《Mortal Coils》


 Chapter 1 - To Converse Between Particles

    The air had the scent of death.


    It smelled of rust and rot. Of wilting flowers and electrical cut-outs. Of burnt toast and melting plastic. The scent had that odd thickness you would feel in your throat if you breathed it in. It would cover your lungs and settle with great heaviness. A heaviness that told you to count your blessings.


    This air had an unnatural weight.


    The dust particles that flew in the air above, and around the two talking beings down on the floor, were safe - confident even - with the knowledge that no being could ever understand their ancient language.


    They whispered the great secrets of the cosmos to one another freely and without discourse. They knew the secrets of how light was born, how rock was formed from atoms upon atoms and how the laughter of a child could quell the rage of an animal or smite the evil of a demon¡­


    They floated around the hall which loomed over the conversation below. The hall was comprised of marble, brick and stone. And whilst it was not as old as the dust particles by any margin, the hall had been standing strong and silent for a thousand eternities. For eons upon eons, time folding over time, it had reigned over the land that would exist forever, before Time and afterwards.


    The hall was there when the seven ageless Elementals formed their omnipotent designs for the universe and the hundreds of others that existed in blissful ignorance of one another across the ever-expanding range of the Multiverse.


    The hall was there when light was born from Life. And darkness followed its older sibling into existence by the good graces of Death.


    The hall would be there forever¡­


    The building which the hall sat within was more imposing than the deadliest prison and greater than the tallest skyscraper. It ruled over the land and across the spectrum of that reality from which it had been formed. Anyone who witnessed it would be awestruck.


    Outside the impossible hall and surrounding the incomparable building, the lifeless wind could be heard gently passing through the hundreds of the building¡¯s alcoves and windows. The world outside the hall rolled onwards, upwards, backwards and downwards.


    Borrowing its nature from its architect, the building and the surrounding land held no regard for the rules of nature. Like their owner, they never aged and never wavered. The rules of reality, which humanity¡¯s creations strictly abided by, did not have a hold here.


    The second person of the conversing pair bowed respectfully to the first. The particles knew him very well and had known him for three thousand years. This deity had existed for that long and performed his mortal duties with great deference, punctuality and precision.


    Donn. That was his name. He was conscientious and someone to be relied upon. A noble stalwart and a quiet taciturn. He was a deity who suffered no fools. But inside that stone-like veneer, deep within¡­ there fluttered sparks of kindness and understanding which only a lucky few had a slim chance of seeing.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    The first person, with a gently commanding voice and an indomitably calm presence, nodded and gestured to the front door of the great building which stood beside them. The black door that would lead back to the world of the living. This person was the first being in existence, the oldest and most powerful of the seven Elementals. They held only one name¡­ Death.


    ¡°You understand that you must leave from Homerton Station?¡± Death reminded.


    Donn inclined his head in some confusion. ¡°I still do not understand why I must go to a station to begin with. The carriage will come to wherever I am.¡±


    ¡°Just do so. It is crucial that you must.¡±


    ¡°Very well. As you command.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Donn. Happy reaping.¡±


    Donn bowed once more, turned on his heel and walked out of the door, as he had always done from the beginning of his creation. The same old path¡­ He knew that to be his role and thus did not question his commands. The door slowly closed behind him with a dull thud that echoed slowly in that grand hall.


    Of course, there are many, many things that the beings of this universe do not know.


    Donn knew many secretive things. But his knowledge paled in comparison to the one who commanded him.


    For Death knew everything.


    There was nothing in Death¡¯s world and in all the worlds beyond the one that you live in that Death did not know.


    Death knew why the sun loved the moon.


    Death knew how darkness protected light.


    Death knew everything¡­ That was Death¡¯s power. That was Death¡¯s birthright and ability. Not a day went by where Death had to be informed on a matter. But today was not that day.


    Death did not have full knowledge. In that dimension, at that very point in time, things were very wrong. An incident, one of great magnitude, had occurred. One which Death nor its kin had any prior inkling of.


    Such an experience was a puzzling one for the Elemental. It had never experienced something as human as an ¡®error¡¯ before. It was¡­ disconcerting. This worried Death. But the worry was as brief as breath on a mirror. Death had a plan. All the Elementals did in moments such as these.


    The Schedule. Undeniable. Irrefutable. The Truth of the Multiverse.


    And the Schedule required that Donn depart the living world from the city of London and most importantly, from a station called Homerton. It did not matter what he did beforehand and afterwards. That was the only detail Death cared about being completed down to the letter. Donn could not leave the way he came in. He could arrive as a Reaper. But must leave the mortal realm as a mortal. That was imperative.


    Death had every faith in him to succeed in his unusual task, as Death did with all the others under its employ. Donn was loyal and whilst he acted with his heart and possessed the worrisome trait of overthinking, he was a professional.


    Once Donn had left, Death returned its focus on rectifying the pressing issue.


    Death also expected Donn to return soon and, little did Donn know, not alone¡­ That was also part of the Schedule.


    The silence gradually fell upon Death as the echoes of the closing door receded into the air.


    Death sighed with a low relief, turned and walked down its hall.


    ¡°I hope you all shall be discreet in this affair.¡± Death asked of the particles, who fluttered around the Elemental¡¯s head with great deference. If one had listened carefully, one would swear they heard a smile in that request.


    Oh yes. Death could hear their infinitesimal chatter easily¡­ Death enjoyed their company.


    With every step that was taken, Death¡¯s presence gradually faded away.


    There was work to be done. There was always work to be done¡­

 Chapter 2 - Homerton Station

    The city of London was pretty bloody cold that night. In fact, if Emily Davidson could recall rightly, it was damn near freezing. The forecast had said it was going to be the coldest Halloween in ten years. Emily could see actual frost creeping along the edges of her cracked bedroom window and she could feel the chill penetrate the clothes she wore. Looking through the window, Emily could see that Elsdale Street, her home street, was certainly empty that night. Only the drunk or the desperate would be out in that frost. Emily was the latter.


    The cold would have hopefully discouraged any nighttime strollers as well. Good thing too, for Emily didn''t want anyone witnessing her escape from home. For the last time.


    She picked up a hoodie - which was two sizes too large - and draped it over her shabby rock concert T-shirt, a grey woollen shirt and a deep blue jumper. Her denim trousers, ripped at the knees due to wear and tear and later justified by herself as a fashion statement, hugged her legs with a tight embrace to resist the cold.


    She had hoped that her clothes were going to help her against the frost, even though they were the only clothes she could wear. If she was to suffer cold knees for a chance at freedom, then so be it.


    She knew that her trainers were muddy, ripped in places and were in desperate need of replacing. But they had to do for now. Emily didn¡¯t have the luxury of choice.


    The rucksack was heavy. It dug into her shoulders. That was to be expected. She had a lot to carry. If she was to escape and later survive, she needed everything that she was taking with her.


    Standing on the stairs, she quickly threw a cautious glance to her father¡¯s bedroom door. It was closed and the light was still off. Emily strained her ears to listen for a sound of movement, or anything at all. Stay asleep. Stay asleep.


    But only silence greeted her eardrums. Satisfied that danger was averted so far, she turned back to the steps and gingerly stepped down the stairs.


    One step at a time, she begged her body. One. Simple. Step. At a time.


    The stairs had been Emily¡¯s enemy for many years. Anytime she needed to grab a glass of water in the middle of the night, to sneak out of the house to meet her friends or to just get out of the house for a while, the treacherous stairs would always creak with a single nerve-shredding groan. Always loud enough to stir him awake and cause him to rage. A rage that would be quickly followed with swift and vicious punishment. The bruises on her back, legs and arms were certain proof of that.


    If she was to get to where she wanted to go, the stairs could not betray her.


    Not now, not tonight.


    She knew that she wouldn''t see the end of the week if she stayed here any longer¡­


    Mercifully, the stairs seemed to decide not to get her killed. They remained quiet. Even the fourth step from the top, which was the usual culprit, had no intention of snitching on her. For once, the universe was on her side.


    But Emily didn''t waste time relying on her newfound luck.


    She reached the bottom and crept towards the front door at the end of the entrance hall. She reached up and slid the door locks off carefully, placed her thin fingers on the door handle and twisted it.


    The rusted metal squeaked loudly against the strain.


    The hairs on her neck stood up on end.


    Emily whipped her head to the stairs.


    She froze.


    Her eyes twitched up to the top step. Her ears strained to listen for the slightest sound of movement¡­ Nothing. No sounds from his bedroom. No sign of him. All was clear. All was good.


    Breathing a sigh of relief, Emily twisted the handle fully and the door came loose. It swung silently backwards, revealing Elsdale Street before her. The sounds of Hackney''s nightlife shot over the night air. A dog barked from across the road. The dog¡¯s calls echoed through the area.


    Sirens from emergency services reverberated against the brick walls of the homes that lined both sides of the street. Emily stuck her head out of the house and looked up and down the street. She pushed back her braided dark-brown hair to see. There was no one in sight.


    She stepped out of the door and slowly closed it behind her. It clicked shut. She gasped a final sigh of relief. She was out. But¡­


    The sound of a door opening from across the street froze her in her tracks.


    She turned to see a woman leaving her own house that faced Emily¡¯s. Emily soured.


    It was Mrs. Gordon, a middle-aged veterinarian who worked in the city. A nosy neighbour, always intrigued in the business of others and never holding much regard for the principles of privacy. She had a pinched face, all pursed lips and stretched skin. She was a woman who liked gossip and loved scandal. Emily never liked her and Gordon detested Emily in return.


    She watched Emily with sharp eyes and a stern expression. Emily thought on her feet as fast as she could. She turned and waved genially.


    ¡°Happy Halloween.¡± she said, with as much trepidation as one would have in their voice if they were walking on cracking ice.


    Mrs. Gordon nodded briskly at the wishing and walked towards the road. But she still watched Emily with her judging gaze. She stared at Emily¡¯s cut lip and dirty clothes. She made an uncomfortable expression.


    Emily met her invasive look with a defensive stare as she herself walked towards the street. Her fists clenched and her jaw tightened. The both of them reached the wooden gates that were locked at the ends of their front gardens. As if in synch, they both opened their gates and closed them without taking their eyes off eachother.


    Mrs Gordon opened her small wrinkled mouth to say something. Emily gritted her teeth.


    No. No talking, no questions. Just get lost, you nosey old hag. Just go.


    Mrs. Gordon quickly shut her mouth, turned away from Emily¡¯s hard stare and walked up the street. It occurred to Emily that Mrs. Gordon had decided to ignore her because she preferred not to get involved in any possible altercation. No gossip was worth a confrontation at night from a juvenile delinquent accompanied by a vicious drunk for a father.


    Emily watched the woman leave the street.


    Yeah, keep walking¡­ Just let me be. And I¡¯ll let you be.


    Mrs. Gordon turned a corner and was gone. Another obstacle was out of her way. Luck was still egging her on to success. Onto the next milestone.


    Emily made her way out of Elsdale Street and turned the corner. As she walked, she slung her rucksack off and opened a side pocket. From within the pocket, she pulled out her iPod and her earphones. She dusted some muck off the cracked screen of her device, plugged in her earphones and scrolled through her songs.


    She didn''t have a laptop to curate her playlists, that¡¯s what her friends were there for. A few ¡®pleases¡¯ and ¡®thank yous'' in the right moments of a conversation and Emily soon had acceptableaccess to music.


    All she wanted to do now was to fall into the lull of tunes that soothed her somewhat scratched-up soul. She didn''t see herself as a poet or a romantic, but she felt that she had the right temperament for it.


    She decided to shuffle her songs on her playlist. She pressed play and the hissing taps of the hi-hat massaged into her brain. The thumping bass, the thudding drumming and the spittle-covered lyrics of Smash Mouth¡¯s Walkin¡¯ On The Sun pushed her body on as she stalked up the street until she reached another corner and turned around it with sure purpose. The sounds of London died away as she was surrounded by her music.


    The music was a welcome presence to calm herself down. She had to control herself. She had to stop herself from sprinting with excitement.


    She was out. She was finally free. And she fought with all her willpower to not run. She had to look calm as she forged on her path to a freedom that she craved. If she remained calm, she wouldn¡¯t draw attention. If she remained calm, she could form her plans.


    But bloody hell! She was struggling to remain in that state.


    No longer would she have to sleep with one eye open for the lumbering form of a figure to ascend the stairs. No longer would she have to duck and hide when she heard him swearing to himself.


    She knew that she would never go back there. She¡¯d rather die than go back.


    It was the uncertainty of her life in that house that terrified her. Not the beatings. No, those were expected and handled to the best of her ability.


    After enough of those, Emily grew numb to them.


    For Emily, the fear came from the constant worry that someday, those beatings would be taken too far. Taken to a point which her father would decide that it was the point of no return and that he would go the rest of the way. That he would finally kill her.


    She rubbed her neck at the thought.


    The bruises were still raw. Two darkened impressions stretched across her throat. Last night, he had his hands on her neck and had pushed her against the wall.


    He held her there before he quickly came back to his drunken senses and dropped her to the floor.


    He ran out of the house without another word and didn''t come back for hours. Emily just lay there on the floor, coughing and wheezing.


    Throughout these periods of rage-filled anger, Emily never argued with him. Never fought with him. If she did, it would only get worse for her.


    She did not reach out to anyone to talk to. She was that scared of him. Scared of horrors he would visit on her if she ever opened her mouth to him.


    Even if she had the courage to talk, who could she reach out to? She didn¡¯t know anyone that she trusted enough to talk to. Not her friends, she wanted to spare them that. It wasn''t their problem to deal with and if she was being honest, they had problems of their own.


    Emily never spoke with her neighbours. She preferred not to. It was the looks she was given by them that she hated. The same look that Mrs. Gordon had given her.


    A mixture of pity and disgust. All aimed at her dirty clothes, her malnourished body, the colour of her skin and her bruises.


    It made people avoid her. It made them apathetic to her plight.


    That was the disease that she encountered daily on her walks in London. And she herself was infected with it. She had to admit that. She never asked her friends about their own problems. She never looked people in the eye when ordering food in the local chicken shop or buying budget groceries. She would just ask for what she needed, take it, pay for it and get out. Enough. Done.


    And she made it a point to avoid the homeless whenever she could. She just couldn''t stand the guilt-tripping expressions they would give her if she ever looked at them. She¡¯d go as far as crossing a street to avoid them.


    She wondered why she had that aversion in her. Considering her own problems, she¡¯d thought that would make her more open to people and their issues. Maybe even help them to sort them out. But that wouldn''t be the case.


    She hated the effort that had to be made to fix people. Especially when sometimes those situations would be out of anyone''s control.


    Perhaps¡­ perhaps it was also that she couldn''t understand people anymore.


    Or she just couldn''t be bothered enough to care.


    She was on Cassland Road at this point and as she walked up, I Think We¡¯re Alone Now thundered into her soul with a thumping bass drum and buckling guitar strings. Despite the frenetic energy leaping from the music, they brought Emily a sense of calm that she rarely found anywhere else. Music was her mantra.


    Emily watched people passing her, on the way to have a night filled with booze and fun. Some of these people were in the Halloween spirit, dressed to the nines in ghoulish regalia and smeared make-up. All of them were laughing and drinking the night away in a wild abandon of life. There were some who did not share the Halloween tradition and just walked the street in their own musings or in conversation with their friends or partners. But they were all happy. Content with their lives in one way or another¡­


    Emily felt the sting of jealousy in her heart whenever she saw joyous people.


    What is it like? She would wonder where she saw people like that. To have no pain, no sadness¡­ Everything to go so well and dandy for all of you.


    So fucking happy. So fucking pleased with yourselves.


    Can¡¯t you people even imagine pain? How about grief? What about that? Huh?


    Emily shook her head.


    She did not like seeing people being happy. When she did, she could feel the burn in her stomach. That burn would crawl up her throat and make her mouth dry. That burning sensation was envy. Emily knew that and she hated feeling that.


    Life was too complicated for her to understand. Emily couldn''t see eye to eye with her friends anymore. She had lost faith with the life that she was born in. She briskly walked on before she had a chance to get more envious than she was already feeling.


    It didn''t take long for her to reach Homerton Station. Emily stopped short of nearing the heavily graffitied overground station. She looked around the area. Much like her home street, the station was nearly abandoned. She paused her music and approached the entrance.


    As she neared it, Emily found that the only other person in the station was a fatigued ticket officer, who sat in his little office with his feet up on his desk. He was portly, with numerous white-capped pus spots freckling his face. Cropped blonde hair sat on his scalp in such a way that Emily thought it looked like a dead guinea pig.


    Emily sighed with irritation. She recognised the ticket officer. His name was Kyle Fry and she hated talking with him.


    He was one of those types of people who judged you after taking one look at you. Much like Mrs Gordon, Kyle had come to the assumption that Emily wasn¡¯t worth his spit. And the feeling was certainly mutual.


    Kyle did not notice Emily approaching him as he was too engrossed in a novel that he flicked through. His face was deep within its pages. He was humming to himself as he turned the pages with beady eyes. Emily tisked with reserved judgement and then tapped the window with her knuckles.


    He threw his feet on the floor, dropped the book like soiled clothing and stood up straight to face her. ¡°Yeah, can I help-¡± he began before seeing her.


    Upon seeing her, his face slackened and he narrowed his eyes. He looked down at her with his stubbed nose. ¡°Oh. You. What do you want, Davidson?¡± he asked with a hint of spittle in his pudgy throat.


    Emily pulled out two crumpled ¡ê20 notes from her pocket and slid them under the protective glass.


    ¡°Kent, please. One way.¡± she said flatly.


    He nodded slowly and skeptically. ¡°Right, what station in Kent? Kind of need that information, love.¡±


    Emily sighed through her teeth. I¡¯m not your bloody ¡®love¡¯¡­ God, she hated talking with this prick. ¡°Don¡¯t care what station. Just somewhere in Kent.¡±


    They both glared at one another for a few seconds. Emily hated him for one more reason. That reason was the cause of Kyle¡¯s dislike to her.


    While Emily knew of Kyle, Kyle Fry certainly knew of Emily Davidson. And he regarded the skinny teenager with a hard sneer. Kyle knew that she was a problem child in the community, all right. She was known to be a right handful for the off-license shops in the borough and her name was noted by the borough¡¯s police branch.


    Of bloody course she¡¯d be trouble, he once thought when he had heard of her nightly issues. A dead black mother and an angry white trash father. A typical London yob pairing, if I ever saw one.


    A long time ago, Kyle had made it his prerogative in life to stay well clear of those sorts of people¡­ Definitely not the type to associate with.


    Considering who her parents are and were, Kyle had expected the Davidson girl to end up dead in a stabbing or something to do with drugs. Things like that happened a lot to the yobbos around the borough. And that would be the end of that. She¡¯d be gone and Kyle wouldn¡¯t have to suffer seeing her anymore. He could go on with his own happy life. But much to his frustration and unlike the type of people he happily pigeonholed the girl in, Davidson wasn''t stupid.


    She was never incarcerated nor booked for any actual misdemeanours. She knew not to leave tracks. She was quick on her feet or rather that was what people around the borough knew.


    And everyone certainly knew of her father and of his drunk temper. They, and Kyle included, knew to stay very fucking clear of him whether he was drunk or sober.


    For that fact alone, Kyle decided that he wanted no trouble for himself. His shift was nearly over and there was no way he was going to have an altercation with the Davidson girl in the dead of night, on Halloween no less.


    Life was too short and he was not going to mess around with anyone. Not tonight. No-siree.


    So he took her money and printed out a one-way ticket.


    Kyle slid it towards her and whipped his hand back from her, as if she was going bite it off.


    ¡°All right¡­ One way to, uh¡­ Margate then. Three changes. Change your trains at Stratford. Last train¡¯s at 11:30. That good enough for you?¡±


    Emily¡¯s eyes were hard and didn¡¯t blink as she stared at Kyle. ¡°It is.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re travelling alone. Where¡¯s your dad?¡±


    Emily sucked in the air through her teeth and sighed again. ¡°He¡¯s not coming. Just give me my ticket.¡± And hurry the hell up, you dozy, racist tosser.


