Love You to Death (Part 8)

It seemed like an eternity passed in that instant, and yet it took no time at all for so many thoughts to run through Connor's mind.  He could try to run, but then what about Kiera?  Maybe if he simply didn't answer, this would go away.  Maybe this was still a dream.  If Death wanted to take Kiera, he wasn't going to let her go easily.  He was going to fight, even if it meant he died, too.  But would Kiera want that?  Would she want him to keep fighting the inevitable?  Had his dream meant she was ready to go?  But no, that dream was a manifestation of his own subconscious fears.  Just hours earlier, Kiera had told him she wasn't going to die any time soon.  She wanted to live.  He wanted her to live.  He was going to do anything in his power to make sure she kept on living.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said in response to the Grim Reaper, still clutching a skillet in his hand, thinking now about how little damage this skillet would do as a weapon, but how he would at least try anyway.

Death smirked.  "We all know that's not true," he said looking between Connor and Kiera.

To Connor's exterme shock and horror, Kiera chose this moment to step between him and Death.  "Connor isn't doing anything wrong," she insisted, trying to sound confident, though Connor could both see and feel her tremble.

"He is doing a lot of things wrong," Death insisted, as calm as ever, clearly not even remotely moved by Kiera's small act of bravery.  "But I would be willing to hear arguments that it isn't really his fault, that he was manipulated and used by one, Kiera Jones."

"Now just a minute," Connor insisted, slamming his skillet down, thoughts of using it as a weapon forgotten, and now putting himself between Death and Kiera.  "Kiera didn't make me do anything.  I chose to save her, and I chose to save the others, too.  I made a choice and I'm willing to live with the consequences.  Me.  Not Kiera."

Death's smirk deepened, and then he shrugged and looked at his nails.  "This is all very sweet, mortals," he said, "but I don't really care which of you dies, as long as one of you pays for all those lives you've been wrongly saving."

"It wasn't wrong," Kiera said, moving to now stand beside Connor, her hand silently slipping into his own and giving it a squeeze.  "None of what we did was wrong and you know it."

Had Connor not been so totally terrified, he would have laughed at that.  But this was definitely not a time for laughing.  This was a time for utter and complete terror.  Because in front of him, Death's eyes grew darker than dark, black robes became encased with shadows, and the whole room seemed to plunge into night as if the sun had simply ceased to exist and electricity was no longer a thing.  The only thing that gave Connor a sense of where he was and what was happening was the continued presence of Kiera's hand in his own.  Then he saw red light shining an outline around Death.  He saw horns grow from the man's head in that outline and heard a snarl as he sensed lunging towards them.  It was impossible to know which way they should dodge, but somehow Kiera and Connor both decided to dodge to the right, pulling out of the way as Death went crashing into the kitchen.

And then, Connor heard what was simultaneously the most shocking and expected thing he could have.  He heard Kiera say the words, "You have to let me go."  Except she wasn't talking to him.  She clearly wasn't talking to him based on how tightly she continued to grip his hand.  She was speaking away from him, into the darkness.  She was talking to Death.  Kiera Jones was asking, no, demanding that Death let her go.  "But if you don't," she continued, "you have to let Connor go.  Free him of his duty.  Let him live a normal life.  That's the only way I'll go with you.  That's the only way I'll die, is if Connor's life is made better for it."

"Kiera, no," Connor whispered.

He felt Kiera turn towards him, though he still couldn't see in the dark.  "Hush," she whispered back.  "I'm trying to make a deal with Death on your behalf."

"I don't want you to," he said back.  "And besides, my life could never be better without you in it."

He felt her staring at him, or at least trying to.  He was silent for a moment, and then he turned back to the direction of Death's snarling.  "I'll go," he said.  "You can take me.  But only on the condition that you don't make Kiera take my place.  Don't make her a reaper.  Never make her a reaper."

At this, Death cackled.  Connor felt a chill, as if the entire world had frozen.  He felt Kiera's hand shake and his and he knew she had felt it, too.  But he wasn't letting go.  He was never letting go unless it meant that it would leave Kiera safer than she had been before.

And then a totally surprising and not at all expected thing happened.  The lights came back on and there was Death, the Grim Reaper, once again standing before them, back in his basic black outfit, horns gone, eyes looking as normal as they could, and he was smiling at them.  Not smirking like before.  Death was smiling at them.  "So this is how it's going to be is it?" he asked, hands on his hips in a much less imposing pose than he had been striking before the little blackout.  "How am I supposed to choose which of you to take if both of you want to be the sacrificial lamb?"

