Death Himself continues, undeterred. “I don’t answer to you, and you don’t rule over death. That is my jurisdiction.”
Azbaugh looks like he isn’t about to give up authority over my life without a fight. “While that may be true, you do not have the power to interfere with the stream of time without our approval.”
A slow smile spreads across Death Himself’s face. “Well, then, it seems we are at an impasse.”
Azbaugh glares from Death Himself to me and back to Death Himself. A chill runs through me and I get the feeling he could walk into a pen of puppies and start kicking without any remorse.
“And just what do you propose?” Azbaugh asks, his teeth grinding together. It sounds like nails on a chalkboard multiplied by ninety.
“A test,” Death Himself suggests. “One that will allow RJ to set her life back on the path she was meant to be on.”
“I’m listening,” Azbaugh replies, but the way his eyes narrow tells me he couldn’t care less about the proposition.
“A guide will be assigned to take her back to a moment in her life when she made the choice to be less than she was meant to be. Assuming she makes the right choice, the timeline will be reset and RJ will return to the land of the living.”
Azbaugh shakes his head. “Just because she makes one change doesn’t mean she’s learned anything.”
“No,” Death Himself agrees, “but it will set her life on a different course.”
“I’m not convinced,” Marmaroth interjects. “Yes, her life will change, but life is a series of decisions that define us. One change when she is young can be nullified by an action when she’s older.”
Azbaugh nods in agreement. “This is a foolish proposition meant to disrupt this hearing. I suggest—”
Marmaroth interrupts. “Perhaps five points spread throughout her life span would be more sufficient. Since each moment will ultimately build on the previous one, we can be assured that a solid foundation has been laid out for a worthy life.”
Having people talk about me like I’m not in the room is humiliating. Risking the wrath of Azbaugh, I speak up. “Can I say something?”
“No,” Azbaugh says. At the same time, Death Himself answers, “Yes.”
The two stare each other down until Azbaugh finally relents. “What?” he snaps.
Wringing my hands together, I ask, “Was I really that horrible? I mean, if I had lived the long life I was supposed to have, was I going to turn out to be a horrible person? Because the way you talk about me, you’d think I was destined to be a serial killer.”
The Tribunal is quiet, as is Zachriel. Even Sal avoids my eyes.
“You’re kidding,” I say. “I’m a criminal?”
Death Himself laughs and he continues doing so until tears roll down his cheeks.
“I really don’t think I said anything funny,” I say with a huff.
He shakes his mane of hair and I can smell the salt water and sand perfuming the air. “It’s not you, really. I just love it when the angels are rendered speechless.” He wipes his eyes and stands, walking to face me across the table. He kneels down and looks me in the eyes. “They aren’t speaking because they don’t know. When Gideon collected your soul, your Akashic Records became undecipherable. The only reason Hazel knew your actual death date was because of her status as your Guardian Angel. The Tribunal is basing their decision on nothing more than a lot of what ifs.”
“Isn’t there anything you can do?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “Not really.” I feel the blood drain from my face. “On the bright side,” he adds, “since I have decided to be a part of this process, they can’t condemn you without my agreement. It’s our version of checks and balances.”
Well, that’s a relief. A spark of hope is growing again.
He smiles and his eyes crinkle with laugh lines. “Now, let me finish this negotiation and then we’ll get you out of here, alright?”
I take a deep breath. “Okay.” I really hope he knows what he’s doing.
He winks and then stands to face the jury of angels. “Five points over seventeen years seems excessive. It’s not like we have eternity to make the final decision. Well, we do, but I’m sure you have other matters to tend to. Besides, there’s a swell heading for the Banzai Pipeline. I’d hate to miss those waves. I propose we split the difference. Three points of my choosing based on the moments where RJ’s life veered too far off course.”
Hold up. Is Death Himself making this deal because he would rather be surfing? Please tell me someone is messing with me and an actor with a camera is going to come out and yell, “Gotcha.” Needless to say, no actor appears and I don’t see any cameras.
What I do see is Shepard’s smiling face and I swear the entire room lights up. “I think this is an excellent plan. The question is not whether Ms. Jones has been treated in an unjust manner, but rather if her character is worthy of such unprecedented action.”
“I still don’t like it,” Marmaroth says. “Even though she would only be slipping into the moment, this interaction will change the course of the future.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Death Himself argues. “Those changes should answer your concerns about whether she will retain the lessons she learns. When she is sent back permanently, I’m sure Zachriel can ensure her old memories are replaced by the new ones. She will become the person created by those changes in her past.”
“She still might relapse,” Azbaugh points out. “There’s no guarantee.”
Death Himself groans. “The fundamental flaw of free will. Don’t blame me. That’s the Big Guy’s thing. You should bring it up with Him. I’m sure He would love to debate the merit of this design feature one more time.”
Zachriel stands, obviously ready to move on. “Actually,” he says in an even voice. “If the memories are uniquely hers and the impacts of her actions are built in to her character, it is unlikely that a complete relapse will ever occur. I would, however, caution the Tribunal about allowing Death Himself to pick the times without any parameters. He is known for being quite conniving.”
