The Love of Her Death

by Luna Carrol

  "What the hell does that mean, Buddha?” Yeah. The sarcasm felt good. She could wield it so well, and it came so naturally.

  "It takes a lot to damage a person, but we don't always know the one thing that began the change."

  "I'm still not enlightened. Talk to me straight."

  "You need to find that moment in your life that changed you."

  The train's brakes began to squeal, lightly at first then turning into a high-pitched scream as the train pulled up to a platform. She needed to get away from Patricia. She didn't want to learn anything more about herself. Enough was enough, as her aunt would say.

  "Oops. Looks like my stop is here.” Donnes stood. “I wish I had more time to talk to you, but you know how it is. I can't sit and relax that often.” She smiled as she left Patricia sitting on the vinyl covered bench.

  "See you later!” Patricia's voice carried over the doors’ opening.

  "Not if I can help it.” Donnes exited the faregates and rode the escalator up to the street.

  Great. It's raining. Can things get much worse? She's dead and got nowhere to go. She looked around. The street was empty. Odd. Cars should be streaming down the streets.

  Looking at the streets, she recognized where she was. Standing at the intersection she studied the blinking traffic lights. Her heart stopped. This was the same intersection where her parents died.

  The rain dropped before the blinking traffic lights and caused her lashes to flutter even though they couldn't touch her. In the distance, she heard a car approaching. Tires were squealing. The weather wasn't terrible, but still no one should be driving that recklessly in the rain.

  She blinked and appeared inside a car. The back seat was a narrow vinyl covered bench. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke permeated the air.

  "Because I said so, Harold. She needs to learn how to deal with problems like this. She won't always be your baby girl."

  Her mother? Donnes watched as she swung her hand emphatically while speaking to her father in the front seat. She almost reached out to touch her.

  "No, Violet. She will always be my baby girl. I have to do what I can. A father needs to stand up for his daughter sometimes."

  Donnes looked to her father. He was talking about her. Her father was wearing a dinner jacket and her mother's hair was twisted up into a knot at the base of her head. They must have been out at dinner. They always dressed like that when they went somewhere nice, but she knew they were going for ice cream now. Her father always drove her mother to get ice cream when he took her out for the evening.

  Their conversation summed her up so perfectly. Her mother saying that she needed to do something for herself, but her father wanting to be that hero she needed. Damn. Had she always wanted someone to do for her? Her father always had.

  Donnes started to speak. She saw it. The blinking lights and the empty intersection. NO!! She reached for her father, who turned to say something else. He wasn't watching the road. Her hand passed right through his shoulder.

  Her mother screamed just as another car entered the intersection from the right. Her father tried to turn away from the oncoming car, but it didn't help. The cars collided with such a force that Donnes closed her eyes and gripped the seat.

  * * * *

  The shaking on her shoulder caused her to close her eyes even tighter. She didn't want to see it. The crash supposedly left her mother difficult to recognize. At least that's what her aunt had told her.

  "Donnes."

  She peeked. “Patricia?” She opened her eyes fully.

  "Welcome back. That was quick."

  "What was that?"

  "That's what we call the defining moment.” Patricia looked straight ahead.

  She was back on the Metro. Sitting up, she realized she had been leaning awkwardly on the window. Patricia didn't look at her.

  "The what?"

  "The defining moment. The moment that defined you.” When Patricia looked at her, she shook her head. “Not a good one. Did you learn anything?"

  She felt numb. Looking out the window, she noticed more of her own reflection than the concrete tunnel walls zooming by. “Yeah. I did."

  "How do you feel about your life now?"

  "I had it all wrong, Patricia. I blamed my parents’ deaths on the city, but really ... really it was their fault."

  Patricia nodded. “Imagine that.” Donnes didn't care for the snotty tone. “You blaming others."

  "What's that supposed to mean?” Donnes raised her voice.

  "Still feeling angry?"

  Donnes settled back into her seat. “I've always been angry."

  "Now, you know why that was the defining moment. That moment created your anger. It's what drove you to kill others. Everyone has it. Not everyone recognizes it."

  "What was yours?"

  Patricia turned away. “I didn't kill anyone else."

  "What? Then, how were you on the train?"

  "I said I didn't kill anyone else."

  "Oh...” She understood now. Patricia killed herself. “You got some sense of pleasure from killing yourself?"

  Patricia's smile looked more sad than happy. “It was the drugs. Remember? I told you."

  She had told her, but she had been too disgusted with her to listen. Now, she remembered the Lowe's card, the stress getting to her, and finally the drugs. “I'm sorry."

  "Don't be. I found my defining moment.” She sighed. “And now you found yours. We're both better off now. And yeah, there was some relief in my death, but I wouldn't do it again."

  "Yeah?” She didn't exactly know what to say to her.

  "No. There was a euphoria as the drugs hit, but in the back of my mind I panicked. I didn't want to die even though I loved what the drugs made me feel.” She laughed half-heartedly. “Strange. I know."

  "I guess I understand what you mean."

  "No. You probably don't, but the simple fact is I killed myself, and I wanted to do it, and I found some enjoyment in doing it. So, I belonged on the train."

