The last leg was always the toughest, he thought to himself as he dropped down a chimney. He left these houses for last intentionally. Their spirit was always the lowest of all the others he visited. They never bothered to write, but worse, they never left out cookies and milk. To say he loathed these visits would be an understatement.
“Everyone always expects a ‘Ho Ho Ho’ and jingling bells…” He grumbled as he shoved presents under the tree. His duty momentarily sated, he walked over to the pantry looking for some snacks; even going so far as to pop open the fridge. As he suspected, there was nothing that tempted his appetite. Numbly, he let the fridge slowly close on its own.
There were no words to express how he felt; he could only stand in place staring into the middle distance. He was not sure when he had begun losing his spirit, only that he no longer felt jolly; in that moment he was no longer Santa Claus. The once jovial man looked towards the counter, a rack of knives calling to him. As he reached for one of them, he imagined the next day’s news snippet.
A family of five was brutally slain last night. Witnesses claim hearing jingling bells and a “Ho Ho Ho” at the time of the murders. Police found a note at the scene of the crime, ‘All I wanted was some fucking cookies.’ There are no suspects at this time.
“We met under such inauspicious circumstances. I hated him, and I don’t doubt he hated me. Somehow, that hatred turned into something more powerful than either of us could imagine or understand. On a Quest as we were, they said we were fools to be in love. At least, that is what they said to my face and behind his back.” A sad chuckle escaped her then as memories of times forgotten returned to her.
“There was no helping what was happening between us. It was no affliction, there was no cure. Like a falling drop of rain there was only one ending to our story. At the time I did not know this. It wasn’t until after the dust had settled, until after the battle was over; dazed as I was, stumbling about the battlefield in search of him, ignorant to the injured that stretched their hand out towards me begging for healing; it wasn’t until then that I discovered his true destiny.”
Her voice broke as tears began to fall down her face. She could not stop the flurry of emotion and instead opted to place her head upon the lectern, her body racked with passing sorrow. One of the Companions placed his hands on her, attempting to guide her away where she could mourn in privacy but she instead pushed him away.
Her emotions momentarily controlled, she continued, “Eventually, I found him. He was surrounded by so many dead I couldn’t help but be proud, even in the face of what I feared most. I walked up to him and fell upon my knees and I lifted his head and placed it upon my lap. I studied him; unlike I’d ever been able to look upon him before. In that moment of pure sorrow, where tears cannot yet express the heart, I looked upon him with such ferocity that his face shall forever remain in my mind.”
Anger strengthened her resolve and sustained her as she pushed herself to continue. “The Creature, the foe for which this war began, lay dead yards away. I could feel the force of my magic gathering itself and yet I could not recall summoning it. A beam erupted from my outstretched hand and tore the monster asunder. Its carcass withered to dust under the incredible force. No longer fortified by the ephemeral power, the magic subsided and my tears finally broke. Like the breaking of a damn there was no holding it back. I placed my head on his chest and wept. I hated myself for not having been there to see him die. Not out of some macabre desire, but because I could have taken his place. I could have spared myself the heartbreak. In that moment of sorrow I was selfish. He was stronger than I am, he was my hero, and he could survive his heart…”
The tears seemed too much to hold back. She stood in place her head wagging left to right trying to stop the tears. “He could have survived his heart being broken into so many pieces.” Her anguish was yet sated as the tears streamed down her face with renewed vigor. Only out of a desire to finish her eulogy was she able to continue. “He was my all, all that I have ever known of love. He died a hero in service to this country. Through my grief I hope that you can understand his sacrifice. He died a hero, he died for love of you, and he will be missed.”
“I think I’ll call you Juliet.” It was his best pick-up line, which he accentuated by sliding his business card towards the blonde bombshell Hollywood bars were known to attract. Romeo M, the name at the bottom read, his cell phone number strategically scrawled on the back before the start of the night.
The girl’s only response was a cursory glance in his direction, a cockeyed expression painted on her face, and a return to her order. He didn’t dare push the matter; she was out of his league anyway, most likely going back to a table occupied by professional athletes. The thought was comforting.
She walked away and Romeo recycled his business card. He hadn’t paid much for the few he had printed out, but it seemed like such a waste to let the card soak in spilled tequila and imported beer. He turned back to his glass and realized it was empty so he pulled out his wallet to grab some more cash, but only found a week old receipt.
Unable to leave a tip, he slipped out of his chair and crept out of the bar. Outside he spotted the bombshell, drink in hand, approaching a pasty faced youth with wildly tousled hair and eyes like the dead. Romeo was the best lover the world had ever seen and he was doomed to spend the night alone, his left hand the only witness to the quality of his love.
“You don’t expect me to do this, do you?” Tears threatened at the corner of Pierre’s eyes as the memory of his loss returned to him. His superior’s audacity only spurred his anger, the last fortification against his grief. He looked down in disbelief at the assignment he had been given.
“We’ve known for quite some time that you have been visiting her Pierre. You’ve become enslaved by the very revenant we fight to expel. She is but a pale shadow of your wife, you must see this. You must let her go.”
“I can’t lose her, not again.” His anger faltered, his superior’s words were too infallible to refute. He had to let her go, and the only way to do it would be to Reave her ghost.
“By allowing her to haunt, you dishonor her memory and condemn her to Purgatory. Help her find her way to peace Pierre. I know you can.”
His resolve broke, the tears began to fall like the soldiers of his anger, tossed from the ramparts to meet their death, the final bastion overrun by the warriors of his grief. His superior wrapped her motherly arms around him and spoke into his ear. “You couldn’t be there for her when she died Pierre. As a Reaver, you can help guide her soul to its resting place and bring closure to the wound in your heart. This is your second chance.”
What she said was true. It did not however, stop the tears.
