by Judy Clemens
Casey looked at Death, that ever-changing form she had clung to these past years. Clung to and flung off. Loved and hated. Searched for and hid from.
Or tried to hide from.
“You haven’t let me down. You saved me. More times than I can count, or even remember. You helped me through. Seen me through.”
Death straightened. “Really?”
“Really. And now…maybe you need to help someone else.”
Death studied her face. “You’re really ready this time? Because a couple of months ago you thought you were—”
“—but I wasn’t. It’s different this time. I’ll be okay. Reuben and Omar, they will always be a part of me. I will always love them. But they’re not here now.” She caught her breath. Held it. Let it out. “I need to let them go. So we can all move on. Including you.”
Death gazed at Casey with such love and pride Casey thought her heart might break, or she might dissolve into millions of tiny molecules and merge with the night. “You’re ready.” A statement this time. Not a question.
“I believe I am.”
A hesitation, and then Death shimmered. Shook. Rumbled. The sackcloth blurred, and Casey wasn’t sure what form she was seeing anymore. After several moments, the imaged focused. Beginning at the hem, the sackcloth transformed to shining black silk, rushing upward until Death’s Reaper robe glimmered with red highlights from the sunset. A new scythe, shining and straight, pointed toward the sky, and the space within the hood, where a face should be, loomed dark and deep and ageless.
“I am not abandoning you.” The voice came from all around, full, like a chorus. “I am not leaving you alone.”
“No,” Casey agreed.
And then she was standing by herself on the side of the road.
The sound of a car approached. Casey got as far to the left as she could since the setting sun would make it hard to see. But the car didn’t pass. It slowed, then stopped.
Casey peered into the lowering driver’s window. “Pastor Sheila.”
The woman smiled and got out of the car. She took in Casey’s still-colorful face, her broken arm, the duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Then, without warning, she opened her arms and wrapped them around Casey.
Casey stiffened, but the pastor was careful of Casey’s arm, and avoided squeezing the side where her ribs ached from the early morning violence. Casey awkwardly patted the pastor with her good hand.
Pastor Sheila let her arms drop. “Thank you.” Her eyes shone with tears. But they were happy tears, Casey thought.
“You’re welcome.” No point pretending she didn’t know what, and how much, she’d done. Because of Casey the town of Beltmore, and, if they were honest, surrounding areas, would be safer. No more would those three idiots terrorize women and endanger everybody else on the roads. There were other idiots, Casey was sure, because there were always others, but at least she’d done her small part.
Sheila looked down the road. “Can I give you a ride somewhere? The train station?”
“Actually, the walk is doing me good. But I appreciate it.”
“I wish I could do something for you.”
Casey wished it, too.
“I want to go home,” Casey blurted.
Sheila blinked. “That’s good. Right?”
“Yes. I guess so.”
When Casey didn’t say anything else, Sheila cocked her head. “There’s something else you’d like to say.”
Not really. She didn’t want to say it.
“But I’m not…” Casey looked at the sky. “I’m not sure what that means anymore. Home.”
“I think I know what you’re saying. Is home the place you live? Or the people you live among?”
Casey took a deep breath. Let it out. “And what’s the answer?”
Pastor Sheila smiled. “I think we each have to decide that for ourselves.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Sheila laughed. “It’s not my job to give you answers. It’s to help you find them on your own.”
“You’re a weird pastor.”
“Yeah.” Sheila still smiled. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Casey found a smile to return the woman’s. “I like weird pastors.”
“Good.” She looked at Casey. Looked down the road. “Sure I can’t give you a ride?”
Casey felt her aching arm. Her complaining ribs. Her tired, tired soul.
“You know what? I think you can.”
Sheila held out her hand. “Why don’t you give me that bag? Then you get in the car when you’re ready.”
Casey handed over the duffel. The pastor put it in the backseat and drove the car ahead to wait.
Casey looked around at the wide, open fields which led up to the majestic mountains. Mountains that reminded her of home.
No. Not home.
She slid her phone from her pocket. She pulled up the Find a Friend app, where Eric’s profile picture indicated he was at his soup kitchen. Most likely cleaning up after dinner. Or preparing food for the next day.
Casey let her thumb hover over the screen.
She pushed the button that said, “Share location.”
And then she texted,
Will you wait there for me, Eric? I’m coming home.
She sent the text.
She held her phone tightly in her hand.
And she walked forward.
More from this Author
For other books, upcoming author events, or more information please go to:
www.poisonedpenpress.com/Judy-Clemens
Contact Us
To see more Poisoned Pen Press titles:
Visit our website:
poisonedpenpress.com
Request a digital catalog:
[email protected]