4 Delores, Millie, and Sheila

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"You are impressive. I've watched you in one year, Millie, in one short year you've grown into a fine young woman. I'm sure George's mum will be pleased." - Delores Herbig

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Again, George had missed work. It was full on dark outside. She exited the elevator onto Delores' floor. At least she was on time to see her tonight. Delores was one to believe in always showing a happy face, no matter what was going on beneath the surface. Of late her hair was getting grey and old age was overtaking and sometimes overwhelming her natural perky buoyancy. George knocked on the door.

"Come in, Millie. Door's open."

She entered and placed a bag with two cinnamon buns and some Danish pastries on the puzzle table. Delores looked liked she had been crying. "Delores. What happened?"

"Come in. Come in." She took a deep breath and turned to George. Something had upset her. George knew she had to be patient. Delores had her own pace and she would get to whatever was bothering her in her own time.

George sat down at the table and Delores brought two cups with saucers over to the table. She went back for the pot of coffee and brought that over. Then she walked back to get some Kleenex - this must be bad. George went to the cupboard and got two small plates and a few forks and sat down again. She left the bag unopened.

Delores was focused on her hands. She looked up. "I got a call today from the Head Office."

George nodded and tried to make eye contact, but Delores only looked up for a moment and then it was back to her hands.

"You know we were acquired late last year." She sniffled a bit. "What is going to happen to me is still under consideration..."

"Delores, you don't..."

Delores put her hand up and waved her off. "No, Millie, it's not me. My contact inside over there tells me that I'm probably going to be around for a few more years." She paused. "It's you. They've got somebody who analyzed the personnel records and...well...they say that you have to go...because you're just too irregular...and don't put in enough hours."

George was relieved. She should have cut loose years ago and probably would have but for Delores. She didn't need the money. And she ran out of medical excuses...oh...about 10 years before and but for her relationship with Delores who stopped questioning her reasons for her irregular hours long ago, she would be long gone. "Delores. It's OK. I've only stayed because I like working for you." She smiled and reached over to take her hand.

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The next day George made a point of getting in on time to work, one of the few remaining Happy Time workdays left to her. She processed a few candidates and for a break got up to check the coffee machine. While she was filling her cup she looked toward the door to see Delores walk past followed by an acquaintance she hadn't seen in almost a year. Delores was talking up a storm intended to make the woman feel at ease.

George heard Delores near her desk. "Does anyone know where Millie is?"

George didn't move from her post in front of coffee maker. She sipped from her cup. It was too hot. This would be interesting. Delores appeared in the doorway. "Millie, I would like you to meet a Ms. Sheila McField." The woman appeared in the doorway, saw Millie, and…fainted. Now that was not cool. Sheila really should know better.

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Sheila couldn't hear anything. She opened her eyes. The room was dim, almost dark. The overhead lights were off. What happened? Where was she? She needed something to calm her nerves. She thought she saw that reaper woman that killed Jenkins and took his soul. God, no. She needed something really strong. That night was a nightmare she couldn't shake. She had been at Happy Time talking, no, being talked at by that annoyingly happy woman. And then she thought she saw...

"Hello, Sheila."

She jumped to sitting and looked towards the voice. "Oh. My. God."

"Sheila, calm down. Everything's OK."

"Please, don't. Is it my time?"

"Sheila. Calm. Down." The reaper woman pointed towards a cup of coffee on the table next to the couch. "Drink some of that. Your breath reeks of booze. It's kinda early to be hitting the hard stuff, isn't it?"

She put her face in her hands for a few long seconds. Then she reached for the cup and took a sip, and when she was sure it wasn't too hot, she downed half. This wouldn't do her any good at all. She put the cup back and sat back. She looked around. They were in some sort of back room with this cushy couch and some matching chairs, and a medical cabinet in the corner. The reaper woman sat across the low table watching her from a chair. Sheila was so tired. She slouched back into the couch. What was the point?

"So. Nice to see you again, too. What brings you to a temp agency?"

Sheila looked her over. "You work here?"

"Part time. When I'm not going about my other business."

Sheila coughed. Her head was starting to ache. She really needed to get something to help that. Coffee wasn't on the approved list. She looked at the reaper woman. "I'm sorry. What was your name?"

"Here, you should always call me Millie."

"Millie. You had another name."

"Always Millie."

"They don't know what you are, do they?"

"No, Sheila, they do not. Knowing has consequences as your boyfriend found out."

"How come I'm alive?"

"Knowing seems OK. But trying to tell others…that's when the bad consequences kick in. You seem to have been able to keep your insights to yourself, so you're still alive, despite your best efforts to cut things short." The reaper woman smiled. She looked dangerous. "So you're looking to get placed? What happened at the newspaper?"

"I decided to explore other opportunities and..."

"They fired you for drinking too much."

"Well...yes...that's the short answer."

"Trip fired you?"

"You mean Mr. Hesburgh? Yes, he let me go. Without Jenkins I ran out of hot inside tips. He ran out of patience."

"Do you mind if I talk to him?"

"You know him?"

The woman nodded.

"Sure go ahead." What the hell? She burned that bridge 10 times over. She had seen weird. This reaper woman, who looked just out of diapers, worked at a temp agency and just happened to have some pull with one of the most powerful men in the country. The woman took out her phone and pushed a speed dial. She had his number handy. That was odd.

"Hi, Trip. George." She listened. "I have Sheila McField here in our office. She says you fired her." She talked like he worked for her. There was a long interval and likely Trip detailed some of her many transgressions. She didn't like to think about which ones. Maybe sometimes she was a tad bit drinking too much at work. "OK, I understand. Sounds justified, but..." Another long pause. "OK, I understand, but I want you to take her back..." Trip interrupted her. "I understand...if she completes rehab...successfully...the real thing...and cleans up...no more booze on or off the job...fair enough. Thanks." She disconnected. She focused on Sheila, but didn't say anything.

