said.
A shiver ran down the man’s spine. He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, his eyes searching the room. His jaw tightened, his arms twitched, then his fingers began to loosen. It was the sign Death waited for. He closed his eyes and put the images in his mind into that of the man, showing him the direction to the gates. The man fought for a second, then his body relaxed and he fell forward, coming to rest among the bottles. Death crossed back to the door.
***
Though Gregan Parker’s name throbbed on his arm, he ignored it and finished the other names on the list. He liked his job and reminded himself of that fact over and over as his touch finished lives and sent them on their way. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, anyway, but he thoroughly loved his job. He loved fear and anger, the defiance that filled a person’s eyes when they fought his touch. He loved the fact that they couldn’t fight him, that his was the final say. Above all, he loved the darkness.
But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help remembering the light that surrounded Nyra and the glow of love in her eyes when she spoke of Gregan. He wondered how it would feel to have someone think of him that way, to have such warmth in their eyes instead of fear. He kept pushing the thought down. It wasn’t conducive to his job and he had things to do.
He sat on the steps in front of his apartment and stared at the last name on his arm. The final name on th e list. The others had vanished as he took them, leaving only the one that had started darker than the rest. He forced breath through his still lungs in a loud sigh that made a passerby jump and stare at the vacant spot on the steps he occupied. He rose and walked through the man, then chuckled at his gasp of shock.
When Death neared the hospital, his steps slowed. He studied the tan building and wondered why it felt ominous. Death wasn’t afraid of anything. A pair of green eyes appeared in his mind. He shook his head and walked through the closed door.
Gregan Parker lay as Death had left him, a still form pale against white sheets. The numbers that beeped on the monitor meant nothing to him. He wondered briefly where Nyra had gone, then he felt her presence behind him.
“Not today,” she said, a gentle pleading in her voice.
He turned and she took several steps back, her form more substantial while his was mere shadows. She feared him . That fact usually brought pleasure, but this time he felt something else. Was it regret? Death didn’t regret because to regret meant caring, and Death didn’t care about anyone or anything.
“Why shouldn’t I take him?” he demanded, his voice harsher than he meant for it to be.
She cringed, but then steeled herself visibly and straightened up again. He felt a grudging admiration for her courage. No guardian angel had ever stood up to him. “Because he doesn’t deserve to die.”
He chuckled, a low, ominous sound that made her flinch despite her resolve. “If I left everyone who felt they didn’t deserve to die, this world would be overrun.”
She opened a hand, asking him to understand. “He’s young and a good person. He helps out at the shelter on weekends; he gives money to people on the streets who are starving, he-”
Death held up a faint hand, cutting her off. “I’ve heard it all before, Nyra.” He didn’t have to say her name, but he wanted to. He liked the way it felt in his mouth, rolling o ff his tongue. It was less musical than when she had said it, but it made his lips tingle. He fought back a true smile.
Her head jerked up and she stared at him. “How do you know my name?”
A cold dagger ran through the empty place in his chest where his heart had beat on only two occasions in his entire existence, both the times when she was near. He searched for an excuse, but he was Death; he didn’t need excuses. “I know everyone’s name,” he said with false confidence. “It’s my job.”
She gave a little huff of
A shiver ran down the man’s spine. He gripped the arms of the chair tightly, his eyes searching the room. His jaw tightened, his arms twitched, then his fingers began to loosen. It was the sign Death waited for. He closed his eyes and put the images in his mind into that of the man, showing him the direction to the gates. The man fought for a second, then his body relaxed and he fell forward, coming to rest among the bottles. Death crossed back to the door.
***
Though Gregan Parker’s name throbbed on his arm, he ignored it and finished the other names on the list. He liked his job and reminded himself of that fact over and over as his touch finished lives and sent them on their way. It wasn’t as if he had a choice, anyway, but he thoroughly loved his job. He loved fear and anger, the defiance that filled a person’s eyes when they fought his touch. He loved the fact that they couldn’t fight him, that his was the final say. Above all, he loved the darkness.
But in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help remembering the light that surrounded Nyra and the glow of love in her eyes when she spoke of Gregan. He wondered how it would feel to have someone think of him that way, to have such warmth in their eyes instead of fear. He kept pushing the thought down. It wasn’t conducive to his job and he had things to do.
He sat on the steps in front of his apartment and stared at the last name on his arm. The final name on th e list. The others had vanished as he took them, leaving only the one that had started darker than the rest. He forced breath through his still lungs in a loud sigh that made a passerby jump and stare at the vacant spot on the steps he occupied. He rose and walked through the man, then chuckled at his gasp of shock.
When Death neared the hospital, his steps slowed. He studied the tan building and wondered why it felt ominous. Death wasn’t afraid of anything. A pair of green eyes appeared in his mind. He shook his head and walked through the closed door.
Gregan Parker lay as Death had left him, a still form pale against white sheets. The numbers that beeped on the monitor meant nothing to him. He wondered briefly where Nyra had gone, then he felt her presence behind him.
“Not today,” she said, a gentle pleading in her voice.
He turned and she took several steps back, her form more substantial while his was mere shadows. She feared him . That fact usually brought pleasure, but this time he felt something else. Was it regret? Death didn’t regret because to regret meant caring, and Death didn’t care about anyone or anything.
“Why shouldn’t I take him?” he demanded, his voice harsher than he meant for it to be.
She cringed, but then steeled herself visibly and straightened up again. He felt a grudging admiration for her courage. No guardian angel had ever stood up to him. “Because he doesn’t deserve to die.”
He chuckled, a low, ominous sound that made her flinch despite her resolve. “If I left everyone who felt they didn’t deserve to die, this world would be overrun.”
She opened a hand, asking him to understand. “He’s young and a good person. He helps out at the shelter on weekends; he gives money to people on the streets who are starving, he-”
Death held up a faint hand, cutting her off. “I’ve heard it all before, Nyra.” He didn’t have to say her name, but he wanted to. He liked the way it felt in his mouth, rolling o ff his tongue. It was less musical than when she had said it, but it made his lips tingle. He fought back a true smile.
Her head jerked up and she stared at him. “How do you know my name?”
A cold dagger ran through the empty place in his chest where his heart had beat on only two occasions in his entire existence, both the times when she was near. He searched for an excuse, but he was Death; he didn’t need excuses. “I know everyone’s name,” he said with false confidence. “It’s my job.”
She gave a little huff of
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