Page 129 of Grim Tidings

Darcy

Frank blinks in the sudden fluorescent lighting, squinting up at the file cabinets that reach all the way to a ceiling I can’t see. Silver on one side, bronze on the other.

His mouth pulls down in a frown and I furiously try to wipe the tears off my cheeks. I feel especially exposed here. Gideon was right about the lighting.

“What’s inside those cabinets?” Frank asks.

“Ledgers,” Gideon offers, striding toward Maverick’s abandoned desk to sift through the neatly stacked files. I’ve never seen anyone court Maverick’s wrath so boldly before, but I guess being head of the Reapers has its privileges.

I drag the sleeve of my sweater over my wet cheeks. I can still feel the press of Gabriel’s fingertips, still hear his ragged breath. I’m starting to think the afterlife has it out for me, handing me something beautiful only to rip it away.

“Here.” Frank reaches in the front pocket of his coveralls and fishes out a small, worn handkerchief. It has flowers embroidered on the edges.

I curl my fingers around it. I try to say thank you, but the words crumble to dust in my mouth. Frank smiles gently, like he knows.

His eyes slant back to Gideon.

“What sort of ledgers?” he asks.

“The ones that categorize all of humanity,” Gideon replies with a weary sigh. He gestures above his head like he’s referencing the daily soup special and not the scales that balance the universe. “Who is here and who is there. Who is going somewhere. Maverick maintains the system, so I can’t speak to specifics.”

Frank’s mouth pinches. “Why do you need a system?”

“So that souls can be categorized appropriately.”

“And why do souls need to be—”

“No more questions,” Gideon interrupts. He scrubs his palm against his forehead. A rare show of frustration. “I can’t find what I’m looking for anyway.”

And what, I think dazedly, are you looking for?

There are a lot of loose ends dangling around Gideon’s behavior. He said one human soul can’t be sacrificed for another, yet he let me take Frank. He said there would be ramifications for my behavior, yet here I stand.

None of it makes any sense.

Frank nudges me with his elbow. “Is that the door?” he whispers.

“Yes,” I assure him. “That’s the door.”

It’s unassuming. Simple oak with unadorned casing. A gold knob, worn down to a dull matte on the top and bottom. Certainly not what you’d expect a door to eternal rest or damnation to look like.

Frank fidgets from foot to foot, nervous. I let myself grab for his hand, squeezing tight.

“It’s going to be okay.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But—”

“But?”

“What if they’re not there?” he whispers.

“They’re there, Frank.”

He brings a trembling hand to his chin. “What if they don’t want to see me?” he asks, voice barely a whisper.

I think of that little girl asking for her daddy. How she looked over her shoulder. Over and over. “They want to see you.”

“What if I don’t—” He exhales a short, shaky breath. “What if I end up somewhere else?”