    Kyle looked past Emily, trying to see if there was anyone else to see this suspicious exchange. He was getting cagey being alone with the girl. He was half-expecting to see a hulking six-foot man practically steaming with medicinal fumes to come stalking up the street to smash his head in.


    Emily didn''t like how this man, this absolute moron, was wasting her time. She leaned onto the counter and then smiled, changing her tact.


    ¡°Look, I got his permission, OK? I¡¯ve got family in Kent. It¡¯s all settled with him.¡±


    ¡°Listen, am I getting into something I¡¯d rather not be in?¡± Kyle was still looking past Emily for any signs of that lumbering father figure with balled fists and a seething expression that could actually scare away guard dogs.


    Emily¡¯s smile started to strain. ¡°No. But the longer I stay here waiting for my ticket, the more awkward it¡¯s going to be for the both of us. My money, please¡±


    ¡°OK, OK. Here. Go on. Get out of here.¡± Kyle quickly slid her cash back to Emily.


    She took the cash with another fake smile. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Emily walked on from Kyle with a jaunty stride and a smile that grew wider with each step. She was good at getting her way. It was one of her favourite traits.


    This little victory was what she wanted to affirm her drastic decision. She had come this far and she was determined to not let anything stop her. Emily purposefully pushed through the turnstiles, ascended the stairs and turned the corner to enter the open platform.


    Fry watched the Davidson girl leave his sight. As soon as she did, he fell back down on his seat, picked up his book and resumed reading. ¡°Waste of space¡­¡± he hissed as his mind gratefully wandered away from the arrogant little bitch.


    Emily looked up and down the Homerton platform. Thankfully, it was empty. She saw another set of stairs that led to the underground tunnel which connected the two platforms of the station. The train which she was supposed to catch was on the opposing platform. Emily quickly entered the tunnel and appeared onto the platform.


    She found a metal bench, with its navy blue paint peeling away and revealing the rusting metal underneath, and sat down. She yawned. The cold had that tiring effect on her. But despite that, something else was weighing her down.


    The smile on her face gradually fell as she looked down at her skin.


    That prick. Her mind wandered back to Kyle Fry, that fat stodgy man. That bloody prick.


    Her skin was certainly not as dark as her mother¡¯s skin. But it was brown enough to heavily attest to that genetic material. She traced her finger over her skin and sighed through teeth that had grown used to being clenched in pain, fear and anger.


    Everyone¡¯s the bloody same. The police. Mrs Gordon. Fry. Everyone. What the fuck is wrong with them? It¡¯s my skin. It¡¯s who I am. Right? So what if I¡¯m not white like them? So what?


    It was same at school. The teachers who would write her off as a lost cause.


    It was the same on the street. The police would watch her more carefully than most.


    It was same in the shops. The owners would keep one eye on her as she¡¯d go inside to get something stupidly simple as a pack of chewing gum¡­


    It was the same treatment. Every day. Every night. It never, ever changed.


    Emily rubbed her face and let out an exasperated groan.


    ¡°Fuuuuuuck them¡­¡± Her voice carried over the silent platform.


    There was no one to moan at, apart from herself.


    Screw it, she thought, screw it and screw them. I¡¯m the one who¡¯s getting out of this prison.


    Making a half-smile with that belief that she had attained some sort of introverted victory against the bigots of the world, Emily checked the digital clock on the screen that hung over her head. It had the listings of all the trains that were arriving at the station.


    And as the bigot Kyle had said, there was only one train left. The time was now 10:45. Emily had forty-five minutes to stay alert for danger. Emily looked to the tunnel and thoughts ran through her head.


    I wonder¡­ What if he woke up as I left and followed me? What if he knows where I am and he¡¯s coming for me right this second?


    She was certain that she had left him asleep and unaware of her plans. She clenched her fists.


    But what if he decided to come all the same and somehow, with sheer dumb luck, so happens to choose Homerton to start or end his search?


    With that worrying thought needling at her brain, Emily started to will the train to come earlier and she hoped that the schedule was wrong.


    She rubbed her knees and sighed through chilled teeth. She needed music. It would help pass the time and it would at least calm her nerves down.


    She leant back on the bench and closed her eyes to rest. Not to sleep, that was too risky, but to just rest. But as soon as she closed her eyes, sleep ambushed her.


    It only felt like a second in her mind when she suddenly was jolted awake by thumping bass tones. She paused her music and blearily looked to the clock. It now read 11:10.


    She had slept for a dangerous twenty-five minutes. She was lucky that she had not slept through her train¡¯s arrival and departure. As she regained her awareness, she turned to discover a man was seated next to her on the bench.


    She flinched in surprise at the appearance of the stranger. He turned and regarded her with a friendly enough smile. And Emily stared at this strange man.


    The stranger was dressed in an opened pinstriped black suit, with brown Churches shoes and a white silk shirt. The man was very lean, almost too lean, with sculpted muscles in his chest, arms and legs. If a person judged him solely based on his physique, then that person would assume that he was handsome and healthy. But that would be before that person saw this stranger¡¯s eyes.


    The irises in his chalky eyes were the colour of tar. There was no light within them. They were black holes. They were nothingness.


    Then white skin on his face looked clean enough and he was clean-shaven. But as Emily studied the strange man¡¯s skin, it actually looked¡­


    Emily didn¡¯t know how to describe it¡­ His skin looked like paper, once soaked in oil and water and then pulled over a burning flame- no, wait¡­ Crinkled. That was the word she came up with.


    His groomed-back hair was so blonde, it almost looked white like his skin and it reflected the lights over their heads. His nose was as straight as a bottle cap and looked just as sharp.


    ¡°I apologise if I startled you,¡± he suddenly spoke all the while looking into Emily¡¯s eyes. His accent had a nasally Irish tone and it was the only thing about him that held a semblance of normality. ¡°I fear that I have that effect on people.¡±


    Emily looked around at the platform. There was no one else here. And where was her train?


    The stranger continued to speak. ¡°I know what you are thinking. You¡¯re alone with a man who just so happened to sit right next to you. Don¡¯t worry, I am not one of those people¡­¡±


    Emily stared at the stranger as her mind impulsively threw her back to all the horror movies she had watched with her friends as she grew up. All the 80s slashers films that had haunted her nights for days to come.


    And here she was, in the same situation as many hapless characters within the first ten minutes of any film. They were alone, happy and oblivious to the encroaching danger of a serial killer looking to steal their face, heart or something.


    Is he a serial killer? I don¡¯t know. He looks¡­ normal, I guess. Sounds normal too¡­ But there¡¯s something about him¡­


    Emily couldn¡¯t place what she was feeling. There was an instinct that told her that this person was certainly ¡®not from around here¡¯¡­


    Emily resumed control of her breath. She was not allowing this man to see her being rattled by him.


    She¡¯s suffered at worse hands and she was always ready to stand up for herself in a fight. Should it come to that¡­ So she fought hard to remain calm and collected, all the while attempting to banish away the mental images of her bloody corpse in some ditch next to the station.


    ¡°You¡¯re Irish.¡± Emily said.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The stranger chuckled gently.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Emily leant further away from him, who did not react to her body language at all.


    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± The stranger frowned and looked around in a gestured way. ¡°Doing what anyone does at a station, I imagine. Waiting for my train to arrive. What are you doing?¡±


    Emily crossed her arms and sulked into the bench. ¡°Oh- Never mind.¡±


    Try as she could, Emily couldn''t pin him down.


    Who is he? What is he doing here?


    She checked her watch, it said 11:15. Okay train, you¡¯re taking the piss. Come on.


    The seconds seemed to be crawling by now, willing to torment her with this man¡¯s uncalled for company for a little longer. She glanced at his face to study him a bit more.


    As much as she was creeped out by this person, he still seemed to have an intriguing element about him. It made Emily curious and she wanted to learn more about him.


    Even if he is something I do not want to mess around with¡­ he¡¯s a hell of a lot better than Kyle Fry. He¡¯s something new.


    By then, he was looking at the night sky.


    His eyes, as black as they were, did not reflect the lights of the platform. In fact, any light that reached those two irises were utterly swallowed by those pits.


    He rubbed his knees to dispel the cold and took in a slow breath through his narrow nostrils and exhaled with another slow and patient smile. He watched his breath transform into transparent vapours that floated away and then faded into nothingness.


    ¡°Ah¡­¡± he exclaimed softly. ¡°I love the outdoors¡­ Work tends to keep me close to home. I like that.¡±


    ¡°Right. Where do you live?¡± Emily asked with a searching tone.


    The stranger turned his still gaze to Emily. He smiled at her with patronisingly raised eyebrow. And after uttering a lengthy sigh, he replied with slow nonchalance. ¡°Here and there. Home is where I rest¡­What about yourself?¡±


    Emily said nothing at that. She only squinted her eyes.


    The stranger looked at her with his pair of lightless eyes and held his stare to make it exceptionally clear to the girl that that act of staying silent in a conversation was considered very rude.


    Emily did not get the hint, so he resumed his chatter to banish the induced silence.


    ¡°Happy Hallow¡¯s Eve, by the way.¡± he wished her.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Happy Halloween. I assume you know it¡¯s Halloween tonight.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, of course I know that.¡± she snapped suddenly, which she regretted.


    She needed to control herself. Jesus, weird things were happening to her way too quickly.


    Emily made a mental note at that point to hold her tongue.


    The stranger raised his sculpted eyebrows at the rebuke, so Emily decided to repair the sudden schism between them to ensure no reason for raised tempers on either side. ¡°Why are you so dressed up? You¡¯re looking sharp.¡±


    ¡°Oh this?¡± He patted his suit nonchalantly. ¡°Thank you kindly. I like to be dressed up nice and neat when I go out. You¡¯ve got to look good to do your job, you know?¡±


    ¡°Did it work out?¡±


    The stranger lent into the bench and cracked his knuckles with a modest grin. ¡°I believe so. Yes, I think it did.¡± He then hummed a soft little tune, then leant down to lift up his briefcase and placed it on his knees.


    Emily shrugged and watched him open his briefcase. He then took out a small black book with a smaller bookmark sticking out from the middle. Emily noticed writing on its front cover. It was in silver: Property of Donn.


    So, his name¡¯s Donn. Fair enough.


    Donn placed the book on the empty seat next to him and laid his briefcase back by his feet. Then he reached into his suit¡¯s top pocket for a pair of reading glasses which he placed gently on the bony bridge of his nose. He sighed and took a hold of the book, opening it in the process and began to read. He did all of this with a patient flow-like motion, like a forest stream in summertime.


    Emily found herself becoming fascinated by this ritual-like behaviour. He seemed very methodical in his ways.


    And soon, she realised that once Donn was completed in his motion, he was now watching her watching him. ¡°Uh, yeah?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A bit of light reading. Hope you don''t mind.¡±


    Emily peeked at the opened book. Inside was a drawn picture of an elderly woman, with her name, birth date, age and place of birth. Donn then lifted the book to his face to read it carefully, so Emily was unable to gleam any more information from it. He became as silent as she.


    Emily sighed, struggling to hold herself back from asking more questions.


    Who the hell is this guy? There¡¯s got to be more about him than he¡¯s letting me know. And why do I care about this, like at all? I just¡­ I can¡¯t help it.


    ¡°What- uh, what do you do for a living?¡± she asked.


    Donn did not break his attention from his book as he replied politely as always. ¡°Oh, well¡­ I am a- hmm¡­ You could say that I am a collector.¡±


    ¡°Of what?¡±


    Donn gave a sudden side-eye glance to Emily without so much as twitching his head to her. ¡°Why am I answering all these questions if you won¡¯t answer any of mine?¡±


    Emily opened her mouth, but when she couldn¡¯t come up with a pithy comeback, she sulked into the bench.


    Donn grinned. ¡°Uh-huh. You¡¯re certainly more of a listener than a talker. That¡¯s a good trait¡­ Rude but a good trait.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going on a trip.¡± she said finally after a few minutes of silence.


    Ah, she speaks. ¡°Uh-huh. Where to?¡±


    ¡°Kent.¡±


    ¡°Right.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± she lied.


    He made a second glance to her and then put down the book ¡°If you don''t mind me saying this¡­You seem¡­young to be travelling all by yourself.¡±


    Emily bristled at that remark. Again with the age thing! She hated being underestimated for it. There were days that she wished she was twenty instead of just fifteen.


    ¡°I can take care of myself.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I am sure you can.¡±


    Emily shot him a what the hell that does mean? look.


    Donn returned his own searching look by glancing just above her head. He squinted and blinked in great surprise. What he was looking for was not there. The numbers were not there. They just were not there. At all. Not even a single digit.


    How very curious¡­ he mused. They still did not appeared. Not when I sat and still not now.


    ¡°What?¡¯ Emily snapped. ¡°What are you staring at?¡±


    Donn replied by gesturing to her cut lip. He still did not break his attention from his book as he flicked his eyes back and forth between the two areas of focus. It seemed that the injury certainly didn¡¯t escape his notice then. ¡°Looks recent.¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°Should get that checked out, don¡¯t you think?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious, that type of injury can get infected.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡±


    ¡°So you say.¡±


    Emily roughly grabbed her rucksack in an effort to do something rather than talk to Donn.


    He was asking too many questions. Too many probing questions.


    Emily was determined to wall herself off at that point.


    She opened her bag to search through the multitude of food snacks, soft drink cans and several thick rubber-banded packs of money. It didn''t look organised, but how organised could she be when she was running for her life?


    Donn saw all of this as Emily grabbed and ripped open a Kit-Kat bar. She bit into it and chewed loudly. While Donn knew that it really was none of his business, he just couldn''t sit there and allow a pained expression like hers to continue unasked. He needed to know more. He knew he shouldn¡¯t ask. But that was his flaw. He had been told as much. He cared too much.


    Donn sighed, closed his book and placed it back into his briefcase. He turned his head to give Emily his full attention.


    ¡°Who hit you?¡± he asked with judged caution. Gone was the soft tone in his voice. He was serious. Emily said nothing. She continued to eat.


    Donn did not give in. ¡°Was it your boyfriend? Mother? Father?¡±


    Despite her guarded instincts that were sharpened by years of abuse and fear, Emily involuntarily paused at the word ¡®Father¡¯.


    Seeing that pause, Donn nodded slowly. ¡°Ah. Right. Is there anyone that can help?¡±


    Emily smiled grimly and replied, knowing that she had given the game away. ¡°Did try that once. He said that the next time I do that, he¡¯d throw me down the stairs¡­ I want to get away from him.¡±


    ¡°So that¡¯s why you¡¯re running away.¡±


    Emily glared at Donn. ¡°You think I¡¯m running? Huh?¡± She started to shake with a mixture of fixed anger at the world and crumbling fear at her situation. ¡°I¡¯m- I¡¯m not running away from anything!¡±


    Donn looked at the rucksack and back to Emily.


    ¡°Your bag is stuffed to the brim with food, drink and money that won¡¯t last you three days, so¡­ Yes, I¡¯d say that you are.¡±


    Emily had had enough.


    It was time to lay it all out, maybe scare Donn off with what she going to say next.


    ¡°My mum¡¯s dead. Alright? There.¡± She said this bluntly. She gave Donn a defiant look. Yeah, how about that for an info bomb, mate?


    Donn leant back slowly. ¡°Oh.¡±


    Now he remembered it all so clearly now.


    Emily Davidson¡¯s face had looked very familiar to him when he sat down by her. He was curious to see what she was up to and why she was in a dark station on her own. He then remembered her father, mean bastard that he was.


    There was something familiar in Emily''s mannerisms and the way she spoke¡­ Now he knew why. He couldn¡¯t fault himself for nearly forgetting her. After all, there have been so many faces he had seen in his life.


    Hundreds of thousands of voices, eyes and smiles¡­ But some of the special ones did stand out. Like Emily¡¯s mother. Amy Davidson. Yes, she was a special one.


    Emily sighed angrily and looked away.


    Donn remained quiet. He knew the death. He knew the woman who died that afternoon. He opened his mouth to say something, but he closed it shut. Then he said softly, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± before he even realised that he was saying it.


    ¡°What? What¡¯re you talking about? You weren¡¯t there.¡±


    Donn paused. Oh¡­yes, I was.


    His face fell for a moment, only for a moment, to reveal a trace of pain within his mind. But he recovered quickly before Emily saw anything. He knew that this child was smart enough.


    The small flicker of pained guilt swelled. Donn sighed heavily through his nostrils and rubbed his eyes. He knew it wasn¡¯t his fault. He knew that. But he was there. He was the enabler. He performed his duty. And that duty took away her mother.


    ¡°I am very sorry.¡± he said again, with a voice slightly cracking under the strain in his chest. ¡°I cannot imagine the pain you went through.¡± Donn had no idea why he was saying such things. He only hoped it would help heal the wound he had inflicted on Emily¡¯s life.


    Emily stared at Donn. Something in Emily broke. Was there a crack in the wall that she had learnt to build around herself to avoid situations like this? Emily wished she hadn¡¯t had said that to Donn. It was not of his business. It was stupid to do that. But she did it all the same.


    Then Donn went and said sorry¡­ Emily couldn¡¯t remember the last time someone had done that for her. No one, not her dad nor even her friends or anyone in the street who gave two shits about her. But Donn did. This stranger, this weirdo actually gave a damn.


    Emily had no idea how to react to something like that. To kindness¡­ To empathy. But her body knew. She felt her chest tighten and her stomach coil. Her throat became coarse and she knew what would going to follow. Tears. Stupid tears.


    After all that had happened, it was a wonder that she held so strong for this long¡­


    Emily shuddered under breath and fell forward. Resting her elbows on her knees, she buried her head in her hands and breathed heavily into them. She refused to cry. She was not going to god-damn cry in front of him.


    She wanted to sink into the metal. She wanted the metal to envelop her, to protect her from the harmful world.


    In her current position, Emily saw no reaction from Donn, if only a slight widening of his eyes. What Emily did not see was the anger that swelled quickly within Donn¡¯s soul. A subtle expression like the widening of the eyes spoke volumes of emotion when it came to people like Donn.


    Donn despised injustice of this sort. In his line of work, a fair balance was key. When there was too much evil¡­ well, he just couldn''t stand it.


    Concerning Emilys mother, he had done a duty. But he wasn¡¯t proud of it. Not in a snowflake¡¯s chance in Hell. Donn looked up at the night sky and watched the stars.


    Why, Fate? He asked of the unknowable and illusive Elemental. Why punish this child? She has done no wrong to the world¡­ It isn¡¯t fair.


    When he saw such pain hurting a young child, something in him would boil.


    And then you curse her with a life that is tormented by her own father¡­


    At that point, Donn thought to himself on how mankind was able to balance having the ability to care for animals and babies so implicitly, while at the same time have the capability to harm those very same defenceless creatures. In all the years he had experienced, Donn could not understand the dichotomy of the soul. What sort of father would bring a child into the world with care enough to do so, only to punish the child for even existing? What sort of man hurts those that he should care as is his solemn duty as parent and protector? What sort of human is able to do such acts?


    Why are there parents who do such things? Donn knew of millions of children out there in the city and in the country and in the continent who suffered the way that Emily did. The carelessness and cruelty of ill-prepared parents hurting children was something that he could not comprehend.


    And Donn despised it with a human¡¯s level of passion.


    He thought himself to be a good person. It was simple enough to say thank you to a stranger for opening a door to him or for another to bring him food whenever he dined. It was simple enough just to be kind. For him, he found it far easier and enjoyable to be kind than to be cruel.


    There was a quote that had amused Donn in the previous century. Through this reflection he had recalled it. It was something the author C.S. Lewis had said:


    ¡®There is no neutral ground in the universe: every square inch, every split second is claimed by God and counterclaimed by Lucifer.¡¯


    That caused a wry smile on Donn¡¯s face. Good and Evil existed in the hearts of humanity and warred constantly with that delicate balance. Donn knew this. And he had hoped, a long time when he was mired by naivety, that goodness would spread throughout the continents.


    The meek shall inherit the earth.


    But now, after what he had seen and heard during this century alone¡­ Donn was growing more assuredly that Evil was gaining ground.


    If someone like him, with all the death that followed him, could do such acts without expectation of reward, how hard could it be for any human?


