Sinister

Chapter Eight

Leighton dropped the stone as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Marks people for death?" she repeated, hysteria rising. "Am I marked now?" Leighton looked down at her shaking fingers, fear clenching her stomach as she suddenly realised Tate was close enough to take the rest of her soul at a moment's notice.

"No," Tate answered, quelling most of the worry. "The stone has to be placed in someone's place of dwelling or on them in some way. Each stone is different, and has to be placed upon the person with purpose. Touching it second hand does not change the ownership."

Leighton's head whirled. "Did you give this to Rudd? I found another one in his shop too. Officer McGuinty said that Jack Norton's room was overflowing with them, what does that mean?"

"Leighton," Tate called her name soothingly, "calm down."

She took a deep breath and met his eyes. "Sorry."

"I didn't give those stones to Jack Norton or Rudd," Tate replied after a moment. "I don't have any of those stones in my possession, I'm simply attracted to their location."

"If you don't put them there, than who does?"

Tate was evasive. "Someone else."

"Who?"

"My partner," Tate divulged, "I apply that term loosely."

Leighton frowned. "Partner? You work with another person who collects souls?"

Tate shook his head, "Killian doesn't have that ability. He marks the people who are supposed to die with those stones and I come and collect their souls. Beings like us always come in pairs."

"Like us?" Leighton echoed, "there's more of you?"

Tate shrugged. "Yes. Me and Killian however, are the originals."

"Original what?" Leighton asked, mind already whirling. She had forgotten what it was like to be in Tate's presence, to feel like she was being sucked into a black hole and only wanting to fall faster.

"Reaper," Tate whispered.

Leighton stared at him. "You're a reaper?"

Tate shook his head. "That isn't how it works," he said, "Your myths have it confused. Reaper is a term for a pair of people, one marker and one collector."

"And you and your partner are the first?"

"We've been doing this so long I can't remember when I started," Tate relented, sorrow weaving its way into the threads of his voice. He removed his eyes from her as his gaze became distant.

Leighton got up and fetched herself a glass of water. Tate remained motionless on the couch. Leighton looked through the cupboards for a glass, finding four of the five completely empty. The fifth had a few plates and cups, Leighton took one and filled it with tap water, an idea occurring to her. When Leighton returned to the living room she was determined to understand, even if she lost her own mind in the process.

"Do you eat anything?" Leighton asked.

"Not really," Tate answered, tone flat.

Leighton frowned, recalling him taking food home from Dante's Tavern and ordering when they met up to talk the first time around. "But you―"

"Buy food?" Tate guessed. "Yeah, I usually just hand it off to one of my neighbours." Leighton wouldn't let herself dwell on his diet, not when there was so much more to understand.

"You said there is more of you," Leighton prodded. "How many more?"

Tate shrugged. "I don't have a head count. As the human population grew I guess it became too much for Killian and I to handle on our own. I barely manage with this quadrant."

Leighton bit her nail. "You guess?"

Tate laughed once, without any humour. "When you've been alive as long as I have you start forgetting things. Neither Killian nor I can remember the beginning. It's like, every few centuries my memory hits reset so I can keep on going."

"So you can't tell me about the birth of mankind?" Leighton joked. Leighton's outburst of humour surprised her, since when was she the type to make light of heavy situations?

Tate's lip pulled up in a half smile. "Not with any detail."

Leighton sipped at her water. "So, Killian gives these stones to the next person who is supposed to die."

Tate took a second before answering. "I wouldn't say there's a next. He just sorts of marks them and I collect them when I do, there isn't a deadline. Well, not exactly." Tate shook his head, rubbing the underside of his jaw. "Sorry, I haven't had to explain any of this for a very long time."

"It's okay," Leighton croaked. She drank more water. "Why does he have to give them so many? Why not just one stone?" Leighton recalled what McGuinty had said about finding stones under Jack Norton's mattress and piled on his window sill.

Tate looked down. "Usually, Killian only lays down one stone," he admitted.

"So what was with Jack Norton?" Leighton pried.

Tate's tongue fiddled with his lip ring. "I guess, I couldn't do it. Not right away. Killian marked the kid right after he was injured but something in me just couldn't go through with it." Tae wouldn't raise his eyes. "He had so much ahead of him, and despite what you might think about me, Leighton, I don't always enjoy my job."

