Hi. Thanks for stopping by. This fic relies heavily on a soundtrack. I've decided to include relevant songs at the beginning of each chapter, so you can follow the bouncing ball (so to speak) if you like. For this little baby intro, you only need one: Hey Jude by Wilson Pickett. I hope you enjoy my first long multi-chapter piece!

Hey Jude

What day was it? Felt rather like a Sunday. Not that it seemed to matter anymore. Days bled into nights. Nights were quiet. Days were sunny. Birds chirped. Butterflies were in the flowers. Her little cabin was home and perfect. She'd been here now in the woods for...days. Weeks? Maybe months. It could have been years. It didn't matter because it was happiness.

Peace.

She had...memories. Memories of some far-removed former life. A little girl in a blue dress, alive and well as a woman. Kit Walker, smiling and spinning her beneath his arm. Thomas and Julia - those two little comets spiraling toward greatness. Songs and smoke. A smiling young nun. Some man or another. One she'd loved? These things she could call on whenever she wanted, and banish whenever she needed.

Somewhere along the way, she'd learned things:

She could make coffee without touching a kettle.

She could have no birds or all of them - if she wanted.

She could wear anything she liked without having to change.

She could change the curtains, windows, the walls on a whim. (Today knotty pine, but she didn't care for it.)

Blink and think.

This morning there was no cream in the refrigerator. She blinked and...there was a cold glass bottle.

From her porch perch on a stony outcropping, she could see a gulch. Through the autumn leaves, she could see a waterfall in the distance. This seemed to be the only thing she couldn't change here, not that she minded. Not at all. She couldn't think of anything more perfect.

Was she lonely? She didn't know that feeling anymore. Peace overtook all else. And peace made the best damn cup of coffee this side of heaven. Because it certainly felt like heaven to Jude, if not quite what the convent had sold her.

Such a pleasant chill just beginning to bite… She'd left the front door open so she could hear the kitchen radio while she lounged on the porch swing. Wilson Pickett was singing to her.

Hey Jude - don't make it bad

Take a sad song and make it better

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better

Why did it feel like something was going to happen? She hadn't known anticipation in so long. Nervousness? No...it was just sort of a waiting.

Hey Jude don't be afraid

You were made to go out and get her

The minute you let her under your skin

Then you begin to make it better

Whatever the damned feeling was it was making her relaxing day difficult. She sighed, blinked, and puffed up the pillows on the porch swing. That was a little better. A cardinal flitted onto the porch rail, flirting.

And anytime you feel the pain

Hey Jude refrain

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders

For well you know that it's a fool

Who plays it cool

By making his world a little colder

That feeling got closer. She went in to prepare another coffee - not for herself. And sure enough, a soft knock. "Door's open!" She turned to greet her visitor and smiled. "Why am I not surprised to see you?"

Shachath glided across her rustic floor, also smiling. "I don't know, Jude." She took the offered coffee. "Thank you." Sat at the equally rustic table, taking in her surroundings. "Beautiful place you've got here." She removed her black fascinator, tugged off her gloves.

"Thank you." Jude sat. Produced a pack of smokes. Shachath took one of those, too. "I like it."

"You more than like it."

A laugh. "Yes."

"Is that knotty pine?"

Jude made a face. "I'm trying it out. Doesn't seem to be growing on me."

"Huh." Shachath seemed unsurprised.

"So…" Jude was leaning on her elbow, waiting. Watching. Wanting. "What brings ya here? I know it's not a pleasantry. Yar a busy lady."

"We have a job for you."

"We?"

"We."

Jude sighed. "Never expect a straight answer from the angel of death, right?" She spread her hands. "So what is it?"

"There are some souls in peril. We need them directed. They're creating a vacuum, and we can't have that."

Jude shook her head. "A vacuum? I don't understand."

"Haunted spaces, basically." Shachath rolled her eyes. "They're a real nuisance for the living. And for us. Squatters."

"And I'm supposed to go collect souls in peril? Squatters?" Jude lit her cigarette. "No, thank you. I already tried saving souls. It didn't work out too well for me."

Shachath shrugged. "You did a good job saving your own soul. It doesn't come so easily to others."

Jude pursed her lips. She was sorely tempted. Shachath wouldn't be here with empty assignments. But she hesitated. She was a hard sell. "Where?" But she had a feeling. And the answer was 'no.' A hard 'no.'

"We need you at Briarcliff."

Yep. "No."

"Jude, listen -"

"No, you listen. No." She put both palms flat on the table. "I gave enough time to that place. Enough effort. Enough…" And suddenly she couldn't continue because she felt something she hadn't felt in possibly decades. Tears. Her throat tightened. Hot and hard. "I've worked hard - hard - to erase it from my soul. The hurt of it. The shame of it. The -"

Shachath's hand was surprisingly warm atop her own. "You left some things behind."

"No!" Jude rose. It was too much. The responsibility was not her own. "That wasn't me."

"There was a little nun…"

"No…" But it was a whisper this time and the memories didn't seem to blink away. Sister Mary Eunice crying, smiling, laughing, her arms before they were not her own wrapping Jude's waist in the wake of a Nor'easter and the sweetest soul, the sweetest face, the blondest hair, the lost eyes, the adoration, the fear. Jude thrust herself against the counter. Irrationally, she jabbed a hand against the sink faucet, sent a stream pouring. And that fucking song was still on…

Hey Jude, don't let me down

You have found her now go and get her

Remember to let her into your heart

Then you can start to make it better

And Shachath behind her. Hands on shoulders. Such gentle hands. Such searching hands. "Jude. Go and get her."

"I'm not ready."

"You're more ready than you think." Hands now firm, now demanding turned her. "This is your purpose." And her black eyes suddenly blue. The blue pools of the lagoon below that Jude - on warmer days - shamelessly dove nude into until her breath was an absolute necessity and brought her streaking through the surface like a rocket. "Yes," She whispered. As only Shachath could whisper - as only Shachath could see: into the soul - beyond the soul.

And there was such stillness. Such reckoning. "Jude."

"No…" but the whisper was weaker. The call more plaintive than ever.

"Do you remember what happened that day? In the forest?"

Judy closed her eyes tight and the tears slipped free, sleek memories silver streaks on her cheeks. "Yes." A hiss. A prayer.

There'd been only light. Warm and enveloping as the deep pools Julia's eyes, as Thomas' forgiving arms as they'd laid in the wet moss and the angels, the angels, the angels...and the silence. The sudden, solemn, precious, omniscient silence of all the demons, the hell, the violence, the damage… The first chapter of the peace, pages turning to now.

To here.

To Shachath's hands on her shoulders.

To tears on her face beckoning, promising something greater than peace and the question: the overhwhelming question: was there a greater peace? Could she push the moment to its crisis? Could she defeat what she knew was the impenetrable darkness? "Tell me I'm strong enough."

"You're strong enough."

"Tell me I'll know what ta say."

"You'll know, Jude."

"Tell me I'll know what ta do."

"You already know, Jude."

"There's more than one, isn't there?"

"Yes. I won't lie. And...something else. We're uncertain of it."

A deep breath. "Promise me I can come back here."

"This is your peace. You earned it."

"Tell me I'm a bad bitch."

Shachath hesitated. Only for a millisecond. "You're a bad bitch, Jude."

"Let's do this."