Chapter Fifty-Two
Jackson
A hand squeezes my shoulder, and when I look behind me—Death is standing there. My father. He's dropped his true form. The onyx robes laden with eternity and that all-seeing skull face are replaced by the body of a human man, wearing a dove-grey suit like a second skin. His face is solemn, drained.
He stretches forward across me, and his fingers touch the white flesh of Millie's wrist, just on the pulse. The softest of sighs leave Millie's lips, her chest falling still. He pulls back, a look of anguish and guilt on his face. My body freezes, and everything stops. The blood thunders in my ears, and my stomach crashes down to the ground. My world stops spinning.
“Hello, son.”
I turn back to Millie, my breathing erratic, my body no longer under my control. A torrent of feelings clash and tumble, smashing together violently inside me. I take her hand, squeezing it tightly as if I have the power to force life back into her, to steal another moment, to steal an eternity of moments.
But she's gone.
“What did you do?” I turn, exploding off the bed.
Death takes a step back but otherwise doesn't react. His face doesn't change.
“I'm sorry.”
Turning, I glance down at her once again. Her face is peaceful, the fear that had been clinging to it a moment ago gone, only echoed in a tear lingering on her cheek.
“I was supposed to … it was supposed to be me.” I can barely utter the words, the roaring in my ears too loud to think, to speak, “What did you do?”
I launch myself at him before I even realise I’ve moved, shoving him hard into the wall, my forearm pressed against his throat. He doesn’t react, which angers me more, and I press harder, feeling the crunch of bones, but still nothing. His face is calm, passive against the red-hot fury of my rage.
“I couldn't let you do it.” His voice cracks under the weight of my arm, but I don't relent. I press harder.
“That wasn't your decision to make!” I yell in his face, feeling the heat radiating off my skin.
His silver eyes remain soft, the sympathy in them worse than any violence Death could bestow on me. “No. But I made it.”
“Why?!”
“Because I'm your father!” Desperation flashes in the molten mercury of his eyes, bursting through his mask-like expression. His voice splinters under the weight of it. “I'm your father.”
Something deflates inside. The storm fuelling me fades, and the waters of my soul turn still. I let him go, stumbling back and sinking onto the bed. I take her hand once more, grounding myself in the feel of her skin, leaning closer to breathe in her scent.
“I've allowed you to push me away, to deny me, for nearly a hundred years. I'm not going to do that anymore, Jackson. You're my son, and I will be here for you, whether you want me here or not.”
I say nothing, just turn my head to gaze down at her face. Her hair flows around the pillow like an ocean, her dark lashes pressed against the pale silk of her cheek. She's both Millie and not Millie at all.
“I needed to spare you this. I had to.”
My pain is a physical, living thing. It grows and writhes, clawing at the underside of my flesh, ripping me apart from the inside out. The agony is unbearable, and I want to rip it out of me with my bare hands, but it's never going away. I feel it dig deeper into me with every passing second.
“Then why are you here? You should be with her?” I snap.
He sighs, and I hear his footsteps on the carpet as he moves closer. He sits on the bed beside me, careful to keep his distance. I glance at his face but quickly turn away, seeing too much of myself there.
“You've spent this entire time searching for my powers. By now, I'd have hoped you'd establish that I can move through time.”
“And so can I.” I snarl. “I'll undo it.” I turn and glare at him.
His eyebrow rises towards his hairline.
“Not without this, you won't.” He lifts his hand, and the scythe appears in a flicker before disappearing once more. “You might have my powers, but you have a lot to learn about how to use them and some things you'll never be able to master without the scythe. Reversing time is one of them. I'm here, and I'm with her.”
“She's not alone?” I whisper, shivering at the thought of it.
The smile drops, and his face turns serious.
“No, she's not alone.”
Saying nothing, I turn back to her, seeking the remnants of Millie even though I know she's not here. I slide my fingers through her hair, still feeling the lingering heat of her body—the heat that life creates, the warmth already fading. I lean closer, close my eyes, breathe her in deeply, and let myself pretend that she's asleep. Just for a second. Just to pretend.
“You can go now,” I growl, still feeling his presence at my back.
“No. I'm going to stay. You need me.”
