay.”

  “We here today to celebrate the life of Edwin Growley.”

  I look up to see that everyone has taken a seat. A tall, wispy priest talks about Ed as if they were long-lost friends, portraying him as a saint, even though anyone who really knew Ed could confirm he was not.

  “Is there anyone who’d like to share a story about Edwin?” The priest smiles and waits.

  A short man with a receding hairline stands and shuffles to the front. He straightens his glasses before he begins. “I’m Roy, Ed’s younger brother. I’d like to start by saying my brother hated the name Edwin, and if he was here right now, he’d kick your ass for calling him that.” Roy chuckles and glances at the priest then dabs his eyes with a wad of tissue. “Ed moved to Maine following a dream and opened the bookstore. I’ll admit, I thought he was crazy, and maybe he was a bit. But he loved it here and always said this place felt like home. Thank you for always making my brother feel like he was a Mainer.”

  Next, a man as bald as an egg stands. “Ed used to tell me about Vietnam while I was cutting his hair. He never complained once, either, that bald guys don’t know how to cut hair.”

  The mourners continue to stand, and the stories continue to flow. The church falls silent when Sally stands and makes her way to the front. When she trips on the first step of the platform, I begin to stand, but Ed’s brother helps her to her feet. “I have a poem I wanted to read by W. H. Auden. He says it best, besides he was one of Ed’s favorites. I can’t remember the poem’s name right now.” Sally fiddles with her papers. “And it seems I didn’t write it down. You’ll have to forgive me.” After clearing her throat, she begins. “‘Stop all the clocks, Cut off the telephone.’”

  I know this poem. I’ve lived it. In unison with Sally, I recite the dark, hollow rhythmic words in my head, focusing on the tempo to keep my mind occupied and stirring emotions at bay.

  After the service, Sally goes to the coffin, places her hand on the lid, and stares at the framed picture of a smiling Ed.

  Leah nudges me forward. “I’ll be right here. She needs you.”

  I walk to Sally’s side. Saying nothing, I place my hand on her shoulder. Sally reaches up and pats my hand. “Thank you.”

  I remember how my mother spent hours alone in a room with my father before she permitted the undertaker to bury him. “I can leave if you’d like to be alone with him,” I say.

  “No. Stay.”

  For a long time, we stand in silence with Ed, until with a weak smile, Sally gestures for Leah. “Let’s give Jack a moment.”

  Leah extends her arm, and Sally’s shaking hand loops around it. “I’ll see you outside,” Leah says, walking with Sally toward the door.

  I notice how old Sally looks today—the stress of the last few days is evident on her face. Her rich brown hair has begun fading to a lusterless white.

  I run my hand over the smooth mahogany. “Good-bye, Ed. Thank you for your friendship.”

  I turn to leave, brushing at a tear that threatens to escape. The tall arched double doors moan as I shove them open and step into the empty foyer. A movement catches my eye. A shadow—small and unthreatening—leans against the wall in the far corner.

  “So, there’s a riddle to solve. How do you know him?” a sweet voice sings from the shadows.

  My eyebrows knit together as I step closer. All I can make out is a pair of frigid aqua eyes bearing down on me, then Vita walks into a shaft of light, an unreadable expression stretched across her face.

  “Vita,” I say.

  Her mouth parts, then she grins. “He’s told you more than I thought. Even more interesting,” she says quietly. “It’s really too bad Artagan didn’t leave Ed and me alone. It would’ve been much more fun.” She pauses and gives me a little wink. “Strike that. I would’ve had more fun. Ed, not so much.”

  My chest tightens. I clench my hands into fists. “I was taught never to hit a woman, but for you, I might make an exception.” Vita laughs.

  A low growl reverberates deep within me.

  “You see, I knew from the start that Artagan must have his reasons for wanting Ed Growley’s death to be pleasant. We can all be civil from time to time, no matter our motives, helping one another with assignments, and I couldn’t complain. The trade was a good one, a swift death for coordinating a disease of my choosing in northern Swaziland. Hmm, I couldn’t resist. Which I’m sure he knew. He’s a clever one. I’ll give him that. But not as smart as me.”

  I take a step toward her. “You killed Ed.” My words are rigid. My voice is hoarse from fatigue and tears.