    Donn thought of the girl beside him, now soaking the pavement with tears.


    He felt the guilt within him, for he knew that he was the architect of her suffering¡­ He knew that all her recent pains stemmed from his one action.


    He wished that it hadn''t been him.


    He wished it was one of his colleagues in his stead who could bear that responsibility.


    But such was his duty.


    This country was part of his domain. It could only be down to him to do what had been done. That being said, he did not do it with a smile. But with a resigned grimace. He then hoped despite the evils she had suffered, that she would be kind in her life. Now that she knew its true value after being denied it for so long¡­ But seeing her behaviour, the sheer wall that she built, Donn was saddened to see how jaded she had become.


    And, for a brief and foolish moment of comforting a distressed soul, Donn let his guard down.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, Emily. It¡¯s fine.¡± No sooner had her name passed his lips, that Donn knew it to be a poor choice of words.


    Emily snapped open her eyes. She leapt to her feet and backed away from Donn.


    ¡°What the-?! How do you know my name? I didn''t tell you that!¡±


    Donn closed his eyes. ¡°Ah. Yes¡­ Could you ignore that last part?¡± He smiled, as if the revelation did not happen.


    Emily took another step back from him. Her heart thudded against her ribs, blood pumped past her ears. She was feeling cold and her legs shook against the sheer instinct to flee. But she remained exactly where she stood as she questioned the strange man who knew her name.


    All of her suspicions about this man were coming to light.


    She thought he was a murderer or some psychopath or a stalker. Now, it seemed he was all of them plied into one.


    ¡°How did you know that? Huh?! Don¡¯t lie to me!¡±


    ¡°¡­What do you want me to say, Emily?¡± Donn rubbed his knees.


    A hundred questions thundered through her mind, but her mouth could only conjure one. ¡°Who are you? Are you some sort of-?¡±


    Emily dug her hand into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Donn watched her.


    ¡°What are you doing now?¡± he asked.


    Emily could hear a touch of iron in his silky voice. He sounded worried. Good. ¡°Calling the police! You¡¯re freaking me out!¡±


    ¡°I am not doing that.¡± he said.


    ¡°Oh yeah?! You know my name, you sit next to me, you talk to me! You¡¯re a stalker or something!¡±


    Donn took a set forward. ¡°Please, don¡¯t call that number.¡± His hand was raised to her. His eyes focused on her. ¡°Don¡¯t make this a hassle.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me the truth! How did you know my name?¡±


    Donn sighed. ¡°Emily. Please.¡±


    Emily dialled the emergency number and called it.


    ¡°Oh for the love of¡­¡± Donn patted his trouser pocket.


    In Emily¡¯s eyes, the world shifted from light to darkness then back to light in only a tenth of a second.


    It was within the blink of an eye but Emily¡¯s phone was now in Donn¡¯s hand. Emily still had her hand to her ear. It took only a second for Emily to realise this. She limply dropped her hand to her side and stared at Donn, who cancelled the call.


    Emily started to feel dizzy as she gawked at the man who had somehow snatched her phone from her fingers without taking so much as a single step.


    ¡°What the fuck is going on here¡­¡± she demanded, summoning what little power she had in her voice which was under the grips of a growing fear of the man.


    Donn pocketed Emily¡¯s phone, crossed his arms and looked down at his shoes. He nodded slightly. Then he seemed to have made up his mind in the form of a growing smile and an embarrassed chuckle. He looked back up to Emily and nodded.


    ¡°Ah feck it. If you must know¡­ Emily, I am a god.¡±


    Emily¡¯s gawking increased in the form of widened eyes and a widening mouth. There was a chill up the back of her neck. Then she laughed. ¡°Bullshit! No way. No fucking way¡­¡±


    Her laughter died slowly, when she saw that the man before her was not laughing. He had a most serious look on his face.


    ¡°Oh my god. You¡¯re not joking.¡±


    Donn shook his head.


    ¡°I am not. I am a god. A god of death to be precise. My name is Donn, as you very well know. But I do go by other monikers: The Lord of the Dead or The Dark One. My superior, is THE Death. The original who gave me and my colleagues our jobs and our very existences.¡±


    Emily was, quite understandably, dumbfounded.


    ¡°Now,¡± Donn continued, ¡°I know this may be a little bit overwhelming. But please do not be alarmed by this sudden influx of information or my prior knowledge of your name. I know your name, Emily Davidson, because I have always known it. And I will know all the names of all the peoples who reside here in this continent. I learn of your names when you were born. That is the case for all those who are born here and all those who are to die here. Now I stand here, awaiting my train which will take me back home. Back to my world. Now¡­ is that good enough for you?¡±


    Emily¡¯s legs suddenly lost all their strength and she collapsed on the floor. She stared at Donn with fearful eyes, brimming with tears. ¡°Are you- are you going to kill me?¡± she stammered.


    Donn blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You fucking work for Death! Jesus! You sat next to me. Talked to me! Are you going to kill me? Do I die here?! Is that it? Am I already dead?¡±


    Donn gave Emily a curiously pitying look, which was followed with another of his laughs. ¡°No! Now why on this planet would I do that? I¡¯m not a murderer. Stand up Emily!¡±


    Donn sat down on the bench and gestured to Emily to the same. Gingerly, Emily approached the bench but sat on the part furthest away from him. Donn took no insult from it. He only shrugged with nonchalance and then slid Emily¡¯s phone along the bench for Emily to catch.


    ¡°I just came back from my work and I was told to make my way back via this station. Frankly, I still have no clue as to why, but orders are orders.¡±


    Emily wasn¡¯t listening. She was checking her watch. It was well past 11:45.


    Her train was late. But that didn¡¯t seem to matter now.


    She struggled to control her beating heart and when she was able, she asked, ¡°So why are you here tonight? In my world?¡±


    ¡°Tonight is Halloween. All the souls that are to be reaped throughout the world will be all riled up and agitated. It happens every year. Me and the others must be on the alert to catch and send by any souls that manage to find a way out of Limbo. And believe me, that happens¡­ And deaths, as you can imagine, occur quite a lot on this night. We¡¯re all working overtime on this. Honestly, it is utter bedlam. And if you are about to ask how I can keep up with the reapings, don¡¯t. It¡¯s complicated.¡±


    Donn checked his pocket watch. ¡°And as it happens, seems my train is arriving quite soon. Where are you going, Emily?¡±


    Emily rubbed her face. ¡°I-¡­ I said Kent. Doesn''t look like my train¡¯s getting here though.¡±


    ¡°That does seem to be the case, yes. Typical delays in this city¡­ But this destination you spoke of. With little conviction I might add¡­ Where do you want to go, really? You don¡¯t know, do you?¡±


    ¡°So what?! I am never going back! I- I want to feel safe for once! I just want to have a home!¡±


    Donn leant forward on his knees. He gave Emily another look. Emily looked into that black eyes and somehow, she could discern a softness in those pupils that she did not notice before.


    Emily snorted a laugh that was gargled by residual tears in her throat. ¡°My dad¡¯s a nutter. I don¡¯t ever want to see him again.¡±


    Donn sucked in air through his teeth and sighed. ¡°Ok then¡­ In that case, how about-¡±


    But whatever solution Donn was about to mention had to wait.


    The quietness between the two of them was broken by a man¡¯s scream.


    Both Emily and Donn recognised the man¡¯s voice. It was Kyle Fry. The scream was bloodcurdling not only in its pitch and volume but with its duration. It was quick and was instantly silenced¡­


    Emily leapt to her feet, shocked with eyes scanning the surroundings.


    Donn stayed perfectly still, calm as he had always been. His eyes fell upon the station¡¯s entrance, from which the sound came. He had expected the death coming, but he was surprised to not know how.


    There was no other sound for maybe three seconds. Then heavy footsteps echoed from the entrance.


    Emily gripped her bag tightly. Her shoe scrapped the floor. She knew those footsteps better than anyone.


    Donn checked on her. She looked as if she was ready to run, but she was rooted to the spot in fear.


    ¡°Don¡¯t run, Emily. Stay calm.¡± he said.


    Emily swallowed some saliva, but said nothing. Her voice seemed to die in her throat. She was utterly terrified.


    The footsteps grew louder and louder until finally they saw a burly bulk of a man with tree trunk-like arms appearing from the entrance. He wore a leather bikers jacket with a hoodie underneath. His torn baggy jeans were too long and his beard was thick and dirty with pieces of food and crusted alcohol. His buzz cut brown hair was flecked with grey strands. He was forty-five and the wrinkles on his caucasian skin showed it. His bloodshot eyes scanned the platform and when his eyes rested upon Emily, they narrowed and his hand which held a bloody kitchen knife trembled. This was Emily¡¯s father, Fredrick Davidson.


    A man mired in suffering, which the words ¡®affection¡¯ and ¡®selflessness¡¯ had no place in his current vocabulary. He was at this point an unforgiving, impatient and - evidently - murderous man.


    It is important to know - like Donn did at that moment - that Fredrick was not always like this, but that was a long time ago. Back when he was once a happy man. A kind man. A good man.


    Fred didn''t acknowledge Donn, who still sat quietly and observed the situation unfolding before him with his unnatural coolness. Fred¡¯s eyes stabbed into his daughter.


    ¡°What the fuck are you doing, Em?¡± Fred growled.


    Emily¡¯s voice was that of a mouse. She was that scared. She was no longer free and back in the house. ¡°Dad¡­ listen. You¡¯re drunk. Don¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± he spat. His eyes widened as he yelled. ¡°You want to run away? IS THAT IT? Am I not good enough for you? That¡¯s fine. You want to find a better life? That¡¯s fine. You can fuck off for all I care! You can drown yourself in a lake. But not with my money! Not. My. FUCKING. MONEY!¡±


    Then Emily, feeling a semblance of courage from Donn¡¯s presence and from some tiny seed that grew from her soul, stood her ground and fired back. ¡°I need this money, Dad! A hell of a lot more than you do!¡±


    ¡°You steal from me? ME?! Where do you get off acting like this, you little shit?!¡± Fred raised his gun with his shaking hand and actually pointed it at her.


    There were tears in his eyes. But they were of anger, not love.


    ¡°I raised you. Feed you. Give you clothes. Send you to school, a fuckin¡¯ fortune! Bills! Phone! Films! Make up! Bills! Bills! Bills! And this is how you repay me!? You steal from me!?¡±


    ¡°How did you find me?¡±


    ¡°Why are you running, huh? WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU RUNNING?!¡±


    That was the last straw for Emily. Too long has she been trodden on and kicked down. By her world, by her society, by her teachers, by the police, by her social standing, by her life and by her father. She was sick of not being helped. Of being hurt.


    She was sick of the injustice. So if this was it, if this was the end then, by fucking God, Emily decided to go out the way that she wanted.


    She screamed out all of her resentment at the one person responsible for it. ¡°I want to get away from you, Dad! I don¡¯t want you in my life anymore! You¡¯re an evil fucking prick!¡±


    Emily snapped her mouth shut, having now realised that she said too much. But her fist were clenched and she did not run.


    Not this time. This time, she was determined to show him that he did not scare her anymore. No matter what happened next, she was not going to fear him. Never again.


    Fred stared at his daughter with the widest eyes possible. His jaw went slightly slack in response to her outburst and insult. He blinked many times, like a cow which had lost all sense of direction or logic.


    Donn watched the pair, snapping his eyes back and forth between them. Then Donn looked to Fred as Fred¡¯s face turned from a confused stupor to a wretched scowl. His voice, mired as it was with liquor, fatigue and a brimming madness, shook uncontrollably.


    ¡°You¡­ you fuckin¡¯¡­ I¡¯m gonna¡­ I¡¯m gonna¡­¡±


    Donn finally intervened by standing and speaking. ¡°Yes, this has gone long enough.¡±


    Donn took one step forward.


    And it was within that step which Emily caught a glimpse of a golden coin hanging between the fingers of his right hand. With a single coin¡¯s tap against his leg and as his foot fell on the concrete floor, Donn vanished from her side and suddenly reappeared beside Fred¡¯s.


    The act was quicker than a millisecond.


    Fred cried in shock and lashed out wildly with the knife to cut down the phantasm. He hit his mark. The steel blade drew a red gash straight across Donn¡¯s face - from the middle of his left cheek, across his nose and up through his right eye - causing blood to whip through the air.


    Emily screamed. Donn lurched his face away. But he did not cry out. No. No, he simply turned his face back towards Fred and Fred¡¯s face went white with terror and Emily felt her blood run cold.


    This terror wasn¡¯t the terror she felt at home. This terror was something deeper. Something baser. Something that gnawed on the strings and wiring that connected her survival instincts together. It made her motionless and silent.


    Donn¡¯s calm demeanour had faded away, giving way to a dark and vicious grimace. His undamaged eye had darkened and his already gaunt face was now stretched ever further, causing his visage to slightly revealing the skull underneath the skin.


    The cut was made all the more gruesome by the contorted facial expression. The torn skin peeled back to show red meat spewing blood. Muscles twisted and tightened. His ruined eye was a ruined mess of white jelly and fluid. Donn gritted his teeth and towered over the human.


    Donn twitched his face and with that motion, the cut across his face was faded to ash, leaving not even a scar in its wake. His eye and nose were healed without hindrance.


    ¡°How dare you.¡± Donn murmured. ¡°How dare you.¡±


    Fred spluttered. ¡°What the¡­? What¡­how¡­¡±


    Donn breathed in deeply and when he exhaled, thick black vapours escaped his mouth. He was more demon than man. Rage had consumed him.


    Such a sight would quell the rage and bluster of many a man. Such sights do not belong in our world for a reason. It would prove too much for the human mind to comprehend an rationalise. Fred didn''t bother wasting another second facing the unkillable demon before him.


    He screamed, turned and fled towards the exit, as fast as his feet could carry him. So terrified that he was, so stricken out of his mind with abject fear, that he did not register that he had soiled his trousers. He even didn¡¯t give Emily a glance in her general direction as he reached the entrance and flew down the stairs and out of the station, screaming in terror as he fled.


    Both Emily and Donn remained there as the echoes of Fred¡¯s shoes eventually faded away. When silence returned, Donn turned back at Emily and sighed.


    With that sigh, his eyes reclaimed their light. But as such was the case, he was still rather angry. So he patted down his suit, straightened his hair and walked towards the tunnel. On the way, he looked back at Emily and gave her an open-palmed hand gesture.


    It was to tell her to remain where she was.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± he said with a small smile. ¡°I must now go collect Mister Fry.¡±


    Having seen what she had seen, Emily couldn¡¯t think of anything else she¡¯d rather do. To her, perhaps it was in her interest that she did not attract that particular anger. Emily nodded and Donn walked down the stairs and disappeared into the tunnel.


    A few minutes dragged by till he returned. Emily could see that he was holding onto a silver cigarette case and had just snapped it shut.


    A coin¡­ and a cigarette case, she thought with her mind working in overdrive to keep up with the rapid chain of events that unfolded before her. He uses tools. Okay¡­ No scythe, no hooded cloak¡­ just a bloke in the city going about his day¡­ Fuck me, he¡¯s not even scratched¡­


    He slid it into his pocket, retook his seat on the bench and reclined there.


    He crossed his legs and looked towards Emily, without saying a word. Emily felt his eyes on her and looked back.


    ¡°What?¡± she asked.


    ¡°So. What are you thoughts?¡±


    ¡°My thoughts?¡± Emily snorted derisively.


    ¡°¡­I understand.¡±


    ¡°Can¡¯t you die? My dad- He cut your face.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°With a knife. It went right across your face!¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°Knife! Across your face!¡±


    ¡°It was a large knife, wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°So, I cannot die by those means. Mortal means, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Right, right¡­right¡­¡±


    Emily sat down on the bench. Her legs were shaking. She rubbed her face.


    ¡°Alright. Look. For the sake of me being obviously curious¡­¡± she began, then hesitated at the very notion that she was entertaining and finally continued cautiously.


    ¡°Do you know when I am going to die?¡± She finally had the courage to ask. ¡°I mean, you must¡¯ve known that Kyle was going to die. Right?¡± She watched his eyes. She wanted to know.


    She wanted to know if all she had suffered so far was worth it.


    Those black eyes met hers. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I just want to know.¡±


    Donn gave her another look, unreadable and searching, then he said, ¡°You have a long life, Emily Davidson. To be honest, I can¡¯t see how it will go for you. It is murky and unknowable. But I can tell you that you will live for a very long time¡­ Is that sufficient?¡±


    Emily nodded and smiled slightly. ¡°Yeah, I guess.¡±


    Donn glanced at his cigarette case with its newest passenger.


    Curious though¡­ Kyle Fry should not have died today. Her father killed him and that was that. And when I took his soul, I saw the time of Fry¡¯s death change to that point¡­ He should not have died this night. He was suppose to die ten years from now, in a car crash. Hmm¡­


    There is something odd at play here.


    Her father altered the Schedule. I shall have to inquire this back at home. I must find answers¡­ Donn looked Emily. What an intriguing child. There is a power about her. I cannot place my finger on its identity, but it is strong¡­ Maybe that is the reason for my presence here¡­


    A train¡¯s distant whistle echoed through the night. Emily looked to her right as a London overground train carriage pulled into the station. But unlike the others, this was a single carriage with no engine. The lights were all off, so that nothing could be seen within the black windows. There seemed to be no driver in the front of the carriage. It slid to a stop, with one of the doors stopping directly in front of Donn. The doors slid open, revealing more of the darkness within. Donn stood up and started packing his belongings.


    ¡°Here¡¯s my ride. It was good to meet you, Emily. If I am not mistaken, your train should be arriving as soon as mine leaves.¡± Donn finished packing, turned towards Emily and offered his hand to her. ¡°Good luck Emily. Have a nice life.¡±


    ¡°OK.¡± She shook his hand.


    Donn turned on his heel and put on step onto the train.


    Emily suddenly called out to him. ¡°Donn!¡±


    Donn looked over his shoulder. ¡°Yes?¡±


    Emily didn¡¯t say anything. Her hands were clenched as was her teeth. She looked at the train, then at Donn and at her bag filled with stolen belongings.


    She looked around at London. This city that was once her home. But not anymore. What did it have left for her at that point? Nothing. Nothing at all.


    She looked that train and saw only possibility.


    She snorted a laugh. She finally gulped and looked back at Donn. ¡°Take me with you!¡±


    ¡°I beg your pardon?¡±


    ¡°Y-Yeah! Take me with you!¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­.Why Emily?¡±


    Emily opened her arms at him. ¡°Look at me. Look at where I am. I¡¯ve got NO ONE to care for me. Nor anyone I care about either. It doesn''t matter where I go, it¡¯ll just be the same like it is here. I have no life here. I- I don¡¯t belong here. Please Donn, take me with you.¡±


    Donn stared at the girl, who bravely stared back.


    ¡°Do you think that is going to be some sort of adventure where you think you¡¯ll find some true purpose or meaning in life or something? My work is death, Emily. Death. I REAP souls. No place for a fifteen year old girl.¡±


    ¡°I can take care of myself, Donn.¡±


    ¡°Lots of death. Lots of pain. Lots of horror. And danger.¡±


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s got be better than the life I have here!¡±


    ¡°For feck¡¯s sake, Emily! I¡¯m trying to discourage you! Get on your own damned train.¡±


    Emily stepped back and crossed her arms. Donn nodded and turned away.


    ¡°It¡¯s for your own good Emily. I¡¯d rather not have the responsibility of taking care of a living- Excuse me!?¡±


    While Donn¡¯s back was turned, Emily sprinted. She ran at the train¡¯s entrance and saw the doors closing before her. With one final vault of her legs, she launched herself through the doorway and into the carriage, just as the doors clanged shut.


    Donn whirled about and stared at Emily as she stood up, smugly secured in the carriage.


    Emily gave him another of her defiant, petulant looks. ¡°Too late.¡± The train began moving.


    Donn¡¯s eyes twitched in frustration. She stared back at him with defiance.


    ¡°Go on, throw me off. See what happens.¡± she goaded him.


