Chapter 14 Peter #2
Peter knew what a rare opportunity this was, and he didn’t take Benoit’s or Gregory’s faith in him lightly, but he wasn’t ready to make the decision yet.
“I appreciate you meeting with me and allowing me to watch you work, but I need some time to think about the offer. No matter what I decide, at least I’ll be joining with both eyes wide open,” he said, not wanting to close the door completely.
“I appreciate you taking the time to think it through. We’ve lost too many Reapers who thought ECD was a thrill ride, who weren’t prepared for what they would be facing, who thought they were invincible.
I want you to think about what you witnessed here tonight and figure out whether it’s really for you.
ECD is not the division to join to escape something else. ”
“What makes you think I’m escaping?” Peter asked.
“I’m dead, but I’m not a fool,” Benoit said, downing a shot of vodka. “Gregory wouldn’t have sent such a young Reaper to me if he wasn’t trying to protect him from something – or, worse, himself.”
Peter sighed. Maybe it was the whisky sour, but the truth just spilled out. “There’s someone I love, but I can’t have her.”
“Living?”
Peter nodded.
“Been there.”
“What happened?”
“I followed orders.” Benoit’s voice flattened. “I collected her soul and put her to rest.”
A lump formed in Peter’s throat. “And?”
“And I’ve never looked back. She reincarnated a few decades ago – has a family, a farm. Sometimes I stop by just to check on her. She’s happy,” Benoit said, with a lack of emotion that Peter knew came with being a Reaper for so long.
“Do you still love her?” he dared to ask.
“Neither time nor death can stop us from loving. If anything it intensifies, but you either let it make you a better, more compassionate Reaper, or you let it twist you up, as it did Yumi,” Benoit warned. “When are you due to collect?”
“October.”
Benoit let out a long sigh. “Like I said, ECD isn’t an escape.”
“I get it.” Peter understood why Gregory had really sent him to Benoit, and it had nothing to do with switching departments. Benoit had done what he feared he couldn’t.
Benoit paid the tab and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Hopefully we’ll get to work together soon. And go easy on Gregory. He’s only trying to help.”
“I’ll do my best,” Peter promised, and Benoit left him to his thoughts.
Maybe he really was better off not returning to Foxford.
He could hand over his assignments to Gregory; he knew Foxford and would make sure Faye found peace.
Joining the ECD would take him away from all he’d known, and maybe that was a good thing.
He’d never known life without Foxford, even before his death.
Maybe it wasn’t just Faye he was holding on to, but his home.
Gregory might be right; a clean break could be what he needed to move on from the life he thought he’d lost when he died.
A life with Faye in Foxford with his friends and family around him – that wasn’t his reality anymore.
That life was over, and like Benoit, maybe it was time to let go and move on.
Find his own peace. His feelings for Faye were sure to only bring them both more pain, and all he wanted was for her to be safe and happy.
Maybe the only way for her to truly have that for whatever time she had left was to give her up.
He should have returned straight to Purgatory after the meeting, but he wanted to check in on Faye, just for a minute. One small peek through the window, one small glimpse, and he would be on his way back to his desk. For good.
Standing on her balcony and looking through the window, Peter found her bed empty. At four am, where else would she be? He found her in the kitchen, wearing her purple banana-print PJs. She was fine. Safe.
Now, leave! I checked on her and she’s fine. How she spends her nights is none of my business. If she wants to bake before dawn, that’s up to her!
About to leave, he noticed that Faye dropped a tea towel on the ground, missing the counter entirely. When she turned to face him, her eyes were barely open and vacant.
Sleepwalking. Peter clenched his jaw, knowing it was his fault. A side-effect of slipping into and manipulating the dreams of the living was sleepwalking.
Faye reached for the dial to light the stove, and Peter found himself inside, turning it off before she burned down the building.
“Careful. We don’t want to burn the place down.” Peter kept his voice quiet, so he didn’t startle or wake her.
Faye mumbled and slapped his hand away half-heartedly before opening the fridge. If she left the stove alone, he was happy.
He spotted her phone in the fruit basket and thought about calling Lucy to come over, to make sure Faye didn’t end up at the bottom of the stairs or return to the stove.
He didn’t want his attempt to comfort her in a dream to be the reason for her sudden end.
Lucy would ask what he was doing there, but Faye’s safety was more important than avoiding Lucy’s curiosity.
He reached for the phone, but a red blur crossed his vision, startling him. His eyes focused on the red-scaled dragonia snarling at him, protecting Faye’s phone in the fruit basket.
“Hey there! How cute are you?” Peter reached out to let the dragonia see he wasn’t a threat. When did Faye get a guard dragon?
“Son of a demon—” he exclaimed, prying his finger from her jaws.
He used a ladle to carefully scoot the dragonia out of the fruit basket and get the phone.
However, the creature swooped overhead and tried to snatch it back.
In the struggle, Peter knocked over the sugar dish.
Suddenly the little demon no longer cared about the phone; it started happily licking up the sugar.
Peter dialled before the dragonia’s treat ran out, only to drop the phone to take the boiling kettle from Faye before she poured it onto the floor instead of into a pot.
What the hell is she trying to make? Then he noticed the egg carton on the counter.
Eggs. Interesting choice for a pre-dawn snack.
“Hello? Faye?” A groggy Benedict’s voice echoed from the kitchen table as Peter set the kettle down. Luckily, Faye lost interest in the kettle the moment he took it.
“Has Lucy ever sleepwalked?” Peter whispered to Benedict, picking up the phone.
