Page 57 of In Death's Hands
I scoff. “You didn’t think knowing what you are mattered?”
“I’d rather you knewwhoI am.” His voice is so quiet I barely catch that. And then almost wish I hadn’t. It makes him too… human.
“What’s an Origin?”
“I lied on the name, not the definition. From what I know about human beliefs, gods are powerful, they have some sort of responsibility over mortals, and are most often dicks,” he says bitterly. “That’s basically us.”
“So why not call yourselves gods?”
“Because we all know we’re not.” He shakes his head. “It’s hard to explain when none of us fully knows beyond this sense of inevitability in ourselves. A god, any god, creates the world and rules it. We are ruledbyit.”
The heaviness behind his words makes me pause. Us humans often feel this sense of doom. The feeling that no matter who we are, no matter how hard we try to win at life, we don’thold all the cards. Or at the very least, the universe—or whatever you want to call it—has kept a few cards up its sleeves. Could it be that these beings that seem larger than life to me feel the same helplessness we do? It doesn’t seem possible, and yet, I recognise the downward slope of his shoulders. The slightly lost look in his eyes. The defeated pout on his mouth.
I decide to let it go for now, if only to wipe that look from his face, and jump to the next question in the crazy-long line fighting to make it past my lips. “You have a shadow?”
He tilts his head slightly in a way that reminds me of the golden retriever we had at the home when she heard a strange noise. “Of course I do. So do you.”
“Not like yours, I don’t.”
His chuckle does things to me. “No, I guess not like mine.” He looks thoughtful for a second. “Although, the fact that you saw mine is curious. It’s never happened before.”
I frown. “I did see shadows in that alley. And I think maybe in my flat too.”
“Might have something to do with your accident.”
There is nothing I can do to prevent myself from stiffening at those words. And if his gravity-defying eyebrows have anything to say about it, Nathan notices. I can’t help it. I have been torn down again and again because of what happened to me. Gaslighted my whole childhood until I stopped trying to convince people that what I saw was real. It never worked. I never doubted. For years I thought it made me stubborn and stupid, but I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t cave in. Thoughts ofhimenter my mind and take over. I couldn’t see his face, but the sadness emanating from him stayed with me all those years.
I pored over every book, every movie—be it fantasy, historical, esoteric and everything in between—looking formentions of Death. What I came up with was both close to and so far away from what I experienced. The cape and the scythe were, astonishingly, real. But the smirking devil, the arrogant shadow coming to reap your soul, was not the person I encountered. Because it was a person, at least in every sense that matters. May not have been human, but it had emotions and thoughts, a physical existence and a voice. Is that not what makes someone… someone?
“Tell me about your boss,” I say, completely skipping over the million and one questions I have about his shadow.
It’s his turn to stiffen. “What do you want to know?” he asks, the tick in his jaw noticeable as he averts his eyes and moves closer to the window overlooking the ongoing party in the gardens below.
WhatdoI want to know? I close my eyes, take a breath and unleash the first question. “Why did he save me?”
The hair on my arms stands up and my heart skips a beat at the tension swirling around the room, at the temperature plummeting. Anticipation courses through my veins, everything but him fading. I have wondered for so long; it seems unreal to ask it out loud to someone who can actually answer me. I hope.
“I don’t know.”
Hope is a fickle bitch. I ignore the dramatic cracks spreading in my heart like poison through hollow veins. The lack of blood, the lack of life in there, is too frightening to look at.
“He didn’t tell you?” Nathan shakes his head, still refusing to look at me. Does he know more than he’s willing to say? I hope not. I’m standing at the edge. I could either stay on firm land, where the safe embrace of trust is allowing me to take a deep breath for the first time in my life, or I could fall. And I’mtoo afraid of the oblivion below to allow myself to think another person in my life is less than truthful to me.
The number of adults I met that swore up and down that they would find me a safe home. A family that would give me space to grieve and grow. A home that would offer me love and security. Too many people who tried to convince me I was traumatised and imagining things. I refuse to let those experiences ruin what good could come for me now. I refuse to be a distrustful, cynical person. So I will trust, and shut down the voice yelling danger in the back of my head.
“Where is he?” I ask, twisting my fingers.
“He… is dealing with the Crossers.”
“The Crossers?”
“Those who are no longer tethered to this realm. He is but a servant to this world, helping souls find their way after their body has stopped working.”
This is… beautiful. Depressing. Beautifully depressing? “Will I meet him soon?”
“No!”
Nathan’s bark makes me jump, my eyebrows rising. “Why not?”
