It seems odd to put it in terms of a past tense, but that doesn't make the statement any less true. Elizabeth Jules was his friend and now she is gone, moving on to the next world, whatever that may be. Charlie doesn't know anything more about where the souls go than any other angel of death, but he does believe in Heaven, and in his mind, it's simple. Peace. Rest. No madness, no pain, just serenity. He knows that's where Elizabeth is. A person with that much heart doesn't go anywhere else.
(It's possible that he's wrong and there is nothing after death, only nothingness, but Charlie needs to believe in a purpose. He needs to believe in a here after, in a better place, whether that be Heaven or reincarnation. It's one of the few things that makes him believe that this is all worth it.)
He reads the journal entry late that night, and he knows that soon, there will be a time for grief. There will be a time for rememberance and prayer, as that comes with all death, but right now he has a promise to keep. Elizabeth asked something of him, and he's not going to let her down. There is a girl in Chicago, another angel of death, another girl who is so young and is saddled with this Calling that they can't control. A girl who has lost a friend, a friend who's death she saw and had to let go because of it. There is no fighting to save them because she saw the death and that death cannot be changed. Charlie knows the pain that comes with that kind of loss, and Elizabeth asked him to look after her.
Charlie would have done it, even if she hadn't asked, because no one should be alone with a Calling like theirs. No one. But it's because she asked that he bypasses the prayer, and the hours in a church, praying for both the souls of Elizabeth and Josef, and goes to find her. There is probably a more efficent way to do it -- using the journal and waiting for her to respond, but as far as he's concerned, they're just words on a page. It's not the same as having a person there.
So this is Charlie, wandering the streets of Chicago, and looking for an angel of death he's not sure he'll recognize. There's an instinct that says he might, that he'll know because he and Death are like old friends, but the logical part of his brain says that this is a foolish idea and he'll be out looking for someone that he doesn't know and because of that fact, he'll never find.
Charlie thinks that it's an effort well worth making.
She never found out his last name is Wellman, and he never found out her last name is Monroe. In fact, they never found out they were both angels of death at all until her journal entry during secrets week. She drew a portrait of him for a dollar, they joked a little, and they each went on their way. She should've known there was something more to having met him that day, and the conversations they had afterward, but life has a funny way of working itself out.
Elizabeth is dead.
She has been dead for several hours now. It's amazing how long the Calling remains after the death has taken grip of those that it calls for. Sarah is only dimly aware of things, and she doesn't know how long she stays without moving once she is driven back home. She doesn't know if it's one hour, or five, or ten. All she knows is she needed the fresh air, starting to feel restless again, sick again, not wanting to be alone with her thoughts.
Wanting to remain alone forever.
Not understanding how she can feel both those things at the same time.
There's a park nearby her neighborhood. It's not very big. A few benches, a set of swings, a sandbox for little kids to play in. It's late and it's deserted, save for her, as she slowly swings back and forth, almost mechanically.
She comes to a halt at the sight of Charlie. Not because she recognizes him, but because it might be someone that is dying. It's paranoid to think so, not absolutely everyone she will come into contact with now is someone that she will help die, but the panic lodges in her throat regardless, and perhaps in her expression he will find something familiar.
Charlie knows that paranoia. He went through it for years, where even in a catatonic state, he couldn't look in the eyes of the people around him. Not even the angel was strong enough to fight through that -- not if the man was too broken in the first place. Or maybe the problem with Charlie was that there was never the angel and the man, two separate entities that could never meet in the middle. He was raised to believe that your Calling was a part of you, and whatever it was there was no separating the two.
Maybe that thinking had damaged him more than his Calling would have if he had separated them, but he survived. He survived the war, and he is surviving Chicago, and that's what matters to him. That's what matters now, at least.
Somehow the park winds up in his travels. He's not sure how he gets there -- his mind is so focused on the mission itself, so intent on finding this girl that he's lost track of where he's going. When he reaches the ground, eyes scanning over the pieces of equipment until he sees her, and he stops. He knows the look, and he knows in an instant that he's found what he's been looking for.
(He should have known before. There are no coincidences in Chicago. There never will be.)
"Sarah," he says softly, starting to make his way closer to her. "Don't worry, darlin'. I'm not dyin' anytime soon."
That's a lie. He has no idea whether or not he's going to die, but he needs for her not to fear him. Not if he's going to try and help.
It's almost crippling, the fear that takes over at the thought, the thought of looking into the eyes of people she knows and cares for, and seeing their deaths. It almost makes her not want to see them again at all, which is a horrible thought. She has helped people die before. Death has always made sense to her. One is born and one dies and in between, there's something like life to get through. She had never, ever helped a friend die. She'd never had friends before, and she's starting to remember why.
