by Becca Fox
The look he gave had me swallowing my protests and sagging back into my chair. I dropped the journal next to my open notebook. Satisfied, Anthony tugged on the bottom of his waistcoat and returned to the whiteboard he’d set up in front of my desk.
“Now, what is the job of a state senator?” he asked, retrieving his uncapped marker.
I slouched forward and dropped my chin on my fist. “To listen to the concerns of the people in his district and bring them before the other members of Congress in hopes of creating legislation which will bring about positive change.”
“Correct.” Anthony paraphrased my answer on the board, writing district concerns, senator, and Congress with horizontal arrows between each word. “What is another word for legislation?”
“Proposition,” I muttered, thinking about all those promotional billboards and yard signs. Vote yes or Vote no on Prop-whatever.
“Also correct.” Anthony wrote the word underneath the others. “Can you think of any propositions that are going to be voted on soon?”
I grimaced. Since I’d started this online government class, I’d been instructed to read up on current events. Twice a week, I was supposed to write a paragraph summary on any government related news found on a reputable site. But I didn’t retain too much of what I read. It wasn’t exactly interesting material.
“Um,” I said, stalling for time. I turned a few pages in my notebook, trying to find my latest paragraph summary. “There was a proposition Mr. Ward mentioned in one of his speeches. He was going to bring it before Congress as soon as he was elected. He said this proposition could change the way we do international trade.”
“Prop two-one-eight,” Anthony said with a gracious nod. “Very good.” He added it to the whiteboard. “Promising to do certain things isn’t uncommon for someone running for any kind of government position, but writing up propositions four weeks before voting day is bold. Just because recent polls put Mr. Ward well ahead of the other candidates doesn’t mean his victory is guaranteed. There’s still plenty of time for him to make a mistake, or for some secret to be released to the public that could cost him the election.”
“Which is why the press knows next to nothing about the deaths of his campaign staff,” I said with a spike of frustration. “Mr. Ward cares more about winning the election than finding justice for the families of his deceased staff members.”
“Unfortunately, that does seem to be the case. But I’m sure your uncle will be delivering much-needed justice soon. After all, he’s found a new suspect,” Anthony said before he steered the conversation back to his lesson.
I sighed, blowing my bangs out of my face.
Just this morning, the facial recognition software had found a match for the grainy profile picture Uncle Victor had been able to pull from the security camera at the marina. It belonged to a notorious contract killer from Asia known simply as the Salamander. He was wanted by Interpol and the FBI for countless murders across the globe. And now he was in Seattle, doing someone else’s dirty work in the hopes of tanking Mr. Ward’s chances of winning the election. Or in the hopes of intimidating Mr. Ward into doing something, although he promised he hadn’t received any threats. Well, none that stuck out.
A giant tub of Mr. Ward’s hate mail was delivered to the precinct a little over an hour ago. Vanessa Burkley was sifting through it right now while Uncle Victor had a conference call with Interpol and the FBI concerning a joint investigation. By some miracle, the two other agencies would play nice and not swoop in to steal this case right out from under my uncle’s nose.
I didn’t know how this information about Mr. and Mrs. Ward being immortal could help the case but it was important Uncle Vic knew all the facts. It might spark something in that brilliant brain of his. Plus I had to tell him there was an entry in the journal about the Smiths’ road trip to Seattle and the date proved they were far away from here during the time of the murders. That was enough of an alibi, right?
No offense to Anthony but school seemed like a waste of time when there was a professional killer and an evil mastermind yanking on his leash out there somewhere, plotting another murder.
“—of course, that’s not the only controversial thing Mr. Ward has done during this election,” Anthony was saying.
I sat up a little straighter. “Oh, yeah? What else has he done?” Maybe I could do my own investigative work under the guise of studying government.
“He’s made some promises to important people, struck some ambitious bargains that might get him into trouble later,” my doctor said elusively. “But it’s not important to your studies. Back to matters of Congress—”
“But if he’s made dangerous bargains and has had to back out of them for unexpected reasons, couldn’t that be considered motive for murder?” I pressed.
Anthony pushed his glasses higher up the bridge of his nose and gave me a look that said he could see right through me. “Maybe, but I’m sure your uncle has already thought of that, Jazz. Please, try to focus.”
Sagging back into my chair, I grumbled, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
“Now, what’s the process for getting a proposition passed? Well, it starts with…” Anthony opened the textbook again and continued lecturing as if I hadn’t interrupted him at all.
I still couldn’t get my mind off the case and our lack of suspects. Something was bothering me, something I couldn’t put my finger on.
David Ward was the mayor before he decided to run for senator. A politician who’d been in the game for so many years had to have made enemies. And yet, when asked who might have reason to come after him or the members of his staff, the only people Mr. Ward could think to point the finger at were the Smiths. His immortal brethren. Who also happened to be outspoken pacifists. Knowing what I know now, it made sense. The immortals could only feel threatened by each other because they were the only ones who could kill each other. But there was a third immortal couple, right? Why not tell Uncle Victor about them?
