Abigail smiled, feeling her life, the illusion of life leave her. How much had been Abigail Hobbs and how much had been Will Graham’s wish, his perception of her, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was it was time to go, hard as it was to leave him.
At least she wasn’t alone. She stood inside the chapel, gazing at Will with a bowed head. George Lass stood beside her, clasping her hand.
“Will he be all right?” Abigail whispered, accepting the cool grip of the other woman’s hand. It wasn’t icy. She’d thought Death’s touch would be icy.
“I don’t know.” George lowered her head, gazed at Will almost sadly. “Has Will Graham ever been all right?”
“No.” Abigail smiled through her tears. Something she and Will had in common was tendency to smile, even to laugh when they were crying. “Even if he couldn’t be all right, I used to hope Hannibal and I could make things better for him, just a little.”
She released George’s hand to brush away her tears, pull herself together, face her end with a little dignity. She’d had more time than most of the dead possessed. She wasn’t sure how much of her lingering was the power of Will Graham’s wish and how much was being special friends with a Reaper. “Where is Hannibal?”
George pointed upwards to the level above.
Abigail would never have noticed him behind the window in front of the mosaic if she wasn’t looking. Hannibal stood there, dressed in a leather jacket of all things. He gazed at Will with a contemplative, quiet hunger.
“I’ll say this for your surrogate dad.” George tilted her head back, raised a hand to the level of her eyes. “He looks good in a leather jacket.”
“They both do.” Abigail smiled again, the rush of affection almost making her chest ache when she looked from Will to Hannibal. She couldn’t leave them. Not for some mythical paradise of bright lights. “It’s both comforting and creepy to know Hannibal is still watching Will, waiting for Will. Now it’s my turn to wait in a place made for all of us.”
She turned to face the crimson glow growing in the corner of the chapel. It came from the blood-red flowers, growing amidst lush green leaves as sharp as daggers. The rumble of wild, hungry things could be heard in the underbrush along with the cries of those not fast enough to escape them.
Maybe she’d find her father again in this place, although she wasn’t sure if she’d see her mother. Once more Abigail wiped the tears away from her face. She’d made her choice.
“Those aren’t your lights.” George turned back to her, dawning awareness glittering in her eyes, awareness of what was happening.
“No, they’re not.” Abigail straightened her back, not allowing herself to flinch at the sound of those cries. Marisa was there, along with Elise Nicholls, and every other girl she’d lured into her father’s trap. Listening to them was part of the price she paid for the beauty of that brutal garden. “It’s where I’m going whether I deserve it or not. It’s where Hannibal is going. And if Hannibal is going there, I’m certain Will will choose to as well. Eventually.”
She took a step towards the garden but George grabbed her arm.
“Why?” The pain in the reaper’s voice stopped Abigail in her tracks. For all her claims to coldness, George Lass could still feel. “Hannibal cut your throat. He killed you, Abigail!”
“Out of love.” Abigail smiled again through her tears, realizing she was repeating Hannibal’s lessons to her and why not? She was going to a place where his teaching would be useful.
“That’s love?” George gazed at the ripe fruit, glittering from the trees, serpents slithering with diamond-backed patterns around the most succulent apples. Yes, this place was beautiful, but was there any peace or rest for the dead in this particular garden?
“Every love is different.” No doubt every snake was poisonous or would swallow her, but Abigail Hobbs was a hunter. She’d learn to strike swiftly, swifter than the other predators. She’d learn this garden’s ways. “Every love is unique.”
“Is that really the kind of love you want?” George wouldn’t let go of her arm. “Think, Abigail. Think before you choose.”
“I have.” Poor George. Reaper or not, perhaps she didn’t get it. “This is what my fathers have chosen. It’s what I choose as well.” Abigail brought up her hand to cover George's, glanced back at Will sitting, Hannibal watching him. “George, I had to let go of Will, to allow him to go to Hannibal, to love Hannibal. Hannibal must learn to accept that love, even if it isn’t what he envisioned.” She leaned a little closer. “Now you must let me go as well.”
Abigail kissed her friend’s cheek. “Good-bye, George.”
George dropped her arm. She watched Abigail walk out of the chapel, out of the world into the living, into that vibrant, dangerous garden so different than the bright lights other souls chose.
George watched the crimson glow envelop Abigail Hobbs, swallowing her, taking her, but she would learn its ways. She’d already trained for it.
The Reaper rubbed her eyes, looked at those left behind; Will Graham still sitting on the steps, Hannibal Lecter still watching him from above. “Here’s hoping you crazy kids make a go of it, for Abigail’s sake.”
The reaper walked out herself, leaving the crazy kids in question to do what they would. The last traces of the red light vanished when she did.
Not that it was ever completely gone. Not while Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham were around.
George shook her head. Reaping was never dull when those two were around.
No wonder the gravelings loved them. No wonder they shipped their bond like a bunch of love struck fangirls.
She might be getting a little smitten herself.