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Imagine that when someone dies, it's kind of like being in a really cool store full of fancy clothing. The person dying- they're the merchandise. Death, he's the buyer. But he's a pretty busy guy, which is why he sends some of his favourite people in for him when he can't make it. Chloe's like the person who takes the clothing to the counter and makes sure it gets put on hold until he can drop by.
And of course, by favourite people, she means people who need to pay their dues. It's punishment, really. Chloe never liked killing people when she was alive- not that she ever did, but the idea never appealed to her- and nothing about that has changed now that she's dead. Sort of. She's in between being dead and alive- and no, not like a ghost, that's something totally different- but she's stuck pretty much being one of Death's henchwomen until he decides she can move on. It's her own fault, though. Turns out, cheating and flirting with Death multiple times will actually kind of piss him off?
He'd argue with her that she wasn't actually killing people- and, okay, maybe not, but she basically was. She was literally leading people to Death. And that's her only interaction. Ever, with anyone. And that's totally depressing. Of course, other than Death, whom she sees occasionally. He's funny and he dresses nice and she has nothing against him, even if she does resent him a little bit. Like, maybe she should be flattered to be all ethereal and like, she's totally gained some really intense knowledge about dying and what happens to people and space and time and souls and all that spiritual crap- but at the end of the day, it's still a punishment. And she still doesn't know it all.
She doesn't actually even know what she does when she's between 'jobs'. It's not like there's TV to watch or she has any transcendent friends to hang out with. Actually, she's like eighty percent sure she ceases to exist when she's not out. Because time goes missing, before she's being swept up and plopped down somewhere. Usually, it's some old person or the terminally ill- or both. She was really pissed that one time he sent her to the children's hospital and she had to lure the poor kid out of the room with promises of Barbies and chocolate and all that good stuff. But Chloe doesn't know if the other side is like that. She's never gotten a chance to see it. So that's what haunts her- the idea that maybe, she had lied to that kid unintentionally. Maybe, that kid had gotten to wherever it is that people went after, and she was scared because it wasn't like that at all.
And, yeah, like she'd said; she's learned a lot. But maybe nothing more devastating than what it's like to be trapped inside her own head, when there's absolutely nothing else around. In those times between, where Chloe isn't sure if she's even real anymore- not that she's ever really sure, come to think of it- but when there's nothing but blackness. She hardly remembers these periods. It's like she floats, in one of those salty zero-gravity pools and she can't see her body. But God, she can hear her thoughts like disembodied voices and for a long time, she relived moments of her past life like a cinematic roll on a projector. She can't recall specifics, but she remembers the pain scratching at her from the inside of her head like a million little claws. Destroying her. Her mom's face, and her dad's. Her best friends. Her best memories and her worst, and the chanting of every regret looping through her mind like an old record set as the backtrack.
She thinks she just about went crazy. But since then, she's gotten better with that. When she finds herself in the blackness, she's learned how to quiet herself. How to give in to the vacant silence, shut herself off. Stop missing people. Burn the roll of footage and meditate. Until she has a purpose. Something to do. And all she can do is hope, pray that soon this will be over, and she will have her shot at her next life. Chloe doesn't know how long it's already been.
This time, it's a kitchen. A dirty kitchen, littered with scattered bottles from soda, to beer, to water. There's a half eaten pizza in a box on the stove. It's either very late or very early, if the window above the sink is any indicator. And it stinks, too, like vomit. There's a girl, brown-haired and face down on the island, an empty bottle of vodka next to her. She's alone. Chloe can tell by the lack of energy in the house.
The girl had drunk herself to death. Not on purpose, she can tell too, because her spirit wasn't that kind of sad but there was something about it.
There's a rush of movement, as the vacuum of time whirls back into motion. Things started happening again around her. The faucet is dripping. They're in their own bubble now, just the two of them, and Chloe wouldn't know anything that happens outside this fragile placement in space. Which meant that all of these 'jobs' were sort of time sensitive; someone could come in at any point, find this girl's body, and call the ambulance. Chloe would never know, unless she was too late. Something that's happened to her a few times- which, of course, only grants her more punishment, like an extended prison sentence.
Chloe exhales heavily through her nose, leaning back into the sink and shutting it off, leering out of the window as she did so, trying to gauge what time it could be. It was kind of a novelty to her now. But it wasn't to the living. By the lack of lights on in neighbour's houses, she'd say it was very early. Two or three in the morning. So, she wasn't in a great rush.
