The Awkward Love Song of Abigail Archer

Epilogue

I've been sitting in the dark for a long time. For how long, I can't say exactly seeing that Time has never applied to me. I suspect what makes it more ridiculous is that I'm sitting in a room surrounded by clocks.

To my defense, after years of hearing the constant snipping at the hands of arrows marking the hour, finally their song has fallen dead to my ears. Truthfully, I forgot the clocks were even here. Just as well. Why be reminded of the hour, of the minutes, when I'm waiting for nothing with nowhere to go? Sounds rather depressing really and indeed it was once.

Soul after soul, regardless of whether it was the Shadows coming or the light, their reactions all charted the same path once I arrived. First, it was the annoying blustering of memories, then tears and denial, followed by fear and regret. Finally, came frantic negotiating or sad acceptance, that being the only variance. Very dark emotions, I must say. And while I don't approve, it seems that with my presence striking emotions such as those, the connotations tied to my name are as unsurprising as they are understandable. Nevertheless, let it be said, I utterly despise being called Black Death. I've never even liked the color.

And forgive me in advance for I have become rather poetic lately, a lingering effect I suspect from all that's happened in the past few days. Though they were Marcus's emotions, and while I can no longer feel them, I remember them. They seem to have stained me in some way. You see, there is an added benefit in having my power course through these Collectors. Not only do they free my time with which I can observe these human creatures in their fragile bodies, living their lives, but more, through them I can feel. Whether or not I understand these feelings is a completely different story. But I've had some time to start sorting them out.

Funny, I say Time does not apply to me, yet I am a slave to its demands and have made deals with these Collectors just to have more of it to continue my observations. Makes one wonder what Time is exactly, but again, I digress. Those are philosophical thoughts for another time, another story perhaps. While I thank Marcus for all I experienced through him, I must admit that he is not the reason that has kept me here sitting, watching.

Watching what? you wonder. The question really ought to be who I watch. Don't worry, after millennia of black doldrums wondering what these souls cry about when I arrive, it dawned on me that I, too, asked the wrong question. It wasn't what they cried about as much as why they cried in the first place. Furthermore, the why did nothing to curb my curiosity of the how—how it felt to have all these emotions coursing wildly throughout me. A lot can change with a simple adjustment in thinking.

A lot did.

But again, I ramble.

I am watching James Truman. Yes, yes, the Timekeeper. I have been for some time now. I started watching Marcus, too, a few days before he defied my rules and left Abigail Archer by the docks. I had a prickling feeling about him, and I was right. Not to mention, I received word that he had been granted forgiveness, and so no longer belonged to me. I have no say in those matters. There was nothing more I could do, but sit back and watch as his service came to an end. It wasn't vexing, not entirely. While it meant I would be left with one less Collector, it was an added opportunity to observe. I wondered how he would react, whether he would want to stay or go. So I watched him.

Still, that is not the reason I am still in this station, in the corner of this room, with hundreds of metronomes and no accompanying song. What Marcus did in not taking Abigail was brazen, but not startling. I've seen endless thoughtlessness occur at the hand of Love. However, what James did in risking his existence to give Marcus and Abigail more time? Well that...surprised me? Yes, that's the feeling, surprise.

I've come across a number of sensations in my observations over time, but the foreign ache that James experienced in feeling Marcus's confusion as if it were his very own, well that was very unsettling and strange. I'm sure strange is the wrong word. I've rarely faced emotions outside of anger, sadness, and love in my Collectors to rightly define them, much less describe them, and so forgive me.

Nevertheless, what James did intrigued me. So I shadowed Marcus, while telling you of his tale to see if maybe I could understand why Mr. Truman did what he did. As all things go, however, Marcus is gone, and I've only just come to realize now that I, yet again, asked the wrong question.

Why Mr. Truman helped Marcus is simple: he felt compassion. I've heard of the word. But what doesthis compassion feel like? That is the question. Love, anger, and sadness, they're all common. But empathy I would like to know more of. I suppose I could always wait for Mr. Truman to bestow it upon someone else, and perhaps that time I'll be tuned in to feel it. Unfortunately, for someone with nothing to do and nowhere to go, I am rather impatient.

That is the reason I am still here, in the dark, watching James Truman. Because I know there is only one way I will ever understand exactly how it feels to do what he did for Marcus...

So, I'm standing up now, and in a few seconds I will step out from the dark and into the dim yellow light of that hanging bulb. I will walk to the workbench, put my hand on Mr. Truman's shoulder, and end his life. As he freed Marcus, I will free him of his duties. Only then will I have done something empathetic, compassionate. Only then will I understand—or at least I hope to.

I do wonder how it will feel.

I'll make sure to let you know, the next time I see you.

THE END

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