Leighton felt guilt settle over her like a blanket. How much harder had she made Tate's life over the past few weeks? All Leighton had done was insist he was a murderer when really, he felt remorse over what he had to do.

"So what, Killian dropped more stones until you got the message?"

Tate nodded, "Pretty much."

"I don't understand, what was different about Jack Norton? I mean, it sounds like you've been doing your job for a long time. I would've thought you'd be less vulnerable to lapses in emotion."

Tate barked out a laugh. "Apathy is Killian's specialty."

"He doesn't care?" Leighton inquired, leaning forward.

"He's about the order. What needs to be done. It's easy for him, his hands are always clean. My side of the job is a lot messier, I'm always emotionally involved because it's me who's always touching the souls." A deep shadow cut across Tate's face. Leighton's lungs froze over as her eyes wandered to the markings on his skin. She couldn't help but wonder how heavily interacting with dying souls affected him.

Leighton tried to create some mental distance from what she was hearing. Despite seeing Tate's abilities first hand, it wasn't easy to comprehend what he was telling her. "I take it you two aren't exactly friends?"

Tate wasn't quick to answer. "Killian and I, we go through our rough patches. Every few decades we work together but it almost always ends with disaster. It's better to work together, but apart."

Leighton decided to change the subject, not wanting Tate to tense up any more than he already had. "What you said earlier, about their not being a deadline. Was that true?"

"It's complicated," Tate lamented. "Some deaths are more lenient than others when it comes to the when. Patients with long term diseases, for example, are on a more lenient schedule than the souls I had to collect tonight at the fire."

Leighton's eyes travelled to Tate's arms, once again becoming mystified at the marks that covered his skin. Slowly, Leighton got up from the recliner and moved to sit next to Tate. He seemed to hold his breath as she sat, eyes fixed on her.

"These marks," she began, holding his eyes as she lifted her hand. Leighton kept her wrist carefully bent as the tips of her fingers grazed the surface of his skin. Tate shivered, exhaling cool air.

"They're imprints," Tate told her, voice husky. "Impressions from the souls."

Leighton traced a few of the imprints with her fingers, wonder thrumming through her. Despite the fact these marks were acquired during the finals moments of death, Leighton couldn't help but think they resembled flourishes of life.

"Are they in you?" she asked, trying to suspend her inhibitions. "The souls?"

Tate exhaled in a laugh. "What?"

Leighton felt her cheeks heat. "What?"

Tate was grinning, it was one of the first genuine smiles she had seen him produce. "That's so twisted," he told her, "What kind of afterlife would that be? You trudge through life just to get stuck in my body?"

Leighton laughed a little, surprising herself. She never thought she would have cause to laugh in Tate's company. "It was a good question," she said in her own defense.

Tate laughed again, this time perking up as well. "I know you were a good guy, Mr. Smith, move right along to my kneecap as a reward."

Leighton smacked Tate's shoulder and then covered her mouth as she laughed. "Okay, so it wasn't such a great question." After a moment, Tate sobered up. Leighton didn't miss the new way he looked at her.

"The souls go through me, consider me like a door or a passage way. I collect the souls, acting as a sort of chauffeur to whatever life is next for them." Tate's eyes watched her carefully, their colour shifting from pale grey to a light green as the light started to ebb in the room.

Leighton hugged her hands to her sides, her fingers starting to go cold from being so close to him. "Does it hurt?" she wondered. "When they go through you?" Tate seemed uncomfortable with this question. "I heard you cry out," Leighton continued, "when you took Jack Norton's soul."

"It hurts," Tate revealed with a grimace. "But it's more than that. It's not just pain, it's an onslaught of a hundred different emotions. It's like jamming pure energy into a glass container. Sometimes it's hard to handle and the glass implodes, sending shards everywhere."

"It must be hard," Leighton empathized.

"It has to be done," Tate stated, "I don't have a choice." Petra's words floated back to Leighton. There is no avoiding death.

Leighton prepared herself for the next line of questioning. She knew she had to be careful not to pressure Tate, considering how edgy he had become when she had asked him about Braden the first time.

"About what you did to me, the night we met in the woods―"

Tate was already on edge, his back straightening as he angled himself away from her. "I don't want to talk about that," he grunted. "Leave that alone."

Leighton softened her voice. "I just want to understand," she probed, "I don't understand how you did it, how you took a piece of my memory away."

"It wasn't your memory," Tate yielded, "that isn't how it works."

