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Coup de grâce
by afrai

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It was raining.

The cart rattled off into the darkness. Hisana lay on the road and tried to think.

She was too tired and ashamed to cry, but tears seeped out of her eyes anyway. They itched a tributary across her face, finally joining the sluggish waterway of blood oozing from her temples.

She hadn't expected it to end like this. It would be a lie to say that the shame was worse than the pain, and Hisana was of a basically honest nature, whatever her other faults. It had made life difficult for her, not that life had needed any help in that direction. At least it looked like she wasn't going to have to deal with that particular problem for much longer.

No, the pain was worse than anything, but since she had to bear it anyway, she would have preferred not to have the shame piled on top of it. That was the problem with being a coward, of course. No matter how fast you ran, shame always got there before you.

"Rukia," she whispered. Her sister was crying, the indignant siren wail of a baby who has been badly treated by the world and doesn't care who knows it. She wasn't encountering any such serious trouble as hunger, stained diapers, or terminal dismemberment -- it was a wail of sheer temper. Hisana was all too familiar with it. Rukia had always been a vocal child.

She groped in the darkness with the hand that hadn't been crushed, ignoring the jagged agony that spiked with each movement, continuing even as despair crept over her. What did she think she was doing? Even if she found Rukia, what could she do for her -- bleed on her? She couldn't protect her, not anymore. She hadn't even been able to protect her sister before a cart had run her over.

It had happened so fast. She hadn't meant to fling Rukia away from her, but the terror had overcome her, too fast for her to stop. She'd promised to look after the baby, their parents had made her promise -- she hadn't --

COULD I LEND YOU A HAND?

Hisana looked up at height and blackness.

Blackness was definitely the word for it. It was different from the ordinary night-time dark that made up the rest of the world. This was a supreme black, black beyond black, a person-shaped hole into a universe of blackness.

It spoke again.

SINCE ONE OF YOURS SEEMS TO BE OUT OF ORDER, it said. There was an odd inflection in the world-shattering voice. HA. HAHA.

It was hope, Hisana realised. The voice sounded hopeful.

THAT WAS A JOKE, it added.

"It wasn't very funny," said Hisana.

NO, the voice agreed sadly. I DON'T QUITE SEEM TO BE ABLE TO GET THE HANG OF THEM.

"Am I dying?"

The blackness folded. A skull hovered into view.

It had blue glows in its eyeless sockets, a quiet voice in her head noted over the terror.

YES, said Death.

There didn't seem to be anything to say to this.

"Thank you," said Hisana anyway. "I'm sorry, but could you -- my sister?"

The blackness moved away, rustling faintly. Rukia's cries turned puzzled, then dwindled to an inquiring whimper.

"She likes you," said Hisana.

REALLY? said Death. Hisana would have thought Death above such feelings, but he sounded . . . pleased. PEOPLE DON'T USUALLY LIKE ME.

"Rukia," said Hisana, with the weariness of months of babysitting, "never does what other people do. She's not good at being usual."

She waited, but Death did not give her her sister.

SHE'S VERY SMALL, he remarked after a while.

"It runs in the family," she said. "Could I -- ?"

AH, said Death after a while. SHE APPEARS TO HAVE FALLEN ASLEEP.

"It's all right, just pass her to me -- "

I WOULD, said Death, BUT SHE HAS ATTACHED HERSELF TO MY FINGER.

There was a brief silence.

SOMEWHAT FORCIBLY, Death added.

Hisana turned her face to the road, the old exasperation rising.

ARE YOU --

"She always does this," said Hisana. "She always makes things difficult!"

AH . . .

"I try and I try and she doesn't even -- aren't things hard enough already?"

WELL . . .

"She always has to make things worse!"

SHE IS JUST AN INFANT, Death said tentatively.

The shame fell on her again, stilling the anger. The world blurred.

"I know," Hisana said. She could not cry. She didn't deserve to cry. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The face -- skull -- came close again. This time there was no fear. The blue glows were kind.

SHALL I DO IT NOW? said Death.

She had always been a coward. Hisana clenched her fists, and hoped Rukia would die in a more fitting manner.

"Yes," she said. "Now."

A flash of blue, and there was no pain.

Hisana looked down at her broken body, and then at herself. She could see the road through her wavering white hand.

Death was still tall from this angle.

"Is that it?" she said.

AH, said Death, peering down at the bundle in his arms. He seemed distracted. NO. NOT EXACTLY. I BELIEVE, ACCORDING TO THE CUSTOM IN THIS UNIVERSE, AN . . . OFFICIAL SHOULD COME SHORTLY TO DISPATCH YOU.

"Dispatch me where?"

SOMEWHERE ELSE, said Death. RUKIA, DID YOU SAY?

"What?" said Hisana. "Yes, Rukia. Will you -- will she -- "

YOU DON'T THINK YSABELL IS A NICE NAME? said Death hopefully. NO, RUKIA, YOU'RE RIGHT, OF COURSE. AS A MIDDLE NAME, PERHAPS? . . . NO. RIGHT.

Hisana stared up at him.

"You're taking her?"

Death seemed embarrassed.

IT IS LONELY, he tried, BEING A DEAD INFANT IN YOUR WORLD. AND ALBERT WOULD LIKE THE COMPANY, PROBABLY. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, but wasn't doing a very good job of it.

"Thank you," said Hisana. "Thank you. I -- "

YES, WELL, I'LL JUST BE GOING NOW, said Death hastily. YOU SHOULD WAIT FOR YOUR UNIVERSE'S OFFICIALS TO PROCESS YOU. IT SHOULD NOT TAKE LONG.

"Sir . . ."

Death paused. Hisana looked up. She would remember this -- height, unimaginable distance, the sharp contrast of black and white, an immovable impassivity of countenance -- and associate it with kindness, kindness incredible, unlooked-for, and undeserved, for as long as her spirit continued.

"Please," she said, "look after her better than I did."

I AM NOT SURE THAT IS POSSIBLE, said Death. Hisana smiled.

She was still smiling as Death vanished, his voice lingering on the night wind. (It was saying, COOCHIE COOCHIE COO?) She was smiling when the black butterfly darted past her, and she smiled as she turned, finally free, to meet her own death.

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