  Donnes nodded silently. She would probably never understand what Patricia meant. She hadn't killed herself. However, there were times the thought crossed her mind—her sick and confused mind. Just how many people had she blamed for something that wasn't their fault?

  Donnes slumped down in her seat. “All my life it seems."

  "What?” Patricia gave her a wry look.

  "Nothing. I just regret a lot of things now."

  "Still on the right track to self-discovery then."

  "How long before this version of It's A Wonderful Life ends?"

  Patricia smiled. “See, I always thought of it as A Christmas Carol. I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past."

  "Funny. How long?” She looked back out the window as the train slowed to another stop.

  They were at the McPherson Station. She recognized it clearly. The hexagon shaped floor tiles, the faregates, she knew it all. “Oh no."

  Patricia nodded. “I think that this is about your last stop."

  Donnes shook her head no as she looked down at the gun in her lap. “I don't want to go back there."

  "Go on Scrooge. Learn your lessons."

  "It's not easy, ya know."

  Patricia smiled. “It's never easy to examine the things you regret."

  "What happens after...?"

  "That depends on you and your decision. I'm sure you know that."

  "You said this was all real?"

  "No. I said everything on the train was real. This isn't the same anymore.” She gestured over her shoulder with her head. “You killed who you did and that will never really change. The only thing that can change now is you."

  "So why do it again?"

  Patricia's lips pressed into a thin smile.

  "If I killed them and this isn't really real, then what difference does it make if I kill them again or not? They won't die again."

  "No. They can't die twice, but you can prove who you really are by pulling that trigger again or not."


  Donnes sat silently for a moment. So nothing she did really changed anything that has already happened. She can't really kill them again, and she would always be a murderer now.

  Everything that happened was real and would stay real. Colin! He was real, too. All the things he had said to her were real, and the things he did to her were real! “If it was real, then I can go back. To Colin."

  "Go back? Don't you want to know where you're going? Most people want to know what their final stop is, or at the very least they beg to return to this world.” She waved behind herself to indicate the world of the living.

  "Oh no. I have no one here, but...” She couldn't tell Patricia. She just wouldn't understand.

  "Oh no.” Patricia laughed. “You fell for Colin!"

  Donnes sighed and sat back in the orange colored vinyl seat. She closed her eyes and waited for the laughing to stop. She didn't know why it was funny, but she had known Patricia would find it funny.

  Patricia continued to laugh.

  "Alright. It's not that funny."

  "Oh, but it is. You see the conductors, the captains, the hotel clerks, the flight attendants, none of them have emotions."

  "Captains? Flight attendants?"

  Patricia shrugged. “We have them all."

  "Well, you're wrong about Colin. He cares for me."

  Patricia's smile faded, replaced by a sympathetic shaking of her head. “No, honey. It's our way. We grow attached to the soul of our prey. When we find a desirable soul, it becomes something like an obsession.” Patricia patted her hand. “If it means anything, I've never seen Colin get so worked up over a soul before. But...” She held up her hand to silence Donnes. “It just isn't possible for one of us to love one of you. You're our food, and even if it did happen, it wouldn't matter. Take a look around. You're here, and he's there. You two will never be together again."

  Donnes couldn't believe that. He had felt something more than hunger for her. She knew he did. There was jealousy, and lust, and ... Okay, so he didn't say he loved her, but they were connected in some way.

  When souls connected, it is love. “Isn't that the same thing as soul mates?"

  "No, Donnes. Soul mates is a mortal term. To the soul eaters it isn't a mating. It's an eating. Like a shark smelling blood. We have to have it. In fact, if we get hungry enough, we'll make our prey feel especially attracted to us.” She grew quiet a minute. “But we're sort of territorial, too. We want to eat your soul, but there's no way we're going to let anyone else do that or harm your soul in any way. We keep what's ours."

  Donnes’ mouth dropped open. Patricia looked so sinister now. She resembled a demon more than an angel in A Christmas Carol. There was absolutely no apology in her voice for what she was, and Colin was the same thing!

  Colin kept saying that he wouldn't allow anyone else to hurt her, and he did eventually eat her soul. The heaviest feeling in all of creation crushed her chest and heart. She had been nothing more to him than a meal.

  Patricia patted her hand again. “It's okay. He did what was natural for him. He took the little bit of life left in you to live and that allowed you to be here now. He had to do it."

  "I don't want to be here. I would have preferred not having my soul eaten. Thank you very much.” Yeah. So she was still using sarcasm. There couldn't be a good time for justifiable anger if this wasn't it.

  "Nevertheless. You had to come here. There was no choice for either of you.” Patricia smiled and indicated that the car sat still beside the platform.

  "No choice.” Donnes repeated the words, allowing them to sink in deep. It just couldn't be that way. Colin couldn't be that heartless.

  "Come on. I'll walk with you a little ways this time.” Patricia helped her up and walked with her onto the platform.

  The faregates never opened for them, but they easily walked through. Donnes still felt numb and paid little attention to it now. How long was eternity exactly? She would spend it wondering if Colin was exactly what Patricia described him as.

  They walked out of the subway tunnel. The department store shouldn't be right in front of the tunnel. She usually had to walk a little ways. Of course, the rules couldn't possibly be the same anymore.