"How does it work then?" Leighton encouraged, trying to keep her emotions at a distance. She wanted to tell him that she had the right to know, that what he took wasn't his to take. But she knew how that particular conversation went.

Tate rubbed his hands along the tops of his thighs. "You have to understand the soul itself to really get it," Tate said, "you have to understand that the human soul isn't a stagnant thing. It evolves over a lifespan, constantly being changed and influenced by experiences, feelings, and interactions."

"Okay," Leighton breathed, nodding.

"Most of the time, the soul changes for the better. Becomes brighter, stronger, more assured in a way. But sometimes, something happens to blacken the soul, almost killing an area of it. It's only when a piece of a soul dies that I can take it away without removing the rest."

Leighton felt her stomach do a barrel roll. "My soul was dead?"

"Damaged," Tate informed, "severely in one area."

"So you took that away?" Leighton inquired. For some reason, a hollow feeling was starting to take hold in her chest. All the time she had spent wondering why she was different, why she was broken, only to find out now that she was right. She was damaged. "That piece of my soul is gone forever?"

Tate looked down at his hands. "That piece was poisoning the rest of your soul, infecting it. What I did―well, it's not technically allowed."

"Why not?" Leighton asked, skin prickling.

"Because by taking it away I altered who you are," Tate admitted, mouth pinching at the corners. "That's why you can't remember what happened to you, that's why you don't feel emotionally connected to that portion of your past. I took all that away when I removed that experience from your soul."

"I'm not the same person anymore?" Leighton stated, not sure how to respond. She already knew that though. Leighton had felt it the morning after Jack Norton died, she had felt different. She could breathe and smile and laugh.

"In a sense, no," Tate explained. "But in a way you kind of revert back to the person you were before the incident ever happened."

Leighton bit at her nails, feeling unsettled. "Is that part of me―the part with Braden―is it gone forever? Has it moved on to where ever it is that the other souls go?"

Without looking at her, Tate shook his head. "The soul can't move on when it's not intact. That infected piece of you is still here, attached to your imprint."

Leighton's eyes moved to her mark, the oval with two diagonal strikes through it. "So when I die, that piece will reattach to the rest of my soul? And it will move on all together."

Tate rubbed his hands over his face. "This is why I'm not supposed to do what I did to you, it makes everything hard. But yes, if you were to―" Tate cut off abruptly, clearing his throat. When he spoke again his voice had dropped. "If I were to collect your soul, than yes, it would reattach."

Leighton tried to remain nonchalant. "You've done this before? To other people?"

Tate nodded, eyes sad. "Only once every few decades do I come across someone like you. Someone I can't resist helping."

Leighton decided to change the subject, she didn't like the feeling that was rising in her, it was far too close to jealousy. "Why do I keep showing up where ever you are? Why do we keep running into each other? It can't be chance. Why am I so attracted to you?"

Tate smirked, the earlier heaviness gone. "Attracted to me?" Tate mused, "what's your favorite feature? Is it my eyes? I've been told my eyes are dazzling."

Leighton snorted, the pressure on her chest lifting for a moment. "You know what I mean. Why am I attracted to death?"

"Attracted to death?" Tate repeated, "There's your morbid streak again."

"Seriously," Leighton urged, hitting his knee with a fist. "Tell me."

"You're not attracted to death," Tate assured her. "You're attracted to the missing piece of your soul, it's like a beacon for you. Splitting a soul isn't natural even if it helps the person it's done to."

Leighton breathed out a sigh of relief. "Is that true in the reverse?" Leighton asked, brow furrowing. Though she wouldn't admit it, Leighton wanted Tate to be attracted to her in the way she was to him. She wanted him to feel that connection, to feel like he was being sucked into her.

"What do you mean?" Tate questioned, settling into his seat.

"Are you attracted to my soul because a piece of it is in you?" Leighton clarified, titling her head to the side as she waited for his answer.

Tate shook his head, eyes travelling around her face. "I'm attracted to you for different reasons." Leighton couldn't seem to breathe properly. For a crazy moment, Leighton let her eyes slide down his face, resting on his lips as her thoughts fired off in a million different directions.

Timidly, Leighton raised her hand to his cheek, feeling her heart flutter as Tate drew in a quick breath in response. She rubbed her fingers in small circles, trying to remove the leftover ash from the fire.

