It was cold.
But it wasn't because of the weather that Jack had come here. He was making sure his job was done right. Usually he didn't have to do anything, just let the day run its usual course. But things can always go wrong. An idle comment can change everything...
It was dusk, and he strained to see in the dull light. The sound of arguing drifted to his ears, high and angry. He shivered slightly in the cold, waiting. Skeletal trees stretched upwards all around him, shadows in the dark.
A single gunshot rang through the icy air. The silence that followed was as chilling as the snow that lay at his feet.
Smiling grimly, he left his hiding place and hurried from the park, feet crunching in the fresh snow. The eighth person to die in the last two days. Possibly a record. Yesterday (Two days ago for Jack), there had been a pile-up. Six people dead on impact, the seventh in the hospital. A tragedy.
He knew that Davis would ring him soon. Every time a body came into the morgue, he got a call on his mobile. Davis would rave into the phone, asking why he did this.
Demanding to know where Tru was.
Jack never said anything. Just listened, waited. Davis would always hang up when he ran out of steam.
The cargo area of the docks was a maze of shadows. He came here most days, to see her. Jack didn't use to be like this, loving what he did. But then, he had never had a clear run before. The harsh smell of rust and brine seared his nostrils, the stench sharper than usual.
He missed the challenge. But he would not admit that, even to himself.
No one was around. There never was. A bag of rolls swung from his left hand. Long ago, he had wondered idly if this was the right way to deal with things. Now, he didn't care. Guilt was a rare emotion for him. Hidden amongst the abandoned shipping containers, long forgotten, was a small derelict house. Weeds and vines clawed up the crumbling walls. Smiling, he opened the door.
Today she did not even glance up. When he had first brought her here, she had looked up in hope every time he had entered. Thinking it was Harrison, Davis, or even the police. Her voice had been hoarse from yelling then. Now, it cracked from lack of use.
"So...Who died today?" she always asked. He didn't ask how she knew it was a rewind day. When one of them went back, so did the other. Jack locked the door behind him, then began to untie her from the chair. He noticed she had once again rubbed the skin from her wrists. The wounds bled sluggishly as he struggled with the rope. "An accident. Guy got in the way of a bullet meant for someone else. Killers ex, actually." He laughed. "Sounds a bit trivial, doesn't it?"
"Everything is to you, Jack"
He pulled the rope from her bloody hands, slowly unwinding the coils from her emaciated body. He had discovered that Tru was far stronger then she looked, nearly breaking free several times. She had solved the problem herself when she had stopped eating. Her arms and legs were mere skin and bone, fragile as dead twigs.
"What's that supposed to mean?" there was a sharp edge to his voice.
She was deathly pale, making her skin look dirtier than it really was. Hair hung lank and dead beside her sunken face. He remembered when she had first been brought here, her eyes burned with hatred, so bright. Endless shadow echoed in her hollow eyes now. Crackled lips split as she whispered softly.
"Life should mean more than that"
He laughed derisively. "Why should it? Death is inevitable. Who cares if it comes sooner or later? Life always ends."
She was silent. He rose and leant against the wall, watching her. He sometimes wondered if a person could simply will themselves to die. Tru was.
He would not let her die.
"Here." He placed three bread rolls on her lap. She stared at them blankly. "Eat. I'm not leaving until you do."
"How are they?" He did not need to ask who she was talking about.
"If you eat, I'll tell you." Her shoulders sagged, and she bit into the stale roll. There was silence as she mechanically ate. When the first roll had disappeared. He began to speak.
"Davis is his same old self. Raving into the phone every time a body comes in. The police are still investigating him about your disappearance, you know."
Tru looked at him, dead eyes expressionless. "What about you?"
Jack shrugged. "They think I'm dead."
"Harrison?" He said nothing, gazing at her levelly. She bit distastefully into the bread roll. Jack waited. When the last crumb had disappeared, he checked his watch.
"He'd be dead by now. At least, if things went like yesterday."
The last bread roll tumbled from her lap. She lent forward as though wracked with pain, her mouth opened in a silent scream.
"You know this gives me no pleasu-"
"Liar" she snarled. Tears left dirty tracks across her cheeks. A choked sob fell from her lips, and her body quivered with misery. Jack moved forward. She hit out at him as his arms wrapped around her, but the blow was tired. Feather light, and too weak to pull away, she leant against him, defeated. Gently, he took her through a door in the left wall.
It lead to a dirty bathroom that reeked of old filth. Unidentifiable stains clung to the walls. A dirty toilet huddled in the far corner, next to a cracked shower. Jack leant Tru against a wall. The showers plumbing was as old as the house, and creaked loudly as he turned on the taps. Lukewarm water spurted outwards in a sudden gush. He turned back to her.
"Wash. There are fresh clothes in the corner." He left her there, staring blankly into space. He did not bother to make sure she did as she was told. She had refused once.
Just once. The memory of that night troubled him sometimes.
It had been a while. Jack checked his watch. 15 minutes. Too long. He thumped on the door. No answer.
He forced the door open. Tru was under the stream of water, fully clothed. Her eyes were closed, skin dead white, lips blue. Jack swore then pulled her from the water, gasping at its icy spray. The cold water tap had been twisted to its limit. She collapsed in his grasp, unconscious. He pulled the freezing clothes from her body, swearing again. She was too cold. He frantically tried to rub life into her skin.
It was not the first time Tru had tried to take her life.
She stirred beneath his fingers. Eyes flickered open, and she stared at him hopelessly.
"Why won't you let me die?"
He had no answer.
Jack dressed her in the dry clothing. She did nothing to help or hinder him. Lifting her from the damp floor, he took her to the small bed nestled in the corner. She was still when he placed her on the soft surface, asleep or unconscious, he couldn't tell. Jack sat on the rickety chair, head in his hands.
It was ironic, what he did. Life was kept alive by death. He could not let Tru die because if he did, there would be no need of him. No more rewind days. While he would not have minded, he did not know if someone else would come. Just like Tru had done when her mother had been killed. A mistake had cost Richard dearly.
At least, that's what he told himself.
In his heart, it was more than that. His need for her was more than simple necessity, even love. She was his other half, the flip side of the coin. Without her, he was nothing.
He lay beside her on the small bed. Her thin, pale face seemed as lifeless as the dead that came into the morgue. Jack stroked her sad face, then closed his eyes.
Outside, in the cold, police zipped Harrison into a body bag. There was no-one to listen if dead flesh was animated into a strange semblance of life. No-one to rewind and give him a second chance. One of the policemen shivered.
It was getting colder.
sigh...stupid thing wouldn't go to the format I wanted. oh well. Email me if you want it in original form.