    Then he exhaled a grating sigh. ¡°Oh for the love of-¡± Another grating sigh. ¡°¡­¡­If you come with me, Emily,¡± he warned, ¡°you may never be able to come back to this world. You understand this?¡±


    Emily stuck her hands into her pockets and didn¡¯t move a muscle.


    ¡°Fine. But you better pull your own weight, you hear me? I am not a babysitter.¡±


    Emily shrugged with a smile. ¡°Easy enough.¡±


    Donn laughed grimly as he let Emily pass by him into the darkness. ¡°Sure¡­¡±


    Emily snorted another laugh as the train pulled away from the station slowly. It then gained speed, faster and faster, until it hurled itself away from the station and into the darkness.


    It faded from sight entirely, taking its noise with it.


    The station was left silent and empty.


    Faint police and ambulance sirens echoed in the darkened city and all was calm once again.

 Chapter 3 - The Deathlands

    Emily woke up feeling an undeniably strange and deep sense of dread. It was like a cold and muddy hand had gripped onto her lungs and squeezed hard. She found it hard to breathe. She shivered badly. She had no idea what caused the bad feeling in her chest. It came from nowhere, as if it leapt out from the shadows and bit down on her shoulder to suck the life from her¡­


    She felt a softer hand on hers. She looked to see Donn opposite her, his hand on her hand, with concern on his face. ¡°All right? You were tossing and murmuring.¡±


    Emily shook her head and brushed off Donn¡¯s hand. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m fine. Thanks.¡±


    Donn watched her. The veiled concern on his face was for a good reason.


    For he knew that Fredrick, Emily¡¯s father, was now dead.


    While Emily had slept in her chair, Donn had returned to his book to scan through his next subjectsto reap upon his return. He had gone through the first two hundred souls to be found. And as he had turned the next page to scan the next twenty, he paused when he saw Emily¡¯s father.


    Everything was in order. It was no mistake. He had died in London. On the very same night Emily had left, only a few hours after he ran from them.


    Donn glanced at the sleeping girl opposite him. It was a shame that she had parted with him on bitter terms. And now she would never get that chance to reconcile with him. That was gone forever.


    He made a deep sigh and exhaled it slowly. How was he going to tell her this? Should he tell her? What would that do, except only hurt her? What purpose would it serve them now?


    In the book, the image of Fredrick and his details were quickly crossed off by a black line that drew itself across the words.


    It seemed that his colleague had remained in the living world and was making the last rounds herself. Donn nodded and he slowly closed the book. He placed it in his bag, next to his filled cigarette case and his glasses.


    It is strange that he died as soon as we left¡­ I wonder what happened¡­ No matter. Dwelling on it would not serve me best now. A better time will arrive to understand this¡­ and to tell her. Donn reasoned to himself. But now is not that time.


    ¡°Alright.¡± Donn, unruffled by her brusque reaction, settled back into his seat and relaxed. His legs were crossed and he was humming another tune from his homeland.


    He knew he had to choose another time, a better time. Until then, he decided to play dumb and to cross that bridge when he had to.


    There was another reason for his concern and that was the lack of a death date upon Emily¡¯s head. Her father had it. Everyone he had come across that night and all the days before had theirs. It was plain to see; set and calculated to occur as exactly the right time without delay.


    The station worker Kyle had his death date, but his was murky and undecided. And now it turned out that Kyle¡¯s fate was to die that night. That same night that Fredrick had died.


    Every living creature Donn saw in his existence had a death that was coming, no matter the cause. So imagine his discomfort and surprise when Emily¡¯s death date, and that of Fredrick and Fry as well, did not appear. At all.


    This girl¡­ he mused. She is drawn to this place. As I am drawn to her¡­ Why? Why is her death not set in stone? Nor the others around her? I must have answers. Death shall provide them, I am sure of it. Death sent me to Homerton to meet her. Death must know. Death will tell me.


    Emily resumed playing her music as she looked out of the window to see the view. She was quite surprised that her music still worked, even in this place. The music of The Cranberries helped ease her tension, namely the thumping drum of the song Dreams. But apart from that, it was like any train ride she had been one. Long, slow and quiet.


    It was as it had been for the last hour since they left the station. A dark night with dark fields in a dark England. The sight outside matched her mood.


    Donn had told her nothing of where they were going or what they would do when they would eventually arrive. She was annoyed that she had nothing to go on. No angle to work with or to control. In London, she had bullied her way onto Donn¡¯s train. But that was all she could do. She was in his world now and she had to force herself to go with the flow and wait for the Irishman to open up. But she hated waiting too.


    As you can see, Emily was not a patient girl. So to pass the time, she looked around the carriage for the twelfth time.


    It was certainly Victorian in design. Gaslights, made from green Chinese jade and pearl glass, lined the walls and gave off an ethereal turquoise light from the blue flames. The floor of the carriage was carpeted with a purple wool rug material, with floral patterns decorating various parts of it. The velvet seats, red and black tartan in design, were soft and comfortable. This allowed Emily to sleep. The tables that were placed in-between the seats were of black mahogany, polished within an inch of their lives.


    Emily opened up her fourth bags of crisps and crunched the dry sheets of food against the roof of her mouth with her tongue. The feeling of that action relaxed her. She enjoyed doing simple things like that.


    She thought about her uneasy feeling that disturbed her sleep. Where had that come from? She wondered if it was guilt. From leaving her father? No. She had no regrets over that.


    But she did have friends. Sarah, Victor and Jake. They all lived in and around the estate that loomed over her house and they would all go skate, mess about and loiter around parts of London to drink, laugh or antagonise anyone who looked at them the wrong way.


    But Emily knew that way of life would end when they grew up. Sarah was going for a university degree in English Literature with the interest of becoming a journalist.


    Jake was permanently moving out of London to live and work with his uncle in Leeds.


    And Victor¡­ poor Victor. He had gotten mixed up in petty crime. She lost contact with him last week and she had to assume the worst.


    It was as if life wanted to drive them apart. Emily didn¡¯t hold it against the others for having their own choices to live their lives. She just wished she could come with them.


    And, if she was being brutally honest, they weren¡¯t her best friends. They were not the type of friends who¡¯d throw themselves onto a train track for her if they were asked to. They were just normal friends who wanted to have a laugh¡­ just people you would leave at the wayside as you journeyed into an adult life. Emily felt that described her most of all. She certainly wouldn¡¯t risk her life for her friends, she knew that. She mattered to herself the most.


    She had to choose to escape from the life she was born into. By escaping into a world of death. she thought morbidly.


    Donn provided the opportunity, whether he meant to or not. So Emily took it and did not look back.


    Maybe the bad feeling was from that. Guilt. Guilty that she had abandoned her friends before they could abandon her¡­ Emily shook her head. It was the only choice she could make. So she had to suck it up and not look back.


    She sighed and took out one of her earphones so that she could listen to her music and talk to her quiet companion at the same time. ¡°How long is this train going to take to get us to wherever the hell we¡¯re going to?¡±


    Donn was watching the scenery outside. ¡°It will get there¡­when it gets there.¡±


    Emily¡¯s eyelid twitched angrily. She didn¡¯t appreciate Donn¡¯s irritating tautology. ¡°Donn. We¡¯ve been stuck in here for hours-¡±


    One thin finger lifted up at her. ¡°One hour, Emily.¡±


    ¡°One hour, two hours, four hundred hours, it doesn''t matter! Tell me something, Donn! Anything! I¡¯m sick of being kept in the bloody dark while being in the actual dark!¡±


    Donn sighed through his nose and eyed Emily with his sharp eyes. It looked his patience was also running thin.


    ¡°You know, you¡¯re not even supposed to be on this train.¡± he snapped. ¡°So I do not have to tell you anything as far as I am concerned. Consider yourself lucky that I haven''t ejected you from the train mid-journey.¡±


    ¡°Go on then, try and eject me. See what happens!¡±


    The pair stared eachother down.


    Then Donn snorted a laugh and shook his head with a smile. ¡°Bloody hell, Emily. You¡¯re proving to be a real handful. Ok. Fine. You win, so listen up. We are going to visit Death.¡±


    Emily paused her music instantly and raised her eyebrows. ¡°Oh. Oh shit.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    Emily pushed her hair back and then rubbed the back of her neck. ¡°Right. Uh, so. Oh bloody hell.¡± She laughed. ¡°I¡¯m kind of freaking out a bit.¡±


    ¡°Then calm down.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying. I- Seriously? We¡¯re going to meet- Seriously?¡±


    ¡°Seriously.¡±


    She gave Donn her full attention. ¡°Alright. Alright, alright, alright¡­ So¡­ What¡¯s Death like?¡±


    Donn cocked his head at her. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°What type of woman is she?¡±


    ¡°OK. First things first, Emily. Death is not a woman. Nor a man. Nor a child. Death is Death. Do not make the mistake of assuming Death¡¯s personality through a perceived gender or an age that you choose. Death is an Elemental. Death is power. Death is finality.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes. When we meet Death, you will show due reverence. Do not call Death ¡®chum¡¯ or ¡®boss¡¯ or ¡®mate¡¯. Death can snatch away your soul within a blink of an eye. It is wholly easy to do so. Therefore your type of disrespect, that you so graciously reserve only for me, is highly ill-advised. Speak only when you are spoken to and that is all. Then maybe, I can get you back home with your soul intact.¡±


    ¡°Alright. Don¡¯t piss Death off. I can manage that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being serious, Emily. This is not a laughing matter.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    Donn rolled his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re damned hopeless.¡±


    A flash of white from the window snatched Emily¡¯s attention. ¡°What the-?¡±


    She looked out to no longer see England and the night sky. But a burning white light that engulfed the train. Emily had to shield her eyes from the sheer brightness of the light.


    Then a pitch black swallowed the light, plunging the carriage in shadows.


    Within the train, Emily could only see the gaslights with their flickering flames.


    Outside in the pitch black, Emily saw far more.


    She saw stars flying past the carriage at the speed of falcons. They burned bright and exploded in phantasmagorical colours upon contact with the hundreds of meteors and pieces of dead planets that floated idly in the vastness of¡­ Emily gaped. They were in outer space.


    Asteroids whipped past the window. Millions of stars dotted the blackness. Galaxies of myriad colours painted the stretch of the cosmos.


    And without warning, red lightning suddenly thrusted through the dark and struck at the carriage. The carriage shuddered upon the multitude of hits as the red space storm smacked the train around. Punches with the force of wrecking balls slammed into every part of the outside. The noise was deafening and the force was powerful, but the carriage remained true and firm. It was built well.


    Emily gripped onto her seat, as did Donn.


    But while Emily was tightlipped with fear, Donn was smiling. ¡°This is my favourite part.¡± he grinned and pointed at the window. He secured himself into his seat with a buckled strap.


    Emily looked back at the window and paled in fear.


    A gigantic lightning bolt, bright crimson and jagged like brambles, surged from the darkness and came right for the carriage. It was coming for them. Fast.


    ¡°HOLY SHIT!¡± Emily managed to yell as the lightning reached them. It slammed hard into the carriage with the force of a fifty foot tsunami travelling at a thousand miles per hour.


    The sheer force of the blow rattled the resilient windows in their place and threw Emily off her seat, sending her into the seats on the other side of the carriage. Her bag and all her contents were cast from her grip and were sent careening down to the end of the carriage.


    Crisp packets battered the walls. Drinks bounced on the floor. Money fettered the air. Her iPod hit Emily in the eye, she cursed wildly and swatted it away. The shaking of the carriage was so bad, so violent and unrestrained, Emily thought the carriage was going to roll over itself.


    And, to Emily¡¯s horror, it really did.


    The train flipped upside down as it landed upon new tracks and continued its barrelling path through the storm upside down.


    Emily felt weightless, levitating in the air for just a second, only to slam hard onto the ceiling thanks to the rules of gravity that applied only within the carriage. There she lay like a lame, dazed rabbit. She looked up to see Donn hanging above her, safely rooted to his seat with a fastened seatbelt.


    Donn was still smiling and even laughing. Emily was just screaming.


    Another blow from another lightning bolt that had the same vendetta against the vehicle as its first sibling smacked the train around. The second blow restored its equilibrium, letting the carriage land upon new tracks the right way up.


    Emily was thrown up and then back down towards Donn. She landed back in her seat and frantically buckled herself in.


    The train rocked and roll hard over the railings that seemed to rise and fall with alarming irregularity. Emily pictured a bartender violently shaking his cocktail mixer. She was the assaulted ice inside the shaker.


    A noise, the sound of howling winds made into wailing voices, roared over the din of the storm and engulfed the train. Emily closed her eyes and covered her ears. She just wanted the madness to stop. And it did.


    The train braked suddenly, making Emily lurch forth in her seat and cutting her belly into her seatbelt. She retched with the motion of it and just sat there, nauseated and terrified. Her eyes were still closed.


    ¡°Is it over? Please tell me it¡¯s over. I want it to be over. I¡¯m not moving a fucking inch until it is over.¡±


    She felt Donn¡¯s finger tapping her forehead. She opened her eyes to see him grinning at her displeasure.


    ¡°It is. We¡¯re here.¡± He pointed to the window. Emily turned and stared in sheer wonder.


    It was a sea, with small waves flipping the surface. Stretching boundless and without any sight of land, Emily could see the curvature of the new world that they were in. The sea was a dark purple. The sky which overlooked the sea was bright yellow. There was no sun, yet there was plenty of sunlight.


    She blinked, gaped, then frantically freed herself from her belt and dashed to the carriage doors. Donn patiently undid his belt in good time, being in no need of rushing. When he stood up, he scanned at the mess Emily¡¯s belongings had made. He tisked and then began to pack them all into her rucksack.


    Emily pushed the doors open and suddenly stepped onto hard concrete.


    She stopped and the first thing to hit her was the acrid smell in the air. It stung her nostrils. It reminded her of broken toasters with too much breadcrumbs jammed around the heating wires. It also reminded her of an abandoned bouquet of lilies once tied to the streetlamp by her house. A stabbing had occurred there.


    The air weighed her down. It literally did. Every breath of air she took seemed to grip on her oesophagus before she released them. That was the atmosphere, she assumed, or the feeling of anticipation in her gut.


    She then looked around and her mind raced and marvelled at the new visuals.


    The train carriage had stopped at a platform. A simple one, with a metal canopy, concrete flooring and chrome benches.It made her think of those old-fashioned stations in Northern England, where tiny stations can only manage one or two carriages. The platform was situated in the middle of the sea with no roads leading to or from it.


    They were isolated on this small stony island.


    Emily walked to the edge of the platform to see a set of train tracks, hidden just under the water¡¯s surface. This was how the carriage remained on the seawater without sinking. But as Emily inspected the railway, she noticed that there was nothing underneath the tracks. And nothing beneath the train station either.


    Nothing to support them at all. They were suspended over nothing.


    She followed the floating tracks with her eyes. They did not change nor turn. They only led away in a straight line towards the curved and empty horizon. The panorama was simply incredible.


    Donn stepped out of the carriage, holding Emily¡¯s bag.


    He offered it to her. ¡°Ahem. You forgot this.¡±


    Emily looked to him and took the bag back with a sheepish smile. ¡°Oh. Sorry, thanks.¡± She shouldered her bag and rubbed her head in wonder. ¡°So this¡­ this is the land of death?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Indeed. Well¡­ part of it. The Deathlands are expansive and far-reaching. For there are other lands across the sea and beyond the horizon¡­ This is just the entrance of my home. The ocean¡¯s called the Styx. What do you think?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ peaceful. Like really peaceful. Fucking hell¡­ Donn, it¡¯s beautiful.¡±


    ¡°Of course. That¡¯s what death is. A respite from life until the new life to come¡­¡±


    ¡°How- how do people get here? Their souls, I mean.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Yes, now that you mention it¡­ Observe.¡±


    Donn produced his cigarette case from his bag. Emily raised an eyebrow. ¡°That¡¯s where you keep the souls? How can you fit them in something so small?¡±


    Donn said nothing, but he made a half-smile as he opened it.


    And as soon as he did, there was a hissing sound and then a flurry of collected hairs, thousands in their glowing white number, flew out from the case and ascended into the sky.


    Emily took a step back in surprise at the suddenness of the flurry and she watched as they curled and soared through the air, blown about by a wind that Emily did not feel.


    ¡°Whoa¡­¡± she said as the hair continued to fly from Donn¡¯s case.


    ¡°Souls can be perceived and retrieved in many ways.¡± Donn explained. ¡°A ball of light, a strand of hair or a drop of blood¡­ A hair strand is practical for me and my kind. Now, as to answer your question¡­¡±


    Donn closed the case and handed it to Emily. ¡°Go on, open it.¡±


    Emily nodded and hesitantly pressed the small silver button that released the latch inside with a quiet click. She lifted the lid and winced, expecting something to happen.


    It didn¡¯t. What was inside were ten cigarettes, held in a neat row by silk loops.


    ¡°Huh?¡± Emily handed the case back. ¡°I don¡¯t get it.¡±


    Donn closed the case. ¡°Because a human opened it. When I do though¡­¡±


    He pressed the catch button and popped open the lid. A whistling of wind and coolness exuded from the case. Emily peered inside and instantly felt woozy.


    There were no longer ten cigarettes and silk loops. Instead, it was an endless and dark chasm that dropped into the shadows. She stepped back and whistled through her lips. ¡°Wow. I see¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes. And now, off they go.¡± He pointed up into the sky.


    Emily turned her eyes up and watched the hairs- no, the souls float away from the platform and then shoot away towards an unseen destination. They were like feathers dancing in the night or swallows gliding together in the dusk of summer. Emily had never seen such a sight before.


    Donn watched on with her. ¡°They shall head to a certain place where two entrances await them. A gate to a particular heaven and a particular hell.¡±


    Emily turned to him with surprise. ¡°What, like Heaven, as in Christian Heaven? Wait, so God is real??¡±


    ¡°Oh. Not just that Christian god. All of the gods. Of all the religions. All of the different nirvanas and dark realms that share that specific religion. Think of it as a motorway with many junctions. The road of death eventually leads a believer¡¯s soul to its rightful place, based upon their belief, attitude and life choices.¡±


    ¡°Believers¡­ But what about atheists? People who don''t believe in the afterlife? What happens to them?¡±


    ¡°Are you an atheist?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Christian. Well, technically agnostic, but¡­ bloody hell¡­ guess I¡¯m not anymore¡­¡±


    ¡°Indeed¡­ As for the atheists, they will remain here until they come to their own conclusions on what belief suits them best. Yes, it¡¯s a forced decision upon their minds, but they have to go somewhere. A soul cannot be destroyed, only taken in or placed. We certainly can¡¯t keep them here forever.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    There came a boom in the distance, like that of a distant dynamite exploding. Emily and Donn looked towards the horizon where the sound came from and saw another carriage like theirs appearing from a temporal hole in space. It landed gracefully on the sea and upon another set ofhidden tracks. However, it was not heading for their platform but for another platform that quickly rose from the sea to greet its approach.


    The new carriage slowed to a stop and when it did, a person stepped out from the doors. It was too far away for Emily to discern whether the person was a man or a woman.


    The person opened a similar case and a trail of hairs floated up from the platform and soared towards the same destination. Then the person sat down on a similar bench and waited.


    The person then looked to Donn and Emily and waved. Donn put up his hand and politely waved back with a certain eagerness that Emily had not seen before.


    ¡°Who is that?¡± Emily asked.


    ¡°That¡­ is my colleague. She has arrived from her lands to here. Where we shall meet Death. It is a meeting that has not occurred for a while¡­ Death wishes for us all to gather.¡±


    ¡°How do we get there?¡± Emily looked over the edge of the platform. She could see the sea stretching down, far below her and reaching into oblivion. She pictured herself drowning. She remembered her mother drowning. ¡°I- I¡¯m not exactly a big fan of swimming.¡±


    ¡°No worries. We won¡¯t be getting wet. Observe. We shall travel in style.¡±


    He pointed to another part of the horizon. Emily followed his finger to where he was pointing. There she saw another shape emerge from the cusp of the world. Like a rider appearing from a mirage in a desert, the shape drew closer and closer towards their platform with startling speed.


    It was a boat. A wooden one, carved from white oak and layered with silver inlays that were inscribed in a dead language. It was large enough to fit ten people. And standing at the stern of the vessel was an old man, shrouded in dark rags and a hood hanging over his head.


