“You just are,” he replied. “Banning likes you.” He gave me a nudge in Banning’s direction.
“But you’re the funny one,” I said, feeling my face grow warm. “Go cheer him up.”
“We weren’t exactly buds before all this, you know? Besides, I don’t think it’s humor he needs. Don’t make me go over there alone, okay?” He leaned in and whispered, “It’s not good for my reputation.”
Banning remained motionless as Daniel and I stepped off the curb, mindful of the traffic. Old habits die hard and I didn’t want anyone passing through me again. We walked around the tow truck loading up the last car. The entire front end was crumpled where it had collided with the woman’s Mercedes. A totaled car would be the last thing on the driver’s mind when he found out he’d killed two people.
Banning glanced at us briefly as we came to stand beside him, then he went back to staring at the accident scene. Daniel nudged me again, wanting me to say something first. But, I had no idea what I could possibly say. This was more Banning’s scene. He was the expert at death and loss. Not me. We both shared one thing in common, though—the people we loved, the only ones we had a chance of being close to in death weren’t with us.
“This is how it happened, isn’t it?” I asked. “I’m so sorry.”
The way he looked at me, I knew it was true. Banning, his wife, and his daughter had died in circumstances similar to this one. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated.
After the accident we went back to the house because I didn’t know where else to go and Banning had remained far too quiet. My time with my parents was growing short. Tonight would mark forty-eight hours since my death. Dad and Aunt Jen had gone to the airport to pick up Dad’s parents. Mom was sleeping, completely out of it. So for now, being with them seemed safe. I’d ask Banning what we should do later, after the rest of the family arrived. They weren’t all staying here, but I was sure some of them would.
Banning sat on the sofa, head resting in his hands. I hated seeing him like this.
“She’ll come around,” Daniel said to him. “The accident was years ago.”
Leave it to a demon to say the wrong thing.
“Look, it’s gotten better between you two. She’s talking to you again. So it’s good, right?” Daniel said.
I didn’t want to point out that Banning’s wife had been a bit on the cool side, but now that Daniel mentioned it, the situation could’ve been worse. At least they weren’t screaming and they certainly weren’t ignoring each other. They just appeared to be at odds.
Banning looked at Daniel as though unsure of how to respond. Daniel wasn’t trying to be an idiot, but tact and manners weren’t his strong points either. I suspected hell didn’t require anyone to take lessons in etiquette. Daniel cleared his throat and shot me a pleading glance.
“When you died, did anyone survive? Did you have any other children?” I asked. It sounded logical. Maybe his wife blamed him for leaving one of their kids an orphan. Maybe Banning decided to stay in purgatory, still a reaper so he could remain close to another child. If so, this might be a good time for a visit. Anything that might help comfort Banning.
Banning ran a hand through his hair and slumped further down into the couch. “No. There weren’t any survivors.”
I got up from my chair and went to sit next to him.
His eyes flickered in my direction. “What do you want to know, Keely?” he asked softly. “How I became a reaper?” He let out another sigh. “You aren’t the only one who has a guilty conscience. There’s a real difference between you and me, though. I truly am responsible for my family’s death. In one evening, in one regretful act, I killed my wife and daughter.”
I shook my head. Banning didn’t seem the killer type. I wouldn’t believe it. Daniel said it was a car accident. Some other driver probably ran a right light or swerved into their lane. Or maybe the road conditions were bad. A tire blew. A deer ran across the road or a tree fell in front of them. Of course, I knew there was another way to kill someone. The night I died, I’d taken more than one life. In a way, I’d taken my parents’ lives, too.
“My wife and daughter were in the car with me,” Banning continued. “We’d been to dinner, celebrating the opening of my own practice. My wife and I each drank a couple glasses of wine. Actually, Laura, my wife, had three. We lived less than ten minutes away and the roads weren’t crowded back then. It was winter. I hit a patch of black ice crossing a bridge and over corrected, sending us into a ravine.” His words faltered.