“Who is this?” Benedict grumbled.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Peter said more loudly, then winced at the volume. Thankfully, Faye didn’t notice.
“Peter? Why are you calling from Faye’s phone?”
“Who else would call at four in the morning?”
“Why are you calling me at four in the morning?” Benedict demanded.
“Why are you answering Lucy’s phone?”
“I can answer my wife’s phone,” Benedict snapped. “Tell me what you want or I’m hanging up.”
“Faye’s sleepwalking, and I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ve so many questions, but I’m too tired to ask.” Benedict cleared his throat. “Why are you worried about Faye sleepwalking?”
“Because she’s baking! I don’t want to wake her because she can’t know I’m here, and I can’t leave her alone because she already tried to light the stove and pour boiling water on the floor.”
“I thought you said she was sleepwalking?”
“She’s baking in her sleep, or I think she’s trying to make eggs.
Either way, it’s not good,” Peter whispered, watching Faye remove milk from the fridge and pour half of it on the counter and the rest in a ceramic mixing bowl.
The dragonia purred excitedly, ready to consume whatever sweet treat she was preparing, so at least he didn’t have to worry about being attacked again.
Peter heard a shuffle, and Lucy’s sleepy voice. “Faye used to sleepwalk at sleepovers when we were close to exams. She’s just stressed. Don’t try reason with her, guide her back to bed and wait with her until she settles.”
“I can’t wait with her; she can’t know I’m here because I wasn’t supposed to leave Purgatory.”
“Why is it that you always find a way to get yourself in trouble?” Benedict asked, taking back the phone.
“It’s a family trait.”
Benedict sighed. “Goodnight, Peter, you’ll figure it out.”
The line clicked.
“Thanks for nothing,” he muttered, staring at the phone until distracted by the sound of cracking shells.
Faye had dropped a dozen eggs onto the floor, creating a slippery death trap between them. Suddenly he wished he’d let her pour the boiling water instead – she was wearing slippers, so she wouldn’t have burned her feet, and it would’ve been a lot easier to clean up.
“I think that’s enough eggs.” Peter gently coaxed her away from the counter.
She frowned at him. “I need more for the custard!”
“I’ll finish the custard. How about you rest for a bit?”
“Okay, but don’t let it turn to scramble. Eggs are expensive,” she instructed seriously. Peter stifled a laugh at the eggy sludge on the floor. He’d be sure to put a new carton in the fridge before she woke.
“I promise not to let it curdle.” He gently ushered her back to bed.
“I don’t want to miss out on this catering job,” Faye told him.
“You won’t.” Her duvet and pillows were on the floor. Putting them back on the bed, Peter noticed the trail of floury footprints she left behind her.
He sat her down on the bed, but she scooted over and grabbed his sleeve.
“Lie with me for a bit? I don’t want you to disappear again,” she said softly.
He was afraid she had woken up, but he waved his hand in front of her eyes, and she didn’t focus on him.
He didn’t want to argue and wake her up, so he lay on top of the duvet and tucked her under.
Faye laid her head on his chest and tried to fluff him up like a pillow. He bit his lip to keep from laughing.
“So hard,” she grumbled, moving down his body until she reached his stomach. “Better.” She smiled, and he wished he could tease her about this. He hadn’t realised he made such a terrible pillow.
Once her breathing levelled out, he tried to ease out from under her, but she had a vice grip on his shirt and crossed her leg over his.
Peter stared at the ceiling. As much as he enjoyed being with her, he knew he shouldn’t have come. If she woke up, he’d be in a world of trouble.
Desperate, he wriggled out and landed with a thud on the floor.
Holding his breath, he waited for Faye to pop her head over the edge of the bed and ask him what he was doing on her bedroom floor, but thankfully she just rolled over and replaced him with a pillow.
Letting out a sigh of relief, he crawled out of the room.
Just when I thought I couldn’t sink any lower.
Quickly, Peter cleaned up the destruction in the kitchen so she wouldn’t have to start her day with a mess.
With the sun starting to rise, he pulled out a carton of eggs from his Reaper’s cloak – not its intended use, which was to supply Reapers with whatever they needed to facilitate a collection, but he didn’t have time to buy them, nor would any shop in Foxford be open.
Faye’s alarm chimed, and her sudden footsteps startled him. Peter teleported to the balcony before she found him. She appeared at the kitchen window. He tried to hunker down, but in his haste, he tripped over the tangle of ivy and went over the railing.
Lying on the ground outside Stoker’s café, Peter stared up at the morning sun and questioned his life decisions as the air returned to his lungs.
Mr Lark stared down at Peter with a quizzical brow. “Mr Matherson? What on earth are you doing?” he exclaimed.
Peter bounced back to his feet, pretending nothing had happened.
“Did you fall from the balcony?” Mr Lark stared up at the plants over Faye’s balcony. “First she nearly clobbers me with a plant pot, and now a Matherson nearly crushes me on my morning walk!”
Peter leaned in close, keeping his voice low so Lark would know he was serious.
As a coven member, Mr Lark’s sense of duty would keep him quiet.
“I didn’t fall; I was careless with my teleporting.
Please let this stay between us – I’m on official business and no one is supposed to know I’m in town. ”
“I see. I’ll stay quiet, but please be careful in the future.”
“I will. Sorry, sir, please enjoy the rest of your walk.”
Mr Lark studied him for a moment before continuing on his way.
Peter ran his hands through his hair as he stared up at the balcony. Who was I kidding? I could never leave her. Benoit might have been able to overcome his love, but Peter was headed straight for the cliff and ready to dive in headfirst.