"When you took away that piece of my soul," Leighton whispered. "Did you feel what I felt?"

Tate held her gaze as she continued to stroke his cheek. His eyes bore this inexplicable weight. There was an aged sadness to him, the kind of sorrow that had become blunt over time, the pain that was so constant you couldn't always feel it.

"Yes," he whispered, catching her hand in his. "That's why I can't give it back."

Leighton leaned closer, feeling compelled to get as close as she could to him. Now, her connection to him didn't seem so strange. In her mind she could picture the light of her soul reaching out for his, the tendrils that formed who they were intertwining.

As soon as the thought materialised, she had to voice it. "Do you have a soul?"

"No," Tate answered firmly, dropping her hand and pushing himself away. He stood and moved towards the window, gazing out as the rain pounded the glass. "I don't."

"How can you be sure?" Leighton asked, wrapping arms around herself. How could it be possible to feel cold without Tate near when he himself caused the ground to freeze over?

"Because I'll never move on," Tate told her, "I'll be stuck on this plane forever. I told you, souls are in constant motion, always changing, different from one moment to the next. They're fluid, in motion, constant. I'm not."

Leighton joined him at the window, watching as a streak of lightning burned through the sky. The thunder came moments after. "But you feel things," Leighton argued, "You're capable of feeling remorse, feeling empathy, feeling sadness. If you didn't have a soul than you wouldn't have went to those funerals."

"I went to those funerals out of curiosity," Tate admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. "Feeling them go through me, picking up on what life was like for them, how much love they felt, I don't know―I just wanted to see it firsthand."

"Maybe you're soul is just different," Leighton insisted.

Tate had lost his conversational drive. "Maybe. "

"So you don't get paid," Leighton stated, trying to keep the line of communication open, she wasn't ready to stop talking to him. "I remember you said that you didn't get a salary."

"I don't need one," Tate said, not bothered.

Leighton frowned, looking around the apartment. "How do you pay for this then?"

"I don't," Tate admitted, "the old tenant died two months ago. The landlord hasn't been able to find a buyer. Technically, I'm a squatter."

Leighton's mouth popped open. "You're living here illegally?"

Tate laughed, eyes creasing. "Is that what bothers you? I just spent an hour explaining how I'm a soulless, immortal, reaper and you're worried about the fact I don't pay rent?"

"How do you buy food?" Leighton shook her head once, "I mean I know you don't eat it but you do buy it, I guess to keep up appearances."

Tate shrugged. "There are ways for people like myself to get money. Pool games, poker, gambling, side activities. I don't spend all my time with the dying, Leighton, I do other things besides reaping. There's a great poker life in this town."

Leighton recalled a conversation with Tom. "You play poker with my mom's boyfriend," she said, connections forming in her mind. "You beat him on your first night there."

Tate grinned, arms spreading wide. "It wasn't my first night there. I spent quite a bit of time there when it opened up in the sixties."

Leighton held up a hand, wincing. She tried her best to shove the image of Tate wearing bellbottoms and listening to The Beatles from her head. "Don't start referencing other decades, that's a little too much for my mind right now."

Tate smiled, moving close enough to touch. "Don't you remember? I told you to lose your mind."

Leighton's breath hitched. "I like keeping it where it can be used, thanks."

"Haven't been using it much," Tate mumbled, "it's nearly midnight."

Leighton almost jumped out of her skin. Spinning to face the only clock in the room, Leighton stared up at it, finding the hands immobile. "What―"

"Unfortunate side effect," Tate interrupted, "Clocks don't exactly work around me." An image of Tate tossing a black pebble on Dr. Rook's office came back to her. Leighton's imagination had been sharper than she previously believed.

"I'd better go," Leighton said, taking a few steps back. "My mom―" Leighton's voice died out as the power did. The only light in the room was provided by the lightning outside the window.

"Maybe you should stay," Tate's voice held a hint of arrogance, enough to make her wonder if controlling electricity was among his gifts. "It'd be safer than navigating streets without lights."

"I've driven in the dark before, Tate," Leighton pointed out, tension teasing her stomach.

"In the middle of a thunderstorm?" Tate asked.

Leighton felt increasingly more nervous. "My mom, she'll be wondering where I am."

Tate shook his head. "She'll be working overtime now that the hospital's running on backup power." After a moment of silence, Tate sighed. "I'm not going to suck out your soul while you sleep, Leighton."

