I closed my eyes, drew in calm, and let the silence catch my words. “I’m sorry.”
Rising from the bed, I was careful not to disturb her, and pulled on the jacket that hung near the door. The dark fabric settled around my shoulders like a shroud. The wind outside howled against the walls of the cottage, but my attention was no longer on that. It was on the urgency of the souls, the finality of what I had to do.
Making my way outside, I reached for the gates—the ancient metal barrier that separated the mortal realm from the space I commanded. My hands moved over the rusted surface, murmuring the necessary words. The air thickened, the veryfabric of reality bending as I opened them, slipping through the portal, the weight of my duty locked tight with an iron chain.
In the blink of an eye, I was no longer in the cottage.
The world shifted around me, folding into itself akin to pages of an ancient book, and I emerged into a remote village, tucked away beneath rolling mountains. The air was warm with the scent of tropical flowers and the hum of daily life. People moved with purpose as children laughed, and birds called to one another.
But in the distance, there was a stillness. A pulse that didn’t belong.
I moved through the village, my presence unnoticed by those around me. It wasn’t my job to be seen, but to be felt, to arrive when a life had run its course, no matter how far or near. No matter the time.
The house stood on the edge of the village, an unassuming structure with painted walls in faded pastels and flowers growing in wild clusters along the sides. I stepped inside without knocking, as I always did, and found the elderly woman in her bed, surrounded by family.
Her name was Carmen and she had lived nearly a century, her face etched with the stories of the world. Her children and grandchildren sat at her side, her frail hand held gently by her youngest granddaughter, who spoke words of love into her ear.
I watched, as I always did, before I approached. Her breathing had slowed, the rise and fall of her chest barely perceptible. She had lived a full life—married the love of her life, had children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and watched the world change around her. She had lived through joy and hardship, laughter and tears. And now, the end was here.
Reaching for her hand, I felt her fingers trembled as they curled around mine—still strong with life, but fading. The room fell silent, save for the sound of the wind outside.
"Es hora, señora." My voice was a soft murmur, the same words I always used when it was time. Time to leave the world, but never to be forgotten.
I placed my other hand gently on her chest, feeling the last beat of her heart, slow but steady. The family gathered closer, sensing what was happening but not yet ready to let go. I could feel their love, their grief, their gratitude for her long life.
“Thank you,” I murmured to Carmen, and to them all. “Thank you for your strength. Your love. Your life.”
With that, I took her final breath from her, a soft exhale that echoed in the room like a fading song. The room was still for a moment, the weight of it hanging in the air, before her soul lifted from her, glowing bright in the corner of the room.
Her soul was a tapestry of memories—love, loss, the laughter of children, the quiet moments of contentment that fill a life. As I gently cradled it in my hands, I felt it. The beauty of her life, now wrapped in light, her energy ready to move on.
My hands trembled.
Very rarely had I ever crushed a soul. It was the kind of death you don’t come back from, no matter what you believe. It was a detestable end, saved only for the worst souls among them. But my fingers faltered.
The tension in my brow grew more incessant as I studied the fragile soul nestled in my palm. I would never crush Carmen’s soul, but jealousy was a swift and dangerous current and I felt a sharp pain of sadness.
Astoria’s close proximity lately was beginning to make me yearn…
I loosened my hold and turned to leave, desperate to leave my sickening thoughts behind.
The casita held her families tears, as they held each other. Her legacy would continue with them, in every memory and every story she had left behind. They would carry her in theirhearts, and one day, they too would cross over, leaving their own legacies.
I turned, my feet already pulling me toward the door, but as I passed the family, I stopped for a moment, placing a hand on the shoulder of the granddaughter who had held Carmen’s hand. A gesture of comfort, even if she felt it as a shudder of cold.
And with that, I stepped back into the shadows of the world, the gates of death waiting to carry her on.
They weren’t all like that, but when they were, it made it easier to live with myself.
twenty-five
Astoria
November 2018
The window above Grim’s bed revealed hazy skies and rising winds, the grass outside bowing and singing beneath the wind’s fingers. I stretched, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, vaguely wondering if my unusually restful night had more to do with the mattress… or the fact that I’d slept beside him.
My pulse didn’t spike at the thought, in fact my mind stayed quiet. Maybe it was easier to pretend things weren’t complicated when he wasn’t here—when his side of the bed was empty, the sheets still rumpled where he once had lain.