  “We’ve established that already. Now keep up,” she says, unmoving. “You see, I was sitting on the bank of the Mbuluzi River, watching people drop like flies, and I started thinking. What if Artagan’s reasons revolved around you? And if that’s true, why?” All humor has vacated her face, leaving her expression stony and full of…

  What? Hatred? Maybe.

  As her eyes bore deeper into me, a pain stabs my skull like fiery daggers piercing my eye sockets. My stomach heaves.

  “I know Artagan can be very persuasive, but so can I. Now answer my question. What are you to Artagan?”

  I stumble, pitching forward. I fight the wooziness and keep my glare locked on Vita.

  “Tell me!”

  I remain silent. She clenches her jaw and bears her teeth. I cringe inside, readying myself for more pain.

  A door creaks, followed by footsteps. The unexpected sounds distract Vita, then she slides into the shadows. “Not to worry. I’ll figure it out for myself,” she whispers. Then as quickly as she appeared, she’s gone. The pain dissipates.

  The priest, looking concerned, walks out of the sanctuary. His long black robe swishes along the floor. “Are you all right, my son?”

  I nod and step out into the garden to look for Leah and Sally.

  Later that evening, I force myself to stay awake because the alternative is unbearable. Every time I even close my eyes, scenes of Ed’s death and Vita’s cruel smile materialize behind my lids. The night wears on, and my hallucinations grow more elaborate. Ed and Vita join forces with all the people I’ve loved and lost. Like an army of zombies, they hunt Leah down. By the time I get to her, Leah is aged and pale, staring at me with vacant eyes.

  Two quick raps on the door cause me to jump and pull me from the newest horrors. I slowly stand. Each small movement is an achievement. I open the door and am surprised to find Artagan outside. His eyes dart around before he steps inside.

  “Vita hasn’t left. She’s still here,” he blurts in a deep husky voice.

  “I know. I saw her today.”

  “Where?”

  “Ed’s funeral.”

  He groans. “It seems you’ve sparked an interest.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you called out my name. She thinks she knows why.” His eyes shift away in thought. “Always looking for a way…” he mumbles.

  “So, why all the concern? What’s this all about?” A thought hits me. “Wait. Is she after Leah?”

  His sapphire eyes snap to me, a hint of amusement hidden in the blue. “No, not Leah. She’s after you. You’re one of my descendants. I’ve lost count of the greats, but I’m your distant grandfather. And I’m afraid Vita’s on the verge of figuring that out.”

  My eyes widen, and his words roll over me. Family? Over the past weeks, everything I’ve wanted so long for—love and family—has been handed to
me on a silver platter. The pessimist in me realizes that it’s just more to lose, but I banish those thoughts and concentrate on positive ones.

  “Are there others? Can I meet them?”

  “No,” he says solemnly. “Only you and I are left.”

  I sigh, glancing away.

  “I can tell you all about them another time. For now, it would be best for you to take off until I can convince Vita she’s wrong.”

  “But she’s not wrong.”

  “True, but it’s best if she doesn’t know that.”

  “I’m not worried. I’m not that easy to be done away with. Believe me—I’ve tried.”

  “It’s not only yourself that you should be concerned about.”

  My throat tightens. “Leah?”

  Artagan nods.

  My high crashes in around me. My eyes darken. Icy fingers trace up my spine. Hatred and terror clutch my spirit with viselike grips, both wrestling for control.

  He continues, unfaltering. “Vita’s MO has always been to strike at what her target idolizes most. She’s skilled at figuring out the chinks in a person’s armor. Death is singularly motivated, and it appears we are also. For Brennus, it was his love of humanity. For me, family. This is a tactic that would work easily on you.” His eyebrows lift as if he’s daring me to disagree. “Right now, Vita doesn’t know about Leah. If she did, Leah would be dead. However, eventually, she will, so you need to leave and take Leah with you. She’s not safe here, either.”

  I hesitate.

  “Still don’t trust me?” Annoyance grips Artagan’s voice.

  “No, I trust you. I’m just—if being with Leah has put her in danger, I’ll never forgive myself.”

  “Everything will be fine. I’ll trail Vita, but I’ll need to know where you are. If she gets close, you’ll need to know so you can move on.”