#ch: john clayborne

[cephalowrites-blog]

“Mrs. Holmes!” His foot firmly in the door, John Clayborne pushes his way inside the apartment. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to finally speak to you in private.”

“I’m— I’m sorry, but I’ve already told you. I don’t need your services.” Her hand twitches, longing for the comfort of her scythe. If she could summon it, if she could just find the strength, she could get him out of her apartment. But it doesn’t answer her call. She knows it won’t. “I think you should leave.”

“Leave?” He tilts his head, a smile playing on his lips. “But we have so much to talk about! Especially where Caden is concerned.”

Her heart leaps into her throat, almost completely blocking her airway. She curls her hand into a fist, but still her scythe does not answer. “What do you want with Caden? His debts are clear. He has no need of your financial services, Mr. Clayborne.”

“Oh, that he doesn’t. I’ll give you that.”

He takes a step towards her. Out of habit, out of a growing fear in her gut, Ianthe matches it with one step back. The air in the room is heavier now, threatening her lungs. She has to find a way to escape; one that does not involved violence with a well-respected lawyer. 

She bumps into the couch and reaches behind her, to support herself. “Then what do you want?”

“You, Mrs. Holmes! You are the one that cheated Death, that brought back a lover from beyond the grave, and you… you are living with him!” He laughs the last sentence, raising his hands to cup his cheeks. His fingers scratch at his beard. “You’ve found a way to best Death, and I need to know how.”

If his presence wasn’t making her sick, then his last words surely push her over the edge. He knows. Somehow, someway, he knows about what she’s done. Not even the police have realized that a dead man walks in New York City; they seem oblivious to the fact a murder victim is alive and well. So how can he know? How could a stranger ever discover her secret? 

Her heart beats louder now, muffling her own thoughts.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh! Oh, of course. Of course, you don’t… you don’t want anyone to know! I understand that. Otherwise, everyone would be knocking on your door, demanding that you give them the secrets of life and death.” He moves forward again, effectively pinning her to the couch. “But I need to know. I need to know more than any of them, Ianthe. I need to know how you did it.”

“No, you don’t.”

His eyes flash, lips curling just slightly. “I do. More than you know. More than she knows. What. Did. You. Do.”

“Why? Let’s… Let’s just say, hypothetically, that I do know what you’re talking about.” Good. Good, Ianthe, keep talking, keep breathing. Just wait until Caden gets home, and then you don’t have to worry about your scythe or defending yourself. Not against a mortal. “Let’s say my husband did die, and that he’s back to life and living as though nothing has happened. Why do you think you deserve that knowledge?”

If anything, the question makes him step back. He scratches at his chin once again. “We’ve all lost someone, Ianthe. We’ve all lost someone very dear to them. Death is… inevitable. From the moment we are born, we die. But we don’t have to. We can stop it. I just need to know how you did it, and I… I will finally be able to bring my little girl home.”

“Oh my fuck.” She leans back, threatening to fall, to roll over the back of the couch. “Oh my Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

“My daughter deserved better, Ianthe. She deserved to live. If your husband got that second chance, shouldn’t she?” He reaches forward, to grab her arms, and pulls her closer. “Shouldn’t she!”

But Ianthe isn’t listening anymore. She can’t. A child’s death, a need to stop Death not just as the entity she is, but as a concept. John Clayborne isn’t just any grieving father. He’s…

“You’re a Dove.”