Page 111 of The Wondrous Life and Loves of Nella Carter
Alightness settles over me as I shut the rusting door. Even though the lights still blaze inside, I know Death is gone already, yet he’s left behind the whisper of his presence. Gooseflesh covers my skin.
For the first time in years, I don’t resent the fact. With our new arrangement, I hope to look forward to our talks, when we’ll meet as friends on equal footing.
I enjoy the sensation of freedom, breathing easier than when I was here last, all that time gone by. My burden has shifted, and I am free.
Best of all, I am not alone.
He’s sitting on the hood of the car, waiting for me. “Sebastian!”
He takes three steps, gathering me up.
I laugh, happy tears rolling down my face.
“So, no more writing? No more meetings?”
I shake my head. “Not like before. I’ll write because I want to. Death won’t be gone, but he’s not the enemy.”
“That’s good.” He kisses me again. “I look forward to your writing. You’ll have lots to record on our new adventures together.”
From that instant, I know there is nowhere I would go on this earth without him by my side. We stay that way for a while, perfectly content to stand in each other’s love as the cicadas serenade us in the pale moonlight.
“What’s this?” he says, pulling back a bit. His fingers brush against my scalp, teasing a strand of curls.
“What’s what?”
His eyes crinkle, sending a spark of happiness from my stomach to my toes. “This,” he says, gently pulling on one strand. “It looks like gray hair.”
My mouth falls open in shock. “Let me see!” I tear away from his embrace and race to the sideview mirror. Like he says, a single silvery strand has sprouted at my temple.
He takes my hand. “Are you worried about getting old?”
I shake my head. “I’m just glad to have this last lifetime with you.”
“You’re lucky I have a thing for older women.”
I laugh as he plucks the car fob from my hand and jangles the keys.
“What now?” he asks, opening my door.
I smile, gazing into the face of my love. “What, indeed?”
Part VIII: Savannah
A Final Visit from Death—2084
Thirty-Seven
Death watches, just beyond the veil, waiting to take his friend home. Of all the souls he’s taken, hers will be his favorite, her shining light gleaming until the end. It’s only because of that light that he can see the shine in others, to see beyond what humans are and who they can be.
The machine ticks by her side, pushing oxygen into her nose as another monitors her heart’s steady beats.
It won’t be long now.
Any world he would make would end up like this, for there are no perfect creatures, and these are the ones he knows best.
She had no idea what she agreed to all those years ago in that tiny cabin on the edge of civilization. He can see her as she was then, sweating, teetering toward nonexistence, but still defiant, her spirit rising up. It made him curious to see what she thought was worth fighting for.
It was more than that. As she talked about in their meetings, it was the importance of being seen. She did that for him. She respected his purpose and helped him to not feel alone, because he had her words and life to comfort him.
