Page 47 of Guarded By the Reaper

I pulled Millie aside, my cold fingers wrapping gently around her wrist. “I have to go,” I said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, but there’s something I need to take care of.”

Millie’s brow furrowed. “Where are you going?”

I hesitated. “I need to see a friend “Help her... pass on. It’s my job, after all.”

She nodded, her fingers tightening on my cloak for a moment before letting go. “We’ll be fine,” she assured me. “Don’t worry about us. Go do what you need to do.”

I wanted to kiss her, to pull her close and delay what I needed to do for a few minutes longer, but duty called. So instead, I allowed myself one last lingering look before turning away.

The world shifted and blurred around me as I teleported. I materialized in Isabelle’s hospital room. The white walls and the antiseptic smell hit me first, a painful contrast to the warmth and cinnamon scent of Millie’s kitchen. There, on the bed, lay Isabelle. Her once vibrant form now seemed small and fragile, dwarfed by the medical equipment surrounding her. The silvery thread I’d seen earlier hung in the air, its end knotted around her breastbone. It shimmered faintly, pulsing with the last remnants of her life force. I moved closer, my footsteps silent on the linoleum floor. Isabelle’s eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. The constant beep of the heart monitor seemed too loud in the quiet room.

As I approached, her eyes fluttered open. A weak smile curved her lips when she saw me. “Grim,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “You came.”

I nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Seeing her like this, so close to the end, made my chest ache. I’d known this day was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier.

“Of course I came,” I finally managed. “I promised, didn’t I?”

Isabelle’s smile widened slightly. “You did. Always the gentleman.”

I snorted, shaking my head. “I don’t know about that.”

She reached out a hand, and I took it in mine. Her skin felt paper-thin and cool to the touch. I could feel her pulse, weak but still there, fluttering against my fingertips.

“It’s not fair,” I said, the words escaping before I could stop them. “You’re too young for this. You shouldn’t have to…”

“Shh,” Isabelle interrupted, giving my hand a feeble squeeze. “I’ve made my peace with it, Grim. I’ve had a good life. I have a beautiful daughter. What more could I ask for?”

I wanted to argue, to rage against the unfairness of it all. But the calm acceptance in her eyes stopped me. Who was I to question her feelings about her own death?

“Speaking of beautiful things,” Isabelle said, her voice growing weaker, “How’s that woman of yours? The one you told me about?”

Despite everything, I felt a warmth spread through me at the thought of Millie. “She’s... I think she might love me too. Or at least care about me a little. Which is fine. I’ll take it.”

“Good. You deserve to be happy. Promise me you’ll do everything you can to be happy. Even if you are a Grim Reaper.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Isabelle seemed satisfied with that, her eyes drifting closed again. The silvery thread pulsed once, twice, then began to fade. I knew what I had to do next, but I hesitated. This was always the hardest part. Isabelle’s eyes opened one last time, meeting mine. There was no fear there, only a serene acceptance. She nodded slightly, giving me permission.

My scythe suddenly felt heavy in my hand. It was ready to strike. I hesitated for a moment, looking into her eyes one last time. The blade sliced through the air, ethereal and sharp. It passed through Isabelle’s chest without leaving a mark, hooking around the silvery thread of her life. With a swift motion, I severed it. The thread dissipated into nothingness, and Isabelle exhaled her final breath. For a moment, everything was still. Then, like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis, Isabelle’s spirit sat up. She blinked, looking around in wonder before her gaze settled on her own body, now an empty shell on the hospital bed.

“Well, that was a trip,” she said, her voice stronger than it had been in months.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Even in death, Isabelle maintained her dry sense of humor. “How do you feel?” I asked, offering her my hand.

She took it, rising to her feet with a grace she hadn’t possessed in her final days. “Lighter,” she replied. “Like I’ve been carrying a boulder, and suddenly it’s gone.”

As we stood there, hand in hand, a door materialized before us. It was simple, wooden, with no distinguishing features, save for the soft glow emanating from its edges. Isabelle stared at it, a mix of curiosity and apprehension on her face.

“What’s on the other side?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Honestly? I have no idea. It’s different for everyone. But whatever it is, it’s exactly what you need right now.”

She squeezed my hand. “Will it hurt?”

“No,” I assured her. “Nothing hurts anymore.”

Isabelle nodded, squaring her shoulders. She took a step towards the door, then paused, looking back at me.

“Grim,” she said. “Promise me you’ll look after Janine. And... try to knock some sense into Norman, will you? He’s an idiot, but he’s not a bad person.”

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