*
When she arrived at the mausoleum, she saw that The Banshee’s “horseless carriage” was parked outside. The woman had procured it a few days back from one of her captures and delighted in driving all around the Borderlands with great arrogance. It was a sleek silver vehicle of polished metal, huge black rubber wheels, and shiny glass windows and windshields. No one had ever seen anything quite like it. The vanity plate on the back read ‘CRYNWOMN’.
The atmosphere inside the family home was tense. Llorona was nowhere to be seen. The Reaper and Ankou were pacing all around the living room while The Banshee talked frantically on her new communication device, what she called a ‘wireless talker’. The woman was always coming up with fancy names for ordinary things but this time, Morrigan thought, she had had come up short. Why couldn’t the woman just call it her phone as everyone else did? As soon as she ran breathlessly into the room, Banshee quit her conversation and tucked her phone into a large red sequined purse.
“Thank Deadness you’re back! We’re were worried!”
Morrigan ignored her. “Where’s Llorona?” Before anyone could answer, she continued frantically talking, “You have to help! It’s Angelique! She’s back! She has Famine!”
Everyone’s face became a mask of shock and horror. As The Banshee heavily plopped onto the sofa, Ankou and The Reaper rushed over to the girl with towels.
“She’s out looking for Famine,” answered The Banshee.
“What? Are you sure, child?” asked Ankou wiping her down.
“Yes, I’m sure! Devon led him to some lake in the Borderlands. He said he was going to let Famine meet his mother. But his mother is Angelique! They’re planning something nasty and Famine doesn’t know it yet! We have to help!”
By now The Banshee had regained her composure and had joined the other Death Omens. “Did they see you?”
“No,” Morrigan answered taking the other towel from The Reaper, “I don’t think so. We can surprise them.”
“Did they give any indication to what they were planning?” asked Ankou.
“No. But they’ve convinced him to stay with them. He thinks they care more about him than we do. He wants to be with them.”
“That doesn’t sound like our boy,” The Reaper said.
“Those bastards have brainwashed him. Damned Deadlings. They’re always up to something,” said the Banshee.
“We don’t have time to worry about our prejudices now. We have to go out there and save the boy! I have some steel toed boots that are dying to meet some nice soft flesh!””
“Ankou’s right! Let’s get in my horseless carriage and kick some asses!”
Morrigan threw down her towels with anger. “Yeah! The four of us can take them!”
The three of them had riled themselves up and were headed towards the door when The Reaper put up a hand. Almost immediately, everyone became silent. “No. No we mustn’t stoop to their level. We have to think about this.”
“What the hell do you want us to do? Be diplomatic? I’ve done enough of that, brother. Famine would fight back. I’m taking a page from his book now. Outwitting enemies only gets you so far.”
“Do you really think that’s going to help? What do you all plan on doing to Angelique? Destroy her? What about the ghost? You can’t go in and wantonly kill like that. It’s out of anger and revenge. We’re better than that.”
Morrigan slammed the door that she had just opened and marched angrily towards The Reaper. “So what’s your plan, Mr. Reaper? If you have one, we’d all like to hear it!”
The Reaper sighed, walked to the fireplace, and picked up the wooden box on the mantle. He lifted it slightly above his chest and spoke solemnly. “Use this. It’s the only way you can really succeed.”
Everyone regarded the box with curiosity. Ankou pointed at it. “What, are we going to give them jewelry?”
“Nothing says ‘we’re going to kick your ass’ like baubles and bangles!” Morrigan said sarcastically.
The Reaper shook his head. “No, it’s not a jewelry box, you lot of morons. It’s a memory box.”
The curious looks deepened on the spectators’ faces. The Banshee shrugged. “What’s the difference? It’s something you put crap in.”
“This one’s different. You see, when I call it a memory box…I mean it’s a box where I’ve put actual memories. More to the point, it’s where I put Famine’s human memories.”