It's harder to care. It's harder to love than it is to be alone.
She doesn't know if she believes him or not, doesn't quite look him in the eye still, but there is so much relief at the sound of his voice. Charlie is the first gentle and familiar face she's seen all night, and it's enough for Sarah to want to latch on. Not the angel, who's almost cold in the face of the devastation.
But Sarah, who needs someone to hold on to.
Her face crumples and she steps forward, arms winding tight around his middle.
"She's gone," she whispers, without knowing Charlie feels the grief, too. There is no way to know Charlie also knew Elizabeth. It's possibly something she should've asked before, there aren't many angels of death in the city, but the conversation never came, and now it never will.
Caring does make everything harder, and he knows that the world can be a bleak place with this Calling when you're only sixteen and you had just lost your best friend. Losing your best friend is hard regardless of how old you are, but without caring there is no life. Without caring, what do you do with the time in between?
Sarah's arms slide around his middle, and puts his arms around her as well, one hand resting to the top of her head as he keeps her close. Charlie is more than willing to be something to hold on to, something that can shield her from the rest of this. It's another one of those illogical thoughts, but it's a comfort to him, and hopefully a comfort to her as well.
"I know," he whispers back, keeping her close. "I know she is." He's not sure what else to say, but there is grief there, grief that needs to be released. Anything else can come later.
There is nothing else to say. Not while she holds on, hiding her face against his chest. She'll later register he did know, that he was looking for her, but for now there's only holding on. There's comfort there, and comfort in the reminder Elizabeth wanted this, and she was there, as much as she could be.
She closes her eyes as if the action alone will blot out everything. The gunshots, the sight of Elizabeth looking anything but Elizabeth-like, the blood everywhere, everywhere, all over. A small sob stumbles out of her throat, but she doesn't break into tears. She remains strangely still, her hold tight, scared to reach out but there's a greater part of her that needs it.
"It really hurts to lose," she says, fingers digging slightly into the sleeve of his shirt.
She can hold on for as long as she likes. She's so young, which is the case with most angels, but for Charlie, he hardly remembers what it's like to be this young. It seems like a lifetime ago, and he was a different boy back then. Too much had happened for him to ever be the same.
He also knows she'll never forget what she saw tonight. She'll never forget how she lost this friend, and when the deaths start to blur together, and they start to lose their faces, this is probably the one death that will stick. He doesn't know how the death happened, but he knows that knowing the person makes a difference. Knowing the person makes it yours, not your Calling's.
"It does," he says softly, one hand moving to rub her back gently. "Feels like it rips your heart out, doesn't it?"
Sarah's face twists painfully and she nods against him again.
That's... exactly what it feels like. She's not surprised he knows. It is like someone has literally ripped her heart out of her chest, and left the gaping hole there while somehow, she remains standing. She would never want to tell him how it happened. She would never want him to have to think of Elizabeth and all those bullets flying into her.
"It's different when you know them," she says thickly. Everyone matters in the grand scheme of things. Every death matters and no one should die alone, but when you know them, when the hand you're holding is one you want to hold on to instead of lead forward, it's different.
"It is," he nods, his voice still soft. "And it will hurt for a long time, but it will get better."
And it does. She'll see that, especially in the case of Elizabeth. She died before she lost everything that made her who she was. Watching her slip away into madness would have been much more painful to watch for those that knew her, and in a sense, death this soon is a blessing. Though that doesn't make it hurt any less.
"She's in a better place. No death, no dying. Just peace." He's trying not to make it sound like a platitude, but when it comes to that, sometimes no matter what you do, it always sounds the same.
It doesn't feel like it will get better. It doesn't feel like it would stop, but Sarah logically knows that isn't true.
Time can be unforgiving but it can also be merciful. It won't hurt like this forever. Nothing hurts like this forever. If it did, people wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces of their lives and go on, which doesn't mean Elizabeth will matter less someday.
Elizabeth will always matter.
"It's what she wanted," Sarah agrees quietly, finally stepping back to look up at him, small. It doesn't sound like a platitude at all, it reminds her of just that--it's what Elizabeth wanted. "She was getting sicker and she didn't want to lose her mind--I know it was better for her. I do."
She will always matter. She will always be that first friend, the best friend, and that will never go away. It just takes time to be able to look back on the memories and find happiness, not grief.
"It doesn't make it any harder to help a friend," he replies. "I'm so sorry, darlin'. I really am." Because he knows, and that feeling of knowing never goes away.