    His wrinkled hands clutched at the long handle of his wooden paddle as he pushed his boat through the sea.


    He was stoic faced and silent.


    His eyes were glass-like and transparent.


    He had a downcast look about him, hunched and twisted as his body was.


    His scalp, peppered with thin strands of white hair, wrinkled and curled as he noted Donn and the human standing beside him.


    He swung his paddle with a great sweeping motion and expertly turned his boat to land alongside the edge of the platform. The side of the boat thudded gently against the marble. The little waves the boat made kissed the marble bricks. The old man looked up at Donn with his silent, sullen look. Donn smiled back.


    ¡°Charon.¡± Donn stated to Emily. ¡°The Ferryman of the Styx.¡±


    She nodded. Emily knew of Charon all right. She had seen plenty of movies, TV shows and books written about the ghostly Greek entity that escorted souls over the River Styx and to the underworld of Tartarus. Figuring that due reverence was required even for him, Emily stepped towards Charon and proffered her hand to him. ¡°Hello there. Nice to meet you.¡±


    Charon looked at her hand. He stared at it hard. Emily pulled back her hand sheepishly. Then whilst looking at her, Charon spoke to Donn in a hoarse whisper. ¡°Alive.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Donn confirmed. ¡°She is.¡±


    Charon shifted his eyes to Donn without moving his head. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because of situations that were partially beyond my control. Also, she jumped on my train.¡±


    ¡°Excuses?¡±


    ¡°No excuses, Charon. They are reasons. Take them how you will. I am taking her to meet Death.¡±


    Charon now fully looked at Donn with partially widened eyes. It was a rare expression of shock that danced upon the Ferryman¡¯s face. ¡°Impossible¡­¡±


    ¡°No it isn''t. Look, I think this might be intriguing. It might be fun.¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    Donn sighed heavily and then laid a hand on Charon¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Listen, if our leader wanted Emily not to come in this state, then Emily should have been struck dead by now. Death has not. Ergo¡­ Death intends me to bring Emily to the meeting.¡± Don crossed his arms. ¡°Look, I need to come in to make my report. Either you take us both in or I stay out here and not do my job. Then you can explain as to why I am late¡­¡±


    Charon curled his lip in response. Donn had made a legitimate point, though a tad unreasonable, and Charon hated that. ¡°Extortionist.¡± he hissed through his teeth.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡±


    ¡°Sacrilege.¡± he hissed again.


    ¡°Maybe so. Only one way to find out.¡±


    ¡°Dangerous.¡±


    ¡°For us, maybe. Not you.¡±


    ¡°Idiot.¡±


    ¡°Will you please let us aboard, you old goat?¡±


    Charon looked at Emily. He studied her with his silent glare.


    He then reached out and held her chin in his hand. Emily nearly pulled back instinctively from the grab. ¡°What the hell you playing at?!¡±


    But Donn put a hand on her hand. ¡°Wait.¡±


    So Emily restrained herself and allowed Charon to study her. With her chin in his hand, he turned her head back and forth.


    He sighed throughout the inspection. They were long and dusty. His sighs stopped and he looked above her head. While Emily had no idea as to what he was looking at, Donn did. Charon was looking for Emily¡¯s death date, which was missing. So, I wasn''t hallucinating that. She truly has no death ready for her. Very odd.


    Charon made no mention of it however and he continued looking Emily over. When he was done, he let go of her and took her hand. He turned her palm to face the sky and there he placed a gold coin in her hand. It was a small round coin, with a skull imprinted upon one side and an hourglass on the other. A Latin phrase encircled both images: Memento Mori. The Latin shifted into English as it made contact with her skin.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°¡®Remember that you will die¡¯¡­¡± Emily read. ¡°What¡¯s this for?¡±


    Charon looked at her eyes. ¡°Travel.¡±


    Donn translated for him to Emily. ¡°You¡¯re not dead, remember? Your soul is susceptible to wander towards the gates like a moth to a flame. This coin will keep you centred and, more importantly, alive.¡±


    ¡°Do you have one as well?¡±


    ¡°Certainly, all the Reapers have one. We use them on the job.¡±


    ¡°Then I don¡¯t see how I need it if you have one already.¡±


    ¡°Emily. Trust me, no one alive is supposed to be here. This is not a thing to happen. Precautions must be made.¡±


    Charon nodded once. ¡°Orpheus.¡± He grunted the ancient musician¡¯s name with great disgust.


    ¡°A prime example.¡± Donn nodded sagely and gestured to the boat. ¡°Emily?¡±


    Emily gulped, slid the coin into her jacket pocket and stepped into the boat. It rocked awkwardly as she settled herself onto the boat¡¯s cracked benches.


    Donn clambered aboard and sat next to her. ¡°Thank you, Charon.¡± he said.


    Charon waited until they were settled, then he nimbly jumped from the platform and onto his steering spot.


    The boat hardly rocked at all upon his landing. Emily raised her eyebrows at that. Charon was surprisingly spry for his age. His feeble nature was most likely a ruse to hide a powerful form. Emily thought it best to not anger the Ferryman, for who knew what power he possessed.


    ¡°How old is he, anyway?¡± Emily asked Donn, with growing curiosity. Then she shook her head at the moot question. ¡°Wait, that¡¯s a dumb question. Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Oh no, that¡¯s not stupid. If you don¡¯t ask, you do not learn.¡± Emily smiled at that reasoning as Donn explained. ¡°You see, Charon¡¯s been around longer than anyone of us. He is what you could say the first Reaper. Isn¡¯t that right, old timer? Been working since the dawn of Time alongside Chronos himself.¡±


    Charon grunted as he pushed the boat away from the platform and steered it towards the second platform, where the woman had been patiently waiting for them. ¡°Retired.¡± Charon uttered.


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°I didn''t know you can retire.¡± Emily cocked her head to a side. ¡°Aren¡¯t you guys, like you know, immortal?¡±


    Donn¡¯s face darkened at that question. Then he covered it up with a simple smile.


    ¡°Yes. But we can get a bit tired of the whole malarkey sometimes. When he was working, Charon had to do global trips daily. Daily, Emily. Collecting all the souls across the world, once a day everyday. No holidays nor days off? That¡¯s no way to make a decent living. Now he just makes sure we get from home to work and from work to home. On time and on schedule. For him, it¡¯s far easier to have just a simple drive back and forth. He likes it.¡±


    ¡°Meditation.¡± Charon chipped in.


    Donn gestured at Charon for making his point. ¡°There you go.¡±


    Emily nodded and relaxed into her bench. She let her hand drift into the water. She was comfortable with just that. It was cool and smooth to her skin. She closed her eyes. She felt relaxed and silent. She wondered how events could have transpired so quickly in such a short space of time.


    In the morning, she woke up in her dilapidated room to plan her ill-fated escape.


    She went to eat some somewhat decent food at a chicken shop, researched on train times with her phone whilst sitting in the park and then waited for her father to drink himself to a drunken stupor.


    Now, only hours later, she was sharing a boat ride with two death deities, in the land of Death, on her way to see the actual Death.


    She laughed under her breath at the madness of it all.


    Suddenly a small sting of pain nipped at her finger.


    ¡°Ah!¡± Emily started and yanked her hand out of the water. Her forefinger had a small ball of blood forming from its tip. ¡°The hell? Something bit me!¡±


    Donn looked to her with eyebrows raised. Charon kept looking onwards, not caring at all.


    Emily pushed her head over the edge of the boat and looked into the depths, searching for her attacker. ¡°What was it? Wait. There!¡±


    There was a shadow of something small, moving around quickly in the shallows of the sea. It had four limbs and a tail. Emily squinted her eyes to discern what it was, but the thing in the water turned about and started to swim up at her face at a frightening speed!


    Emily pulled herself back just in time as the thing that bit her finger erupted from the water and landed in the boat with a wet thud. Emily fell off her bench and landed on her back, with her legs up in the air. ¡°Shit!¡± she blurted out.


    Donn laughed at her reaction. ¡°What¡¯s the matter with you, Emily? It¡¯s only a Clacker.¡±


    ¡°A- A what?¡±


    The thing, which Donn had called a ¡®Clacker¡¯, scrabbled along the boat and hopped onto Emily¡¯s chest to stare at her face. Emily remained stock still at the sudden appearance of the creature staring at her.


    The Clacker had a purely skeletal form.


    Its head was that of a fox skull.


    Its limbs and body were that of a gibbon.


    Its tail and the boney spikes along its spine all resembled those of an iguana.


    The Clacker, with a distinctive cracked scarring down the left hand side of its skull, open its jaws and snapped them shut at Emily. It then made a confused snarl and snapped its jaws again, making its namely sound. It did this clacking noise three times before Donn gently swatted the animal away with the back of his hand.


    The Clacker chittered at Donn angrily and retreated to the bow of the ship. There it crouched down and stayed, watching Emily silently with its eyeless sockets.


    Emily was suitably unnerved by this new arrival. ¡°What the hell is that thing?¡±


    ¡°She is a Clacker.¡± Donn reiterated as he helped Emily settle back onto her seat. This time, Emily turned her body to have the Clacker within her eyesight. She did not trust having her back to the creature, which still snapped its jaws at her with unnerving regularity.


    ¡°Pests.¡± Charon growled.


    ¡°Agreed, Charon.¡± Donn nodded. ¡°These Clackers are what the animal souls become. Animals do not have a morality nor religion. Unlike humans, their souls are quite two-dimensional. Therefore they cannot go to the afterlives. They can only remain here and await reincarnation into newborn animals, which by the way can take a hell of a long time¡­ Even by our lengthy standards. And so as a result, the souls amalgamate with other animal souls over a period of time within this realm and then take new forms. This one here is unique in form, as are they all. We have ones the size of fleas and some the size of dragons.¡±


    Emily looked at Donn with great concern. ¡°Hold on there. Dragons? Are you serious? Dragons? They¡¯re here?¡±


    ¡°Of course. But we don¡¯t see them so much. They usually tend to keep themselves to themselves.¡±


    Emily checked on the Clacker. It had not moved from its spot as it watched her without any sign of stopping. ¡°Donn. Why is that thing staring at me?¡±


    Charon coughed up a noise that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle to Emily. ¡°Hungry.¡±


    ¡°Huh? Excuse me?!¡± she blurted.


    Donn laughed. ¡°Don¡¯t be alarmed. Charon is right though. She is hungry for souls. That¡¯s what the Clackers eat. The residue of human souls, which is Time. Think of all the seconds, minutes, hours that a human has yet to live if she or he died prematurely. Think of an infant dying. Think about you. All those years going to waste, not to be used by you? All that spiritual energy¡­ If you know how, it can be used to achieve power beyond imagination. Now would the Clackers truly waste that? Not a chance. To them, a soul¡¯s residue takes like honey. The Clackers¡¯ll snap it all up once the souls are delivered. They¡¯re like pigeons in a city going after breadcrumbs. Hence, as Charon said; pests.¡±


    ¡°Right¡­¡± Emily sighed. There was a lot for her to learn and quickly if she was to stay safe. To the Clackers, she must have looked like a walking, talking beef burger¡­


    Her bitten finger throbbed. The pain there should serve as a grim reminder.


    Charon¡¯s expert boating allowed them to reach the other platform. Emily noticed Donn at the point. He was pushing his hair back, using the Styx¡¯s water to wipe his face and patting down his clothes. She had never seen him so caring over his appearance. He did not strike Emily as the type of person to be like that. She looked back at the waiting colleague and then Emily raised an eyebrow with a smirk as the waiting person was a woman.


    Aha, I get it.


    Donn saw Emily¡¯s look at him and glared at her smirk. ¡°Don¡¯t you say a word.¡± he whispered.


    Emily smirked again.


    Charon positioned the boat and proffered his hand to the woman awaiting them. The woman smiled a ¡®thank you¡¯ to Charon and seated herself in front of Donn. Charon pushed his boat away and they were off across the sea.


    Emily could now see why the Irish death god was so flustered.


    The woman seated opposite them was utterly rapturous, stunning and beautiful. Those three mortal words could not truly do her countenance justice.


    She was so beautiful that she put all things immaculate to some shame.


    She had long dark blue hair reaching down just past her shoulders with a fringe covering her forehead. Her eyes, with black tarpit irises, were accentuated by the black soot that acted as thick eyeliner. Her eyebrows were equally covered in the same soot. Hanging on her neck was a wide ornate Egyptian necklace made from porcelain beads of different shapes and colours (that being turquoise, blue, orange and red). She wore a dark red dress with silk slings hanging over her shoulders and that just covered her shaped bosom. Upon her bare arms and wrists, which like her body held the colour of burnt sand, sat weaved bands of blue wool and gold. She was barefooted with the similar blue/gold armbands wrapped around her small ankles. Emily could only judge that the woman was maybe in her late twenties, though she absolutely assumed that the woman was indeed far older than she looked.


    The woman turned her head, who also had an incredible neckline, towards Emily. She regarded Emily silently. Emily felt oddly bashful under her stare. It wasn''t invasive like Charon¡¯s. It was curious and intrigued, as if Emily was some new animal to be studied and even admired.


    The woman, whilst looking at Emily, spoke to Donn. ¡°Donn. I never took you for the adopting type.¡±


    Emily couldn¡¯t place her ethnicity. She has a strange accent. It sounds Arabic. Going by her tanned skin colour and her jewellery, that could be the case.


    Donn stammered - actually stammered - as he replied. ¡°Oh- I-I-I- it¡¯s not really adopting, per say. I just wanted to help her and-¡±


    The woman raised her hand to him and laughed. Emily blinked, snapping from the spell she felt she was under with that incredible stare. God, she has a beautiful laugh. Whoa¡­ what was that? I couldn''t even think straight. Damn.


    ¡°No need for explanations. I understand completely.¡± The woman crossed her sculpted legs and looked at Donn.


    Donn nodded. ¡°Right, yes! That¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°¡­¡­ Donn? Aren¡¯t you going to introduce me?¡±


    ¡°Ah! Apologies. Emily Davidson,¡± Donn gestured in a sweeping motion to the woman. The Clacker watching them mimicked Donn in his gesture with its clacking that sounded too similar to snickering.


    ¡°Emily, allow me to introduce Nephthys, Egyptian Goddess of death and Reaper of Africa.¡±


    Emily put out her hand slowly. ¡°Hi. Uh, do I shake your hand or is that not, like, appropriate?¡±


    Nephthys smiled at Emily. ¡°It has been years since I had a conversation with a mortal¡­ I would very much like that.¡± She took Emily¡¯s hand and shook it gently. Emily got a shiver up her spine. God, her hand feels so soft¡­ so warm.


    ¡°A pleasure to meet you.¡± Nephthys said. She looked past them to Charon. ¡°Hello Charon. Are you well?¡±


    ¡°So-so.¡± the old man replied in suitably monosyllabic fashion.


    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Nephthys returned her eyes on Emily. There was more curiosity in her eyes as she subtly glanced at the top of Emily¡¯s head. There was something she knew, but chose not to say¡­ ¡°You are an interesting find¡­¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Emily said. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    ¡°Oh, no need to concern yourself, dear. I tend to be quite cryptic. One of my many faults.¡± Nephthys laughed and then proceeded to look out over the sea.


    ¡°Donn.¡± She asked after a few minutes of silent pondering. ¡°Do you know how long it has been since we were all called together?¡±


    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m not sure. Maybe three, four hundreds years?¡±


    ¡°It was just after the Black Death¡­ that horrible plague that claimed so many¡­¡± ¡°I remember¡­ Is everyone coming?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Donn gave her a look. ¡°Whiro, as well?¡±


    ¡°Unfortunately.¡±


    ¡°Hell¡­¡± Donn rubbed his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why he needs to be there.¡±


    ¡°He is a Reaper. An efficient one at that.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a bully. He also enjoys his role a little too much.¡±


    ¡°Donn¡­ he¡¯s our colleague. Respect is due¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯d rather not sit next to him at the table, if that¡¯s all the same to you.¡±


    Nephthys smiled once again. ¡°Do not worry. I¡¯m sure you won¡¯t have to.¡±


    Emily decided against asking who this ¡®Whiro¡¯ character was. She figured that she would learn eventually in good time. Until then, she decided to plug in her earphones and continue listening to her playlist.


    Charon stared indignantly at the device in her hands. Emily waved it at him. ¡°iPod.¡± she said.


    Charon turned away and expunged a glob of dusty spit from his mouth and into the sea. ¡°Trash.¡±


    ¡°Jeez, fine then.¡±


    Nephthys waved her hand apologetically at Emily and gestured her to continue listening to her music. Emily made herself comfortable and watched the waves roll past her as the boat sailed through the endless sea.


    While they waited, Donn watched Nephthys examining her necklace. She had taken it off to inspect one of the blue beads, which was shaped into a small scarab. Donn couldn''t help smiling at her.


    Nephthys looked up to see his expression. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± she asked innocently.


    ¡°Nothing funny. It¡¯s just¡­ It¡¯s good to see you. After all this time.¡± ¡°Oh. Yes, it is.¡± She stroked her hair and pushed it back past her shoulders. ¡°It¡¯s been a while since we last saw one another.¡±


    ¡°It has been. Have you-¡­ have you been keeping well?¡±


    Emily, inquisitive as she had always been, couldn¡¯t help but eavesdrop. She subtly stopped her music and listened in.


    ¡°I have.¡± Nephthys replied. ¡°Things have been hard at work. A lot of more child deaths than usual for my liking. But as for my family, they are quite well.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Yes. That¡¯s- that¡¯s good. And the deaths¡­ Uh, yes. In that part of the world, certainly.¡±


    ¡°Only in the parts that cannot afford childcare, food, medicine and homes. You know, the things that human beings need to live. I cannot remember when that was not the case.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything I can-?¡±


    Her face fell as soon as he asked. ¡°Donn.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°You know what.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I do.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re trying to help me. Like you always do.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a polite thing to do. To help someone in need.¡± Nephthys flashed her eyes at him. It was not flirtatious, but angry. ¡°Believe me, dear. I am not ¡®someone in need¡¯. You made your choice. You should accept that.¡± Donn looked away. ¡°Alright, alright. I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    She shook her head with a sad smile. ¡°You haven''t changed, Donn.¡± Nephthys gestured at Emily.


    He frowned at her. ¡°What.¡±


    Nephthys searched Donn¡¯s eyes. ¡°She was in need to help, yes? Saving even? You just had to step in. Of course you did. You could not help it. It is in your nature in involve yourself¡­¡±


    ¡°I had no choice. If you were there-¡±


    ¡°Oh, I didn¡¯t need to be there. I perfectly understand your reasons. But you need to understand that some things cannot be resolved by your involvement. Some things must be allowed to be resolved alone.¡±


    Donn frowned in bewilderment. ¡°Nephie. I wasn¡¯t even thinking about that. Emily needed help-¡± Nephthys held up her hand to stop him.


    ¡°Oh Donn. Please. I appreciate your concerns for my well-being, but I do not require nor need it. I haven¡¯t needed it for centuries. And I would appreciate that you desist from using my nickname. As you have noticed, I have not used yours in our converse thus far.¡±


    ¡°I-¡± Donn started to say something. But he shut his mouth and turned away. ¡°I understand.¡±


    Nephthys¡¯ face grew to a something that resembled sadness and looked in the opposite direction.


    And Emily felt incredibly awkward.


    There was a story between these two, she surmised as much from their brief conversation. But there, behind those words, were volumes that spanned perhaps centuries. But she knew that now was not the time to delve into it.


    Best not to go there, lest she wanted her visit into the land of Death to become a permanent one.


    Without being able to help it, Emily eventually nodded off on the boat ride. It was because of the atmosphere of the sea. The calmness of the sky.


    The rocking of the boat reminded a small part of her mind about her time in the rocking crib which she had once seen as her entire world. In her sleep, Emily started to dream those distant memories, which were being filled with purest clarity.


    She dreamt that she was a baby once again.


