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nieseryjna) wrote2016-05-10 11:01 pm
Fanfic: Stolen Time
Series: Thief of Time (check out The Hourglass)
It wasn’t the wisest idea; he could admit it right now. Hanging from the roof of the museum when a rope started to break and without any other security in place. He should have listened to Mozzie.
The rope gave up.
It was gravity pulling him down; it wasn’t even a slippery slope he could catch to save himself. He waved his arms like it would help him to fly, or find something, something at all. There was nothing. He had this genius idea to choose that part of the wall that had nothing on it, no windows, no ledge, no decoration. Just Neal, soon to be dead, Caffrey and a sorry piece of rope he really shouldn’t have been using.
For just a moment he could feel a brush of the wind on his cheek, for just a moment. That ended, ended faster than he expected and not so painful. He was pulled by the surf of his neck up, by someone or something. All he saw was the world stopped, cars not moving, people frozen in weird positions, a white horse with a black robed person.
“What?” Asking questions while hanging in a very uncertain situation wasn’t brilliant idea, but it seemed that today wasn’t day for good ideas.ay.
DANNY BROOKS I PRESUME?
Neal stopped struggling. Danny Brooks was a name no one in his current life should know. Not even Mozzie.
“No.” Shaking his head in current position was a very weird feeling.
NO?
He was raised up and set face to face with a hood, black in and out, and only two blue little fires in a place where he assumed eyes would be.
NEAL BENNETT PERHAPS? The sound was hollow and somehow familiar.
Last time he heard that name on the night Ellen told him the truth, only a few days later he decided that Danny Brooks must go too.
He shook his head again.
WHAT’S YOUR NAME TODAY, THEN?
Hiding his surprise was impossible. “How…?” Before he finished, he was set on the ground. Somehow he found himself at the other end of the rope he was previously hanging from.
WE SHALL SPEAK.
“Who are you?!?” He asked the fear he felt on at the moment the rope gave up coming back.
I’M WHAT YOU CALL A GRIMM REAPER. The hood fell, revealing a skull, the blue lights dancing in the eye sockets.
Neal flinched. “Death.” He whispered.
YES. DEATH.
“So I’m dead, right? That’s why we are talking?”
DO YOU FEEL DEAD? If Neal felt a little more himself, he might have heard the light tone of teasing in the hollow sounds of Death’s voice.
Neal wasn’t sure how to answer that; he was a little bit cold, still felt emotions and his stomach was growling, he really should have eaten that sandwich before leaving.
“I’m not sure. I was expecting it will hurt to fall, and the inevitable afterlife was supposed to be either hell or heaven, not road by the museum.” Sarcasm was his weapon of choice, what would be the worst that would happen, he was already dead. Right?
I’M NOT SURE EITHER. YOUR EARTHY BELIEVES ARE STILL UNCLEAR. And there it was a little voice of doubt.
“Our earthy believes? Aren’t you one of them?” Neal pared right back; it was almost like talking with Moz. So much fun.
NOT YOURS. He made a gesture with a bony hand, just then Neal noticed a scythe mounted by the saddle.
He cursed silently, there was a memory, a faint one about a hooded skeleton, with blue fires instead of eyes and scythe in hand.
An hourglass showed in the hand, and Neal knew it too. The memory crystallized.
“What is that?” That was a question he always wanted to ask.
THIS IS An LIFETIMER. YOUR’S PERHAPS. The little hourglass looked like it was made from paper-mache, not finished yet, it was still little bit grayish, the faint letters visible here and there.
“Lifetimer? As in timing my life?” It was beckoning Neal closer. Something that would tell when he would die, or how long would he be alive. If it was his timer, he could… and then he noticed, another smaller hourglass sitting beside the first one. The little one looked like made from burnt clay, finished but steady enough that it looked better than the bigger one.
THAT DEPENDS. WHAT IS YOUR NAME. TODAY?
Neal chuckled, he did have a tendency to change names, or rather have a vast number of aliases at his disposal. It was what life of conman required, what Moz taught him. Then he took a closer look at the hourglasses, the small one was almost empty, the top bulb held only a few more grains of sand, and one by one, slowly they were dropping. It was signed David Monroe, the name he was using for this con.
“It’s David Monroe.” He confirmed. The little hourglass started to shake slightly, the grains falling faster than before.
ARE YOU SURE? Death was taunting him.
It couldn’t be right, could it? He didn’t die before, the first time he saw Death, but then he told him another name. Most probably different than what was on the hourglass itself.
“I’m sure that my name is Neal Caffrey.”
The little hourglass fell apart into dust.
GOOD CHOICE MR. CAFFREY.
Death moved the bigger timer to show Neal that part of it changed slightly, the top on one of the corners took a shape of the ledge he almost died on. There was another small detail, part of the pillar, a very, very small part was plastic.
“What happened?”
YOU SURVIVED ANOTHER DAY. TO STEAL ANOTHER TIME.
And as silently and covertly he showed up, Death disappeared.
The time started again, cars, horns… and gravity. As he stood just gaping into darkness in shock, the end of broken rope hit him on the head.
“Ow.” He massaged hurting spot. “Till next time, I presume.” He whispered, with a small smile.
Gathering rope and quickly getting out of climbing gear Neal went home. He had some documents to destroy, and Mozzie will never, ever believe him what had happened.
The End