A Visit From Death
Nella held her hands up at Death slowly, as if disarming a bomb. Smoke wafted up from the pans, shifting from gray to black.
“Before you get upset, I left a message.” She eased toward him, gesturing in a calming motion. She reached gingerly, touching his shoulder as if to soothe him.
It was a mistake.
A wave of excess energy rolled off him so fast and thick it was a wonder the kitchen didn’t burst into flame.
“You dare?” he said, snatching himself from her touch, the rage deepening his voice.
Nella stepped back in shock, eyes wide, hands braced before her.
“You need to calm down.” She walked across the kitchen and plucked a black folio from the table.
“I was already done. Everything is right here,” she said, offering it to him.
“We can talk now,” she said, swallowing. “I think you’ll like these—”
Death slammed a hand against the refrigerator, sending it thudding into the wall.
Pictures and a golden sun leaped to the floor from the force, all shattering upon impact.
“You don’t set the terms of our arrangement.
You’re only here at my mercy. By missing this meeting, I don’t think you understand what game you’re playing at. ”
Her eyes grew wide, staring between him and the jumble of wood on the floor, clutching the folio to her chest. “I didn’t think you’d be this way.” She swallowed again. “It’s our anniversary. It was important,” she whispered.
“More important than the fate of the world.” With one motion from his hand, the saucepan flew across the room, slamming into the wall, the red sauce spraying like blood over the pale-yellow paint. “More important than me!”
“No, it wasn’t like that! I left word at the restaurant for us to meet tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” he sneered, pacing to the other side of the room, the glass crunching under his feet.
“You’d have me wait? For him?” he said, meaning Diego.
“You still don’t understand, do you? I’m the only priority.
If our bargain is not met, then none of this matters.
I’ll take you and everyone else with me when I go. ”
She stared up at Death. His anger was terrifying, even to him. It was mixed with hurt and some kind of betrayal.
“Why are you acting like this?”
Death paced through the kitchen, glass crunching under his bare feet. “I thought you understood after all this time. I was sitting there, waiting, waiting for you, and—you’re here with him? He’s not even worthy.”
Nella gaped at him. “But I’m doing what you asked me to do. I’ve kept our promise for years. Why—”
“Because you picked one of them over your commitment to me. Do you think this one—this boy—is deserving? He knows the truth about that! Did he tell you what he writes in his journal? That one day you’ll wake up and know he’s not enough?
That he knows he has nothing to offer you? Did he tell you that?”
Her eyes glittered with tears, the truth pricking at her soul. “Why are you going through his things?”
He growled with frustration. Slammed his fist, sending a crack rippling through the table. The legs sagged as the split worked itself clean through. Nella jumped back as the side nearest to her crashed.
Death gathered her in his arms, forcing her to look up at him. “It’s time to choose! The choice is inevitable. Why can’t you see that?”
The words had barely left his lips when the boy walked in, the cans of tomato sauce rattling together in his bags. He froze, eyes wide at the mounds of glass and wood chips, as sauce streaks oozed down the walls, Death’s arms around Nella.
Nella pushed Death away, straightening her hair as if ashamed, chest heaving. How could she even hope to explain?
Diego gawked at her but stepped forward, placing himself between them. “Who the hell are you? Get out of here!”
A bitter blackening sensation rose inside Death, hardening his chest. The boy wasn’t meant to be reaped for some time, but perhaps, like Nella, today was the day Death would make an exception.
Spite trickled through him, warm, oozing, and prickly. “Dear boy, that is simply not the question. The better question is, Who is she?” Death straightened and smiled, the picture of magnanimity. He would simply have to show Nella. He would prove how poor a choice the boy was.
Diego glanced at Nella, baffled, but all she could do was look away—any explanation dying on her lips.
Death’s smile deepened. “Go on. Ask her name.”
“Carmella?” Diego said, as if he were testing it for the first time.
She squished her eyes closed as if to not see when the truth crossed his face. “It’s not Carmella.”
“What? What is it then?”
She opened her eyes, the confusion on his face painful to see. “It’s Nella,” she whispered. “Nella Carter.”
Diego’s face crumpled as he staggered back, away from her lies.
Death snarled at the movement, clenching his fists, mere moments from sapping the life from Diego’s body.
“He proves my point. Already he shrinks from you. He’ll never be there for you, not the way you need.
” He spun around to face Diego, his voice unctuous, the change in his mood dizzying and dangerous.
“So glad we got to meet in person. Nella usually finds the redeemable ones, but I can see you’re nothing of the sort.
You’re not creative. You don’t read. You lack ambition.
No, sir. You’re far from redeemable. Take your relationship with your father—I’m sure she’d love to hear about that. ”
Diego blanched, clutching the edge of the door for support.
“What is he talking about?” Nella asked him, never taking her eyes from Death, her expression murderous.
He frowned at Diego, then leaned forward, whispering conspiratorially to Nella, “I can’t imagine why he didn’t tell you.”
