March of the Dead

Officially, it was the first day of spring but winter's scent still lingered in the air. The sky shown between dead tree branches was sullen and morose, threatening a rain later that evening as a chill wind shot through the bones of a dark figure standing alone beneath a prominent, withering tree in the midst of a deserted park adjacent to a small cemetery. Across the nearby, churning river of inky darkness stood the outline of a livid old city, full of dust and secrets. Despite his black coat, the chill of on setting evening cut to his core, though nothing in his expression gave indication of such weakness. Cold, pain, weariness...these were all a state of mind and as such, a personal choice he refused to make. A final drag on the cigarette wedged between his fingers sent a thought of warmth through his body before the smoke left his lungs, vanishing quickly on another passing breeze which erased any semblance of comfort he'd had in that moment. For what is your life? It is but a vapor that appears for a little time and then vanishes away.

He shook his head at the thought, letting the smoking butt drop from his hand and onto the ground, its dying embers quickly muted by the cold, damp earth. A shuffle in his pocket, the flash of a lighter, and a new cigarette found a way to rest on his dry lips, crumpled from too much time free from its pack and smoking lazily in the boisterous air. For some time now, his eyes had been fixed on the array of vibrant colors scattered through the dark, cloudy sky. Every now and then, one of the clouds would break, loosing its bleak hold for a slow moment to show the striking color of sunset behind it; the mixed purples, deep reds, and amber hues that bled and fed into one another. In those moments, the sky was alive and the city beneath it seemed to stir with renewed splendor. But the glimpse of glory was brief and the oppressive weight of a winter that would not let go muted the colors behind its somber curtain. Still, his brown eyes remained fixed on that shuffling sky, waiting for the increasingly rare moment when light blinked through the haze like a drowning man grasping at the air just outside his reach. In a few minutes it would be completely dark.

So fixed had he been on the spectacle that he had hardly noticed a second figure in black sit down on the bench near him. It was only the protesting creak of the old wood beneath his rather unremarkable weight that gave his presence away. The man's long, dark hair blew in stark contrast to his pale skin and azure eyes as he leaned forward, a humorless grin on his face as he spoke. "You know, smoking is bad for your health," he said in a masculine voice that seemed unsuited to his lithe body. "Those things are going to kill you some day."

There was no reply for a moment as the cigarette exited the first man's mouth. He blew smoke out the side of his lips which was caught up in the fast breeze before it could linger for even a few moments. "That might be nice," he replied, his gaze steady and unmoved.

"Are you saying you want to die?"

"I'm just saying I wouldn't mind."

A sigh escaped the newcomer. "Really, James...you know, it's thoughts like that which make my job very difficult."

"I told you not to call me that," James responded. "Everyone calls me Jack these days. And I never asked for your help."

"It's a good thing the call wasn't yours to make then. You never would have survived that business beneath 38th Street without my intervention."

"Maybe that was the point. Did that ever occur to you?"

"I dare say it did."

Jack took another drag on the cigarette, almost defiantly before speaking again, his next words dancing on the smoke as he turned to face the clouds above the city, leaning forward against the railing above the churning black waters. "My own personal Clarence...here to save me from drowning."

"Look..." the dark haired man said, standing. "I've got an obligation to fulfill..."

"Or what? You won't get your wings?" Jack cut him off before he could continue.

He shook his head, abandoning the thought as he joined Jack, looking out across the river to the city. The darkness had finally set in and rays of sunset were no longer peeking out from behind the rolling curtain of clouds. The only light present was the dingy yellow glow of the electric lamp beside them. A cold gust brought the first few drops of rain to bear down lightly upon the two men, standing side by side with no sound passing between them but that of the whistling wind which sped past them to dance among the nearby tombs. "A million before us marching to join those behind us...each with his small part to play in the mean time..." the dark-haired man finally said. Then, giving James a sincere look, added "James, I know why you come here every day...why you're so keen on dying."

Jack looked down into the river, shaking his head as a mirthless laugh escaped him. "Don't..." he said quietly.

"She's not coming, James. She's never coming back."

"Don't." Jack repeated the request, louder and firmer this time, looking his tormenter in the eyes.

"Fine," the thin man said, throwing his arms into the air as though to surrender. "But sooner or later, you're going to have to face the truth."

"Is that why you're bothering me tonight?" Jack asked, the annoyed, cynical tone returning to his voice.

"No," came the curt reply. "I came to give you a message."

"Oh, really?" Jack asked facetiously, turning and leaning against the protective railing at his back. "From who?"

"Don't act stupid. You know who it's from."

Jack didn't say anything but finished off the cigarette and flicked it away, exhaling the smoke and giving his companion a look that said with all due sarcasm, "please go on."

"There's a girl down on Mercy Street. She works as a waitress at Duke's. You know the place?"

Jack shook his head. "Mercy Street's in Faulk, right? I never go up to Faulk, so no."

"Regardless," the messenger continued. "she needs someone, James. She's about to become another sad story in this city's long, sad story...another lost soul in need of a savior."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Not interested."

"I didn't ask if you were interested. I just came to deliver the message...and to remind you of your contract; of your obligation." Jack cursed under his breath and his companion cocked an eyebrow as if to ask, "well?"

After a few moments, when no answer came, the messenger turned his back on Jack. The rain had, through the course of their conversation, slowly evolved from a light drizzle to a sprinkling worthy of concern. "Think it over, James. But decide quickly and with full knowledge of what you agreed to back then." He began walking away, hands in pockets. As an afterthought, he added "and for Heaven's sake, have enough sense to come in from the rain. Don't you know you'll catch your death?"