She takes in the room, roaming around like a lazy tiger, from the garbage to the few images mounted on the walls, the spilled bag on the small wooden dining table. Tissues, hand lotion, headphones, and most interestingly, a name tag; Beca Mitchell. Chloe doesn't loiter around there for long, the information striking her as slightly too intimate than what she'd liked to know. She didn't like learning names. It made her feel too much. So, she moves on, attempting to cast aside that finding, coming full circle to rest back at the sink.
Patiently, she waits. It takes a few minutes, but the girl eventually groans slightly, blinking open bleary cobalt eyes. One hand pinching the bridge of her nose and the other coming to prop her head up as she winces, eyes squeezing shut again. She doesn't notice Chloe.
"Hey sleepy," She greets coolly, and the girl jumps in her seat. Wide eyes find Chloe's and she quickly balls her hands into fists and uses them to rub at her eyes, and Chloe smirks. This girl has to be around her age. Or- the age she was, she should say. It kind of gets under Chloe's skin, because she's never had to deal with this before. That, and, something about the manner of her death has Chloe feeling irritated; because seriously? What made her think drinking alone would ever be a good idea? Whether it was alcohol poisoning left unattended, or choking on her own upchuck, here she was. And she was in trouble.
And it reminded her a little bit too closely of her past. A memory itched to be given attention to, but Chloe forcefully avoids it.
When the girl drops her hands again- dark eye makeup now smudged even more so, giving her a bit of a raccoon look- a crease forms between her eyes. "Wha-" She breaks off with a groan, one hand shooting up to her temple as she inhales sharply through her teeth, the hissing sound echoing around the kitchen. She wasn't drunk. She wasn't drunk because she's dead- dying- but she probably feels pretty shitty, regardless. After a moment she tries again. "Who are you? Are you robbing me?"
Chloe fills her lips twitch, just a little, and she shakes her head. The girl's frown only deepens. "No, I'm not robbing you."
"Okay, so," The brunette scowls at her. Chloe can't help but take a moment to sweep in the rest of this girl's appearance, completely. Sometimes, she forgets what people look like. How different they all are. This girl, she's cute- even though there's something jaded about her. But she's small and her dark locks are tousled like bed-head, and the makeup brings out the deep blue of her eyes. Chloe thinks it's especially endearing the way her teeth poke out between her teeth. "What are you doing in my house?"
She misses people. Misses looking at them, but she tries not to think too much about things like the way people she knew well each had their own individual smell, because then she remembers those she misses the most. And touching another human being is what she maybe craves most, but it's also the most dangerous, but she lives for the small moments she gets to hold someone's hand. And she tries not to relapse.
"I've come to see you." She says gently, because why dance around the point? Of course, she's not a dick about telling people they're dead. She likes to ease into it.
The girl knits her brows together. Using the flat of her hand against the counter, she pushes herself to her feet and groans again, one hand holding her dizzy head for a moment. Chloe can remember what this is like. The feeling. The pounding migraine, and the cold-sweat, clammy skin. Only if you go in a nasty way. She's learned that if you go in your sleep, or some way peaceful, it's a walk in the park. But it wasn't that easy for her, and it won't be that easy for this girl, either. "Um, do I know you?" Again, Chloe shakes her head. The girl pauses, eye contact unwavering. "So, you broke into my house?"
Chloe lifts one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Not exactly."
She sees the girl's fingers on her free hand twitch, and spots the cellphone nestled between bottles on the island. Chloe isn't worried. This girl could do whatever she wanted, but once she started trying to contact other people, she'd find that she would soon get very frustrated. "So," She says slowly, like Chloe could only comprehend things being said at half-speed. "how did you get into my house?"
Death himself indirectly sent me here, I probably materialised out of thin air? We're in between dimensions and your true physical self is probably going purple and your walking and talking to me is just an illusion? Not very comforting. But, she supposes, nothing about this is comforting. "Front door."
The girl blinks slowly. "It wasn't locked?"
Chloe shakes her head, and watches as the girl takes in this information with a brisk nod, before wincing. "No, it wasn't. Listen," Chloe lets her feet move again, wandering over to the island and absently flicking a soda bottle with her index finger. The girl immediately takes a few steps further from her, the phone now in her free hand. "I didn't mean to startle you or anything. I just," She inhales heavily. This girl was so... young. It was all she could think, and she looked scared. Alarmed. Neither of which are emotions Chloe likes to evoke in people. Whether they're in their groggy half-dead state or not. Suddenly, she finds it difficult to talk.
