[Lost] A death in the family

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Rosemary Wheelock looks out of the kitchen window, blowing at her tea. It's a warm day, but she hasn't opened the window yet, letting the heat beat against her old bones. She can hear the murmur of people in the other room, but they are leaving her alone right now. She doesn't mind; she enjoys solitude. Always did, even when Henry was alive. She spends hours in her garden, which is why her skin is so weathered now. It's been harder the past few years, with the hip problems and arthritis, but she still goes out every day and tends to the flowers.

One of her neighbours comes in - Mrs Marshall, from two doors down, with the flat-faced dog that doesn't like her - and gives her condolences over a paper plate of cheese salad. Rosemary takes the condolences without much of a reaction, staring at Mrs Marshall until she goes away.

The truth is Rosemary doesn't feel sad that Henry is dead. His mind had been going in the past several months from Alzheimer's, and she is relieved. For several weeks before he died, Henry acted afraid of her, called her a thing, and sometimes even acted like he couldn't see her at all. It's heartbreaking if you think about it, but she doesn't think about it. Her heart isn't broken.

The only thing Rosemary can think as she puts her teacup down and turns back toward the wake is that at least she lived her childhood dream. She was as pretty as her mother, and married a soldier.

[Requiem] On to the next job.

[akonken.livejournal.com]

Charlotte stared out the window as the train sped across the country, admiring the scenery as the sun began to set. The clacking of the wheels always comforted her, always soothed her as she left what was usually a well-ordered life for one that was almost certainly teeming with chaos and definitely in need of her particular skills. She picked a crumb off of the seat beside her with a smile, crumbling it between her fingers until she could barely feel it and then wiping her hands together until she couldn't feel it at all.

She looked up as someone went past. Charlotte always expected her ticket to be checked and collected, and it felt strange to have it still, almost making her itch. She hadn't inspected it, didn't remember buying it. She took it out of her handbag and put it face down on the small table in front of her, and that made her feel better. She would collect it when she got to Essex, so she could get through the barriers, but until then it felt more honest not to have it on her person. She didn't want to be tempted to break her command.

Charlotte pulled her CV out of her bag, giving it what may have been her ten thousandth scan. It still looked perfect, if she said so herself. She knew that although she could not, anyone asking for her references would have no trouble reading all of the names listed. She also knew that of those, the ones who still lived would give impeccable references. She was very good at what she did.

The train slowed to a stop. Unhurried, Charlotte tucked her hair behind her ear before gathering her bags. She calmly picked up the ticket again and walked out onto the platform. Letting the rush of people lead her, she made her way out of the station, feeding her ticket into the machine with a sense of satisfaction. She would, she was certain, be the best gift this Kindred had ever received.