The number buzzed round Ripley’s mind, and she took a deep breath. So many people fated to die on Christmas day, good and maybe a little bit bad, their time on Earth officially at an end. All of them were her responsibility to collect. Those souls that she failed would be collected by the competitors with a one-way ticket to the flames.
“Reality bites about now, huh?” Lucia asked.
“Yeah.” Ripley scanned the list again, taking in the names, addresses, and dates of birth. A whole load of babies she noticed and felt her heart sink. A fair few old people, too. Several, who were far too young to die, and then…. Ripley paused, her heart leaping into her throat. Was she seeing things? Was she confused? But no the name was right there, that awfully familiar name. “It can’t be….”
She stood up, staggering slightly, and Lucia reached out to steady her. “Ripley? What the hell?”
“It can’t be,” she breathed. “Please no…”
“Rip, what’s the matter?”
Ripley shook her head, her whole body suddenly clammy, panic raced its way through her veins. It was too soon for this, far too soon. “This name.” She pointed a shaky finger down to the very bottom of the list, the last but one name on it in fact.
“Nicholas Ryder?” Lucia asked. “What about him?”
“It can’t be. Dear God, it can’t be him.”
“Ripley?” Lucia demanded. “What the hell’s wrong?”
Ripley held the list away from herself, reluctant even to keep a hold of it. A nasty ringing started in her ears, nausea welled in her stomach, and the denial continued. No. No. No.
“Babe?” Lucia prompted. “Talk to me.”
“It’s Nick,” she finally whispered. “The date of birth and the address, they all match. It’s him.”
“Who is him?”
Unable to form a proper answer, Ripley sucked in a shaky breath. “It’s Nick.”
“Yeah but…shit, you’re not related?”
Swallowing around the lump firmly wedged in her throat, Ripley gathered her thoughts. “No, not in the way you mean.”
“Who is he then?”
No. No. No. Too soon. Tears pricked her eyes, and Ripley fell back into her chair, finding the words at last. “He was my husband.”
Chapter Two
Nicholas Ryder, known as Nick to his friends, pulled his Harley into the driveway and dismounted. His legs felt stiff after a day of riding the city, and he shook them out, frowning when the ache travelled upwards. He leaned against the wall, flexing his body, and almost smiled when he imagined how he might look to anyone passing. Like a freak probably, but then that would be about right.
The ache easing slightly Nick unbuttoned his jacket and removed his helmet, grimacing when his head thumped against the action. He’d been having the headaches for a while now. They’d almost become part of his everyday routine. Get up, eat breakfast, headache begins, take tablets, work, headache comes back, and so on. He promised himself he’d see the doctor soon, but then he’d been promising himself that for the last couple of years—he knew in reality he’d never go.
Nick mentally inventoried the fridge and cupboards as he walked the path to his front door, frowning when he realized the best he could hope for dinner-wise was a microwave meal. He was almost tempted to ride round to his mom’s or one of his sister’s, but the lectures he was bound to receive would not be worth the price of the dinner. Microwave crap it was. He wondered idly if his diet was to blame for the constant headaches and stiffness. Or maybe it was the booze, the late nights, and the guilt. Could be a combination he decided then dismissed his thoughts. It didn’t really matter after all, he’d just take some more painkillers and that would be that.
He dragged his keys from his front pocket, not really looking where he was going and let out a shaky breath. His foot hit something, sent it crashing against the flagstones and he cursed. What was left of a large poinsettia lay, scattered, against the faded welcome mat, like some sort of Christmas omen of doom. It had to be from his neighbor, Mrs. Gerching. She often left little presents around the holidays. As if these might help in some way, or maybe just to let him know she was thinking of him. He picked it up, pulled it out of its wrappings, and dropped it in one of the empty flowerpots. Not because he had any deep desire to have it there but because it would please his elderly neighbor and Nick wasn’t so far gone to not think about things like that.