Absently, she sees the girl's finger try to navigate her phone, despite the fact that she's still staring at Chloe. The phone doesn't respond. "You just..?" The girl repeats, her eyes now flickering down to the device in her hand to inspect the way it wasn't working.
The truth is; Chloe doesn't want to tell her. She already looked so vulnerable, and it was throwing Chloe off for some reason. See, she's always prided herself in her good judge of character- at least in life. Her friends used to question her- but her secret? It was all in the eyes. The eyes were people's ultimate betrayer. No fronts, no bullshit, no lies- if you knew what to look for, how to read them, they could tell you everything. She totally buys into the saying that 'the eyes are the window to the soul' thing. And Chloe is caught in this girl's.
They're kind.
Straightening up, Chloe wrings her hands out in front of her for a moment, before making some kind of vague, pedalling motion with them in attempt to get her mind moving again. Pull herself out of the blues, before she's part of a seaside shipwreck because of them. "It's just, it's time for me to..." It's proving to be quite difficult. "It's time to go."
The girl inclines her head to her chest, barely blinking. Before her gaze drops again and she's a bit more frantically punching at the home button of her phone, and the screen brightens, but it refuses to register her navigating the touch pad. The hybrid wave of panic and fear radiating from her sends a knife to Chloe's gut. She hates this. She hates causing this kind of feeling. She's about to say something else before the girl's breath hitches in her throat in irritation, and she's meet Chloe's eyes again. "Are you- what does that mean?" She questions quickly, shaking her head. "Do you like, work for a hitman? Are you a stalker? Are you going to kill me?"
It hurts her the most that she can't say no. Because she is going to kill her. Of course it's not the violent way this girl is probably thinking, but, nonetheless, she's not wrong.
And there's a moment; there's something small, and burning inside Chloe's chest that twists. She doesn't want this girl to be scared. Pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, Chloe shakes her head again, dropping her gaze to the floor, eyes tracing the lines in the linoleum and she has to think. It's never felt like this. It's always felt like a duty she needed to do, and while she dreaded it, she knew it was her responsibility. But she's never felt this conflicted, this labored by it. Except for maybe the little kid. But even that was different.
She dares say she's stuck. The revelation hits her and she laughs at herself a little, before sighing and trying again. This brown-haired girl is looking at her like she's a crazy person. Chloe feels her mouth curve in resignation and she shakes her head once more, "No, no, I'm not- I'm not any of that."
And now her face is contorting in complete bafflement. Her mouth twists downwards and her brows furrow together, baulking. "So, what- what the fuck is this? Can you go?" Her words are laced with venom now, the exasperation blatantly clawing it's way into her voice.
For some reason, that reaction makes Chloe feel alive. She feels her grin stretch in amusement, cocking her head at the girl across from her. "Why does it have to be anything?"
"Uh." The girl states dryly, "Because you're a stranger and you're in my house?"
Wrinkling her nose, Chloe tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear, shifting back a bit so that she can lean into the island, resting her elbows against the surface and propping her head up in her hands. "I guess you have a point, don't you?"
"Yeah." Chloe thinks that maybe the girl's grogginess was ebbing away, which is why the anger was starting to wedge it's way into her voice, into her stance. She's slowly looking more and more like she's been scandalised in the greatest way, which is rightfully justified, considering the circumstances. "Okay so I've already had a really long, weird day so can you like... go? Like, rob me, whatever, I don't care, just go?"
"Sorry." She responds without missing a beat, stiffly shaking her head again in her hands. "I like, I can't. I wish I could but I can't. I can't go."
Beca's face drops, at first in frustration and then with a different kind of intrigue. "Are you... hiding from someone?" It's ushered with the kind of quiet, confused concern that has Chloe's heart warming. As if reading her mind, the brunette continues, "I'm, look, I'm really confused, and I'm kind of freaked out?"
It's such a shift in the girl's demeanour, that it has Chloe pushing herself away from the island, a fond smile on her lips. Cautiously, she takes a few steps towards the smaller girl. Who takes one step back, and Chloe stops in place. "No, it's not that either." She admits, a heaviness resting in her chest. "Please don't be freaked out."
"Then what do you-?"
"I can't go unless you come with me." Chloe doesn't know why her voice wavers, why there's burning behind her eyes. And why getting those words off of her tongue keeps growing harder. She hasn't spoken to someone so close to her age in so long. She hasn't been tricked into thinking about how normal things used to be in so long. But the tightness in her chest keeps screaming at her that she doesn't want to leave. She doesn't want this to happen to this girl. Not alone.
But everybody dies alone, at the end. Chloe knows this. It's an individualistic experience.