    She laid on her small back, hands and feet up in the air. She was not asleep. Far from it, she was wide awake and cooing as a cheery baby would do. She waved her hands and feet at the ceiling that she had grown familiar with. She cried out. And upon that call came her mother. She peered from the edge of the crib, both her hands holding onto the edge. She smiled that bright smile of hers.


    She reached down and stroked Emily¡¯s cheek with one finger. Emily grabbed onto it with her tiny hand and held on tightly. Her mother laughed and reached down with her other hand and stroked her head. Emily laughed and rolled into her touch.


    Her mother leant down and kissed her daughter on the forehead. And with that kiss, Emily awoke and her beautiful dream was gone.


    They had docked upon a pier made of white wood. Not bleached or painted wood, but white wood as if the trees of the world envied the white cliffs of Dover and were determined to not be outdone. Two wooden railings, carved into skull-adjourning spikes, girded the walkway that merged into dry brown land.


    Emily stepped out after Donn and Nephthys. The Clacker, which had watched and ogled at Emily for the entire trip, hopped off the boat and clambered up to sit upon Nephthys¡¯s shoulder. She did not mind this at all, in fact she petted the little creature¡¯s head tenderly as it became comfortable on its new perch. It still watched Emily though, with those hungry sockets.


    Charon remained on his boat and watched the group walk away. Donn and Nephthys looked back to Charon and nodded a thanks to the old man. Charon waved them off and sat down in his boat to rest.


    The group walked up a dry brown hill. Emily felt her trainers crunch into the crackling soil and sand as their ascent curved upwards at an angle that was impossible to climb. And yet the trio did so with ease. Emily marvelled at this, but assumed later that that was a perk the Reapers had and that she was granted. The rules of physics would count for naught in the land of death. The climb continued for a few minutes and the air whistled around Emily¡¯s head with such gentleness.


    There was a roar overhead.


    Emily looked up and saw a silhouette in the yellow sky. It was winged and it swooped gracefullythrough the clouds. Upon closer inspection, or as much inspection Emily could manage whilst being stuck on the ground, she guessed that the shape was similar to that of a dragon.


    Jesus Christ, it really is a dragon¡­


    A dragon Clacker. Ever since Donn¡¯s information, their diet was still fresh and threatening in her mind. But the dragon-like Clacker seemed to not notice the group and swooped away from them undisturbed. Emily sighed with relief. She looked back to check on Charon, who was now a small figure as the group reached the summit.


    Emily was unsure how a retired death deity like Charon would rest, but such technicalities were not to be considered as she looked upon another sight that stunned her as it rose over the crest of the great hill.


    ¡°Welcome to the House of Death.¡± Donn announced. Emily just stared and stared.


    The House of Death looked like a large tower, like those committed buildings of historical value which were supposed to be destroyed and then rebuilt but now kept for historical value. It had the colour of a Victorian mansion, red bricks and all, with a black door placed at the centre of the ground floor. Black painted window sills, lined the infinite floors that rose higher and higher into the sky. Emily decided that the Shard would be dwarfed by this building.


    Above the front door was the word ¡®Welcome¡¯ and the door¡¯s knocker was a silver skull hanging on a metal latch.


    Nephthys and Donn stepped on the doorstep and exchanged a look at one another.


    ¡°Would you like to do the honours this time?¡± Nephthys offered.


    ¡°Yes, I think I would.¡± Donn replied as he reached out and knocked the door thrice. The knocking boomed and echoed into a building that did not exist. Emily looked them.


    ¡°What do we do? There¡¯s nothing here.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± Donn advised.


    Wait they did and sure enough, the door creaked open and allowed the group entry.


    They walked in and Emily was again forced to question her eyes and her sanity.


    They now stood in a gigantic and opulent hallway, a hundred metres high, with white Grecian pillars supporting a curved roof that Emily was able to glimpse in the rafters. Great cloth banners hanging from all the pillars, displaying the same skull insignia that was imprinted on Emily¡¯s coin. As far as Emily could see, there were no other doorways. Just the hall, with its many windows. A small wind had arrived and howled quietly outside.


    ¡°Eat your heart out, TARDIS¡­¡± Emily whistled.


    Donn smiled at Emily¡¯s wonderment.


    ¡°Is this it?¡± Emily asked. ¡°Aren¡¯t there any other rooms?¡±


    Nephthys shook her head. ¡°Yes and no, Emily. The House itself only gives those what is needed at the time. What is needed now is a meeting. So it gave us a table to meet at and a hall to meet in. When one wishes for a bed, a food, a drink, a piece of cloth; the House shall always provide.¡±


    ¡°Okay. So if I wanted a banana to eat-¡±


    A banana appeared in Emily¡¯s empty hand. She stared at it. ¡°Whoa.¡± She peeled the fruit¡¯s skin off and took a bite. Her eyes stared at the magical fruit. ¡°Oh shit. It¡¯s real.¡±


    Nephthys also smiled at Emily¡¯s wonder. ¡°As I said, the House shall always provide.¡±


    As Nephthys said this, Emily could see that the hall stretched downwards towards a table that was situated at the back. At this table were nine chairs. Five of those chairs were already filled.


    Donn put his hand on Emily¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Stay calm and keep your mouth closed. Let me do the talking, you understand? Any questions coming your way, you just look to me to answer them. Right? And none of your backtalk.¡±


    ¡°OK.¡± Emily nodded. Usually, she¡¯d not stay quiet. But this time, she knew she had keep herself to herself. Otherwise¡­ Emily shuddered. She¡¯d prefer not to think about that course of actions.


    They walked on. Their steps echoed in the hall. And upon their distance shortening with each step, Emily was able to get a good look at the other Reapers who watched their newest (and possibly late) arrivals.


    She also noticed that the table was in the shape of a perfect triangle. Four chairs were placed at each of the rising sides with the ninth placed at the point between the two rows. Emily assumed that by the chairs¡¯ position that the head chair belonged to Death. It seemed to Emily that Death had not yet arrived. She didn¡¯t know if that was good or not. The dread in Emily¡¯s body began to slowly swell.


    Three chairs on the table¡¯s left side were filled, two were filled on the right.


    On the right sat a middle-aged woman and a small girl.


    The woman was dressed in two silk robes, both dyed in the colours of a dark blue sea and the flesh of the dead. She wore thatched slippers and had a golden circlet wrapped around her forehead and a golden dragon Norse-like choker around her neck. Her eyes were a faded grey, matching her braided yet frayed hair and her supple skin. She bore Gaelic tattoos all along her arms and hands, reaching to her blackened fingertips. She held a hard countenance, looking more of a man than woman, yet holding a feminine quality that kept her within the realm of that sexuality. She looked exceptionally gloomy, putting even the most depressed individuals in the world to shame. Sleeping and snoring under her chair was a great, shaggy dog with scars all over his mangy grey fur.


    The woman¡¯s name was Hel, the co-Reaper of Europe and Donn¡¯s colleague. Her dog was Garmr.


    The small girl was an extreme contrast to the downcast woman beside her. The little girl was dressed like a Narragansett native, with a tanned leather dress over her body and legs. A pair of deerskin moccasins covered her feet. Her hair, short and curly, was blacker than obsidian and shinier than a summer river. Her skin was the colour of tree sap. Her eyes were a bright pink. Her face was filled with joy and a hint of mischief. And when she smiled, which was often, sparkling diamonds shone in-between her lips instead of bone teeth. Due to her small stature, the girl was on her scuffed-up knees, bouncing upon the chair and leaning on the table with her palms patting against the wood in a display of mild and childish impatience.


    Her name was Chepi, the Reaper of North America.


    On the left were two middle-aged men and a dog between them.


    The man closest to the head of the table was tall. Taller than all those present at the table, with his head and shoulders higher than all theirs. He had fours arms, muscular and broad, which pushed against the red, yellow and blue sari that he wore. His two legs sat in a perfect Lotus position upon his chair. A wrathful expression filled his face with literal storm clouds hanging over his bald scalp. Four protruding fangs pushed out from his mouth, which was curled in a permanent snarl. A hangman¡¯s noose was slung over his chair¡¯s shoulder with his mace lying by his feet. A crown of small copper skulls stayed upon his head. He was potbellied yet skinny in all the right and wrong areas. His eyes were a milky white, though he did not act blind. He watched all those within the hall with a steely glare.


    His name was Yama, the Reaper of Asia.


    The dog sat upon the chair like any dog would in Emily¡¯s world. But that was where the similarities between this dog and the dogs of Emily¡¯s world ended. This dog wore a red and yellow clay crown with feathers protruding from it. The dog wore golden armbands upon its paws and hind legs. The dog¡¯s large ears were peppered with piercings. A twisted wind jewel, larger than any jewels Emily had ever seen, hung from its neck. The dog¡¯s brown fur crackled with small sparks of blue electricity, electricity that sometimes jumped to join the storm clouds over Yama¡¯s head. Panting quietly with his tongue hanging, the dog looked around the hall with clear focus, which would be hard to achieve with no eyes. The dog had no eyes within the sockets that were covered in lymph and scar tissue.


    The dog¡¯s name was Xolotl, the Reaper of South America.


    The final man had his eyes upon the new arrivals as soon as they had entered the building. His eyes, which were bright red, stared down Nephthys with blatant lust. When switching to Donn, the look swiftly changed to extreme loathing. The man was fat. Fatter than a whale and sweatier than an elephant in musk. He wore black strips of cloth, making up for simple bodily decency. If he could show off copious amounts of his bulging flesh, he would. He was not ashamed of his body. In fact, he was proud of it. For like Hel, he had many tattoos upon his personage. All the imagery and languages of his continent were etched upon his back, chest, stomach, arms, neck, legs, feet, hands, arse and genital areas. He wanted to tell the world of his exploits and by the gods, he would do so. There were seeping battle wounds on his body. Wounds that did not, or would not, heal. But instead of seeping blood, they were seeping darkness. Black vapours of shadow spilled out from his wounds and lay like dry ice fog upon the floor. He played with one of his wounds, pushing his fingers against the rip like a spot that needed expunging. Black darkness spat out from the wound and landed on the table. Chepi made a grimace and lent back in obvious disgust. The man chuckled menacingly at her reaction as he wiped the darkness from the table. Yama gave the man a sharp glare, which the man ignored. Instead, he licked his lips in a perpetual state of hunger. For he was indeed very hungry¡­He was always hungry¡­


    His name was Whiro, the Reaper of Oceania.


    Nephthys took Emily¡¯s hand to lead her around to the right side and sat Emily down on the end of the row between herself and Chepi. Chepi leant back to check out the new girl. Emily glanced quickly at Chepi. Chepi smiled a welcoming expression, although it was way too wide by any human standard. Emily smiled nervously back.


    Donn saw the only seat available and gave Nephthys an annoyed look. She shrugged. Donn sighed and sat himself down next to Whiro, all the while ignoring the looks thrown his way by the antagonistic deity.


    ¡°Been out for a while, haven''t you Donn?¡± Whiro said after an excruciatingly long silence amongst the table.


    ¡°For as long as anyone would be, Whiro.¡± Donn replied with a tinge of irritation. No one can truly say when the enmity between the two deities had started or why. It just seemed to be the case. Sometimes, two people just cannot get along¡­ Whiro sweated a great deal and therefore, he stank of putrid waste. Donn wrinkled his nose. Whiro did not miss that movement of muscle.


    ¡°Something wrong with my smell, Donn?¡±


    ¡°If I say yes, what would you do?¡±


    Whiro smiled viciously and leant close to Donn¡¯s ear. ¡°Then I would eat your body, from your little balls up to your sharp tongue. Then I¡¯d shit you out like a tiny brown worm¡­¡±


    ¡°Then, in that case, I shall say no¡­. You smell as you should smell.¡±


    Whiro¡¯s eyes widened at the backhanded compliment. ¡°Oh, really?¡± His hands twitched to strangle.


    ¡°Whiro. Donn. Enough.¡± Yama uttered. ¡°I do not care for your jibes. Both of you. It has been a long journey for us all. And we have not seen eachother for a very long time. Let us enjoy eachother¡¯s company.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± Whiro raised his arms in mock regret. ¡°My apologies, Yama¡­¡±


    Yama said nothing at that, but leant back in his chair.


    Hel looked at Nephthys. ¡°You are looking well.¡±


    Nephthys returned the look at Hel. ¡°I am? Thank you. You look lovely in that garb.¡±


    Hel nodded slowly. ¡°A father¡¯s gift. He wanted me to represent his kin in the best light-¡±


    Chepi piped up over Hel. ¡°Hey! Hey! Hey! What about me?!¡± She patted her chest. ¡°I think I look im-ma-cu-late!¡±


    Hel shot Chepi a stern glance while Nephthys smiled warmly. ¡°As you should, Chepi.¡±


    Chepi grinned, but she still did not take her eyes off Emily, who tried to sink into her chair so that no one would notice her. Emily felt like a new girl at school. The sheer feeling of loneliness and being judged by all those who have already established a domain. It was an uncomfortable feeling already, if she were to ignore the fact that she was surrounded by all these deities of death. She felt like she did not belong here. At all.


    Christ. What the hell am I even doing here? Why did I want to come with Donn? What¡¯s the matter with me? I could be in Kent by now. Having a breakfast somewhere in a nice, warm hostel. Maybe go on a walk on a bloody beach, God damn it! I¡¯m such a tit. I really am.


    And with that thought in mind, Emily sunk ever further into her chair to try and hide.


    But when one takes more action to be unnoticed, the more that person becomes noticed.


    So everyone then stared at her. Fuck.


    It was Xolotl, whom Emily assumed did not talk as per any normal dog, who spoke in a clear and quick tongue. That shocked her ever more. ¡°Perhaps.¡± he asked in an unusually high pitched voice. ¡°We should ask Donn and Nephthys who the girl is. Isn¡¯t that what the mortals call ¡®the elephant in the room¡¯?¡±


    All eyes looked to Donn and Nephthys, while Emily stared at Xolotl in disbelief that he even talked. Whiro, relishing any chance for discord and scandal, leant on the table and stared at Donn with mockingly accusatory eyes.


    ¡°Rightly said, Xolotl. They should give us an explanation when they¡¯re not too busy exchanging loving, if rather awkward, glances¡­¡±


    Donn had had enough. He whipped his head at Whiro. ¡°What is your implication, Whiro?¡±


    Emily¡¯s hairs stood up on end. This was not going to end well¡­


    Nephthys gave Donn a pained look.


    Whiro put a hand on his chest. ¡°Sir! I do not imply! To imply is to lie. I do not deal with lies. I deal with the truth, for the truth is far crueler¡­¡± He glanced at Nephthys with another sinister look of sexual pining. ¡°For example, I can only imagine it is hard to longingly stare at one woman¡¯s arse and not think of the other woman¡¯s-¡±


    Whiro had meant to insult more, but Donn silenced him up with a solid punch to the mouth.


    Whiro was thrown back into his chair.


    Emily leant back in shock as all the Reapers leapt into action.


    Whiro threw himself at Donn with wild crimson eyes, outstretched fingers and a strangled roar. Driven to incensed anger, Donn raised his fists to do the same and his eyes blackened, his face returning to his demonic visage that Emily had witnessed in London.


    But Xolotl viciously bit down on Whiro¡¯s leg, drawing out black darkness, to hold him down while Yama used three of his arms to pin the struggling Whiro to his chair.


    Garmr, who magically appeared upon the table, leapt across to stand over Donn with bared, dripping fangs. Chepi had also sped across and had a small obsidian dagger pressed against Whiro''s neck.


    Donn stared with great wrath at Whiro as he roared and ranted, chucking vile threats and curses at the silent Gaelic.


    Hel did not move, she simply watched.


    Nor did Nephthys. She laid a hand on Emily¡¯s and smiled apologetically.


    ¡°This happens a lot. Please do not be concerned. I am sorry you had to see this.¡±


    ¡°I- I- I¡¯m not concerned.¡± Emily lied. Bloody hell¡­ they¡¯re acting like children.


    Nephthys, as if sensing Emily¡¯s understandable lie, turned back to Hel with a pleading look. ¡°We should at least be presentable when our benefactor arrives.¡±


    Hel nodded and suddenly disappeared. She appeared behind the two fighting deities and placed her hands on their heads. Her eyes flew open and black blood oozed from within. She spoke with a terrible coarseness as her black tears rained down on the floor.


    ¡°Cease your childish squabble. If you do not, I will lock your souls away into a metal box that has no light, no dark nor time. Only nothingness awaits you there. You will not see, hear, feel, taste nor smell. You will not escape. You will go mad before I let you out. You will wish for the end. You will wish for Oblivion. You will beg, cry and scream for salvation. But I will not give that to you. So you will cease NOW!¡±


    Both Donn and Whiro froze. Then Donn raised his hands. ¡°I yield.¡±


    Whiro, though taking a little more time to do so, also raised his fists. ¡°I also yield.¡±


    Emily shook her head. They are really acting like kids.


    Chepi, Yama and Xolotl backed away and returned to their seats. Hel nodded and then reappeared at her chair. She was back to her usual gloomy self and said not another word.


    Garmr also reappeared under his mistress¡¯s chair with similar speed, though he did not sleep.


    ¡°I believe that Yama and Whiro should exchange seats, so that we do not have further incursions to our meeting?¡± Xolotl chirped, ever the voice of reason.


    ¡°Agreed.¡± Yama stood and walked towards Whiro. He waited for Whiro to stand. Whiro was reluctant to give up his chair.


    ¡°Why should I move. Why not him?¡± He thumbed at Donn while he rubbed his bruised mouth. ¡°He was late. I was not. And he punched me!¡±


    ¡°You were rude. He was not. And the punch was deserved.¡± Yama rebuked. ¡°Give up your seat or I will make you.¡±


    Whiro snarled, but he stood up. He flashed an eye at Donn. ¡°Got a nice little jab there, Donn. Keep it up. You might need it later¡­¡±


    ¡°Move, you lout!¡± Yama barked.


    Whiro shut his mouth, lumbered over to Yama¡¯s chair and threw himself down. There he sulked.


    Yama slowly seated himself and then gave Donn a glare of warning.


    ¡°I will not hear another word from you, will I? Only when you are being asked to speak. Am I understood, boy?¡±


    Yama¡¯s use of the word ¡®boy¡¯ was to instil control over the younger deity. It worked, for Donn nodded slowly. He looked to Emily and shrugged an apology. Emily, feeling comforted by Donn¡¯s soothing presence (compared to the other Reapers¡¯ somewhat more volatile energies), gave him a similar shrug in return.


    Those at the table then delved into simple small talk while they waited for Death to join them. Death had still not arrived. The ninth chair still remained empty.


    Emily was confused by that. In her mind, Death would have been the most punctual at least. Deaths across the world happen all the time. Someone had to have kept up with the numbers, that would have needed a mind so focused that time-keeping should be a second nature.


    But not so. Death was late.


    Emily had read many fantasy books, seen many films and TV shows where the Grim reaper was personified by either a gaunt old man or a woman with a snarky attitude. The skeletal figure, hooded in black cloth and wielding a wooded scythe, was the go-to thought in her head. Or maybe they¡¯ll appear like a a human in a suit, like Joe Black?


    The dour mood is a given, surely. Is she going to be beautiful or ugly? And what is her voice going to sound like? Calm? Angry? Emotionless?


    So many questions and theories sprouted in her head.


    Why is Death a girl in my mind? Maybe Death adopts different faces to blend in with the crowd whilst working? Where would Death begin? How would Dead begin? Does Death sleep? Eat?


    But before she could work out many, many more questions to ask herself, the front door creaked opened.


    Talking at the table quickly ceased as all the Reapers turned to the front door. Emily had a clear view of the door. The door remained open but no one came through. Emily opened her mouth to ask a question. But Nephthys tapped Emily¡¯s shoulder and put a finger to her own lips with stern eyes. Donn also shook his head at Emily with similar eyes. Emily wisely closed her mouth and waited for the arrival that did not come. After a few seconds, the door suddenly closed shut.


    And as soon as it did, the atmosphere in the building, which was warm and oddly welcoming to Emily, became incredibly cold and hostile. Life seemed to be torn from the air itself and the hall with all of its contents within ceased movement. Nothing moved at all.


    Emily started shivering, and not just because of the cold. She felt terror. Not the childish terror she had for her father. Not the existential terror of her aimless life. No.


