Sweet Death II

“I-I am outside her house,” Maddox said quickly. “I just wanted to have a look.”  

     “Having a look is not part of your mission,” Addox said. “And what are you doing in a car? A vintage car, no less.”

     Maddox stayed silent and glanced in the car mirrors to ensure his brother was not spying on him from the street.

     “And before that, reading the files of the deceased. That’s against the soul processing protocol.”

     Maddox’s black fire head dimmed cold gray, and he gulped. He thought he had been discrete enough; clearly, he wasn’t, but still, he couldn’t help himself. Most mortals had short lives, but they were free to live them. Reading their stories was the only thing he looked forward to at corporate and the thing that kept him filing, processing, and deleting lives eternally without losing his mind. 

     “You don’t deny it….” Addox sighed, and Maddox could feel the weight of disappointment behind it as if it was his own. “I understand you are inexperienced. Perhaps it was my fault for turning a blind eye to the rampant rumors of an individual, who looked just like me, staying late reading files,” Addox said. 

Maddox hung his head, and his chest tightened. He needed to control himself before his brother’s disappointment grew; placing him into the position of reaper had been hard for Addox, and the least Maddox could do was a good job. 

     “Your right, brother. My apologies. My foolish desires got ahold of me before I knew it,” said Maddox.  

     “Harken me, brother. I feel your guilt even in the distance but let me be transparent with you: This realm isn’t meant for us. Fraternizing with it will only make the process harder. I had to learn that lesson swiftly,” Addox said. “Before it managed to destroy me,” he whispered.

     As his brother’s words vibrated in the spiritual link, Maddox realized that though connected by their unlikely double creation—angels of death often sprung in singles from the bones of the Goddess of Death, codename: La Jefa,—they had barely spoken to each other about their pasts. In fact, it had been a while since they had seen each other at all. 

Maddox and Addox were separated since the beginning; Addox, the youngest archangel of death, Maddox placed in corporate. Maddox had always thought his brother lucky to jump from reaper to archangel by accomplishments alone; now, as the note of regret beneath Addox’s voice came to Maddox, he wondered if this had come as easily. 

     “Was it difficult?” Maddox dared ask. 

     Addox drowned in such a finite silence that Maddox thought perhaps the link had been broken, so he called out his name again. 

     “A story for another time. Now, leave the car behind and raise your wings. Blessings, brother.” 

     “Blessings.” 

     The link severed. 

Maddox liked that the mortal world was big, but after the exchange, it seemed too deep, too vast, a hollow of nothing and everything, closing in on him. For the first time, he longed a little for the cavernous walls of corporate, spacious but measured. 

     Maddox sighed, that being a little puff of smoke from his fire head, and straightened. The time called for him to work, and he would do as his brother said and keep his distance. He would earnestly try. 

     Maddox kneaded the leather wheel affectionately. It had been amusing driving around, and he would miss it. Especially the radio and its static songs full of spirit. But, alas, he was meant to fly—

     The door of the back seat opened, and Maddox froze in place. On instinct, he morphed into his human form: a willowy, deathly pale, twenty-seven-year-old with inky black hair cut in what humans describe as a heartthrob slick back and dimples that gave him a boyish charm. He glanced towards the unwanted guest, unsure why he didn’t just flee or stay invisible, and there she was, just like her picture, Aurora Álvarez Morales.