“Happy fucking Christmas,” he muttered, opened his front door then kicked it shut. A small pile of mail spread over the floor, and he cursed again as he bent to gather them, his head pounding. They were mostly bills and a few circulars, though he saw a couple of red envelopes. Christmas cards no doubt, it was unlikely he’d even open them. He tossed them aside with his keys, and the noise of the metal falling seemed much too loud for Nick. He scowled at the side table, picked the red envelopes back up and threw them in the trash basket along with the poinsettia wrappings. It wasn’t the cards’ fault, of course, it was all down to the silence. He let it settle over him and felt the ache in his head increase.
“I’m home,” he said, his words bouncing across the empty space. No one answered, because there wasn’t anyone to answer. “Home….” His voice trailed off, and he took a deep breath, surrounded by the silence. Always the silence. He’d never really gotten used to it and couldn’t quite work out how an absence of noise could feel so odd. But then it wasn’t just the noise was it? More the knowledge of another, warm, breathing person in the house, or not, as the case was.
Dropping onto the couch, Nick barely even noticed as it sagged beneath him. The springs were pretty much worn out, had been for some time. In fact, everything in his little house was a bit worn out, kind of like him. His gaze wandered to the faded drapes around the sitting room window. The flowery pattern was almost gone, nothing more than a blur of color. The cushions, too, they had once matched the drapes, but the years had turned them a little grimy. The pattern Katie had spent so long on gone forever.
His head throbbed again, and Nick clenched his fists. Katie. How long since he’d sat and thought about her? Too long surely, but then it was the only way Nick had found to cope. He’d spent the first year without her in a fog of pain and anger, his sanity slowly slipping away. It had taken the intervention of friends and family for him to crawl out of his hole and he’d decided there and then that the only way forward was to push her into a small part of his mind. Every few days, he allowed himself to bring her out and think about her.
Clearly today was going to be a Katie day.
Nick stood up and walked to the tiny kitchen. It too bore the marks of Katie’s decorative skills. Flowered ruffles around the window, a stencil of the same flowers around the walls, and the delicate china she’d collected so carefully in the cupboards. Nick did not use that china; he was terrified of breaking it.
He glanced over the room, frowning as a varied bunch of scents hit him. It looked like the bin needed emptying, the washing up doing. In all honesty, the place could do with a damn good scrub all round. Tomorrow, he told himself. It was always tomorrow.
Nick grabbed a ready meal from the fridge, popped it in the microwave, and gathered one of the few remaining plates and forks whilst it cooked. The noise of the machine was the only sound besides his breathing, and Nick leaned against the counter, dropping his aching head in his hands. What he wouldn’t give for a bit of noise—despite his headache. The sound of another voice, another person moving around….
The microwave pinged about the same time another spike of pain hit him, and Nick straightened up before grabbing a glass of water and two painkillers. Swigging them down, he took the overly-hot meal from the microwave plate and placed it on his dinner plate. The ceramic was chipped around the sides, the brown glaze about worn off. His mom had given him the set when she’d realized he was using paper plates rather than spoil Katie’s collection. Of course, no one called her that. As soon as they’d started dating, she’d told him in no uncertain terms that she went by her last name. He smiled down at his plate, the rare expression feeling strange. It had never fit in his opinion. Her surname was for a kick ass kinda girl, and his Katie had been all kinds of soft and sweet. So that’s what he’d called her, right up until the end.
His head throbbed again, and he tried to push the thought of Katie’s final moments to the back of his mind. The blood and the tears…he’d never been able to think about that time without burning in anger and pain. Five years later, it was no different, just ever so slightly subdued.
He made his way back to the sitting room, balancing his plate on one hand, and turned on the TV. The noise filled the room cheering him slightly. It was rare he had much in the way of company. The TV had become his companion. He was well aware of what that said about him and the current state of his life.
A Christmas jingle filled the room, and Nick titled his head to get a good look at the kids singing on the screen. They were clustered around a large tree, fairy lights twinkling in the background. Another smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, and Nick almost felt like singing along with them. The impulse disappeared as soon as it came, and his face settled back to the same usual lines. Not a scowl exactly, more like a blankness. Because what was there to even smile about apart from little things now and then. Things that took him by surprise. And to scowl? Well scowls made no difference and took more energy than he had.