    This was a primal terror. Like a terror that rises within you when you are alone in the dark. In the middle of the night. In a cave, or in a forest or on a mountainside.


    It was terror that made you feel utterly helpless and powerless. Making you vulnerable to anything or anyone looking to eat you¡­


    Emily felt this and shivered ever more. She wrapped herself up in her jacket and hugged her knees to her chest. She looked to the Reapers.


    They also were reacting in the same vein as her, though not as violently. They shivered, but not so much. Garmr and the Clacker on Nephthys¡¯s shoulder hissed and whined nervously. They all looked to the chair. So did Emily.


    This is the presence of Death¡­ she thought.


    It was more than power. Power was something tangible that could be seen in the forms of money, armies, intellect or magic. But with Death? No. Power wilted against such a force of existence. Nature quailed against Death.


    That was Death¡¯s strength and power. That was what Emily felt in her gut. In her mind. And in her soul. This was what Donn had meant.


    The chair remained empty. Then the chair moved backwards with a shunting across the floor.


    Windows opened throughout the hall, allowing a warm breeze to drive out the coldness of the hall. Light suddenly filled the room, making everything a lot brighter and easier to see. Garmr quietly howled. The Reapers all stood up immediately, almost as if in a salute.


    Driven by an unfamiliar sense for propriety, Emily did so as well, with goosebumps forming on her arms and legs. No one said a word. All waited for the beginning of the meeting.


    Death had arrived.

 October - 1604

    The Magus felt weak and cold, despite the many woollen layers he kept upon his body and the roaring fire in the hearth beside him. The light of the flames painted his dining room in a dark orange tint and made every shadow in every crevice leap and dance about like sprites.


    Outside, the sounds of carts pulled by horses could be heated through the closed door and windows. The smell of mud, rain and horse manure wafted their intrusive ways into the house. The only light within the room was the hearth, the lit candles that dotted around the room and the slivers of the afternoon sun cutting through the cracks between the windows and door.


    Seated at an oak table that lay in the middle of the darkened room, the Magus hardly touched his lunch.


    His clay plate held a roasted shin of lamb, peppered with herbs and spices and surrounded by boiled vegetables. The food had long since grown cold and was nearly uneaten. It was clear that the lunch would not be touched.


    The Magus¡¯s appetite was non-existent but he wished that he had one. His daughter Katherine was always a good cook. And it was such a dire shame that her food was wasted in such a way¡­


    The Magus rubbed his face and noted the many wrinkles which his gnarled fingers touched around his forehead, eyes and cheeks. He could almost feel the years weathered and etched upon his visage. He had done so much with his life¡­ He had lost count of the wondrous books he had studied.


    Oh, he had travelled to many wondrous and exotic countries in the last four decades of his life. He had seen things no one could believe. But all of that experience and all of that wisdom had brought him here¡­ Alone in a dusty house where he was left behind by the progression of time.


    The Magus gently stroked the wooden handle of his lunch knife.


    Katherine had already eaten her fill and was already out of their manor to resupply their foods from within the bustling markets of Mortlake. She had tidied the dining room, gave her silent and sullen father an embrace and left through their front door which was situated in the dining room.


    The door¡¯s location was useful in case of the occasional visitor coming in to seek council with the old Magus. They would just come into the dining room, settle by the oak table and recline as the Magus spoke with and lectured them.


    But it was a long time since the Magus had any callers.


    Of all of her good qualities - which were many - Katherine was deeply patient. As far as he could remember, Katherine had tried to engage her father in intellectual talks over the state of the country under a new monarchy and the new discoveries in the constellations and the New World. All of this to try and shake him loose of the depression that he was inevitably sinking into¡­


    Katherine was a good woman to try and help him back to his former glory. Where he lead the way for earnest neophytes to follow in his footsteps and learn to be like him. To uncover the vast secrets of the universe and solve the dialects of ancient peoples past.


    Dear God¡­ Such subjects had once intrigued the Magus with gusto that rivalled the fire of any man. Those subjects were his passion. His zest for life. But no more¡­ He was old and forgotten. And such passions held no more interest to him than a crushed ant.


    He glanced up at the dust-covered books that lined the two shelves in the room. They were his prized possessions. He had many more than this small collection of literature, but they were stolen away from him. Stolen by paranoid fools and envious liars.


    That was just one of the tragedies that befell the old man. The Magus believed that Life had taken absolutely everything from him. It had taken away his wife, his father, his mother, his fame and now his dignity. He laid the blame on the threshold of the world and the gods who rule it.


    But what he didn¡¯t see was that it was his obsession with knowledge that formed his path. It was his need to control which drove away his wife. His hubris to leave his family home to search for a better life and not return when he learnt of his parents¡¯ failing health.


    And his unfathomable arrogance. The Magus had counted himself as the leading pioneer of occult studies in England. Learned pupils and esteemed philosophers from miles around came to him. This praise fed the fuel of his prideful fire. He lorded his intellect over the masses and controlled their thoughts with his great claims of ascension and betterment. He truly believed that he was a higher form of life. That he was a god among men. He actually believed that he was answerable to nothing. That he could finally ascend to a state of higher existence and rule the stars with incomparable power. Which, to him, seemed only fair and true. He was born for greatness and he was certain that he would attain it with both clasping hands.


    But not anymore.


    What had happened months ago within that year had caused the Magus to fall into a dark pit where there was only one escape.


    Years ago, rumours abounded in London that the Magus practiced dark demonic magic. This lead to many slurs and dirty looks for years and years. Of course this was mere drivel, the scared notions of the masses driven by hysteria.


    The Magus¡¯s willpower was made of tough leather and he had once shrugged off such abuse easily. But as he grew older and older, his skin became just as thin.


    For weeks, he had listened to the lies and this only made his heart shrivel within him.


    His face and eyes became sharpened against the viciousness of the world.


    He was sick of it.


    He hated the people with such enmity that he wished he possessed powers to kill them all. To wipe out the city. To clean the streets of all of the stupid, ignorant masses of crying babes, pregnant whores, idle men, idiotic monks and kowtowing courtiers.


    ¡®To Hell with them all!¡¯ he had snarled. ¡®May they suffer bloody deaths at the hands of evil!¡¯


    It came to such a point that the Magus could not take it any longer and sought out to end the verbal assaults once and for all.


    It was a dangerous decision. But he was determined to see it end by his own hand. So in 1603, he sent a letter to the new King and his recently formed Witch Hunters. Within his letter, he had detailed his desire to be subjected in immediate interrogation and tried for witchcraft with the hopes that he could be cleared from such foul slander.


    He wrote that letter to challenge Fate and to challenge the state of the new century.


    The Witch Hunters¡­ He snorted a derisive laugh at the mere concept of it. A group of men formed to hunt down women who had grasped a mere fragment of knowledge in the sciences of medicine¡­ And then crushing it under the boot of the fool king who dared thought that his right was greater than all¡­ Even greater than his.


    Back in his day, in his time as the great Occultist of Elizabeth¡¯s reign, no one dared questioned him. Only the Queen had that right and he allowed her to do so only because he recognised a kindred spirit. This new king was no equal in any right.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Should they find him guilty, the Magus would resolve to stride into the halls of power himself and show them all exactly what he was capable of. And then no one - not the king, the Witch Hunters, the masses or God himself - would label him as a mere warlock.


    After sending the much incensed letter, the Magus waited. And waited.


    And no reply came.


    None at all. There was no knock on the door. No troop of armed guards seeking to seize and haul him to the Tower of London.


    The Magus was stunned.


    Did they misplace the letter? Surely they didn¡¯t. Surely they did not¡­ ignore him?


    But as the days dragged on and the old year welcomed the new, the Magus¡¯s heart sank ever deeper with the weight of the horrific truth.


    They had received the letter. They had read the letter. It was that they just did not care.


    To them, he wasn¡¯t the great Magus who had quelled the masses with his observations of the world. To them, he was just an old, feeble man who was half crazed with delusions of grandeur and wracked with a refusal to accept that his time of self-appointed power had come and gone.


    The Magus was truly and utterly crushed by this. His life was truly not in his control. So much that he could not even orchestrate his own demise. He was not in command of his destiny. The Magus couldn¡¯t bare to think that he was truly that weak. He wouldn¡¯t dare think that all of his work, his teachings and passions, were all for nothing.


    He could not even imagine the notion that he was just a man.


    If this was all so, if he was to end his days alone and forgotten by a world that showed him no gratitude, then what was the point of even going on?


    The Magus lifted his knife and placed it upon his skin. He knew that suicide was a cardinal sin and his soul would delivered to damnation. But he did not care. He had reached an end to life that refused to unveil the fruits of his hundreds of labours. His sacrifices were all for naught.


    His mind wandered to poor Katherine.


    The thought of her stayed his hand, if only for a moment. What would she do when she returned to find him dead like this?


    The Magus shook his head.


    She would be fine. She would move on and have a life actually worth living. She would no longer be doomed to dote upon a feeble old man who would create nothing to enrich her life.


    His soul wished death and destruction upon the people whom he felt had wronged him. And wished that he had a chance to truly show the world exactly what he was capable of.


    He pressed down the point of the blade upon his skin-


    There came a rapping upon the front door. The Magus froze in his actions and turned to the sound.


    The knocking came again. Seven taps. Dum, du-dum, dum, dum. Dum, dum.


    The Magus slowly rose to his feet. His heart began beating in incremental speed. Had his letter been read? After all of this time? He reached out, twisted the key in the lock to click back the barring metal within and pulled open the door to meet his fate¡­


    The heavy door swung on creaking rusted hinges and nails to reveal a gentleman of indiscriminate height and age standing upon the threshold of the Magus¡¯s home. The gentleman was dressed in a crimson cape, with a black and golden shirt designed with moire cuffs. His eyes shone an unusually light blue and his smile was easy.


    ¡°Good afternoon, fine sir.¡± he announced at the Magus¡¯s doorstep with a clear English accent that spoke of wealth and good education. ¡°Are you the Magus that resides here in this delightful establishment?¡±


    His mannerisms seemed so odd to the Magus. The gentleman waved his hand in a flourished bow that seemed highly irregular and quite extravagant. ¡°I am honoured to make your acquaintance. I have heard wondrous tales about you.¡± he further added with that wide smile.


    ¡°Your flattery is appreciated.¡± The Magus replied with some trepidation. ¡°What business do you have with me?¡±


    The Gentleman smiled again and then looked over his shoulder at the people walking past them. ¡°I believe it is a matter best talked indoors.¡±


    The Magus nodded slowly. He knew the necessity of private discussions and made way for the man to walk in. ¡°Please, come in.¡±


    The Gentleman tapped his buckled shoes, which made the odd sound of hooves on stone, as he strode inside. The Magus closed his door and locked it as the Gentleman looked around in an appraisal of the manor with a raised eyebrow and an expression that spoke of reserved judgements.


    ¡°Modest quarters.¡± he noted politely. ¡°Not what I had expected from one as venerated as you.¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± the Magus shrugged as he retook his seat at the table and gestured for the Gentleman to do the same. ¡°When you get to the age that I have reached, finery will not hold much interest to you in the end¡­ What I have is what I can use and need¡­ Nothing else matters to me now¡­¡±


    ¡°Ah. But I would have to disagree there. I, for one, love decadent homes and gilded furniture. Nothing better than those things to highlight one¡¯s deep appreciation for life.¡±


    The Magus leant back with a small smile born from understanding of his newest visitor.


    ¡°So, that is your ploy, hmm? You come to learn of my secrets just to make riches? Turn mere stone to gold? Water to wine, yes?¡±


    The Gentleman threw back his head and laughed. Despite the soft smile and genial visage, it was a hard laugh. Each cackled syllable was like an ax biting into wood.


    ¡°Hardly! What do I need tricks and illusions for? I¡¯d hire a trickster for such jovial means. I have deep interest to the true meaning and true sources of power. I am no exploiter of intelligent men, dear sir.¡±


    The Magus upturned his hand with a half shrug. ¡°Apologies. I have lived a life where I have been fooled, lied to and shamed by those seeking to make menial wealth with world-changing powers¡­ I refused them, it would have been a waste of my time and a greater waste of power.¡±


    The Gentleman leant forward with a gleam in his turquoise eyes.


    ¡°Truly understandable. I understand exactly what you mean. The masses can be such petty and idiotic creatures. They do not deserve to even smell the scent of magic¡­¡±


    The Gentleman rubbed his clipped and tidy beard.


    ¡°Allow me to confide, good sir¡­ My belief is that Power is only powerful when it is used properly. Give Power to a weakling, what would he do with it? Sprout wings and fly? Turn rain into pieces of gold for a day? Pitiful, vain notions¡­ Now, give Power to a strong man, a wise man, an intelligent man¡­ What would you say that he would do with it?¡±


    ¡°He could change the world.¡± The Magus rubbed his eyes, as he felt water rise under his eyelids.¡°I could have changed the world.¡± His voice croaked and his throat swelled against the sob that threatened to upset his equilibrium.


    The Gentleman was an observant one. ¡°You seem troubled by that thought.¡±


    The Magus raised his hand and looked at it.


    ¡°Observe my hand, good sir. Once it was strong. It held the books of worthy minds that could upset the order of kingdoms. Once, its fingers clasped the hands of royalty and men of wealth and influence. This hand opened the doors to societies that only a few have the privilege of entering. But now¡­ Now, it is ragged, shaking and brittle. I could take a hammer to it and it would shatter into a hundred pieces. Time has done that to me. I have lived all these years and I have barely scratched the surface of the knowledge and understanding I sought for. Now, knowing that I approach my end, I despair that my time upon this Earth has been wasted. I shall pass on without changing so much as a single leaf in springtime¡­¡±


    The Gentleman smiled with a shake of his head. ¡°No. I do not believe that it has been wasted.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    The Gentleman looked outside. His eyes seemed to glaze over. ¡°I believe that your work shall live on after you die. Look upon the works of Socrates and Plato¡­ They live on, do they not? Great men. Their teaching influence the ways we all think, yes? What of the Romans while we are talking of the Grecians philosophers? Cicero! Seneca! They have laid the groundwork that has led to the time that we both stand in. And I believe that after we are gone from the world, others shall take the reins of the earth¡¯s progress and drive it to even greater heights of success and ingenuity. I am sure you shall arrive at the same end. We are all here for a reason: to change the world. My existence has that reason; it is one which I serve dutifully. It is up to us to have the courage to realise that reason. With courage. But also with true Power. ¡±


    The Gentleman¡¯s eyes lost that lacquer when they turned to lock the Magus with a stare. That stare seemed to freeze the Magus¡¯ heart for the briefest of moments.


    ¡°The same goes for you.¡± he concluded with no smile.


    The Magus¡¯s eyes lit up. At long last, he had met a man who perhaps understood him. Whom he could have a conversation that would not feel like a trial of fire. ¡°Tell me friend, do you believe in the Hermetic Texts?¡±


    The Gentleman smiled. ¡°Oh yes. I do. That is a ripping yarn about the ways of the universe.¡±


    The Magus leant forward, now eager and confident of this man¡¯s genuine intentions. ¡°So, you accept that there is a universe? That we orbit the Sun, home to the God Above All?¡±


    ¡°Absolutely.¡±


    ¡°Are you a fellow Scryer? A Seeker of magiks?¡±


    The Gentleman shook his head. ¡°No. I am far more than that.¡±


    ¡°Then tell me, who are you? What is your name?¡±


    The Gentleman turned to face the Magus and smiled plainly. ¡°My name is Lucifer.¡±

 Chapter 5 - An Audience with Death

    The chair moved back into position as Death took to the seat. The Reapers all sat down. Emily quickly did so as she stared at Death in the chair. The invisible Death. In her mind, this made sense. Well, this way, no one can see Death coming¡­


    The dread feeling in her body faded away as quickly as it had arrived. Emily wondered if Death turned off the oppressive atmosphere in regards to her presence being there. Maybe Death had a sense of hospitality. Or it could have been her imagination. At this point, Emily had no clue or what to even think at that point, so she stayed silent and listened.


    ¡°Welcome.¡± Death said. It was a genderless and ageless voice made from dying winds, from croaks of old frogs and dusty cats, from rusted door hinges and weary computers. It was the sound of decay and age. It was the sound of Death. ¡°Welcome all to our latest gathering. It pleases me to see that all are present, including our new guest. Welcome, Emily Davidson.¡±


    Emily could just feel that Death was looking directly at her. There was no face to stare at her with. The sense of being stared at was greater. So Emily stood quickly, bowed, said a quick ¡°Hello.¡± in Death¡¯s general direction and then sat back down.


    Whiro nearly sniggered at Emily¡¯s act, but was neatly silenced by Yama¡¯s and Hel¡¯s stares.


    ¡°Polite as well.¡± Death remarked. ¡°That is refreshing. It is getting harder and harder to find those who do not have the merits of manners.¡±


    Whiro looked down at the table sheepishly.


    ¡°I find myself beset continuously by those who need a lesson in that regard.¡± Death continued. ¡°But no need to fret over such triviality. Yama, Hel, Donn, Whiro, Chepi, Nephthys and Xolotl. Welcome back.¡±


    Garmr barked. The Clacker clacked.


    ¡°And Garmr and the Clacker Fresca. Your company is not unacknowledged¡­ What goes on in the modern world, my Reapers?¡±


    Yama stood up, his arms crossed and his face stoic. ¡°There was an earthquake in India, a few thousand dead. An explosion in a factory in Moscow, thirty-eight dead. Suicide bombing in Syria, forty-four dead. And with the natural deaths in Asia, this year¡¯s tally has come to around half a million dead. Though next year, I predict a greater amount will die.¡±


    ¡°Very good.¡± Death noted. ¡°Next.¡±


    One by one, the Reapers all stood and gave their continental report on the number of souls they reaped during the current year and all the years between the last meeting and the one today. There were a lot of deaths to be accounted for, so it took a lot of time.


    Emily felt understandably nauseous listening to some of the reports. It was sickening to hear of humanity¡¯s troubles recounted so casually. All the murders, euthanasias, arsons, rapes, suicides, overdoses, illnesses¡­ It was so gruesome for her to hear. But she gritted her teeth and bore it. She wanted to come with Donn. She just had to get used to this. Or whatever this was¡­


    Whiro was the last to give his report and he was now boasting his claims with gratuitous effort. ¡°And I, Whiro, lord of darkness, swam through the darkness of the Pacific to collect the souls of the men who drowned in that horrific maelstrom. It was no easy task, I grant you. But it was a task well done.¡±


    Donn rolled his eyes and tutted. Chepi yawned as audibly as possible.


    So Whiro made cold death stares for both of them.


    Death was unfazed by his statement, as unfazed with the other Reapers¡¯ accounts. ¡°Thank you Whiro. Take your seat. Now, Reapers¡­ I had not called this meeting only just for reunions and to discuss work. No. I have called you all here to talk of a problem that has occurred in the Deathlands. A very serious problem.¡±


    Looks were exchanged across the table. Donn looked to Nephthys for answers, but she only shrugged in response.


    Death continued. ¡°Two days ago, I walked through the fabric of realities to oversee the world. And the worlds beyond the one you all work upon. I did this to see into the future and into the past of this world. But what I saw in the future troubled me. I did not and could not, see a single thing.¡±


    Death allowed that to hang over the table for a few moments. Then Death continued. ¡°Only a murkiness clouded my very eyes to the events to come. I could not see the future. I do not need to explain to you why I found it so¡­ distressing.¡±


    The Reapers nodded their heads. All had very serious, even concerned, looks on their faces. Even Whiro was paying a rare amount of attention.


    Death could not predict the coming deaths.


    The Schedule of which the whole operation of Death¡¯s reason for being was being disrupted.


    Death continued. ¡°I returned to this plane of existence to seek answers from my home. And while I did, I felt a ferocious rupture in the air. A rip into the string of Time. A disturbance. I flew to the site of the chaos. It was most certainly a gash. A fractured whole in which souls had flown through it. I knew then that the souls that had escaped were returning back to the Earth. The souls had escaped from their afterlives, from me, and now reside in the living world.¡±


    Donn¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yes, Donn. We have lost souls. Five souls to be exact. They are now back on Earth and roaming amongst the living.¡±


    Donn placed a hand on his forehead and allowed his chair to support his suddenly weakened body. It was unbelievable. No one, not a single soul, in the history of Death¡¯s dominion had ever escaped.


