Page 11 of The Reaper

He was smiling at her. She felt a thrill. To have a man like this, looking happy to see her, smiling at her, like she was his partner… Hannah felt lucky.

“Yes”, she agreed with him, nodding and smiling at him. “You have looked better. You don’t look terrible, though,” she said playfully, it sounded flirty. She was surprised at herself. But not surprised, either.

“Who did this to me, what happened to me that night? I wish I knew!” Jack sighed. He was awake, alert, frustrated, understandably so. “Am I being moved to a normal hospital soon?”

“No, you know they can’t move you-”

“Hannah, I don’t know anything, remember?”

She snorted. “Wrong phrase, sorry, I mean, you have heard them saying, you are here under special protective custody-”

It was his turn to snort and roll his eyes.

She came closer and sat next to him on the bed. She looked at him, his handsome, healing face. She gave his forearm a quick stroke, turning from being surrounded by him to facing him, what was becoming her usual spot. The doctors were even surprised he couldn’t remember yet.

“I really don't know what happened to you, Jack, you got up to go to work I guess and that's the last time I saw you, until I found you…” she repeated. She had told him this, the doctors had told him this, he remembered this, he was obviously just wanting to go over it again, determined to find answers, perhaps a clue that would unlock his mind further.

“What did I work as?” he asked out of the blue.

Hannah shrugged. “You never really talked about work very much.”

He huffed a little, he looked like a young boy who’d been told he couldn’t go out and play. It was cute. “That seems strange to me, why wouldn't I have talked to you about it?”

She stroked his forehead affectionately, ran her fingers through his hair. He liked that. “I don't know, I mean, I guess you must have worked with some pretty dangerous people, maybe you were just trying to protect me.”

He stilled, his body going tight under her hands. She had said too much, she was sure of it.

“Dangerous people? Like who? Maybe I am a dangerous man, is that it?” he said with a low voice.

She shook her head, she had said too much, he’d start making connections, she thought she could feel it under her touch, his heart missing a beat. She didn’t say anything more.

She looked down at him. But he wasn’t looking at her with suspicion. His pupils were big and black, his lips open ever so slightly, his breathing shallow.

Maybe he hadn’t been joining the dots in his mind after all. Maybe the heat she had thought she felt was something else entirely, not him unravelling the web of half-truths she was trying to spin. She was beginning to feel something else, too. The worry melted away. She felt liquid heat ebbing into her. She saw in her mind an image of them both, what she had been dreaming about in the lonely long nights. Them in bed together. She felt a quiver of anticipation shoot through her.

He reached for her hands, retrieving them from his head. He held them in front of them both, catching her, pulling her in closer. His eyes were dancing and dark. His voice was low. A little half smile curled his lips. He looked every inch the Reaper that he was. What was he going to say? What was he going to do? What was he thinking of, remembering? She had no business mixing with the likes of him, and yet, here she was, and it both terrified and thrilled her.

He brought his hands to hers, then guided her hands to his body. She stood and moved closer to him. He was clearly feeling bold, confident. It was disarming, she let him steer her close. He was wearing a cotton hospital gown. He wanted her to feel him. She wanted this, too, she’d dreamt of it, so she did.

Gently. Her hands skimmed over his chest and he watched her firstly, looking for reactions maybe, then he closed his eyes as if he were searching for something in his mind, trying to remember, trying to remember her touch. The thrill sent a shiver through her that she didn’t bother to disguise. He saw it, his eyes darkening, his jaw slackening. Was her touch too tentative? She was feeling, searching, unsure how much to feel, how hard to hold him. She wanted to feel him but she was afraid of what she might find, what she might make him remember.

Under Hannah’s hands, he felt good. Hard muscles, warm. She couldn't help her hands going further, running down, over his ribs lightly, and running down his abs, under the covers. His eyes flew open and his hands came down on hers to stop her.

“Hannah, I'm naked under here.” His sudden modesty surprised her and she froze. Maybe he knew it, they weren't together really, maybe he remembered she wasn't really his girlfriend. That she was lying to him.

“I'm... sorry,” she said, retreating rapidly, embarrassed, almost ashamed.

He sighed. “I know we were together, I know you mean so much to me, everything just feels… strange. I can't remember anything. I'm so sorry, I can't remember you.” He looked anguished by this, genuinely.

She smiled sadly. So it wasn't that he knew they weren’t really together, he just didn't like the strangeness of it all. She felt a surge of sympathy. She wanted it to be okay for him. She wanted to comfort and reassure. She felt a surge of relief for herself, as well, though. Temporary victory.

“I want to remember, I want to know all about us, I don’t know what questions to ask, where to begin. And I know I’ve got to remember myself, not just ask you and have you tell me the answers.”

He licked his lips and continued. “I hope I never put you in danger, if something like this ever happened to you… I couldn’t…”

She was touched by his thoughts, his concern.

“I worry that it will happen again. I worry that someone will come for me again… in the night sometimes, I think there is someone watching me, through the glass.”

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