“Laura died first. When I died, I found her ghost cradling our daughter against her—or trying to, anyway.”
I recalled how I’d tried to reassure my parents the other night. How I’d pleaded for them to hear me, to know I was right there at their side. I wished they’d been able to sense my presence. The pain I’d felt then was like nothing else. I pictured Banning and his wife watching their daughter die alone, crying as they tried uselessly to console her.
“We were so helpless to do anything…” His voice caught, and I knew he couldn’t bear to tell us what happened next. The memory was far too painful.
I placed my hand on Banning’s. I figured now might be as good a time as any to return the favor. I wanted him to know I was there for him. He didn’t need to go on if he chose not to.
I imagined the whole scene—a reaper standing over their child, coaxing her to take a final breath. Both Banning and his wife unable to do anything except suffer through it. The pain I’d gone through with Jordan and my parents was more than I thought anyone should bear. Until now. Now, I understood more than I ever wanted to about how my parents must feel.
“That night, when I died,” Banning managed to say with considerable effort, “When we all died, I became a reaper. I kissed my wife and daughter goodbye. I begged their forgiveness. My daughter hugged me tightly, although Laura...well, she hasn’t completely forgiven me. I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being a reaper, but at least, I could still do some good. Laura disagreed. I’d chosen to become the very thing that took our daughter’s hand in death. I stood and watched as my family became angels and went into the light. I wouldn’t be long, I promised them. That was fifty-five years ago, so Laura is a bit angry.”
Banning would never have jeopardized his family, never have taken the wheel if he’d thought there was any real danger. He couldn’t have known the outcome any more than I could have known what would happen to Jordan when she left that night.
Because you remind me of someone…
I should have kept quiet. I shouldn’t have been so insensitive, but I had to ask, “Do you get to spend any time with your daughter? Even once in awhile?” The question was for both of us, really.
He closed his eyes, but I didn’t need to see into them to understand. My heart sank.
“Rarely,” Banning said. “Laura doesn’t like her to come back here.”
“Fifty-five years? Really?” I asked. “That’s a long time to be a reaper.”
Banning shrugged. “Not as long as some, more than others.”
I scanned the room for Daniel, but at some point, he’d left. I guess he’d heard this story before and decided to be elsewhere. That’s what he’d tell me even if he hadn’t heard the story before.
“It’s okay, Keely. I know you’re curious.” He forced a smile.
It was so unfair that his whole family died. Life could be fragile. I knew that. One day, everything seems fine, and the next, it’s never the same. One life changes so many. Death was equally as fragile, and if nothing else, more lonely. Desolate. I’d once thought I might get some relief when I died. I could only imagine Banning’s sorrow. I felt in many ways responsible for Jordan’s death, but Banning? Wow.
I couldn’t breathe. Only my parents had seen Jordan’s body—for identification purposes—and her funeral had been closed casket. They’d also found me in the tub. It had been one thing for me to see my body, but for a loved one to see it, bleeding, broken, and dying? How had Banning
managed to exist without going mad? Certainly, an eternity of madness was preferable to what my parents and Banning had witnessed.
“Why do it? Why would anyone choose to become a reaper?” I felt sorry for Banning. Sorry he had to go through what he did, sorry that I kept asking questions. I knew all this talk made him relive his pain all over again. But, I had to know. Everyday, Banning watched people die. He coaxed them to let go, to cross over into the afterlife. He wasn’t who they’d expect or want to see in the moment of death. In fact, he was probably one of the last people anyone would want to see. Reapers weren’t loved or revered. They were symbols of death, despair. End game. No one understood what it might be like to be a reaper. But right then, I thought I had a decent idea of what it took—a dark angel, an angel of mercy. Banning was still helping others. He just hadn’t bargained for the gig to last this long.
He stared at me then, like I’d hit on a subject so close to the surface that he didn’t know how to respond.