All of Leighton's emotions felt amplified by ten in the dark. "It's not that, I just―I―where would I sleep? I'm not really a couch person and―"

Tate's laugh made her heart perk up. "I don't need the bed, Leighton. I don't sleep."

Leighton felt the urge to laugh. "Right, of course not."

"Goodnight," Tate said, turning back to the window.

Leighton felt her cheeks warm as she moved closer, gripping Tate's wrist as she planted a kiss to his cheek. "Goodnight, Tate, and thank you for being so candid with me."

It took Tate a moment to formulate a response. "Linens in the closest," he grunted, voice coarse. Leighton turned and smiled coyly, feeling an odd thrumming in her veins. Before she disappeared down the hall, Tate called her name.

"Yeah?" she asked. Leighton imagined a million different things Tate could've wanted to say in her mind as she waited.

"I want to show you something tomorrow," Tate offered, "If you're free."

Leighton nodded, trying to contain the sudden burst of giddiness she felt. "So long as whatever it is we're doing is over by four, I should be good."

Tate chuckled. "Ambitiously planning to spend an entire day with me?" he teased, "I'm flattered." Leighton let go of a shaky breath, trying to suppress a smile.

Leighton felt a flare of boldness run through her. "Don't let your head get too big. It's not you I'm attracted to, remember? It's my own soul."

Tate laughed, "Goodnight, Leighton."

When Leighton woke up, the apartment was completely empty. She knew this without getting out of bed, the arm was warmer than it had been the following night. It was a clear giveaway that Tate was no longer there.

Curious, Leighton swung her legs over the side of the bed and touched her feet to the ground. She stood and stretched, feeling like she was still trapped in a dream. As she made her way to the main living area, she replayed their conversation from the night before over in her mind, trying to pinpoint the exact moment she had lost her fear for Tate.

Sun streamed into the apartment, making the small space look less barren than it had in the dark. The sky had cleared, a night of constant rain had dissipated the thunderclouds that had been looming over the town for days.

Leighton filled a mug with water, leaning against the countertop as she chugged the entire glass. When Leighton rested the cup on the countertop she noticed a scrawled note left on the kitchen table.

Leighton bit her nails as she read it, squinting her eyes.

Had errands to run last night, I'll be back with something to eat. - T

Letting the note fall back to the table, Leighton moved back to the living room to investigate. She picked up the books he kept around, finding it odd that Tate was interested in The Fishermen's Complete Guide to Freshwater Game and Trivia on 80's Classics.

Leighton laughed aloud as she caught sight of something resting on the windowsill. Wondering how she missed it the night before, Leighton picked up the classic Grim Reaper figurine, the one with the ominous hooded black cloak and long scythe. Tate had an interesting sense of humour.

The front door opened and Leighton lifted the figurine, raising an eyebrow. "What's this?"

Tate's mouth picked up in a half smile. "Good morning to you, too."

"The Grim Reaper, really?"

Tate shrugged, trading the brown bag in his hand to his other arm as he closed the front door. "It's important to remember your roots." Leighton rolled her eyes as she returned the figure to its home next to the window.

Tate held up the grocery bag and smiled shyly. "I got you food."

Leighton smiled, touched. "That's sweet of you, I could've grabbed something out."

Tate reached into the bag and pulled out a box of Chocolate-Os. "I didn't mind picking up some stuff, I was out anyways."

Leighton caught the cereal as he tossed it to her and moved to the kitchen. She padded after him, sitting cross legged at the table as he unloaded the rest of his purchases.

"How long were you gone for?"

"The entire night," Tate said, passing her a carton of cranberry juice. "To put in the cereal, I know humans don't like it dry." She folded her smile over, hoping he wouldn't notice. She had to admit, the combination was odd.

"The entire night?" she repeated, "What were you doing the entire night?" Leighton thanked him as he passed her a bowl, no spoon to go with it though.

"There was a serious car accident on the highway not too far from here," Tate said, unloading a package of ham. He grimaced when he caught the look on her face. "I thought you might need protein. Do humans put ham in cereal?"

Leighton grinned. "All the time."

Tate was pleased with himself. "Good."

Leighton thought about what he said before and couldn't smile anymore, feeling a little sick. After last night she understood that his job was necessary but on the other hand, when he mentioned the lack of deadline on certain deaths she couldn't help but hope he'd be willing to bend a little.

