When Strangers Meet

"But not all you need to know." Ian sounded grave.

Helen laughed. "What big dark secret can you possibly have?"

"Darker than you could imagine."

"You're a murderer."

"Not exactly."

"What does 'not exactly' mean?"

"They say there are two things in this life that are certain, do they not? Death and taxes. I know nothing of the latter, but I'm intimately acquainted with the former."

"You're making me nervous."

"Am I? I'm sorry." He took hold of Helen's hand across the table. "Let's not talk about this now. Perhaps later - when we're back in the hotel."

"No; now. I'm really getting frightened. If you want me to stay you have to explain."

"Not a good idea in public."

"Please."

Ian hesitated then nodded his head. "Very well. Hold both my hands. Very tightly. As tight as you can."

Helen could feel herself trembling. "What you have to say must be really awful."

"You'll very probably think so. But please don't be afraid. There's no need. Now look straight into my eyes and hold my gaze."

If Helen had wanted to look away she found herself unable to do so. Ian was like a hypnotist. His steady gaze held her firm and made her feel as if she was floating somewhere above the world. In his eyes she saw pictures, almost as if she was watching a television screen. They were images of death; in bed, on the battlefield, on the road, in the sea. Peaceful and violent, relaxed and frantic. Death in all its forms. And in her head she heard a voice.

"Old men go to death; death comes to the young men."

She could hear herself screaming.

"There is a Reaper whose name is Death,

And, with his sickle keen,

He reaps the bearded grains at a breath,

And the flowers that grow between."

It was a whispering voice deep inside her. She wanted it to stop, but there was no way to turn it off. She knew. She knew the awful truth. Impossible. But true.

She was still screaming.

Suddenly she was back on earth, sitting in a romantic restaurant with a man.....no....not a man....with Death.

She thought she had screamed, but looking around everything was as before. Nobody had noticed anything. People were eating, drinking, laughing and talking. Realising she was still gripping Ian's hands, Helen relaxed, but kept her hands in his. He had told her - no, shown her - who he really was. It was too incredible to believe, but she knew it was true. She also knew that she loved him. No matter who or what he was; she loved him.

"Please take me back to the hotel," Helen said quietly.

"Of course."

They returned in almost total silence, neither one knowing quite what to say or what would happen next. He left her at the door of her room with only the slightest touch of her hand. A few minutes later there was a soft knock on his door. Helen was standing outside.

"My husband left another message. He's gone with his friends to a 'Gentlemen's Club.' I know what that means. He'll be away most of the night. I'd like to stay with you if you're willing."

"But what if he returns?"

"I'm past caring."

"You'd better come inside." He closed the door behind her.

"I want to be with you."

"But who am I? Not Ian Grainger. In the morning a maid will become curious, ignore the 'Do Not Disturb' sign and enter the room. She'll discover his body lying there." He pointed towards the desk. "A medical examination will reveal that he's been dead for two days."

"I want to be with you, not Ian Grainger. I don't know him."

"But I'm everything and nothing."

"At this moment you have substance and I want you inside me."

There was a short silence as he thought. "I decided to take a holiday to experience all human emotions. Love is the strongest of them all. It would be a pity to ignore it."

"I offer you all my love. And myself."

She kissed him long and deep and he wholeheartedly responded. Within a minute they were both naked and in bed. Death, in his human form, knew exactly what to do and when he penetrated Helen she cried out with joy. He was a tender and gentle, thoughtful and caring lover; everything that she had missed for so long. He came inside her and she welcomed his seed, clinging tightly to him moaning with the pleasure he was giving her.

They made love three times and on each occasion it was perfect. It was almost daylight when Helen returned to her room, accompanied by Ian.

"I'll just be here, discreetly out of sight, but handy," he told her.

"In case Brian beats me up?"

He smiled. "Something like that."

But they needn't have worried. Brian was still absent.

"My little affair will remain my secret," she said. "No need for awkward explanations."

"It's probably best."

"Yes. Will I see you again?"

"Of course. Everyone sees me sooner or later."

"Will I recognise you?"

"Do you mean, is this how I'll look?"

"Yes."

"I'll look however you want me to look. By then you may want me to be somebody else."

"I don't think so," Helen whispered.

"It's a long time hence. Many things will have happened to you by then. There'll be more people in your life. You may wish me to look like one of them."

"But you'll still be you."

"I'll still be me. You've shown me what love can be like, Helen. I had no idea. I can see it's a strong reason for clinging onto life as long as possible. You've brought me an understanding of what it's like to be human." He took her into his arms. "I'll never forget you."

When he kissed her a warm and gentle breeze caressed her lips and the sound of waves lapping against a beach echoed through her head. She was completely entranced and barely noticed that he had gone, leaving her with the feeling of strong arms still wrapped around her.

*****

It was a room-maid who found Ian Grainger stretched out on the floor. Naturally it was a shock, but she didn't scream, her reaction being nothing more than a sharp intake of breath. A doctor was called, but nothing could be done.

"Been dead for some time, I would say. Yesterday sometime. I can't be sure without a proper examination, but I imagine it was a heart attack."

The television was switched on. There was no sound, but the pictures on the rolling 24 hour news told their own story. Another bomb atrocity in Iraq; 16 dead. A train crash in Italy; 2 dead and 21 injured. A murder in London.

Brian had returned just in time for breakfast, but offered no explanation. He looked suitably smug and Helen knew, without asking, that he had enjoyed the company of one of the girls from the 'Gentlemen's Club'. She was unsurprised and unconcerned. After all, she could hardly complain.

After breakfast Brian went down to the pool to sunbathe and swim. When he returned to their room he was surprised to see Helen standing with her hand on a trolley-bag. It had obviously been packed.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm leaving."

"Malta?"

Helen shook her head. "You."

"What!"

"I think I've repaid the debt."

Brian looked puzzled. "What debt?"

"You know very well. Nothing comes for nothing, isn't that so? You paid off my creditors and it was only right that you should get something in return. I've provided you with sex on demand for ten years. I think that's quite long enough, don't you?"

She started for the door, but Brian blocked her way.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Far away from you. To a new life. Please get out of my way."

"Helen..." Brian adopted a conciliatory attitude.

"It's no use. I've had enough. I've experienced real love and I want more."

"What have you been up to?"

Helen smiled. "You'd never believe it if I told you. Goodbye, Brian."

There was a lot of activity in the corridor around the door of the adjacent room. Helen took no notice. She knew the reason.

(NOTE: The proverb that is used is from the 16th century and the verse of the poem comes from 'The Reaper and the Flowers' by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.)