DEATH (pale_as) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-08-07 10:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | death |
Who: Death and some mortals
What: Closed narrative
When: Friday
Where: Laura Gringold's apartment
Laura Gringold was not a single mother, it only felt like it sometimes. She and her young husband, Dan, had been growing farther and farther apart since the disappearance of their daughter. In Old Testament times, the couple would have been described as Good, they were hard working, God-fearing people, like many, they took the Lord's name in vain and they didn't observe the Sabbath. Good, but sinners, so were they Good? It was not Death's place to judge. He had known from the very beginning who they were and what they were and where they lived. He knew their schedules, knew their fights and fears, he knew that the loss of their daughter was tearing them apart. At first he had not felt guilty, and even now, as he walked down the sidewalk to their building, and rode the elevator to the seventh floor of the rent-controlled apartment complex, he was having doubts. The baby squirmed happily in his right arm, chewing on his hair and shirt collar and sleeve, and in his left hand he held a simple wrench.
He knew that the Gringolds did not deserve to lose their daughter, whatever their faults. They had not acted against the Lord. In fact, the only crime they had ever committed was in naming their daughter. He also knew that on Fridays, Laura Gringold did not leave the apartment for her job at a dry cleaners until two o'clock, and it was eleven o'clock now. He sighed, glanced to the baby, and then knocked on the door of apartment 742. After some shuffling and puttering, Laura Gringold opened the door the few inches that the chain allowed. Her face was pale, her eyes had dark circles under them, her short blonde hair stuck out in places.
"Mrs. Gringold?" Death asked in a voice that threatened to stick in his throat.
"Yes-" She said warily, eyeing the baby, and Death could see that she was attempting to contain herself. Her hands shook. Death smiled wearily.
"Mrs. Gringold, my name is Tom Reynolds, I'm from child services." He said slowly, and it was a lie, but a Good lie, a lie that would soothe and comfort, and made what he had done right. As he spoke, Laura Gringold unlatched the chain and opened the door wide. Inside the apartment Death could see a ratted couch, a small TV, and a dingy white cradle that had been pushed into a corner and used to hang coats on. Far from just her hands, Laura Gringold's entire body was shaking. "We've found -" This time, his voice did stick in his throat, and he had to cough, "Britney."
Two things happened simultaniously, Laura Gringold burst into tears, and Death tucked the wrench under his arm and offered the baby to her. The mortal woman clutched the baby tightly to her chest and stood stiff, weaping. Death could only smile as Gla- as the baby reached for strands of her mother's hair. Then another thing happened. Laura Gringold reached for Death and embraced him tightly along with her daughter. Death, for once at a loss for words, just gently patted the woman on the back as she sobbed into his shoulder.
"Thank you." Laura Gringold said, wiping the tears from her eyes once she had managed to somewhat compose herself. "Thank you, thank you, thank you." She took an unsteady step backwards from Death and stood in the doorway to her apartment, obviously unsure of herself, or what to do, or what to say.
"There's going to be a delivery in a few days." Death said, "The citizen who found her took a liking to her, and has been persuaded to donate some items that should be helpful to you and your husband. Laura Gringold just nodded mutely, she couldn't imagine three days from now, when enough baby supplies to drown a small country would be arriving at her doorstep. Some of the more expensive items could be sold to cover rent for a good few months, and the others would keep the baby happy and healthy for at least another seven or eight months. "And also-" Death held up the wrench, "There are a few safety precautions you need to take for some of the items - I understand you have a gas stove?"
"We do-" Laura Gringold replied as she offered her daughter a finger to grasp. "Oh, please, come in."
"Thank you." Death said, and entered the apartment. Immediately upon entering the kitchen, he saw the offending stove, and began to work on it, tightening some connections and loosening others until, finally, he located the problem. A speck of highly combustable material, he didn't know what it was, he didn't care, accidentally left in the stove's workings. The thing was old, it had been made qucikly and cheaply, and in six months, three days, eleven minutes, and seventeen, sixteen, fifteen seconds, it would have exploded and set the entire seventh floor to light. Very few survivors. That was the way it was supposed to be, that was the Plan. Death reached out for the piece, a small dark chip, no bigger than a dime, and placed it in his pocked. He pulled away from the stove, a smudge of dirt on the bridge of his nose. "That should take care of it." He said in a very pleasant tone of voice, and inclined his head to Laura Gringold. If he'd had a hat, he might have tipped it. "Have a good day, Mrs. Gringold." He said, and, utilizing every shred of his self-control to not tear the baby from her mother's arms, began to head for the front door of the apartment.
"Wait-" Laura Gringold chased after Death, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Where did you find her? Who found her? When-"
Then came the second lie, the better lie, the more comforting lie. A shower of feathers and light, a soft glow from his eyes, a smile. "Mrs. Gringold," Death said gently, turning to the woman. "It's better not to know." He reached out a hand to gently brush the baby's hair from her forehead. "Goodbye." He murmured in a language even older than himself, and then he was gone.
Six months, three days, ten minutes, and fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one seconds from now, all would be well, and he was glad for it. His heart began to beat.