Chapter A Visit From Death
A Visit From Death
Death found Nella in her room, in the hour between the deepest night and the first glimmer of morning.
She was huddled in the sheets, face still red from René’s blows.
He bent quietly over her. He hadn’t planned on visiting that night, intending their next meeting to take place a few years off, but given the night’s events, he had to see her.
He straightened his human form. He’d thought perhaps she’d finally seen the truth and would be ready to end their deal.
What he hadn’t been ready for was the sight of her.
Large purple bruises bloomed across her light-brown throat and a spate of scratches marred her jaw, sparking a black feeling in the center of his being.
He didn’t have a word for the feeling, but he was glad the man who’d done this would soon be collected, his time on earth nearly up.
He thought about collecting him sooner in punishment for harming her, but that was not the way of things.
Nella didn’t acknowledge Death as he sank onto the bed. She stared steadily at the wall, the silence thick between them.
“You would choose tonight,” she said, tone bitter.
“Given the events, I thought I’d check in—see if your position has changed.” He almost said, See if you’re well. But how could she be well?
“Should I always expect these visits when something terrible happens to me? That you’ll come here, goading and gloating? That you desire a front-row seat to my suffering?”
“Do you see me gloating?” He stared, daring her to look away first. “This brings me no joy. It only proves my belief. You thought him good—one of the redeemable ones—and look what he was capable of.”
“Did you know it would come to this?” she asked quietly. “When it began?”
“That he would hurt you?” He leaned his head against the bed frame. “You know what I think. They will always hurt you in the end.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Nella asked, wiping her face against the sheets.
“He has a disease. It will eat at him, consuming him steadily. His brother is similarly afflicted. But he’ll find his end before the disease takes him.”
“So that’s what will kill him? The vials?” she asked.
“The vials,” Death confirmed.
They were quiet as the dark-blue sky eased into light. It was another day for both of them.
“Do you still believe in the goodness of man? Believe their lives are worth your suffering?”
“It’s not always like this,” Nella said.
“The longer you go on, the more of this you will face.” Death turned to her. “I can make it simple. Say the word, and I can take away all your pain. All of this will cease to exist. I can . . . I can take you with me, into a better world.”
Was there truly a better world than this one out there?
Why wasn’t it enough to ask this one to change?
She glanced at the papers on the table, copies of all her published pieces from the past several decades, all the stories she’d been collecting, still collecting, the ones that had brought her a measure of joy and peace.
Were they enough? Would they outweigh the actions of one man?
She swallowed, her throat constricting painfully. “I know what you came here for, but I can’t give it to you—not tonight.”
Death studied her as if he could see into her soul. “Not tonight then, but one day.”
“Why are you so convinced that I’ll lose? Has my work shown you nothing?”
“Your work has shown me pockets of potential, but humans can only wound, Nella. They destroy what they touch, only building it again for future destruction. It’s in their nature—and one day, your love for them will destroy you.”
She closed her eyes, probably wishing she could close her ears to the truth of his words. “I know you don’t believe it, but there will always be someone worth saving.”
“That may very well be true,” Death conceded, “but perhaps you’ll grow tired of the sacrifice.”
“Well, that day is not today,” she said with finality.
Death rose, pausing only to collect the newest pages spread across her desk, the ink still fresh, and slipped away, leaving as the first rays of light spilled across her sheets.
One day . . . he would be right.