"I got you some of this too." Tate held up a box of frozen quiches. "I'm not sure if this is a breakfast item per se, but it looked pretty good." He ripped open the package and put a few on a plate for her before taking the seat opposite.

Leighton covered her mouth as a laugh erupted. "They're frozen."

Tate frowned."Is that a problem? Won't they melt if you eat them?"

Leighton couldn't stop herself from bending over in hysterics. After a moment, she sobered up to find Tate watching her with an unsure expression. "This is a lovely breakfast," Leighton told him, "I love the variety."

"How bad did I mess up?" Tate grumbled, a gloomy shadow crossing his eyes.

Leighton looked from the cereal, to the frozen food, to the packaged ham, to the carton of cranberry juice. "The cereal would have been enough," Leighton admitted, "Though it might have needed some milk."

Tate chuckled at himself. "I've spent millennia on this planet yet I still don't know what a human breakfast consists of, I guess I need to open up my eyes."

"They're open," Leighton hummed, "they're just looking at what's really important."

A faint smile appeared as Tate stared at her, as mesmerized by her and she was by him. Leighton's heart swelled as he cleared his throat, leaning back and running his tongue over his piercing.

"Next time you stay over we'll have to shop together," Tate proclaimed, watching her from the corner of his eye. Leighton's breath stopped as she sensed a corner coming up in their relationship.

"Definitely."

Half an hour later Leighton was following Tate's instructions from the driver's seat, getting agitated the more they had to turn around and make u-turns. Tate could only sense where he needed to go and unfortunately, his ability to track the dying didn't come with a road map.

"Do you know where you're going or not?" Leighton barked, grumbling nothings as she turned into a random parking lot and then exited the other way.

Tate seemed just as frustrated. "I know where I'm going, I just don't know how to get there by driving." Leighton made a right hand turn and Tate immediately protested. "We're getting farther away."

"Last night when you charmingly asked me to accompany you on an outing I figured you knew where we were going," Leighton hissed, making another u-turn. An SUV blared its horn at her.

Tate grinned. "I'm charming now, am I? Charming and attractive."

"Not what I meant," Leighton grunted.

"What you said," Tate replied. After a few more turns Tate started to nod, growing more confident with their direction. "This feels right," Tate stated, "yeah this is the way."

Leighton wanted to scream as they turned the corner and came up to the large white building, of course they would be coming here. It made sense. "Rosewood," Leighton yelled, "really, Tate? Why didn't you just tell me it was here this whole time! We could have saved an hour's worth of gas."

Tate glared. "When you've travelled as much as I have, you tend to get blurry on details, okay? Besides, driving isn't the way I typically travel." Leighton couldn't argue with that.

A moment later they parked in front of the retirement building, slamming their cars shut as they headed inside. As soon as they walked in, Tate grabbed the top of Leighton's arm and pulled her closer.

"Stay close to me, okay?"

Leighton looked around the sterile building, feeling unsettled. "Aren't we going to get stopped?" Leighton eyed the front receptionist warily. Behind her nurses and patients shuffled through the halls.

Tate's smile was wicked. "You'll find that most people don't look directly at death."

"I did," Leighton said with a frown, not feeling reassured.

"You're a different breed," Tate answered. Without giving her time to response, Tate started moving. Leighton scrambled after him, eyes on the receptionist as they walked by. She didn't remove her eyes from the computer screen.

Leighton bit her nail. "Are we invisible?" she asked, watching in awe as a nurse seemingly stared right through her.

"No," Tate answered, giving her a look. "Why do you always jump to the craziest conclusions?"

"Crazy?" Leighton hissed. "The fact that we're practically breaking into a retirement home is what's crazy, Tate. I ask perfectly sane questions."

Tate rolled his eyes. "We're not invisible," he said, expanding on his earlier answer. "Like I said, people prefer not to look directly at death and that aversion usually increases the closer I get to the dying."

Tate was right. No one paid either of them any attention as they ghosted through the halls, following Tate's instincts. The elderly hobbled down the white halls, looking dreary as they hung off of stern looking nurses. Leighton hoped she would never have to live in a place like this.

"This room," Tate murmured, tapping the door lightly. Leighton gazed at it, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

"How do you know?" she asked. Leighton wasn't sure what she was expecting, perhaps some sort of glowing beacon? "There's no flashing lights or arrows."

Tate gave her a flat look. "I just know, come on."