“It was an accident,” I tried to reassure him. “Two glasses of wine. I don’t know, but I’m guessing you probably would’ve wound up in the ravine no matter what you did. You shouldn’t have to do this. It’s beyond any punishment—”
“Doesn’t change what happened, Keely. They still died.”
“It’s been more than fifty years!” I cried. “After all this time you mean you can’t go on? I’m sure you’ve done a lot of good things since. Helped a lot of people. Where’s the replacement you were promised?”
“No one ever mentioned when I would get a replacement. I never asked. But, someday, right? One day, someone will take my spot and I’ll get the chance to be near my family again.” He laughed. “I hope Laura will forgive me for becoming a reaper. I hope she’ll forgive…”
He broke off and I shifted in my seat. I knew what he’d been about to say—that he hoped his wife would forgive him for making a deal with the devil over a suicidal girl he didn’t know, when he had his own daughter waiting for him.
“Your wife’s an angel. I thought once you went to heaven, you had to forgive everyone and everything,” I said.
Banning chuckled. “Not exactly. Neither side is as pristine or as wretched as people think. Even the devil has some redeeming qualities.”
“The devil?” My jaw went slack. “No way!”
“Yeah. Way,” he replied. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s not a good guy, either. Have you ever watched old movies? The black and white ones with mobsters? He’s like Al Capone, only with bigger guns and a shorter temper.”
I smiled and shook my head. “No, he’s more like a CEO or a politician.”
Banning laughed hard at this one and I was glad to see it.
“Seriously,” I said. “How do you sign up for that—being a reaper?”
“I replaced another reaper,” he replied matter-of-factly. “The one who had come for me and my family.” He glanced around, apparently noticing Daniel’s continued absence. He didn’t seem particularly alarmed.
“What’s the deal with Daniel?” I asked. “Are you two friends or enemies or what?”
“He’s okay,” Banning said. “A bit annoying and stubborn at times, and he’s got a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, but he’s a good kid.” Banning’s eyes narrowed a bit, “Who’s probably off elsewhere and up to a little mischief at the moment.”
“Think he gave up on me?” I asked.
Banning grinned. “No, Keely. I’m afraid not.”
“Think his disappearance has something to do with the raven at the window?” I already suspected Banning had been talking to Daniel—especially since it involved demons.
Banning’s smile faded. “I hope not.”
“What happened?” I didn’t know how else to ask how the dead communicated with birds.
“We’ll talk later, okay? When the time is closer.” Banning stood and moved toward the window. “Your dad and aunt are back.”
Outside, car doors slammed and I got up to peer out the window. My dad helped with my grandparents’ luggage. Dad looked pretty rough. His clothes were badly wrinkled and it appeared that he hadn’t shaved for a couple days. Aunt Jen carried dinner in a take-out bag from what used to be my favorite Chinese restaurant. Used to be because I wouldn’t ever be going there again. Used to be because I’d never taste food again.
“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I asked. “The reason the raven came to find you in the middle of the night.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Does it have to do with me?”
“We should go. We’ll wait for Daniel outside. It’s getting pretty crowded in here at the moment. We’ll return tonight when everyone’s asleep.”
His non-answer was answer enough. Right when I thought the afterlife couldn’t get much worse, it had. “I so hate this,” I said as I followed Banning through the back door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
As we sat outside and waited for Daniel’s return, I asked Banning more questions about how things worked in the afterlife, hoping against hope for some angle, some loophole to make everything right again with Banning and his wife. Some loophole to keep me from going to hell. I might as well have tried to predict the future or stop all the injustices of the world with the snap of a finger. Now, my only hope was finding my sister and trusting that Banning’s plan would work out for the both of us.
I’d been so wound up in myself and my fate that I’d nearly forgotten I wasn’t the only soul at stake here. Daniel had warned me that he’d have to do everything within his power to make sure I failed. And yet, by telling me, he’d already disobeyed orders. I guess Daniel wasn’t so bad after all. Well, once I got past his moodiness and his perpetual shortage of tact.