Death Himself grins and shrugs. “He’s right.”
The thought of the Tribunal being in charge of this wager fills me with dread. Shouldn’t Death Himself try to put up a better fight? Or is he worried about missing the big waves?
“Fine,” Azbaugh says. “How would you suggest we frame the parameters?”
“Four stipulations. First, the events must take place in chronological order. Second, at least one of the moments must occur during the first nine years of life. Third, each moment must be a part of the new life stream and not the old. Finally, I would require that each event be at least six months apart.”
“Is that all?” Death Himself asks.
Absently, I twist Sandy’s ring around my finger. I feel comforted, like she’s with me or at least cheering me on from the Lobby. Death Himself looks a little too confident—as if he’s winning a game no one else knows they’re playing. I really hope he’s on my team and not just using me as some pawn.
Zachriel looks pensive. He’s probably wondering if he’s walking into a trap. “Yes,” he says, drawing the word out. “I believe those parameters will allow Death Himself the flexibility to adequately test the girl without giving him free reign to manipulate the experiment.”
The Tribunal exchanges a series of glances. Finally, Azbaugh asks, “Are there any objections to this test?”
No one speaks. I start to clap, but Sal lays a hand on my shoulder and shakes his head. I sit back.
“I have a few stipulations of my own,” Azbaugh states. “If, at any time, the girl fails to correct her life trajectory, the test will end and she will remain in the Lobby, or wherever Azrael wants to put her, until such time that the Akashic Records indicate her human death.”
“I have no objection,” Death Himself says.
I do. Is he saying that if I don’t satisfy their expectations, I could actually spend who knows how long wi
th all those catatonic souls?
“In case anyone wonders, I don’t like this,” I whisper, hoping he will hear me. He doesn’t or at least he pretends not to.
“RJ will remain in my custody during the testing period. I would hate to burden anyone further,” Death Himself adds, feigning humility. “I will also arrange for the guides that will accompany her on each of the three tests.”
“She will, at no point, be left unaccompanied,” Azbaugh insists.
Death Himself gives a quick nod. “You have my word.”
“And no one speaks to any of the souls or beings unfamiliar with this situation,” Azbaugh adds, his warning loud and clear. “I reserve the right to end this test should any of the terms be violated.”
A gag order? Are you kidding me? Saint Peter said everyone was talking about me already. There’s no way the news of my situation is going to fade into the clouds.
“Do we have a deal?” Death Himself says, boredom slipping in between each word. I notice he doesn’t actually agree to the condition.
“I’m going to regret this,” Azbaugh says. “But yes, we have a deal.”
I jump out of my chair and this time, Sal doesn’t even try to hold me back. I race around the table and throw my arms around Death Himself, who seems completely unprepared and unmoved.
“I’m sorry,” I say breathlessly. “I’d almost given up, and then you came and forced them to give me a chance. Thank you so much.”
He eases himself from my grasp and takes my elbow, leading me away from the disapproving trio. “Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart. This deal may sound like a lifeline, but let me assure you, it isn’t. In fact, I’m pretty sure there will come a time when being stuck in the Lobby will seem like a vacation.”
“Not likely,” I scoff.
He pushes open the large doors that lead to the steps. Once we’re outside, he stops, spins me around, and says, “You’re pretty arrogant for someone who was about ten seconds away from never feeling the grass beneath your feet or the sun on your face again. There are a lot of things in this situation I don’t control, so you better take it seriously.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He gives me a questioning look.
“What can’t you control?” I ask again.
“I may be able to pick the moments, but the Fates decide when you enter into the action.”
“So?”
“The Fates take their direction from Marmaroth.”
“Yeah, but I thought he was on board?” I say as desperation begins to expand in my stomach.
“That doesn’t mean he wants you to succeed. The sooner you fail, the less work he has to do to fix this mess.”
“Oh.” I know Marmaroth wasn’t excited about me going back to my life, but the idea that he would set me up to fail knocks my confidence to the gutter.
“It’s not too late,” he says, giving me a hard look. “You can still decide to wait until they call your name in the Lobby. No one would blame you if you did. It’s the easy way out.”
I think about his suggestion. I could go back to the Lobby and hang out with Sandy, playing pranks on the new arrivals. But then I will never see my mom or dad again. I would never know what it was like to love someone so deeply that I’m willing to wait for him for eternity. I’m not ready to be dead.
“No,” I say with resolve. “I may be a lot of those things the Tribunal said about me, but I’m not a quitter. Whatever Marmaroth throws at me, I can handle.”
Death Himself flashes me a grin of approval. “Well, alright then. Let’s go change your future, shall we?”
Chapter 13
With a flick of his wrist and a snap of his fingers, Death Himself transports us to his domain.
We stop in front of a building that looks more like a fraternity house than the global hub for all Grim Reaper activities. “Here we are, home sweet home,” he says, leading me up the stairs and through the door.
Once inside, I see the entire first floor is one giant library. And it definitely doesn’t smell like a frat house—thankfully. It smells like a wood burning stove.
