Death Watchers

Helping

I didn't dream with Cole that night. Instead, I woke up with a start to see an elderly woman standing near my bed, a warm smile on her face.

"Hello, child. I was wondering if you would help me. See, I left quite suddenly and I feel like my husband thinks it was his fault. If you could just write a letter and mail it, I will be able to pass on." She was in hospital robes as well. Her arms flickered, sometimes showing the deep cuts and sometimes looking flawless. She looked apologetic when she noticed I saw. "I couldn't handle my life anymore."

I sat up and offered her a spot on the end of the bed. "Would you like to tell me your story?"

She ran her finger over one of her scars, trying to bring back her smile. "Well, my name's Marjorie Renee Stone-Plumer. I was the second child of eight, younger to a brother. The rest were sisters. I met my dear Phillip in the year 1950 in grade school. We became best friends instantly."

She smiled now. "Of course, as it most always is with best friends, we didn't realize we liked each other until I had gotten a particularly distasteful boyfriend. Phil had had to step in on my behalf and the boy had called me several horrible names." She looked at me a moment. "Ones I shall not repeat."

I didn't know how this pertained to her killing herself, but I smiled.

"Anyway, we got married in nineteen-sixty at the fresh age of twenty. We had two children, Andrew and Evangeline." She glanced at her hands now. "There was almost a third but she miscarried."

"I'm sorry," I replied automatically, my heart going out to the woman.

Marjorie waved it off. "It wasn't your fault, dear. But that's what started my fall. Ever since that horrible day on June 13, 1972, I haven't been the same. I began withdrawing myself, my children not knowing what to do. I didn't even let Phil in most of the time." Her face crumpled.

"And then we got that horrible letter that said Andrew had been killed in action and I...I just broke. It was weak, I know, but I didn't know what else to. Angie took it hard too, it being her brother and all, but I had it the worst. That's when I started this." She held up her wrists, baring them to me.

"Phil caught me once and immediately took me to the hospital to get it stitched up. He told them I had cut myself while preparing supper. How can you cut your wrist while preparing dinner?" Marjorie shook her head. "I think they knew that too, which is why they gave me antidepressants. Of course, they failed to tell me it may increase depression and I ended up slitting too deep to ever stitch up. Still, I followed Phil as he took my body to the hospital. Since then, I've been waiting."

My heart broke for her. "Marjorie, that's horrible. No one should have to go through all that."

"That's not even that bad compared some people. I was just too weak after living my perfect, primped lifestyle." Tears were running down her face.

I scooted forward and grabbed one of her hands in mine. "What would you like me to send to Phil, Marjorie? I don't care if it's a whole ten page letter. He needs to know the truth."

She nodded and patted my bandaged hand. "I won't make it too long, dear. Your hands need to heal from the fire damage."

I rifled around for paper and a pen and miraculously found some. Marjorie told me what she wanted to tell him, crying the whole time, and I dutifully wrote it all down. When she was done, she told me the address and I said I'd send it out tomorrow morning, pronto.

Marjorie grabbed my hands again. "You're such a sweet child, Jocelynn."

"Thank you."

"Just try not to help too many because I can already tell how much weaker you are now. I sincerely apologize." She leaned forward. "Although, I saw your guardian. He's a good looking chap, huh? Some say a Death Watcher's guardian gives her more strength than she ever had if they have a strong enough bond."