Diego stepped back, distancing himself, almost out the door and into the living room. “I don’t know who you are, but you need to leave, along with your lies.”
Death tsked, his smile bright against his darkness. “Diego, I’m surprised at you. Why didn’t you tell ‘Carmella’ that you were the one who pushed your father to the ground? Right before his heart attack? You love the truth so much, I want to make sure you tell yours.”
Diego flushed as his mouth opened and closed like a gasping fish, the words dying in his throat.
“You see, Nella, the fact is that Diego here had time. Plenty of time to call for help. Plenty of time to get an ambulance. But he didn’t.
He stood there and watched. For over thirty minutes, he watched his father writhe on the floor, clutching his chest, begging for help.
He had plenty of time. If he had, his dad would be here today instead of rotting in that little cemetery. ”
Nella paled, spinning toward Diego, brow furrowed in horror. “Is this true?”
“Given his childhood, it makes sense, doesn’t it?
” Death patted Diego roughly on the back and threw an arm around his shoulder as if they were old friends.
“But back to your original question. Who am I? Like Nella, I have so many names. Hades, Kali, Anubis—Gamab is my favorite. You little humans have created so many words to describe who I am. As if you could even begin to understand. But you, my dear Diego, you may call me Death.”
With that, he unfurled himself. He expanded, the enormity of him spread across the room as his skin stretched, writhing and rippling, twisting in on itself.
The faces of the damned pressed up through his skin, eyes sunken, their mouths contorted into open screams, their torment reverberating off the walls, catching them all in a tornado of sound.
She fell to her knees, dropping the folio, the white pages fluttering like birds, as she covered her ears, eyes wide in horror.
Diego skittered back, clutching his head. He dropped the bag, and the contents spewed out, rolling across the floor, the broken wine bottle crashing open as its contents splattered out like blood.
Death allowed a few seconds more to pass before he came to himself.
The noise faded, ebbing away until the only sounds were Nella’s and Diego’s labored breathing and the sizzle of burning steaks.
Death shrank into himself and lounged against the counter, surveying the damage and their reactions, the fear plain on both their faces.
He reveled in it. Nella had forgotten who he was and what he was capable of.
Diego slowly grasped for the counter to steady himself. He made no move to help Nella. He backed away until he bumped into the doorframe, bracing himself against it.
“It’s been nice, Diego, but you should leave now while you can.” Death’s tone was final.
Diego glanced at Nella one last time, then turned and left, crunching through the glass and wood.
Nella’s tears poured freely as the front door slammed shut behind him.
Death helped her stand, but she shook at his touch, leaning away. She needed time, Death knew. She’d see the favor he’d done for her—the time he’d saved her. His true nature would have emerged eventually. He had been wholly unworthy, and he had shown her that.
Nella snapped. With a roar, she launched herself at him, hands clawing. “Why would you do that!” She scratched at him, doing whatever she could to hurt him. She went for his eyes and ripped at his clothes. Death didn’t move against her.
This was anger. This was pain.
When her hands did not affect him, she broke away and started smashing things, whipping the plates and knives at him, trying her best to do him harm.
She raged, the wave of her anger rolling over him, and he let her until she broke, the last plate crashing harmlessly to his left as she collapsed, the anger ebbing away like ripples in a stream, her sobs steady.
He wrapped his arms around her limp body, but she rejected him. “Get away from me! You had no right to do that!” She struggled against him, writhing, doing all she could to get away.
He simply held her.
He held her until she’d quieted, hiccuping.
“Are you finished?”
She pushed against him but sagged at the effort, her anger finally spent. She lay in his arms as he rocked her like a small child being comforted after a tantrum.
“I can’t . . .” She struggled to take a clear breath. “I can’t keep doing this.” Her words were quiet and clear.
He paused, shocked by the admission. He hadn’t gone that far, had he? “Are you sure you mean that?”
The silence drew out. “I’m just so tired.”
And she looked it—her face pale and drawn, short curls in disarray, her body limp. She sat crumpled, like a marionette cut loose from its strings.
Something moved in him then, slow and heavy. Guilt, maybe. Or something close enough to recognize.
Perhaps it had been too far.
“Even with Winston?” he asked, quiet but firm. Their game had gone on too long for anything less than certainty.
She turned sharply, her mouth tightening—but said nothing. Then she looked away, with the smallest shake of the head.
Relief, thin and unfamiliar, stirred in him.
He stooped and picked up the folio, plucking the white pages from among the debris, anticipating her words and what she’d prepared for him.
“Perhaps today got out of hand.” She said nothing as he bent, cupping her cheek in his hand, forcing her to look up.
“When you calm down, you’ll see the clarity of it all.
And then you’ll give me your decision. But for now, all of this”—he motioned to the destruction around him—“is over.” She stared at him, expression flat and listless.
He shook it off, the small golden sun crunching beneath his feet as he winked out of existence.