My ex-husband exhales—one of those long-suffering sighs I know too well—and rests a hand at the small of her back. Comforting. Protective. A silent promise that whatever’s unsettling her will never get past him.
And God, how I hate that.
He’s the worst danger she could ever face. She just doesn’t know it yet. But whatever safety she thinks he brings, is fake.
I wish I could tell her sometimes. Just to save her from the future he’s capable of giving her.
But dead girls don’t talk.
Dead girls can only watch.
And that, I do.
The wind stirs through the tree, rustling the leaves. The crows take off, their black wings slicing through the cold morning air like a swarm of feathered blades. And then, once they’re all gone, a different, larger bird lands beside me.
A raven. One black, shiny raven with intelligent eyes and feathers ruffled at the edges.
It pins me with its gaze, staring at me just as intensely as I stare through the window of my ex-husband’s office.
“Just a minute,” I murmur to it. “Give me a couple more minutes, and I’ll go.”
The raven doesn’t move. It doesn’t seem to like my response.
“Just a moment,” I repeat.
It cocks its head, stretching its wings like it finds my lie amusing. Because that’s what it is—a lie.
I neverjusttake a moment. I stay until something forces me to leave. And for years, that something has been Pain. That’s whatI’ve named the raven approximately three years ago—because it’s a relentless, insufferable pain in my ass.
Still, I drum my fingers against the rough bark of the willow and turn back to watchingthem. The ones that interest me.
Jessica has already looked away from the garden. The crows are gone and so is her problem. Now, she’s just trailing her fingers along my old desk as she murmurs yet another thing to him. Maybe her mind has flitted to something trivial and fleeting, like dinner plans with their friends or the latest interior design trend she’s itching to try. Maybe it’s something about their new decor. Maybe she’s simply lonely this grey morning.
One thing is sure.
Whatever it is about, it’s something that doesn’t include me, or my past. Therefore, ironically, it’s something I like watching the most.
Waiting for his reaction to the memory of my murder is one thing, but the real thrill comes from watching his life unfold. From memorizing every single thing that’s happened to him since I died. From imagining what it would be like to climb down from my branch, walk up to the front door, knock, and wait—until he opens it and sees me.
What kind of face would he make? Would he be afraid? Would his carefully built life crumble, brick by brick, knowing I could destroy it all?
Of course, I can’t.
But I like to imagine. I'm damaged like that.
Pain knocks its beak twice against the tree bark, and I glance at him from the corner of my eye.
“Not even a minute has passed,” I tell him. “Don’t be like this.”
I want to see more ofhislife. To know more. To watch it unfold like a glass house and imagine what it would be like to shatter it. I know I’m being selfish, but I just…can’tstop.
Pain cocks his head, as if to say,Suit yourself. But he knows as well as I do that I’m being ridiculous. The pull is coming soon, and it’s not something I can ever escape. I can already feel it creeping in—that slow, gnawing tug at the edge of my existence.
My duty calls.
I know it’s inevitable, and yet everytime it happens I get annoyed. My time among the living is borrowed, conditional. I can stay in the living realm as long as I do my job.
You see, I lied earlier. I said I was Death, but the truth is, I’m something much less powerful than the big boss.