From what I remembered of Angela’s diary entries, there wasn’t too much said about the third immortal couple, only that they dealt with “disreputable persons.” Wouldn’t that make them more suspicious than the Smiths? Unless the Wards were unaware of the kind of business this third couple did…But if the Smiths—who kept to themselves—knew what this couple had been up to, how could the Wards—who were powerful, influential and connected—not know? The answer was simple. Of course they knew. Which brought me back to my original question: Why not tell Uncle Victor about them? Why cast the Smiths as the villains instead?
I stared at the whiteboard; the words Anthony had written joined my scattered thoughts, bouncing around my brain like popped corn in a kennel.
District concerns→ Senator→ Congress
Premature proposition.
Dangerous bargains.
Three immortal couples. Government, black market, humanitarianism. An argument between the Smiths and the Wards, an almost-encounter between the Smiths and the nameless couple. One contract killer. A string of murders, forming a loose ring around the soon-to-be-senator…
Misdirection.
Withholding information.
I was onto something. Like someone with less than twenty-twenty vision who’d lost their glasses, I saw its vague outline but I couldn’t quite make out what it was. I must’ve been making a weird face because Anthony finally stopped monologuing.
“Are you feeling all right?”
“For three immortal couples the world is too small,” I murmured, my attention drifting down to the journal sitting on my desk. They were Angela’s words. And they were the final pieces to this jigsaw puzzle in my head.
Anthony scrunched his face at me. “You’re back to not making any sense, Jazz.”
“They’re both influential in the legal and illegal circles. Their work had to conflict at some point. So what if…?”
My tutor continued to stare at me like he wanted to put me through an MRI machine and make sure I wasn�
�t having a stroke. But he didn’t interrupt.
“What if they struck a bargain, one that would guarantee they’d never interfere with each other’s line of work again? And that’s why Mr. Ward didn’t think to mention his other friends to Uncle Vic.” I stood, the words coming faster now as the theory took shape. “But if Mr. Ward had promised to do something for someone else, something that would unintentionally disrupt the third couple’s shady dealings, the agreement between them would’ve been null and void. Which gives the third couple the freedom and, in their eyes, the right to send their old friends a message.” I was breathing hard by the end of my speech and my heart was deliriously pattering around my chest. Grinning, I said, “Tony, you genius, you cracked the case.”
Before I could race out of the apartment and find my uncle, pain like a knife sliced across my gut. I hugged my torso and crumpled to the floor, screaming. Anthony dropped his textbook and lunged toward me. He didn’t make it in time. My head hit the floor with a crack.
◆◆◆
I materialized by one of the brick columns of the beautifully ancient gate where good souls went to spend eternity.
Death walked beside a little girl with bright orange pigtails. Her soul emanated the same glow as my body did, the same glow Death gave off. The dead girl gawked at everything she saw with heartbreaking innocence. Death stopped at the gate and waved the young soul onward.
“Welcome to your final rest,” she said simply.
I gathered my courage and marched over to the being who had cursed us. I couldn’t waste any time. She had the power to bring me back to life at any moment.
“I’ve met the immortals,” I said when I was close enough.
Death’s hair rippled even though there wasn’t any wind. It was mesmerizing. I shook off my awe and focused on gauging her reaction.
She turned slowly to address me, as if buying herself some time to formulate a response. I read some tension in her face despite her attempt to hide it with a smirk.
“Have you? Now you seek to question me about them?”
“I do.”
Death crossed her arms and gave me the once over. “What gives you the impression that I will grace you with the answers you seek?”
“I never asked for this; my parents are the ones who begged you to spare us. You could’ve cursed them but you chose to curse us. You chose to doom me to a life of isolation and pain.” My hands curled into fists. I raised my chin, doing my best to clothe myself in confidence the way Esmer did. “You owe me, you twisted bitch.”
Death threw her head back and laughed. It might’ve been a pretty sound if it hadn’t been paired with a sneer. “You have gall, child. I have the power to undo you and yet you speak to me in this manner?”
“If you wanted me gone, you wouldn’t have intervened when I committed suicide.”
Her curled lip slowly flattened. The exhaustion crept back into her expression and stance.
“Why them?” I asked. “Why us?”
She regarded me in her quiet, weary way, violet eyes darting around my face. Looking for what? I couldn’t even begin to imagine.
“Was it random or predestined?” I pressed.
Death shook her head. “I cannot see the future.”
“But you know who has to die, where they have to go, and why. How?” I’d asked her once before, but she hadn’t answered. I was bracing myself for another non-answer while hoping for more. I needed to know.
Death gave a one-shouldered shrug as if to prove her indifference, but when she averted her gaze I knew this conversation hurt more than she let on. “I suppose you can call it instinct.”
“But you don’t know for sure, do you?” I softened my voice. I didn’t mean it to be an insult. I wanted her to know I was sympathetic, just trying to understand. “You don’t know the how or why, only that you can. Is it the same with your other powers?”