  Patricia walked her to the automatic double doors at the entrance. Several customers walked right past them and never even acknowledged them. “This is where I leave you. You have to make your own decisions from here on out. No one will be able to help you with that. Only you know what you have to do. Right and wrong is a value in your mind. Do what feels right.” She turned to leave and paused. “Of course, some people choose not to do what's right if they know where they want to be."

  Okay, Buddha. You run along and leave me to decipher what that means. Donnes watched Patricia make her way back to the Metro tunnel. The woman's orange hair made it all too easy to find her in a crowd.

  Donnes looked at the gun in her hand. Doing what she had done before took her to Colin. She looked to the doors that continuously opened and closed due to many customers. Doing what she had done before took people from their loved ones. It was wrong, and no matter how badly she wanted Colin, she couldn't do it again.

  She entered the store, knowing that no one could see her. She walked down the front of the store, passed the registers. An older, gray-haired cashier smiled while helping a customer. “Sure. Smile like you're friendly. You old bitch. There isn't a friendly bone in your body."

  She paused and stared at the woman. She really was being nice to the customer. She was asking about the child in the buggy crying for a sucker, sympathizing with the mother's argument that the crap beside the register shouldn't be something that would appeal to children. Oh God, maybe that woman wasn't as horrid as she always believed her to be.

  The stocker was flirting with a new cashier. “You little prick. If you touched her, she'd probably get a venereal disease."

  The new cashier laughed at him. “You idiot. You know my boyfriend would beat the shit out of you. You know, you're really pathetic hitting on everything in a skirt but never getting a date."

  Donnes watched the stocker's face turn several shades of red just before he stormed off. He never had a date? That wasn't what he said when she was around. He usually bragged about how many girls he had dumped. Shaking her head, she turned away from the laughing girl.

  Mr. Callaway ... she paused. He stood by the customer service counter in that same windbreaker. Everyone was exactly as they always had been. They were exactly the same but now different. None of them seemed as terrible anymore.

  She relaxed and breathed easy. She could do things differently this time. Her spirits started to rise. All she had to do was drop the gun and walk out of the store.

  No.

  Patricia told her that they all really did die. Nothing she did now would change any of that. So what did she have to do here? Why return here at all if there wasn't anything for her to do or learn here? Her eyes traveled back to Callaway as she wondered.

  "What are you doing?” she spoke aloud but only she heard it.

  Callaway examined his short black rope in his pocket. Tucking it in deeper, he checked his watch.

  "Anyone seen Donnice?” he asked two male employees pushing a float with boxes on it.

  "Nah."

  "Sure haven't."

  Callaway grumbled something then walked away.

  He was waiting for her, and it had nothing to do with work. That rope had not been coincidental. So did he really only kill one woman? She rolled her eyes. No way. She heard enough about serial killers. They never stopped.

  She followed him to the hardware section. Maybe the rope in his pocket really had something to do with work. It could be. Okay, that's a stretch, but she still wanted to keep him in her sights. Perhaps her lesson had something to do with Callaway and her decision to kill him.

  Callaway turned down the aisle and stopped in front of the wooden dowels. Picking up the shortest one, it couldn't be more than three inches long. He held it firmly in his fi
st. A grin spread across his face as he turned his hand side to side slowly.

  "Yeah. That feels good."

  He looked around then moved to the rope used for clotheslines. Slipping the wooden dowel between two loops of the rope, he twisted it. The rope tightened as the dowel twisted. Callaway's grin tightened as well. He had such an evil glint in those eyes.

  Donnes couldn't believe the man made a strangling tool right in front of her. Of course, he didn't know she stood there. She couldn't remember the exact name of the tool, but she had seen it on television before. The stick made it easier to twist the ropes even tighter.

  The stick! Callaway said something about getting his stick when he tried to rape her. The rope and the stick were no coincidence. He planned her rape and murder!

  "Yo, Boss."

  Donnes stepped back to see the smart-ass stocker speaking to Callaway.

  Callaway pretended to be straightening the ropes. “Yes?"

  "Donnice just got here. She's late as usual."

  "Really? Well, I guess I should have a word with her.” He smiled.

  The stocker chuckled. “I gotta hear this."

  "I'm here?” She looked down at the gun in her hand. “But I'm already here."

  She walked to the front of the store, arriving just after Callaway and the stocker. She froze.

  There she stood, facing everyone with the gun in her hand.

  "No!” She ran to the other version of herself. “You can't! They're not what I thought!"

  Reaching herself, a tug from some unseen force pulled her closer. The tug turned into a pull. A whoosh of air accompanied the sinking feeling in her gut as the living version and the dead version of her became one.

  Donnes looked down at the gun and around the store. There were no other versions of her. In her body once more, she touched her clothing, her hair...

  "Donnice, we need to think this through.” Callaway's voice brought her out of the self-reflection.

  "Think this through? No. I'm tired of being pushed around.” She pointed the gun at the older cashier. “I'm tired of your mouth. I think I'll kill you first."

  "Donnice, let's talk about this.” Callaway took a step closer. “You're no murderer."