Sarah is able to step out of her own head long enough to hear the words. They don't sound like platitudes. So many people will say I am sorry for lack of anything else to say, or maybe because they mean it even, but they're just words and words feel so empty right now.
Except he says I'm so sorry like he really understands.
"Sounds like you're talking from experience," she says quietly, and that would make sense. It's only a matter of time before they see the death of someone they know, isn't it? That's what they are meant to see.
Sarah follows him, sitting on the swing beside him, swinging herself lightly back and forth. The air does her good, and so does listening to his voice, despite knowing how horrible it must've been for him. She knows keenly now how horrible it must've been for him.
She listens quietly, and then she asks, "What was he like? If I may ask."
"He was like a brother to me," he says, his eyes drifting a bit as he thinks back to memories he hasn't thought about in a while. "He was smart, funny. Big heart. We grew up together -- I'd known him since I was old enough to walk."
Sarah tilts her head as she listens to him. The smile faintly outlined across her lips is bittersweet, sad. She pauses as she thinks back to the week everyone made journal entries. "... Was he the one you played pranks with?" Sarah asks, her voice still very quiet. "Elizabeth and I were gonna play a prank on someone. Or well, we thought we'd both be really bad at it but it might be fun."
It seems odd to put it in terms of a past tense, but that doesn't make the statement any less true. Elizabeth Jules was his friend and now she is gone, moving on to the next world, whatever that may be. Charlie doesn't know anything more about where the souls go than any other angel of death, but he does believe in Heaven, and in his mind, it's simple. Peace. Rest. No madness, no pain, just serenity. He knows that's where Elizabeth is. A person with that much heart doesn't go anywhere else.
(It's possible that he's wrong and there is nothing after death, only nothingness, but Charlie needs to believe in a purpose. He needs to believe in a here after, in a better place, whether that be Heaven or reincarnation. It's one of the few things that makes him believe that this is all worth it.)
He reads the journal entry late that night, and he knows that soon, there will be a time for grief. There will be a time for rememberance and prayer, as that comes with all death, but right now he has a promise to keep. Elizabeth asked something of him, and he's not going to let her down. There is a girl in Chicago, another angel of death, another girl who is so young and is saddled with this Calling that they can't control. A girl who has lost a friend, a friend who's death she saw and had to let go because of it. There is no fighting to save them because she saw the death and that death cannot be changed. Charlie knows the pain that comes with that kind of loss, and Elizabeth asked him to look after her.
Charlie would have done it, even if she hadn't asked, because no one should be alone with a Calling like theirs. No one. But it's because she asked that he bypasses the prayer, and the hours in a church, praying for both the souls of Elizabeth and Josef, and goes to find her. There is probably a more efficent way to do it -- using the journal and waiting for her to respond, but as far as he's concerned, they're just words on a page. It's not the same as having a person there.
So this is Charlie, wandering the streets of Chicago, and looking for an angel of death he's not sure he'll recognize. There's an instinct that says he might, that he'll know because he and Death are like old friends, but the logical part of his brain says that this is a foolish idea and he'll be out looking for someone that he doesn't know and because of that fact, he'll never find.
Charlie thinks that it's an effort well worth making.
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She never found out his last name is Wellman, and he never found out her last name is Monroe. In fact, they never found out they were both angels of death at all until her journal entry during secrets week. She drew a portrait of him for a dollar, they joked a little, and they each went on their way. She should've known there was something more to having met him that day, and the conversations they had afterward, but life has a funny way of working itself out.
Elizabeth is dead.
She has been dead for several hours now. It's amazing how long the Calling remains after the death has taken grip of those that it calls for. Sarah is only dimly aware of things, and she doesn't know how long she stays without moving once she is driven back home. She doesn't know if it's one hour, or five, or ten. All she knows is she needed the fresh air, starting to feel restless again, sick again, not wanting to be alone with her thoughts.
Wanting to remain alone forever.
Not understanding how she can feel both those things at the same time.
There's a park nearby her neighborhood. It's not very big. A few benches, a set of swings, a sandbox for little kids to play in. It's late and it's deserted, save for her, as she slowly swings back and forth, almost mechanically.
She comes to a halt at the sight of Charlie. Not because she recognizes him, but because it might be someone that is dying. It's paranoid to think so, not absolutely everyone she will come into contact with now is someone that she will help die, but the panic lodges in her throat regardless, and perhaps in her expression he will find something familiar.