And even if there was a chance for Beca to remember this, she wouldn't. Chloe doesn't remember her spot in between, only what happened after.
She inhales sharply, her hands clenching briefly at her side, and she holds. Holds for a long count to five. Tries to focus on here. On the responsibility she has; and that's the girl across from her. Exhaling, she says a bit more firmly. "I need you to come with me."
The brunette's mouth falls open in a small 'o' shape, before she's swinging her head to and fro vehemently. "No- no you psychopath, I'm not going anywhere with you! What the hell? What's going on?"
The incredulous tone is back again, and it slices Chloe as it hits her. She winces. But she's dealt it. And Chloe is quickly wracking her brain for her methodical approach to these things; because this isn't the first time she's been met with hostility. People tend to react in different ways when they're in this place. Ways that aren't always like themselves. "Look," She pleads, once she catches hold of something, putting her palms out in front of her to show she means no harm. "I know you're really confused and wigged out, but you don't need to be. I'm not going to hurt you."
"Can you just-" The girl starts, before pressing her lips together and letting out a groan, dropping her head on her shoulders to stare up at the ceiling. Chloe waits. Watches the way her lips twist into a humorless smile, and her chest heaves with a heavy exhale. She speaks, still looking upwards. "Can you just stop being so creepy, and tell me what the fuck you want from me?"
"Just come with me." She repeats, the growing sense of desperation swelling again inside her chest.
"Come with you- come with you where? For what?" It's an eruption, throwing her hands out to her sides helplessly and bringing her head back down towards her chest. She answers herself before Chloe has a chance. "I'm not going with you anywhere, I don't know you! You're insane!"
"Please. Listen to me."
"No, I don't know you- you broke into my house, you're being all- all weird,"
Squeezing her eyes shut, Chloe takes another step forward. "Take my hand," She manages, not bothering to open her eyes yet. Simply extending her hand in the girl's direction and praying that she takes it. "You'll understand if you just, just try to take my hand."
"I'm not touching you." Beca says firmly, but the anger was still boiling under her skin, spilling into her words.
She's being difficult, and Chloe can feel her usual patience dwindling. She wants to tell it to her- shout 'you're dead, Beca!' and she wants to watch the way her face crumples as she tries to make sense of it. The angry part of Chloe wants that. The hurt part. But she swallows that urge and tries again. "I'm not going to do anything to you. Trust me."
Beca's eyes dart rapidly from Chloe's hand to her face a few times. She can see some of the defensive light flicker out from behind those eyes, and she can feel the relief begin to wash over her. She tries to smile reassuringly. After a beat, the brunette tangles her hand in those dark locks and blows out air through her cheeks. "I don't understand."
"I know." Chloe says softly, "It's okay. Just," Chuckling, she waggles her fingers at the girl. "you will. I swear."
The skepticism is clear, and Chloe can't really blame her. And she's just trying to keep her cool because she kind of feels like she might explode if Beca won't just take it. The girl runs her tongue along her bottom lip, eyeing Chloe, before the hand not gripping the cellphone jerks forward hesitantly. It stops halfway there, however, hovering mid-air. A small, non-committal vowel sound leaves her lips before she speaks. "Please don't kill me."
Four words that make her heart stop. Not that it matters. But her breath struggles somewhere in her trachea and the guilt hits her like a freight train in one half of a second. "I won't." It's a lie. The words are detached and strained, and maybe Beca sees that. In the way her movement stutters once again, the shock slack on her face, and Chloe feels her arm slip out from under her.
Furrowing her brow, she glances down at herself. The way her skin was beginning to deteriorate, diffuse like dye in water, coming apart. And the realisation strikes her just as fast.
She was too late.
Which meant someone saved Beca.
Which meant she was going to live, but Chloe was going back. She feels blinding, white-hot panic shoot through her spine like a rocket. "No." She whispers, fixated on the way her hand was disappearing into the air around them. Beca's eyes were roving back and forth along Chloe's form, her hand brought back and covering her mouth. She was fading, too. Everything was.
Chloe shakes her head frantically, the tears welling in her eyes. She'd lost people like this before. It never mattered; all it gave her was a sense of disappointment, but, she was also always kind of happy. It might have meant longer time for her, but at least they survived. But never before had it felt like Chloe was losing something so important. And she doesn't understand that, doesn't know what to make of it.
And then the dark has consumed her, and that's the only thing her conscience can think about. Ocean blue eyes and the inexplicable sensation in her chest. And the awful, awful reminder of what life used to feel like.