No one said another word. They kept their eyes on The Reaper as he strode around the room talking. “When I took the boy that you all now know as Famine, I took away all his memories. Everything he knew about his mortal life…his biological family…his real home…his original name and identity…are all here in this box. I had my reasons for doing that but I’m not going into them here. Once he started questioning his past and his place in The Deadlands, I knew that I might have to give them back. I held out because I thought it would all blow over. But now that he thinks we’re his enemies and Angelique is his friend, I know that that’s not going to happen. I have no choice. I have to give them back.”
“Why is that important, brother? How is it going to help?” asked Ankou wringing his gloved hands.
“I’m hoping that once he opens the box and finds out who he is and where he came from, he’ll be able to make the right choices. I have a feeling that Angelique’s after his Dead Light again. Knowing what’s inside will help him in that battle. You just have to get him to open it.”
“Hell, what are we waiting for,” said Ankou impatiently, “let’s go! We’re wasting time!”
“What do you mean you?” asked Morrigan
The Reaper walked up to her and looked down into her eyes. “Miss Morrigan, you’ve been a very loyal and trustworthy friend to the boy. You put your neck out to help save him and you’re willing to do so again. You’ve shown him the true meanings of Death and all its refinements. He’s grown to better himself and others because of you. Despite what he may have said to, he trusts you.”
He then went to Ankou and laid a bony hand on the man’s shoulder. “And you brother. You’ve shown him much of the outside world. You’ve given him the chance to shine for himself…and more importantly…to think for himself. You’ve also let the boy open your tired old heart. In doing that, you two have become closer than he and I have ever been.”
Breaking away from the old soul collector, who now had a single tear running down his gaunt green face, The Reaper opened the front door and looked out. The same storm that had been raging in the Borderlands had come to The Deadlands. Strong winds blew the gnarled and twisted trees in the graveyard. Sheets of heavy rain pummeled the tombstones and sides of the mausoleum with great force. Streaks of lightning lit up the daytime sky with blinding luminescence.
The hooded face of death looked out into the tempest. He held out the box. “He doesn’t trust me now. He thinks I’ve kept him unfairly imprisoned and that I’ve not given him the chance to find out where he belongs. He’s right. I’ve been blind and uptight. I’ve only been concerned with what I thought his world should be. In doing so, I’ve treated him like one of my model ships. The boy is more than a piece for show. He’s a complex being with a heart and mind of his own. So, the only two he still trusts are you, Ankou and Morrigan. You have to go to the Borderlands and have him open the box. If you ask him to, he will. The only hope he has in saving himself lies with the two who have shown him true love and compassion…the two who have given him the most freedom and the most confidence.”
By now, copious tears ran down Ankou’s face. He wiped them away and coughed. Morrigan used the frilly skirt of her damp dress to wipe her face. Even the stoic Banshee had shown emotion. She sniffled and blew her nose on a large sequined napkin that she pulled from her purse.
“So, will you go?” asked The Reaper.
“As if you have to ask. Let Llorona know where we’re going,” said Ankou with renewed determination. He marched up and took the box.
The Reaper
nodded.
“Wait for me, Mr. Ankou,” Morrigan shouted.
The two of them were just about outside when The Banshee ran to them. “Wait! You can’t go out there like that! We’ll take my car! We’ll get there faster!”
“Your what?” asked Ankou.
“My horseless carriage, you great old git!”
“Ok, then, you drive that metal monstrosity.”
“As if I’d ever let you drive,” The Banshee said pushing past her daughter and Ankou.
The three of them ran through the downpour and piled into the vehicle. The Reaper stood on the front steps. Ankou rolled down his window. “Don’t worry, brother. You can trust us. He’ll be fine.”
“That’s the same thing you said the first time you took him out.”
“And was I right?”
The Reaper just nodded and cast his eyes towards the cemetery. Ankou called out Morrigan, who was sitting in the back seat. “How do you close this damned window? Oh, never mind! Let’s get the hell out of here! Damned infernal contraption!”
The unearthly engine started and the wheels turned on mere air. A second later, the car sped away towards The Borderlands.