“You live here?” I ask, glancing around. Clusters of Reapers are sitting together at huge wooden tables, their heads bent over thick silver binders.
“More or less.”
I look over the shoulder of a nearby figure and see a bio page complete with mug shot. Is this how they know who their mark is? Maybe Gideon should have done a little more homework. I turn to ask where my file is, but Death Himself is already halfway down the hall.
He moves like the wind and I practically have to sprint to catch up with him. “Slow down,” I plead.
“Can’t. Hitting Pipe this afternoon, remember?”
Wait. He was serious. Death Himself is a surfer? “You’re going to catch a wave at a time like this?”
He ignores me, and I have no choice but to follow him down a narrow hallway and into an office with a large stone fireplace.
“Do you get cold?” I ask in surprise at the roaring blaze that’s built up inside.
“Nope.” For all his eloquent words in front of the Tribunal, Death Himself really doesn’t talk much.
“So, what happens now?” I ask, flipping through a stack of files on a table.
He pulls down a gold binder from a high shelf and flips it open, ignoring me. After a few minutes, he turns toward the fire, picks up a stone, and whispers something over it before chucking it into the flame.
“Is that the fires of Hell people are always talking about?” I ask, peering over his shoulder to get a better look. “It’s not that impressive.”
He spins around, giving me an annoyed look. “Do you ever stop talking?”
I want to tell him I would if someone would clue me in on the plan, assuming there is one, but a knock at the door stops me.
“Come in,” Death Himself says.
A moment later, Gideon is standing in front of the desk.
“Is it all arranged?” Gideon asks, ignoring my slight wave.
Death Himself nods. “It went off just as we planned.”
“How many interventions do we have to set up?”
“Three.”
Gideon looks impressed. “That’s all?”
Death Himself glances up with a cocky smirk. “They started out with five, but Zachriel worked his magic and got them down to three.”
“He must have gotten my message,” Gideon says. “I had to go through back channels to avoid Azbaugh’s spies. I was afraid it wouldn’t reach him before the Tribunal convened. Did he get the terms we wanted?”
My jaw drops. They set me up.
“Of course.”
“And Marmaroth?”
“He’s the same old son of a …” Death Himself stops talking and looks at me before adding, “… gun he’s always been. I swear, for angels who have nothing to do all day, they sure get all high and mighty when you give them the slightest bit of power.”
“What about Shep?”
“Perfect as always. In fact, the only one who almost blew the whole plan out of the water was Sal. I thought you said he would be able to handle his role.”
Gideon straightens his shoulder against his boss’s rebuff. “I said he would be able to represent her and keep his mouth shut when you showed up. The guy can’t act to save his wings.”
“Wait a minute,” I say, interrupting the verbal ping-pong match. “Are you saying you wanted me to go in front of the Tribunal? That you planned this?”
“Look who just showed up to the party, Gideon,” Death Himself says, sarcasm hanging on each word. “Of course. The only way to beat the system is from the inside.”
“But why?”
“Because you couldn’t keep your big mouth shut. Since your arrival, you’ve been running all over the Afterlife boo-hooing about your poor death—about how Gideon collected your soul by accident—and that all you want to do is go home. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve been causing us, Dorothy?”
“RJ,”
I say instinctively.
Death Himself snaps his fingers. A book appears in front of him and he shoves it toward me. “Read this. Maybe it will keep you quiet for a minute.”
“The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,” I read aloud before looking up. What’s he trying to say? It wasn’t a natural disaster that sent me here. It was a gypsy.
“My life isn’t a novel,” I pout.
“Or maybe it won’t keep you quiet,” Death Himself says in a low growl.
His latest jab at my situation makes me miss Sandy. At least she saw me as something more than a problem. I twist her ring on my finger and wonder if she still remembers why she’s waiting in the Lobby.
When I glance up, Death Himself looks like his head is going to explode. Apparently he doesn’t like to be ignored. Guess he knows how I feel now. Gideon pipes up to defuse the situation. “Relax, boss. We got this.”
“But how did you get those angels to support me if they didn’t believe in my case?” I ask, pushing around Gideon so I can look at Death Himself.
He laughs. “Do you really think they care? I hate to be the one to burst your bubble, but they don’t.” A grin spreads across his face. “Huh. Turns out I didn’t hate bursting it. You want to know why? Because up here, favors are currency and you’re costing me a fortune. Now, if you’re done bugging me, I have to wrangle up your guides who are going to cost me even more. Trust me. I cannot wait to see you waltzing around Earth. Better there than here.”
“Why don’t I take RJ and fill her in on how this is going to work?” Gideon says, grabbing my arm and practically yanking me out of Death Himself’s sight.
“Good idea,” Death Himself says, turning his back on us.
“Come on,” Gideon hisses as he pushes me through the door. When we’re out of earshot he says, “I’m starting to wonder if there is something seriously wrong with you.”
“I thought he cared about what was happening with me,” I answer, and even to my ears, the words sound lame.
It's a Wonderful Death Page 8