Chapter Twenty-One
Twenty-One
So much loss,” Sebastian says, shaking his head.
We’re still on the couch, leaning into each other, his left arm wrapped around my shoulders, my feet tucked under me. His touch is comforting, but the past weighs on me. When will I learn?
“I understand your time with Rohan was short,” he said, “but I mean, the impact. Did you blame Death? Did you ever think he took them both to force your hand? To win the bet?”
This idea had gone round and round in my mind over the years—the bits I’d gathered from my conversations with Death, my studies in religion, philosophy, and the occult, and my general understanding of the cycle of life—all to make sense of my life and my experience.
I start slowly: “Everybody seems to have a time, preordained from the moment they draw their first breath. There’s no use hiding from it, as it’s the one guarantee in life.
Someday, you will face death. The task left is for the living, to figure out how they will go on and continue to have hope and to dream, despite this.
” Death had never said this explicitly, but I’d pieced it together.
It seemed he could only collect souls at their allotted times and would do so for eternity.
This was his fate. His one possible escape was the only other power he possessed: the destruction of all.
“So, how did you go on?”
“You know, you should give interviews a try. You’re good at them. I bet you could get a few published.”
“I am certain now that a compliment from you is hard earned.” He flashes a wry smile. “When you’re ready.”
I clear my throat. The steady light of the recorder shines like a sentinel, capturing my words. I pull the embroidered gloves from the trunk, stroking them lightly, turning my thoughts to Adam.