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Maybe that thinking had damaged him more than his Calling would have if he had separated them, but he survived. He survived the war, and he is surviving Chicago, and that's what matters to him. That's what matters now, at least.
Somehow the park winds up in his travels. He's not sure how he gets there -- his mind is so focused on the mission itself, so intent on finding this girl that he's lost track of where he's going. When he reaches the ground, eyes scanning over the pieces of equipment until he sees her, and he stops. He knows the look, and he knows in an instant that he's found what he's been looking for.
(He should have known before. There are no coincidences in Chicago. There never will be.)
"Sarah," he says softly, starting to make his way closer to her. "Don't worry, darlin'. I'm not dyin' anytime soon."
That's a lie. He has no idea whether or not he's going to die, but he needs for her not to fear him. Not if he's going to try and help.
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It's harder to care. It's harder to love than it is to be alone.
She doesn't know if she believes him or not, doesn't quite look him in the eye still, but there is so much relief at the sound of his voice. Charlie is the first gentle and familiar face she's seen all night, and it's enough for Sarah to want to latch on. Not the angel, who's almost cold in the face of the devastation.
But Sarah, who needs someone to hold on to.
Her face crumples and she steps forward, arms winding tight around his middle.
"She's gone," she whispers, without knowing Charlie feels the grief, too. There is no way to know Charlie also knew Elizabeth. It's possibly something she should've asked before, there aren't many angels of death in the city, but the conversation never came, and now it never will.
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Sarah's arms slide around his middle, and puts his arms around her as well, one hand resting to the top of her head as he keeps her close. Charlie is more than willing to be something to hold on to, something that can shield her from the rest of this. It's another one of those illogical thoughts, but it's a comfort to him, and hopefully a comfort to her as well.
"I know," he whispers back, keeping her close. "I know she is." He's not sure what else to say, but there is grief there, grief that needs to be released. Anything else can come later.
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She closes her eyes as if the action alone will blot out everything. The gunshots, the sight of Elizabeth looking anything but Elizabeth-like, the blood everywhere, everywhere, all over. A small sob stumbles out of her throat, but she doesn't break into tears. She remains strangely still, her hold tight, scared to reach out but there's a greater part of her that needs it.
"It really hurts to lose," she says, fingers digging slightly into the sleeve of his shirt.
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He also knows she'll never forget what she saw tonight. She'll never forget how she lost this friend, and when the deaths start to blur together, and they start to lose their faces, this is probably the one death that will stick. He doesn't know how the death happened, but he knows that knowing the person makes a difference. Knowing the person makes it yours, not your Calling's.
"It does," he says softly, one hand moving to rub her back gently. "Feels like it rips your heart out, doesn't it?"
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That's... exactly what it feels like. She's not surprised he knows. It is like someone has literally ripped her heart out of her chest, and left the gaping hole there while somehow, she remains standing. She would never want to tell him how it happened. She would never want him to have to think of Elizabeth and all those bullets flying into her.
"It's different when you know them," she says thickly. Everyone matters in the grand scheme of things. Every death matters and no one should die alone, but when you know them, when the hand you're holding is one you want to hold on to instead of lead forward, it's different.
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And it does. She'll see that, especially in the case of Elizabeth. She died before she lost everything that made her who she was. Watching her slip away into madness would have been much more painful to watch for those that knew her, and in a sense, death this soon is a blessing. Though that doesn't make it hurt any less.
"She's in a better place. No death, no dying. Just peace." He's trying not to make it sound like a platitude, but when it comes to that, sometimes no matter what you do, it always sounds the same.
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Time can be unforgiving but it can also be merciful. It won't hurt like this forever. Nothing hurts like this forever. If it did, people wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces of their lives and go on, which doesn't mean Elizabeth will matter less someday.
Elizabeth will always matter.
"It's what she wanted," Sarah agrees quietly, finally stepping back to look up at him, small. It doesn't sound like a platitude at all, it reminds her of just that--it's what Elizabeth wanted. "She was getting sicker and she didn't want to lose her mind--I know it was better for her. I do."
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"It doesn't make it any harder to help a friend," he replies. "I'm so sorry, darlin'. I really am." Because he knows, and that feeling of knowing never goes away.
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Except he says I'm so sorry like he really understands.
"Sounds like you're talking from experience," she says quietly, and that would make sense. It's only a matter of time before they see the death of someone they know, isn't it? That's what they are meant to see.
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And that isn't even a stretch of a lie. No exaggeration, no hyperbole. That day is the day he lost his mind, and nothing is ever going to change that.
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She listens quietly, and then she asks, "What was he like? If I may ask."
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