Death raised her hands before her. She proceeded to turn them from side to side as if seeing them clearly for the first time. “If it pertains to the body and soul, I can control it. But I cannot give life.” She slowly lowered her hands back to her sides. “I cannot spare a life once I know it is time to take it, not without suffering a great deal of pain myself. I cannot venture into the land of the living unless it is to fulfill my role as ferry of souls.”
I had never seen so much sadness in a pair of eyes before. It dawned on me then. “You didn’t mean to curse us, did you?”
“In my youth, I sought to learn the extent of my powers.” Death turned away as if she couldn’t stand to look at me anymore. “I…experimented with you and the others. Both instances were costly mistakes. I stretched my very essence and I nearly vanished into oblivion.” She started walking toward the land beyond the gate. “I swore to myself I would never attempt such a feat again.”
She was ending the conversation. Soon I’d feel that damned hook latch into my soul and reel me all the way back to my body. But I wasn’t ready. I raced after her.
“You could reverse it, couldn’t you? Fix everyone?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you’re not evil!” I grabbed her sleeve and pulled. A part of me thought I’d pass right through her but my fingers wound their way around her wrist, through her silk-like dress.
She spun around by the force of my tug, surprise making her face go blank. I guess she didn’t know I could touch her either.
“You know we’re in pain,” I said, taking advantage of her momentary shock. “You admitted you made mistakes. So make it right. Free us.”
She coolly took another step back. When I tried to pursue her, an invisible force shoved me away. I realized she’d crossed into heaven. It was the most peaceful-looking stretch of wilderness I’d ever seen. Lush and green and open, with sparse vegetation. It smelled like rain falling through trees, like new flowers in bloom, like freshly-tilled earth. A stream trickled somewhere in the distance. Happy voices echoed back to me from places unknown.
For whatever reason, I wasn’t allowed in. It made my heart hurt in ways I couldn’t describe.
“I vowed I would never attempt such a feat,” Death said again as the gates started to close.
I was forced to retreat or be crushed by the swinging brick and metal.
Anger and desperation welled up inside me until they burst from my mouth. “At least try!” I threw my fists against the closed gate. “Prove you’re not a monster and try.”
“I am Death!” The ground literally shook with the power behind her voice. “My actions will not be dictated by the likes of you.”
The hook curved around my spine and yanked so hard it threw me to the ground. I screamed all the way back to the land of the living.
November 19th, 1964
I am afraid. I am afraid to write, to speak, to breathe. I’m paralyzed. But Dymeka urges me forward. He tells me it is important to write, to speak my fears out loud. He tells me to breathe even though I do not need it to survive; I need it to live. In order to live, I need to name my fears. In order to keep myself sane, I need to write my thoughts. But even after all this time, all these years of running, traveling, searching, living, I am still afraid.
We cannot die but I fear regardless. I fear discovery of a terrible truth. I fear discovering our plight is worse than we believed. I fear being discovered by mortals. I fear their torture. Temporary as torture might be, I fear above all else being separated from Dymeka.
If such an instance were to pass, I hope our captors would read this journal and see it as proof that we are in fact very much human. We feel, we fear, we desire. We simply made a mistake. We accepted a gift without truly knowing what it meant.
In all our efforts thus far, we have not been able to reach our gift-giver. We cannot provide any secret revelations; we can only provide our own musings.
I pray if anyone else reads this journal, captor or friend or myself: please know, I have nothing to give except my thoughts. But I want everything from this world.
; I want a home. I want a family. I want to grow old with my Dymeka. I want to die in peace knowing Dymeka and I led the best possible life we could.
To my captor, I say this: please, leave us be.
To my friend: please, understand me.
* * *
Chapter 31
Charles
Anthony stood at Jasmine’s bedside when I came out of the elevator. He held my sister’s wrist while staring down at his watch. Then he put on his stethoscope and placed the circular end over each one of her lungs to listen to her breathing. It was all part of his routine. It didn’t matter that the results were always the same. Anthony still made sure Jasmine returned from the land of the dead in the same condition she’d been in when she’d left.
And my heart still knocked incessantly against my ribs as if it were the first time Jasmine had died. Fear and anger still motivated me to race home from school after a vision, charge into the precinct, and make sure my sister was all right.
I skidded to a stop on the other side of her bed, panting. “Is she okay? Did she say anything after she came back?”
“She’s fine now, Charlie. Just resting.” The doctor, who had been with us for almost twelve years, removed his stethoscope and draped it around his shoulders. Like always. But this time there was a shadow across his face. Something was bothering him.
“What?” I asked.
“She was talking about the case before she passed out. Your uncle stopped by,” Anthony added before I could ask. “I relayed this information to him already. It sounded like Jazz might’ve been onto something important. A theory that could help. She wasn’t making much sense to me in the end, but when I told Victor everything she’d said, he seemed excited.” He nodded at the leather-bound book on my sister’s desk. “He wouldn’t take that vital piece of evidence with him. He said it wasn’t for him. It was…strange.”