Page 110 of Scrooged for the Holidays
Chapter thirty-three
Samael
Wedropintothefinal future scene, the one that never gets easier, no matter how many people I help in this way. The funeral home itself isn’t cold and bleak, but the stark emptiness and sadness in the air matches my sullen and sour mood.
I knew I had to show Greer her bleak future and couldn’t hold back, but it’s been harder than I expected it to be. After spending time with her, the urge I felt at the ice rink to protect her, to keep her from harm, is back in full force but even stronger.
Seeing her in pain, experiencing it firsthand, shouldn’t affect me this much, but it is. I’m an empathic being, but this goes beyond my usual empathy for a job.
I’ve had to resist the urge to be soft, to bring her into my arms and finish early in each future vision I’ve shown her, but not only did she hold out her hand for me to bring her to this last one, I can also see she wants to experience what I have to show her. Greer Mallory is strong.
She observes the funeral home with wide eyes, her hands fisted and flexing at her sides.
She takes a few steps down the aisle lined with empty chairs. Her gaze travels over them, and she stops to grip the back of one of them, looking forward. “Is thismy—”
Her question cuts off when she sees the funeral director walk up onto the small stage and step past a silver urn on a platform. Next to it is a large image of the Greer we saw before but older.
“I’m dead,” Greer says, gripping the chair tighter while turning to look at me.
I swallow down my continued urges to protect her from this and take a step forward. “Yes. This is your funeral.”
She stares at the photo of herself, brow furrowed. “How old was I?”
I shake my head. “I can’t tell you that.”
She pauses and looks around again. “Nobody is here, Sam.”
Her voice is strained, and I take another step closer so I’m at her back, my mouth near her ear. “There’s one.”
I point to the right side in the front where there’s a single woman with gray hair in a modest black dress sitting and looking straight forward.
“Who?”
“Go find out.”
Greer’s steps are tentative and small, so unlike the self-assured woman who stalked into the bar three nights ago and demanded the Wi-Fi password. But she’s being brave, regardless.
“Avery,” she says under her breath. The woman looks up as if she heard Greer, but she didn’t—she’s looking at the funeral director.
“You can start,” she says.
The man looks out over the empty seats. “You’re sure?”
“Nobody else is coming.”
Greer’s jaw clenches, emotions flooding through her at rapid speed: anger, sadness, fear, and confusion.
“Very well then.” The director picks up a sheet from the podium in front of him and begins to read from it. “Greer Mallory was a dedicated professional and successful business owner. In her life, she was known for her sharp mind, drive for excellence, and being the best in the investment real estateworld. She could take any underperforming company and turn it into a thriving business.”
Greer bounces her eyes between Avery and the funeral director. Her fists are clenched to near white, and I see her blink enough that I know she’s fighting off tears. I start to move closer to her but stop when Remi’s voice enters my mind.
Let her feel it, Sam. Focus on her aura, on the healing gold.
I run my tongue over the top of my teeth and hold in a sigh. I know he’s right, and when I focus on her aura, I see the gray is nearly gone. She’s feeling, truly feeling. I can’t interfere. I have to do what I’ve wanted to do all along and let her see the consequences of her choices. She needs to really absorb them so she can decide how to move forward from here.
“It’s as if he’s reading a LinkedIn bio,” she says quietly. “Is that really all I was?”
I don’t answer because I know the question wasn’t for me.
