Diane Hill

"I hate my job," Hannah muttered. She crossed her arms and glared at the little old lady in the chair, whose arms were also crossed, and who glared right back at her. She admired the old lady in a way, but there was no budging. "Mrs. Johnson."

"Hannah." Mrs. Johnson's cat wound its way between Hannah's feet. "See? Muffin says you should give me more time, too."

Hannah cocked an eyebrow. "Okay, look. We go through this twice a year. First off, that cat's name isn't Muffin. Does it even have a name? You usually just call it Jackass." She reached down and took the cat in her arms. "And it most certainly is NOT a 'Muffin'. Muffin is a long haired white cat. This is more like a Bruno or Skippy, I've NEVER come across an orange cat named Muffin. Ever. Second- you are one hundred and seven years old." She paused. "Do you realize that, Mrs. Johnson? 107." The old woman shrugged. "How do you even walk around? How have you not been institutionalized? Don't you still drive? I bet you have a fake ID, there is no way the Department Of Transportation lets you drive willingly." Again, the old lady shrugged, a smug look on her face. "Look, you old bat, its your time and if I don't take you this time I could be in serious trouble."

There was a knock on the front door and Dinah let herself in. She closed the door behind herself and looked around. "Hannah, having trouble?"

"Thank God you're here, Dinah, maybe you can talk some sense into this old biddy."

Dinah looked shocked. "Old biddy?"

"Oh, we go way back," Mrs. Johnson said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Dinah tried not to side-eye Hannah. She never asked a Reaper how old they were, but Hannah, herself, had stopped aging somewhere around 25. Dinah wasn't really sure how far back 'way back' was, but it was likely best not to ask.

"So…" Dinah made her way into the room and sat on the couch. "What, um," she hesitated. "Why don't you want to go? Are you afraid of dying?" The woman shook her head 'no'. "Unfinished business?" Again, 'no'. "Afraid of being forgotten?"

"Look, young lady, its really none of that. I'm stubborn. The only people that will remember me are the neighbors and the pastor." Hannah's face reddened. "And you, you pain in my neck. Go grab some cookies out of the kitchen, won't you?" Hannah stomped off and Dinah watched Mrs. Johnson's face soften. Dinah sat back to reflect for a moment, knowing tonight was going to be an emotional drain on her, but she was there to make the transition easier on everyone.

Hannah soon came back with a tray that held chocolate chip cookies and three glasses of milk.

"These are fresh." Hannah commented grumpily. "You knew I was coming. You can't get out of it this time." Her voice rose, almost in a whine.

"You know," the old woman said softly, contemplating her cookie, "maybe you're right."

Hannah started coughing. "What?"

"There's nothing to watch on the television. I'm getting bored. Maybe it's time for me to pass."

Dinah looked from Hannah to Mrs. Johnson, and realized that the tables were about to turn. She was no longer here to convince an old woman to give up the ghost, she would be helping Hannah heal, instead. Where Hannah's job was to lead souls to the Gates, Dinah's job was to heal and forgive.

Hannah was staring at the old lady, mouth open. Then she shook her head and smirked. "Very funny, Viola."

"I'm not kidding this time, Hannah."

Dinah took a deep breath, knowing her work was about to start. Gently, she began pulling energies out of the room. With them came memories, old forgotten faces, first car rides, music, and Dinah tried to stop watching, letting it all whir through her mind and escape into the nether with every breath she exhaled.

Dinah felt her insulin pump vibrate and checked it discreetly as Hannah and the old woman were bickering. Her sugar was rising, and quickly, as indicated by the double 'up' arrows beside the number representing her glucose that displayed on the screen. She quickly gave herself a bolus of insulin and politely set her cookie back down.

It wasn't supposed to be a difficult job, not tonight. She wondered for a spiteful second if she should charge more, and the feeling was instantly replaced by guilt.

Dinah could feel Hannah growing frustrated. "Prove it! Prove you're ready!"

The old woman laughed. "I have nothing to prove, dear. Take me away."

Dinah's heart pounded and she had no idea why. Hannah grit her teeth and stood, holding out her hand. Mrs. Johnson tilted her head to the side and looked at Hannah's hand curiously. Then, slowly, she reached out and took her hand. Dinah felt her own heart stop momentarily and closed her eyes.

Confusion crackled through the air as if electrified, but the source wasn't the old lady, it was Hannah. Dinah took a deep, deep breath, drawing in the fear, confusion, anger and releasing it. When she opened her eyes, the old woman was dead on the couch, face relaxing from the smile she wore as she passed away, and Hannah was on her feet, desperately trying to hold back tears.

Dinah took the tray away to the kitchen and let Hannah have a moment to herself as she washed the milk glasses and fed the cat.

"I just cannot believe her." Hannah muttered, putting a wad of money on the counter near Dinah.

"All that time and she just decides, that's that."

"She looked forward to your visits," Dinah said softly, holding back her own tears. She picked up the money and tucked it into her back pocket, then touched Hannah's arm, relieving her of as much of the pain as she could, undetected. Sudden nausea washed over Dinah and she softly excused herself, slipping out the side door and to her car.

At times she was jealous of the other SinEaters. As far as she knew, she was the only for-hire in the area, and it was exhausting. Jessica, her best friend, absolutely refused to participate in anything having to do with those she didn't already interact with, and with good reason. The only one she would heal was her boyfriend, Alec, one of the three remaining Original Reapers.

Myla was just crazy and was held at arm's length, despite her on-again, off-again, almost stalker-like relationship with Uri. No one wanted Myla's help, not that she actually could. The poor girl thought she was a big help; poor delusional Myla.

Josh had moved away a few years back, more like going into hiding, really. He just wanted to be left alone.

But Dinah, Dinah did what she had to do to keep a roof over her child's head. Sure, there were other jobs, but she was overwhelmed with anxiety when she worked with crowds of people. She'd found her niche and it worked.

She drove to Jessica's apartment at a leisurely pace, stopping by Arby's to grab dinner for herself, her daughter, Jessica, and Jessica's daughter.