Epilogue
Death’s Door, LLC
I sit at my desk with my Scrabble tiles arranged before me. The bag is nearly empty, the board taking shape. The tiles and letters rest on the game board, telling a story all their own. A story that has me down by six points with only a few moves left to make.
“Your game has been impressive. Strategic. Thoughtful,” I mumble to my unseen opponent.
I lean back in my chair and scan my tiles again. My mind bounces between the game in front of me and the game playing out all around the OtherWorld. Deities run amok. Divisions in disarray. My fragile order teetering.
“And I find that rather annoying,” I say, moving six tiles into place. REVENGE. Twenty-two points with the double-word score. “It’s like Shakespeare said—All the world’s a game and all the men and women tennis players. Or something like that. The point is, I love games, and I hate losing.”
I tap my fingers against the desk as the board spins for my OtherWorld competition. Tiles float into place on the board—MISQUOTE. They used my E in REVENGE, dropped the Q on a double letter, and used all seven tiles. And I think I’ve been insulted on top of that seventy-nine-point turn.
“You think you’re so cute, don’t you?”
I study the board, considering my next move. One of my subjects disobeyed my orders and went traipsing through The Catacombs, and a deity is running around, stealing denizens of my realm. The word forms in my mind as the letters form in front of me—CHAOS.
“Chaos. I’m adding the S to your very rude ‘misquote’ play. That, plus the double-word score, makes that a forty-pointer.”
I reach my hand into the bag and grab the final tiles.
I add them to my rack and assess the combinations while my opponent contemplates their next move.
The playing surface swings around, and I glance up, expecting to see a word float onto the board.
Instead, I see a person sitting in the previously vacant chair opposite me.
“You,” I say and note the hint of surprise in my voice.
“Me,” he returns with a smile.
“What are the chances?”
“There’s only one Chance,” Mercy’s brother quips and plays his tiles—WORD. “Word. Eight points, no bonuses. Three tiles left.”
“Word?” I exclaim, more than a little annoyed. “You can’t just play the word word.”
“Why not?”
“We’re doing symbolism here. I need your words to speak to the larger issues present in the OtherWorld right now. I need this board to help guide my thoughts. I need a metaphor, you lazy shit.”
“Gotta play the hand I’m dealt, boss. We all do. If I’d had a Y, I could have played rowdy. But then again, if you had a Maddy, you wouldn’t have an impending war on your hands. So, like I said, gotta play what we’re given.”
“I don’t like you.”
“Give it time. Everyone loves me when I work in their favor.”
I scan my final letters, trying to figure out if I can still win this thing. I want nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his beautiful, chiseled, statuesque face.
I move some tiles in front of me, seeing what combinations I have to build on, but the current predicament continues to cycle through my thoughts.
My rules were simple and meant to be obeyed.
No afterlife reconnections. Every soul begins in this realm alone.
The lonely are much easier to control. And then this sower of dissent sitting across from me had to get involved, and now the seams are ripping everywhere—and fast.
I see the word in my hand, then find a place to play it. The P will land on a triple letter—perfect. “RUPTURE. Fifteen points. One tile left, and that gives me a five-point lead.”
I smile and cross my arms, then immediately uncross them and reach for a Twizzler from Nana’s skull. While Chance eyes his final three tiles and the crowded game board, I chew thoughtfully, then ask him the question that’s been buzzing in my brain. “Why?”
He looks up. “Ah, everyone’s favorite question.
Souls all crave an explanation, don’t they?
People can handle almost any situation as long as they think they can understand it.
As long as they think there’s a reason. But here’s the twist: I don’t need a why.
Chance requires no justification, no causality, no logic.
It just is. I just am. And this game”—he pauses and hovers his fingers over the tiles; he reaches for all three and lays down the word END—“is over.”
“End,” I grumble to myself. “Now he learns to play words that match the story. Lucky bastard.”
I take a deep breath and release it with a heavy sigh. “Good game.”
“Good game.”
“Now I’ve got a realm to protect and a deity to track down. I’m sure you have better things to do than sit around and gloat.”
“I can’t think of anything. This place is a lot of fun. I think I might stick around.”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
Chance grins. “Which only makes staying that much more appealing, I’m afraid.”
“Can I count on your allegiance at least?”
He gives me a noncommittal shrug. “Can’t count on much in this world.”
“Except Death.”
“Indeed.” A sinister grin splits his ageless face, and his eyes alight with dangerous intent. “In that case, wanna play again?”
I don’t answer right away. I’m not sure what the move is here. Keep Chance close and engaged, or hope he loses interest in the world I’ve built and goes off to bother someone else?
He goads me. “Come on … I’ll let you go first.”
I growl and allow my anger to guide my judgment. It’s not ideal, but it feels somehow inevitable. Mortals answer to me. Fate and Time answer to me. And even Chance, in the end, will answer to me.
“Fine,” I rasp. “Clear the board.”
THE END