I wondered if Banning had thought the same thing I had—this whole deal didn’t feel right. Banning hadn’t said anything more about my case or my trial, or whatever it was they did here. He seemed busy enough just keeping track of me and doing his reaperly duties. As long as I didn’t do anything stupid—which meant as long as I stayed clear of the scumbag who killed my sister—I had a chance to stay out of hell. My heart went out to Banning; all he had a chance of was staying a reaper until someone else wanted his job. I hadn’t exactly noticed a long line of applicants.
If Banning went to hell with me, would he ever see his family again? I wondered what Banning’s wife thought of me. Maybe that’s what they’d been talking about.
“Red velvet cake,” Banning said, catching my sullen mood. He was good at that. Too good. “That’s the food I miss the most. It used to be my favorite. Laura made it every year around the holidays, and every year for my birthday.”
There were so many things I missed already that I didn’t think it possible to name them all. “Holiday sweets or year-round?” I asked. “Because if it’s holiday food, then I’m going with gingerbread—cake, not cookies. Otherwise, hands down, it’s brownies, undercooked, made with butter, not oil, and with extra syrup and chips. We called them wicked brownies. Mom got the recipe from someone on a message board.”
“Brownies would be my second choice,” Banning said. “Warm. With a scoop of vanilla ice cream.”
The early evening sun had started to set, and I rubbed my arms against the slightly cooler breeze that greeted us. I could feel cold, heat, pain. I could dream. But I’d never taste Mom’s wicked brownies again. We’d never race to the oven to take them out or put glasses of milk in the freezer for a few minutes. We’d never sit in front of the TV with a rented movie. Wow. Reason five thousand, two-hundred and fifty-six why purgatory sucked.
I supposed Mom wouldn’t be up to baking anytime soon. There’d be a lot more take out food in my parents’ future. In a few months, the holidays would be here. Mom probably wouldn’t make gingerbread. Not this year. One thing seemed certain—the annual family gathering wasn’t likely to be at our house. Aunt Jen might take over, but I couldn’t envision Mom hosting a party for the vast number of relatives we had. I’d managed to ruin yet one more thing in my mo
ther’s life—Christmas, which had been her favorite holiday. She loved everything about it. Last year, she had two daughters to celebrate it with. This year, she had none.
“Right now, I’d even eat brussel sprouts if I could taste them,” Banning kidded.
I grimaced. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Banning laughed. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Banning?”
He looked at me, expectantly.
“How long did it take you to stop wondering what your life would have been like?”
“I never have stopped thinking about it,” he replied. “Although not as much as I did at first. I’d like to believe Laura and I would have lived a long life together. That my daughter would have grown up, gone off to college, and returned home—maybe she’d have lived close enough that we could see our grandchildren. Maybe when I retired, Laura and I would have bought a small cabin in the woods by a lake, where we’d sit and reminisce.”
“It’s weird to think they’re going to bury me in a couple days,” I said. “That I’ll be in a casket in the ground.”
“Claustrophobic?” he kidded.
His first attempt at a joke took me off guard. I grinned. “No, not really. But, yeah, about this, sorta.”
“If you could go back and do one thing differently, other than undo your sister’s death, what would it be?” he asked.
I smiled, thinking of what it would be like to grow old. “I’d sit on the front porch of a cabin in the woods and tell my grandchildren about happier times.” My response got another round of laughter from Banning. “You?” I asked.
“I’d go ballroom dancing with my wife. She loved to dance.” Banning made a motion with his arms, pretending to waltz with an unseen partner.
The image made me smile.
“Or mountain climbing. More manly,” he said with a quiet laugh. “In photos, gazing across the valleys from the mountain top always seemed the epitome of peaceful. Like you could look down on all your troubles.”
Don't Fear the Reaper Page 12