Slowly, Tate opened the door and slipped inside, holding it for Leighton. Pausing to throw a cautionary glance over her shoulder, Leighton followed suit. The room was quiet, serene, and decorated with vases of flowers and homemade pictures looked to be drawn by young children.

Leighton swallowed the lump in her throat as she drove her eyes away from the wall and to the old woman lying on the skinny cot in the centre of the room. The woman was frail looking, pitifully thin and papery.

Wires protruded from the thick veins on her hands, tubes clung to the underside of her nose. The woman had a gold clip pinning her wispy white hair in place and was wearing a nice lavender shirt.

"I dressed up," she wheezed, coughing slightly. "I knew it was my time."

Leighton blinked hard, looking around and finding it. Next to a vase of sunflowers was a black stone. Feeling her eyes water, Leighton forced herself to look down at her shoes. She almost cried out when she felt Tate slip a hand into hers.

The woman looked up at Tate, tears slipping down the creases of her face. "Does it hurt?"

Silently, Tate shook his head.

The woman smiled, looking to the pictures taped on the walls. "From my grandchildren," she said, "I have five." Leighton looked to the drawings again, looking at the names scribbled in crayon. It felt like her throat was closing.

She looked up at Tate, squeezing his hand tightly as she tried to read the expression on his face. He was stoic and serious. A moment passed before Leighton let her eyes fall in disappointment. She wasn't sure what it was she wanted to see, perhaps a look of dread or reluctance?

Tate released her hand and moved to the woman's side. The woman took a deep shuddering breath, blinking back an onslaught of tears as Tate approached her. She patted down her sheets with her frail hands and dragged a shaking finger underneath her eye to catch a fallen tear.

"Life is long," she said with a bitter smile, "but never long enough."

Feeling compelled to, Leighton walked around the bed and grabbed the woman's hand, trying to smile but finding that her mouth couldn't hold the shape. The woman seemed grateful for her comfort.

"I've been in pain for a long while," she said, meeting Tate's steady gaze. "I'm ready for that to be over." Calmly, Tate laid a hand on the woman's shoulder. The woman tensed immediately, her pupils widening in fear.

"Relax," Tate whispered. Leighton felt jolted into the past, remembering when he told her the same thing. For a brief moment she saw his shape outlined by a low hanging moon, felt his touch on her arm and then she blinked and was back in the present time.

The woman smiled and leaned back into her pillows, inhaling deeply as she closed her eyes. Leighton squeezed her hand as Tate's hands hovered over her chest and the first fingers of light left her body.

This time, Leighton didn't look away from what Tate was doing. She watched as the woman's soul left her body, finding it beautiful and terrible all at once. The woman didn't seem to be in much pain, she made no sound as she moved on, she just smiled.

As always, the light crawled away from the body, leaving frost where it touched. Leighton exhaled as the last tendril of light fled the woman's body and hit Tate, causing him to jerk backwards.

He yelled out as the light entered him, staggering backwards to grip the nightstand. Leighton let go of the woman's hand, circling the bed to come to Tate's aid. He had braced himself between the nightstand and the wall, eyes racing back and forth and he took in the memories and emotions of a long fulfilled life. By the time she got to Tate, he was already beginning to recover.

"Are you alright?" Leighton asked. Tate stared right through her, still trapped in the last few memories. With a deep breath Tate refocused his eyes but the look of confusion on his face held. It took her a moment to realise that it wasn't a question he was usually asked.

"Yeah," he grunted, rubbing his eyes. "Fine." When his eyes opened again and found hers, they were grounded and calm.

Leighton held onto his hand as she looked around, noticing for the first time that every flower in the room was completely frozen. Light jumped off of the petals, refracting soft, coloured light onto the pale floor and walls. Her eyes filled with tears.

"Why would you bring me here?" she whispered, looking back up to him.

Tate's face was clear of emotion. "To show you that it's not always so ugly. I don't always collect souls in dark forests and dirty alleyways, sometimes death is the way it was for this woman. Peaceful. Beautiful."

"Beautiful," Leighton repeated, looking again to the frozen flowers. They shone and glittered, a testament to his statement. Tate was right, it had been beautiful. To watch the pain leave the woman's face, to feel the relief she felt, to see her soul shimmer and bend as it moved on.

"You know what I'm most ashamed of?" Tate whispered, looking to the woman and then back to Leighton. "How much I love what I do."