"So. You and he know each other well?"

"That we do. Well, Sheila. Can you do it?"

"I need to pay the bills and my mortgage. That's why I'm here. I don't know. I can't...since I saw Mason again...everything has fallen apart."

"Mason has had his own problems with booze but he more or less got that fixed."

Now that's a twist. A guy working for Death who's an alcoholic. "I think I screwed up my interview here. With what's her name?"

"Delores. She does not know about me and if you want to continue your current state of being alive, keep it that way. She noticed you came here drunk and she wants me to get rid of you as soon as you come to. She thinks you're in a drunken stupor."

Sheila put her hands to her face again. Things were going from bad to worse, a downward spiral. She looked back to George, or Millie, or whatever. "You'll probably be coming for me soon."

"I can talk to her, but I want to hear from you that you're going to fix this. I can get you some counseling, but ultimately you have to want to get over this, get through this."

"I want to, I really do."

That seemed to satisfy her. She stood up. "Good. Wait here." She walked out closing the door behind her.

The reaper woman aka George left her in the room with her half a cup of coffee. About 10 minutes later she came back with Delores in tow.

Delores said, "You poor dear. I had no idea. Millie has good instincts, so let's see what we can do. You can work here for me until we get a few things straightened out."

Delores talked like that a little more - continuously - and then left. George sat down across from her and was writing on a pad. She finished and tore off a page with a name on it, handed it to her. Sheila read it over. It had a Father Adair and the address for a local Catholic Church written out plus two telephone numbers. Adair, Adair, she had heard that name somewhere. George said, "This Father Adair knows about us and you can talk freely with him. He's very much alive. He'll give you counseling and see you get into a group or whatever. Delores will probably push you into some group too. Take your pick. I recommend testing them all. The first number is for Father Adair and the second is mine. If you get into trouble I suggest calling me first."

"How...how does he know about you?"

She paused. "Well, that's a long story, but the short version is that his grandmother is Daisy Adair."

Of course, she remembered that name. At least he wasn't one of them. "She's...that other one like you that was with Mason that night at the Goth Club, right?"

"That's right." She seemed to be considering something studying her. Face young; eyes cold. "Sheila, life is short, too short. Don't waste what you've got left because you won't get another chance. You'll see Jenkins again soon enough. Don't destroy yourself. I'll see you get some help, but you got to do the real work. Get yourself back together and if you want your job back at the newspaper Trip will take you back."

"You can do that? How do you know...Trip? Does...does he know what you are?"

"He does."

"Aren't you afraid..." How stupid? Talking about this stuff was a death sentence - with no judge and no jury. "I need a drink." The George woman rolled her eyes.

"Drink some more coffee and I'll get Delores in here."

"Why?" Sheila did not trust this reaper woman. "Why are you so willing to help me?" She focused on the woman's eyes. They did not go with the face. The face could belong to girl in high school. The eyes were a deep blue, and there was something not right. The way she seemed to see inside Sheila's head. She waited for an answer.

"If...if you decide you want to live and if you manage to pull yourself and your life back together...then you may be of some use. I may call you for a favor."

Oh my God. "Am...are you offering to buy my soul? Are you the Devil?" She knew there must be a catch. And this is just how the Devil would do it. Not that she believed in such stuff...until that night she saw Mason in action.

The reaper woman chuckled. The sound and her demeanor didn't look anything like a young girl. She came across as someone much older. Maybe she really was a demon, or worse, much much worse, really was the Devil. She never was big on religion, but...after what happened to Jenkins, what this reaper woman let her see, she even got to talk with his soul, his ghost before he went on or passed over or whatever. Now, she wasn't sure what to believe, but the idea of there being a devil, the Devil, and that it might show up disguised as a young girl didn't seem at all farfetched. This sounded like a deal was being offered. And a priest at a church was part of it somehow.

The woman rolled her eyes. "No, Sheila. I am not the Devil. I'm a reaper. I collect souls and make sure they go on their way to the other side. And no, I am not offering to buy your soul. Your soul is in no danger and whether you go into your lights or get a fate on the dark side is totally up to your doing."

"Then...then why are you helping me? And why...what's this about me owing you a favor?"

"Sheila." Her shoulders dropped as she sighed. "I was alive once. I can see you're going through some shit. I believe most of it is self-inflicted, but with a little help, I'm sure you can pull out of it." She lingered on something she wanted to say. Finally she said, "I was at that concert...and reaped that singer. Mason was there, too, and he reaped the woman who shot him. I know he said some things to you, and to your friend, that idiot that Mason reaped last year. You weren't supposed to find out about us. Really, if you can just forget about us I'll never mention any favors. I'll never even talk to you ever again. You just have to pretend you don't recognize any of us, and for Christ's sake don't faint when you see one of us." She rolled her eyes to the ceiling and raised her hand. "I promise. Get yourself fixed and go about your life." She smiled.

She seemed to be waiting for something from her, but Sheila wasn't sure what she wanted.

"Are you ready, Sheila? Ready to pick up the pieces and put things back together? If so, I'll give you over to Delores. She runs this office and has a heart of gold, and if you do anything to hurt her, then you will see me again..."

She put her hands up. "I get it. I'll behave."

"Good. Now I'll get her in here and you can start the paperwork."

"Paperwork?"

"There's always paperwork. In life and in death I've found, there's always paperwork."