"Uh, how about you take neither of us?" Kiera suggested.

Connor could not believe she had just said that.  Where the hell had that come from?  How could she think that was the right thing to...  But then Connor was shocked once again.  Because Death, the end of all life, the one who had controlled his life for the past decade, was laughing.  Not a maniacal laugh.  A laugh of genuine amusement and, pleasure?  What the living hell?

Death shrugged.  "Well, I suppose I can't take Connor because of the contract I held with his parents," Death noted looking at Kiera.  "And if I take you Kiera, well who knows what Connor would do."  He shifted his weight and grinned mischeviously.  "Tell you what," he said, shifting his gaze to Connor, "Connor, you are still in my employ, officially, as a reaper.  That paper you've got," he gestured in the general direction of the bedroom, apparently aware of where it was, "that has all the instructions you'll ever get from me from now on.  Don't expect another one.  Ever."  He sighed and his sly grin softened into something more reflective.  "Ah love," he lamented.  "The only thing stronger than death."  And then he snapped his fingers and he was gone.

Connor finally exhaled, not even aware he had been holding his breath, and turned to look at Kiera, "What the...?" he began.

She was grinning like mad as she interrupted him.  "Hold that thought," she ordered, as she finally let go of his hand and rushed out of the kitchen and back down the hall.  When she returned, she was holding a folded up piece of paper.  THE folded up piece of paper.  She stood beside him, and he swore he could hear both of their hearts pounding as she unfolded it.  When she did, there were no more names or dates or locations, but it wasn't blank either.  It simply said in large red block letters, "Burn."

Connor shuddered.  "What is he trying to say?  Is that a threat?"

Connor was scared.  But as he looked up at Kiera, he saw that she clearly at least thought she knew something he didn't.  "Nope," she said happily.  "It's your final instruction."  And she slipped past him further into the kitchen, opened a drawer, fished something out of it, and then turned back around holding out to him the paper that said "Burn" and a lighter.

Connor let his jaw drop open.  "Kiera, you can't really think that he means..."

Kiera nodded.  "That's exactly what he means," she said.  Then she cocked her head to the side.  "Did you never try to destroy one of these papers before?  Not ever?"

"Never," he admitted.

"Did he ever tell you not to?" she asked.

That question caught him off guard.  "Well, n-no..."

"And now he's telling you that you should," she noted, taking a step towards him.  "I would do it myself," she noted, "but you're the one who is still in his employ, not me."  She held the paper and the lighter out to him.

Connor took them nervously, his heart still pounding.  But when he looked up at her, she was still beaming, beaming like they had won, beaming like they had saved the world, when really, they had only saved each other... maybe.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked her.

Her eyes darted away and then quickly back to him and her smile faded just a little.  "No," she admitted.  "I'm not sure this is what 'Burn' means, but I want it to be, and what's the worst that can happen if this isn't what you're supposed to do?"

"Death could show back up and drag us both to hell," Connor said rather seriously, though coming out it almost felt like a joke to him.

Kiera decided to take it as a joke.  She laughed.  Genuine and full.  Just like she had at the party, the party in her apartment that he should never have gone to but was so glad he had, what felt like so long ago.  "We'll deal with this if it happens," she said.

Connor chuckled and shrugged.  "Okay, what the hell," he said, and he flicked the lighter on and held it up to the paper.

For a brief moment as the flame started to burn the page, Connor realized that maybe lighting a full sheet of paper in the middle of the kitchen was not the best idea, but then he watched as the paper seemed to burn without heat or ash.  As a red flame licked across the page, the bits that it touched seemed to simply fade away, like so many names, and then it was gone.  Connor was left with one hand empty and the other holding a lighter that he quickly flicked off.

And then the lighter was thrown onto the counter as Kiera threw herself into his arms.  She was laughing and crying and he spun her around without even thinking about it and they were kissing, at least as much as they could between gasps of laughter and tears.  When they pulled apart, they both reached up at the same time to wipe tears from the other's eyes and then they laughed again.

"You saved me," Connor said softly, arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close, leaning his forehead against hers.

"I guess we're even then," she whispered back.

"I love you," he said suddenly.  As soon as he said it, he pulled back a little feeling his pulse quicken in nervousness over what he had just said.

She smirked at him, but it was a happy smirk, a teasing smirk as she said, "I know."  And then after a beat.  "I love you, too.  I love you to death."

And he was laughing and she was laughing and he spun her around again and held her tight, feeling how alive she was and how alive he was as they kissed yet again in the realization of this exciting life of love that Death had given them.