The Known/Unknown Quantity

Chapter 120: Haunting Children, Haunted People, and the Breaking of Their Cycle

Chapter 120: Haunting Children, Haunted People, and the Breaking of Their Cycle

Time ticked away.

                In the late hours of Christmas Eve, three women of varying ages and backgrounds worked tirelessly to un-hex a letter cursed by a fourth. It was the only item they felt certain would stop the clock.

                Miles away, a young man and an angel carried six items and a grainy photo to a doctor, in the hopes that what knowledge gained might gain them time.

                And in an ancient freezing basement in a small village, a tired older man bathed the wounds of a demon, trying to muffle his screams, trying to offer comfort where he may, and watching his friend's life ebb away while the clock ticked onward.

                And the demon himself counted down the ticks, ready to be a diversion, or a sacrifice, to the seconds, if it meant the survival of the others...

"You've really encountered Death Himself that often?" Newt couldn't let go of the staunch reality that a natural function could be a personification. Even after all he'd been through.  And he knew how silly he sounded, asking this of an angel.

                Again, the world was not what he'd taken it for granted to be. He was still adjusting.

                By now Aziraphale lost his irritation at the young man's questions. Mere outbursts of nervousness, not rudeness, he grew to see them. The lad tried so hard in this difficult situation. Still, there was a time and place.

                That time and place wasn't the front porch of some stranger's house in the middle of the night.

                The angel flitted a glance at him, and said pointedly," Yes, and the last thing I want to see right now is Death and Crowley in the same room."

                Newt looked popped-eyed at him. "Ah, point...taken."

                "Thank you, dear boy."

                They both stared at each other, both nervous, both waiting for the other one to ring the doorbell.

                "You, uh, you ready?" Newt stalled. Aziraphale nodded, and exercised his hands.

                "Um, I was. All fire and gusto."

                "It's going to be awkward."

                Aziraphale paused. The image of Death hovering over Crowley bumped against his nerves. He had been fighting it. No more.

                He let himself see it in all its horror.

                He rang the doorbell.

Christmas Eve.

                Dr. Pamela Dunbar looked about her house, and started to pick up the mess left behind by her guests. The party went along as expected. It had been loud, and boisterous, and crass as expected. And above all, boring. At least for her.

                She had a large circle of friends. But none of which you would call close. More like a circle of contacts, concentric circles in fact. She had been very good at cultivating connections via mathematics.

                She was neither a fussy person nor a showstopper. She wasn't a planner, but she directed things. Not shy, but soft-spoken. Not creative as she saw it, but curious, and talented all the same.

                It wasn't so much she was middle of the road. She was just herself: a widowed empty-nester with children abroad and emersed in their own careers. This year had been one of the most difficult to get together, so they didn't.