I laugh at that. The noise is wrong, unnatural. The sound breaks up the painful silence of the room, her absence, and the void it's already created. I sit up and look at him.
“I don't need you. I survived a childhood without knowing you. I lost Maman without you with me. I’ve lived a whole life without you. Why would I need you now? Just go,” I say bitterly.
“No,” he repeats. “You're right. I lost myself in mourning your mother, so much so that I couldn't face you. I couldn't bring myself to look in your face in case I saw hers looking back at me. More than anything, I want to go back … go back and change it.”
I turn to him, about to protest, but he shakes his head.
“I won't. It would be easier, but it wouldn't fix anything. I’ve learnt that for every wrong you make right, another is lurking around the corner. Changing one won't stop another.”
“Please. Leave me alone.”
“No.”
“You needed my help. You sent those ravens to me, and I just … I left you there,” I mutter, the hollow in my belly growing. Turning towards him, I meet his eye. “I could have done more, and I didn't.”
He smiles at me. There's no malice there, no lingering anger. Just sadness etched into the lines around his eyes.
“I could hardly judge you for that.” His smile fades, and he swallows hard. “Not after the decisions I made for your mother, for you …”
His words drift away, but I've stopped listening anyway. My body is heavy. A dull pain throbs behind my temples. A day of fear, of tears, and it all led to this. To this emptiness, to this pain. I have existed for more than a hundred years, and I have felt more this day than every other day I have lived all together.
His hand returns to my shoulder. “She's gone, son.”
I didn't realise till he touched me that I'm shaking, that my body is shuddering wildly. Like a fallen star, my whole body, my whole soul, is collapsing in on itself. I'm on my knees on the edge of the bed, my hands gripping hers—searching for life, searching for her. I have no tears, but my body shakes with dry sobs. His hand remains on my shoulder, the other across my chest, my back pressed against him. He holds me still as I tremble. Deep, guttural sounds are ripped from my throat.
Death holds me tightly as if he fears I may shatter. He says nothing, and as I scream and yell at the world, at him. He doesn't let me go.
I don't know how long it lasts before it ends. All I know is that, at some point, it does. The sun hangs high in the sky, its burning rays scorching through the blinds. Despite the early hour of Millie's death, I have been breaking apart for hours.
With his arm still across my chest, he whispers, and I hear the strain in his voice. Is it the memories of Mum's death? Of mine? Of every person ever reaped across time. I don't know, but the pain, an echo of mine, calms me somehow. After Mum died, before Millie, all I had ever felt was alone. Maybe I pushed him away, but he never pulled me back to him. Never fought for me, his son, his family, but right now, he is.
“I know you're not ready. I know you never will be and you won't want to hear this, but there are mortal things … things like phone calls, things that need to happen now.”
“I can't. Not yet.”
His voice is hoarse, raw.
“Yes, you can. And I'll be right here.”
I swallow hard, my body feeling limp and hollow. All I am now is empty. The idea of making a phone call, of getting up, of her being taken from this place. These are abstract thoughts a million miles away from me right now. Echoes of a reality I can barely remember. Death moves back, gently pulling me into a sitting position. He looks at me, his eyes swollen, concern etched into his features.
“You're not leaving?” I whisper.
“No. I'm staying right here. We'll do it together, all of it.”
Nodding, I run my hand over my face. I realise that, at some point, I've been crying. Salty tracks have dried on my face, making the skin feel tight.
“It's time, Jackson,” Death says. Standing up behind me, his hand once again clutches my shoulder.
I turn to Death, looking up at his face. “Will you do it? Will you make the call?”
“Of course.”
He squeezes my shoulder gently before walking out of the room, slipping a phone from his pocket as he moves. I watch him go, hear his voice echoing through the empty cavern of my apartment. She never lived here, but she had filled every space with her scent, with her touch, with our memories together.
I move back closer to Millie, curling my body towards her. I slip my fingers through her silky hair, brushing it across her forehead. Leaning down, I press my lips against her skin.
“Goodbye, beautiful.”
Then quietly, as Death continues to talk on the phone, I glance at Millie one last time before storming out of the room and running to the front door. Death's footsteps echo loudly behind me, yelling my name as I slam the door behind me.
Leaving him behind, leaving my life behind.