    This was beyond dangerous.


    This was catastrophic.


    If this was the case, that souls cannot be sent on to their rightful place and humans are not able to die at the right time, the rupture could ripple throughout the cosmos. A chain reaction of destruction could follow, the likes of which Donn had never seen before. It may have already started. The great coldness during last night may have been a symptom of this¡­


    ¡°How have we not felt this disturbance?¡± Whiro blurted out. ¡°I mean, we should have. We are Reapers! It''d better not be just me who didn''t feel it!¡±


    ¡°None of us did, Whiro.¡± Yama said. ¡°It must be a power of great subtly if only our leader noticed it.¡± ¡°Which ones?¡± Donn asked Death with concern billowing within him.


    Xolotl coughed. ¡°Perhaps this delicate discussion is better held without the presence of the human?¡±


    Everyone looked to Emily, who felt very unwelcome at that moment.


    ¡°Ah, yes. Emily.¡± Death stated. ¡°In actual fact Xolotl, this discussion is better held with her presence. For she may be the key to it all.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean?¡± Hel asked.


    ¡°The souls who had escaped. Four of them are members of Emily¡¯s bloodline.¡±


    The Reapers could only stare, at either Death or Emily.


    Chepi cocked her head to the side at Death. ¡°Wait a second¡­ Did you know? Did you know that Donn was going to bring the mortal here? You did, didn''t you? You did!¡± Donn stood. ¡°Yes¡­ Did you know? Was that why you sent me to London to start my reaping there?¡± ¡°Peace, Reapers.¡± Death asked slowly. ¡°Peace¡­ I did know what Donn¡¯s actions were. You two are right on that. But how he would enact them? I did not. And I do not know why this has happened. All you need to know is that the rip has been sealed and fixed by me personally. But the souls have fled. Now,¡± Death tapped the table with an invisible finger. ¡°In order for me to say what must be said, I will need to speak with Emily and Donn. Privately.¡±


    So high was the respect that Death commanded that the unmentioned Reapers made no protests to this request. They all stood and left one by one. Whiro left first, still nursing his jaw and staring angrily at Donn. Nephthys was the last to leave. She also looked to Donn, but with a small smile that made Donn feel strangely light and giddy in his heart.


    When the hall was empty, the air shimmered around Death. Emily squinted at Death. She could have sworn that she saw a figure amongst the great energy that flowed from there. But it was already gone before Emily could discern what she could see.


    ¡°So.¡± Donn started. ¡°What do you want to say to us?¡±


    ¡°Many things. Many things. But I have only so much time to say them. I shall start by asking you, Donn, what made you bring the girl?¡±


    ¡°Me? I, uh, oh. I just wanted to help her, that is all.¡±


    ¡°To save her.¡±


    ¡°That wasn''t what I was doing!¡±


    Death searched Donn¡¯s soul with those unseeable eyes. ¡°Oh, lies do not become you, Donn.


    Honestly, I haven¡¯t expected hypocrisy to come from you of all Reapers. But if you wish to not tell me, then I shall not press you.¡±


    Donn said nothing to that. Was I being a hypocrite? I did save Emily¡¯s life. But not because it was not her time to die, but¡­ I- I don¡¯t know why I did what I did. But that will not happen again.


    ¡°Emily.¡± Death asked.


    Emily sat up in her chair. ¡°Yes, Ma¡¯am?! No, Sir? No- Yes. Sorry.¡±


    There was a sound of icicles clattering on the floor. It took Emily a second to realise that it was the sound of Death¡¯s laughter. ¡°Oh, please¡­ no formalities in this conversation. You are no servant of mine¡­ How do you find the Deathlands?¡±


    ¡°Oh. Um, well I like them. Yeah. They¡¯re nice.¡±


    ¡°¡®Nice¡¯.¡± Death repeated emotionlessly.


    Oh dear. Emily quickly corrected herself. ¡°Yeah. They¡¯re great. Wonderful. I liked the sea.¡±


    ¡°Excellent¡­ And why did you want to come here? To just meet me and to see all of this?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ Because I wanted to escape my life. I wanted to get away from what I was born into, you understand?¡±


    Death noted this and became silent for only a single second. ¡°I do, Emily. In ways that even you cannot comprehend. But you must now realise that you did not just escape your life. You escaped with it.¡±


    Emily blinked. ¡°What? What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°As I have said, I travelled to the worlds and to the fabrics of time. To see the future is to be prepared. That is how I am prepared for any new arrivals. I see the deaths of all. It is not only this world where I operate. But in all the worlds. All the different realities and all the different timelines and all the different dimensions which entertain the ideas of death. The parallel realities that cover the ever expanding horizon of existence? I tend to them all.


    All the billions and billions of people, in all the millions of Earths and planets within and beyond your Solar System. All the Reapers who serve me in those realities and realities where I alone operate. I observe them all. I help them all. I shape the fates with the assistance of those whom I respect. And because of this great power, I was able to see your life. Your birth and your eventual death. I knew it all.¡±


    ¡°Oh. OK.¡± Emily said, feeling very weak in her body. It wasn''t that she was told that she will die. She knew mortality. Everyone dies. But it didn''t make it any easier to have it confirmed by the very being destined to take her life. ¡°Right¡­¡±


    ¡°This unnerves you? That I know when you will die? Or that you yourself now know there is a certainty that you will die?¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s say both¡­ What¡¯s your point?¡±


    ¡°My point, Emily, is that you were supposed to have died on that platform. Or during that very night when you met Donn. The 31st of October, 2019. That was your death. Right now, you are not supposed to be alive.¡±


    Death said this so calmly, so plainly, that it terrified Emily. It was the casualness of it, like a doctor delivering bad news to a patient.


    Emily weakly slumped into her chair as she stared at Death.


    Donn leant forward. He felt bad for Emily. This was not something she wanted to hear.


    ¡°Why does this worry you so greatly, leader?¡± he asked Death, eager to give Emily a chance to collect herself.


    ¡°It worries me, Donn, because in all the other parallel worlds and timelines, the Emily Davidsons of those worlds died on that Halloween night. No matter by what cause, the girls died. No matter what.¡±


    ¡°Oh no¡­¡± Donn went white with fear. ¡°What have I done? Have I disrupted the Schedule?!¡±


    ¡°So far nothing, I hope¡­ The world has not been ruptured. Nor has the timeline¡­ As far as I can surmise, nothing bad has happened. You can rest easy.¡± ¡°But that can¡¯t be! The rules of mortality should be enforced by now! Why has nothing happened? Why didn¡¯t I feel it? I should have known Emily¡¯s time was over when I met her! Hell, I should have taken her soul!¡±


    Donn¡¯s chest tightened in realisation.


    Wait. Her death date. I did not see it over her head¡­ That is why.


    Death made a humming sound to display that it was thinking. ¡°Perhaps you did know. In some metaphysical way¡­ Maybe that is why you were on the station that night¡­drawn to her waning soul perhaps¡­ That is why you allowed her to jump onto the train.¡±


    ¡°She didn''t exactly give me a chance to do so¡­¡±


    ¡°And all of this is why I am so intrigued. The rules have certainly been broken. You have prevented a soul from taking its rightful place within the Deathlands. But you have not sensed any punishment, nor any repercussions. Neither have I.¡±


    Donn lit up and hit the table. ¡°The tear! And Emily¡¯s family! They have to be connected to her.¡±


    ¡°My thoughts exactly, Donn. The two incidents happened at the same time in that morning. And later onwards, an unnatural cold drifted over the city of London during Hallow¡¯s Eve. Then you two encountered eachother during that same night. All of this cannot be a coincidence. The rip has torn a gap in her timeline, a lapse if you will, when the events of last night became mired and unintelligible to all. Even to those like myself. Emily¡¯s predestined fate was wiped clean by the incident. This has bought her an extended section of her lifeline. This in turn, mired the timeline of her world, hence my inability to see it. How long her new lifeline is now though¡­ I cannot say.¡±


    ¡°All of this¡­ Yama was correct. It would take incredibly powerful and subtle magic to enact such a thing. But who could do this? How? And why?¡±


    ¡°I do not know. But that is what I want you to find out while you are out there.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I am giving you a special assignment, Donn. You are to go back into the United Kingdom and you are to corral the five lost souls and bring them all back. And while you do that, you must see if you can find out why this has happened, who is responsible and stop them. Four of the souls were of Emily¡¯s family. The fifth was not part of the family and its identity has been clouded so much that I cannot even discern who it is. I can assume that that soul is responsible for this, no matter the identity.¡±


    ¡°But my work- My schedule-¡±


    ¡°Hel will take over. She is more than capable to handle the task. And eager.¡±


    Donn skewed his face. ¡°Eager for my job, you mean.¡±


    ¡°Hush yourself. It is decided. Furthermore, you will not do this alone. Emily will accompany you on your travels.¡±


    Donn blinked. ¡°What?¡±


    Emily was so wrapped up silently in her own mind over her confirmed death, her supposed death, her cancelled death, her extended life and the conspiracies in the afterlife that were all too large for her to handle. She only came to attention when her name was mentioned. She looked up at where Death was. ¡°What?¡± she also said blankly.


    ¡°I believe that it shall pay dividends, especially to Donn¡¯s advantage, that you accompany him on his assignment. Maybe your family members will be more accustomed talking with one of their own, thus making the reaping far easier for him.¡± Death said.


    ¡°But! But I don¡¯t know my family! Just my mum and my dad. How am I going to help? I don¡¯t even know what the hell to do!¡±


    ¡°This does seem rather on-the-fly.¡± Donn added. ¡°Especially for you, Death. Are you sure?¡±


    Death sighed. It was a grim sound. It sent a shiver up Emily¡¯s spine.


    ¡°Donn. The girl will not and cannot stay here. She is a mortal with her soul intact. If she is not careful, her soul may be taken by the pull of the light or of the dark. Or she could be devoured by one of the greater Clackers. She cannot stay. She must return to whence she belongs. That is my demand. It shall be satisfied. And she will be safest with you, seeing how you have appointed yourself as her protector.¡±


    Donn¡¯s eye twitched at the title. ¡°No, I am not! I-¡­¡± Donn hung his head and thought better of arguing with Death itself. ¡°Alright. If you say that this is the best course, I will be fine with it. Emily? What about you?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Emily leant back into her chair, feeling all too heavy from what had occurred. ¡°What about me? Why even ask me? Seems to me that my whole life has been planned out from the very beginning. I don¡¯t a have a say in anything of this¡­ I¡¯m just a nobody¡­¡±


    ¡°Emily Davidson. In that aspect, you may be quite right.¡± Death agreed. ¡°A nobody in her world, who somehow against all the odds was at the right place and at the right time. You must understand¡­ We all have a part to play in the story of our existence. I have my role, as does Donn and the others. God has his. Lucifer has his. Good has its role. Evil has its role as well. You yourself have your lines to speak and your directions to act. Even now, you walk upon a new path that has already been plotted out for you by your choices. A path that will take you to places you never thought possible. You being here is substantial proof of this. But it is how you do it, how you walk your path and how you speak your lines. No one but you can control that. That is what you can do.¡±


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Emily listened to this and fell silent for a moment. Then¡­ ¡°Death?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°All I have to do is go around with Donn and get my family back here?¡±


    ¡°That is the sum of your responsibilities. After this is done, you may restart your life, wherever you wish¡­ You have my word. Live it to the best of your abilities. And then I shall see you again for the last time. Or you can stay here and simply move on from this responsibility¡­¡±


    ¡°That means¡­ I¡¯m an assistant to Death? To you?¡±


    Death tittered. The sound of dying chicks echoed faintly in the hall. ¡°An intern would be a more appropriate title. Naturally, while you are out there, you cannot tell any living mortal what you are, what you are doing nor who Donn is. It would¡­ upset certain beings and bring unwanted confusion down onto your heads.¡±


    ¡°OK. Can do. I have one more question.¡±


    ¡°I am listening, child.¡±


    ¡°OK. Here goes¡­ Since I didn¡¯t die last night, when do I die? I know I¡¯m going to die. I know that.¡± Emily took out her golden coin and displayed it to Death. ¡°¡®Memento Mori¡¯, right? I just want to know so that I¡¯m prepared¡­¡±


    Donn¡¯s eyes widened again and his back itched with worry. Emily noticed his eyes and then thought that maybe asking Death such an impertinent question as that may not be the best way forward. Death did not say a word. Death just sat there. Then Death spoke.


    ¡°That is a question that many have asked me. Indirectly of course, never to my face¡­ Some have asked me whilst they pray. Or hiding in a bunker. And persons would say that a question like that would be considered extremely rude¡­¡±


    ¡°I- I¡¯m sorry. I was curious¡­¡± Emily looked down at the table. She felt quite small.


    If Death had smiled at her, Emily couldn''t see. But she could hear it in Death¡¯s voice.


    ¡°That feeling killed the cat, Emily. I should know, I coined that phrase¡­ There are many things you will have to learn and in a very short space of time. I cannot personally speak of the future events, not only until they happen. Time is a delicate system. One single upset, such as what we speak of now, will destabilise the line for many, many years¡­ Effort will be overspent to fix such damage. Even now, as I am talking to you, other beings such as myself are working hard to fix the damages that have rippled through the timeline. Deaths have occurred which should not have occurred. Births, which were scheduled, have been delayed. Miscarriages, suicides and murders are occurring randomly¡­ Even the weather has changed to patterns that dare to upset the balance further. I am sorry to not satisfy your request, Emily. Sometimes¡­ Sometimes, it is better that you do not know certain things¡­¡± ¡°Is it really that bad out there? In such a short space of time¡­¡± Donn asked. ¡°You did not mention this to the others.¡±


    ¡°I chose to withhold that information¡­ because I was supposed to. We do not need panic here.¡±


    Donn nodded as did Emily. They understood the sum of what has happened and what they must do now. Donn stood up. ¡°In that case, there¡¯s nothing more to discuss. I should prepare to leave. Emily, let us go and get ready. Death¡­ I thank you.¡±


    Donn bowed to Death and turned for a door in the hall. Death let him go. Emily did not move. Donn looked back and saw that Emily was remaining behind.


    Emily looked to him. ¡°I¡¯ll catch up with you¡­¡±


    ¡°OK. I¡¯ll be nearby. Don¡¯t be long.¡± Donn turned back to the door, entered it and ascended the stairs that awaited him.


    As he did, Donn felt a brush of movement beside his head. He snapped his head to the left and sensed her invisible presence. He sighed through his teeth. ¡°Chepi¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh. Hehehe¡­ Sorry. Not subtle enough?¡± Chepi shimmered into his vision. Her crystallised smile sparkled in the dark shadows of the tight space. Her moth wings, recently grown from her back, flapped frantically, making Donn¡¯s hair flit back and forth. ¡°Hello Donn! Sorry, had to eavesdrop. Can¡¯t help it!¡±


    Donn shook his head and continued up the spiral stone stairwell. ¡°You and Emily would get along in that regard. How much did you hear?¡±


    Chepi hovered around his head as they went up. ¡°Just snippets, I mean I tried to sample more juicy details, but these walls are thick like sycamores! It¡¯s as if Death knew that would happen when building this place¡­ Hmm¡­ So! Special assignment, eh? You taking a holiday in the grand old UK then?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a working holiday, Chepi.¡±


    ¡°So so! So so!¡± she chirped. ¡°But you taking that mortal with you, though? Is that allowed? Did you ask? Did Death give you permission? Does Death like her? What you gonna do?¡±


    ¡°I do not wish to presume the intentions of our leader¡­ but yes. I think Death does¡­ like her.¡± ¡°Aha. That¡¯s nice! But as long as Death likes me best, then the mortal has nothing to worry about! Hehehe!¡± Chepi cackled.


    Donn could not help smiling at her. Chepi had that quality about her, that infectious child-like mirth that only young ones could conjure in even the darkest of times. ¡°Trust me Chepi, no one could like anyone more than you.¡±


    Chepi clapped her hands. ¡°Hurray for me!¡± Then her face went serious for a moment, displaying the adult within her child form for only a second. ¡°But, Donn, if you like someone more than me, that¡¯s ok too.¡±


    ¡°Oh and who is that someone?¡±


    Donn asked this as they reached the top of the stairwell and had then proceeded down a stone corridor lit by oil lanterns. There was a door to the right. It was closed and upon the door was Nephthys¡¯s name.


    Chepi blatantly pointed at the name.


    Donn sighed as his chest tightened. ¡°No. Not again, Chepi.¡±


    ¡°Oh come on!!¡± Resuming her child mentality, Chepi wailed as they moved down the hall towards a door at the end and on the left. ¡°I pegged you two together for years! YEARS, Donn! You look good together, dang it!¡± She threw her hands up in the air and kicked out her legs. ¡°It is frustrating! All that tension!¡±


    ¡°Chepi. Drop it. No.¡±


    ¡°You must satisfy my fan-fictions!¡± Chepi tapped his head with her little balled up fists like a drum.


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Satisfy them, damn you! I want you guys to be happy!¡±


    Donn groaned in exasperation, reached his door, opened it and turned to Chepi. ¡°Chepi. It has been a very long day, longer than I care to have, and now I am told that I have to go back out there into a world that may be descending into chaos. Now I warn you, continue in this venture and I shall have to get irascible. I¡¯d rather not do that to you. If you were Hel or Whiro, then I would happily let fly my balled-up rage and tear apart anything within a five mile radius of me. But not at you.¡±


    Chepi dropped her arms and nodded sheepishly. ¡°I get it¡­ Sorry¡­¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡±


    ¡°I just want to help.¡±


    ¡°I know. But I do not need it.¡±


    ¡°Whiro is a dumbass. Hel is boring. I¡¯m a nice person.¡±


    ¡°Yes. He is. She is. And you are.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll leave you be then.¡± Chepi turned away, then she plunged at him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight embrace. ¡°I missed you.¡± Donn closed his eyes and smiled.


    He patted Chepi¡¯s small back. ¡°That¡¯s ok, you little squirt. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Chepi let go of him. ¡°Bye!¡± she said and she flitted away. Donn watched her dart down the stairwell. He then sighed heavily and closed the door to get at least a few minutes of sleep before he had to get ready.


    ¡°I imagine you have many questions still on your mind, Emily. That is why you have not yet left me.¡± Death assumed.


    ¡°Yeah. I know that I shouldn¡¯t keep asking you stuff but there is so much I want to know. I only just got here and I want to know so much. Ask so much!¡±


    ¡°Well, being the first human to hold a conversation with me for longer than a few minutes is a certain first. I should not be surprised that you are so inquisitive.¡± Death pushed back the chair. Emily heard footsteps as Death moved away from the chair. ¡°Walk with me, child.¡±


    Emily stood up. ¡°I uh, I don¡¯t know if I can. I can¡¯t even see you.¡±


    Then she stared as a glow of light formed before her. It took on a blurred humanoid shape that was slightly shorter than her. The shape was made of transparent light. It was rather calming to see.


    ¡°Does that help you?¡± asked the glowing light that was Death.


    Emily was unnerved by this official sight of Death, but she held her nerve. ¡°Y-Yeah. It does. Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Follow me.¡± Death left the table and proceeded towards a door that appeared in the wall behind Emily. Emily followed Death through the door and down another stone hallway. It was dark, but Death¡¯s light lit up the way.


    Emily had felt cautious. Rightfully so, as she was walking with the physical personification of death. But the ancient being did not put out an intimidating presence as before. Instead, Emily felt welcomed and even warmly received. Emily was certain that the cold presence she had felt when Death arrived a deliberate strategy to quell the Reapers into submission so that Death could speak with complete authority. Emily marvelled at that. To have such power like that was unimaginable. She then looked at the walls of the hallway.


    They were older than she expected. Giant tapestries depicting weather, nature and starlight hung from the corners of the unseeable ceiling. The light from the lanterns made the shadows within the corridors to leap and sway with frantic animation. It was a monastic place and very well set in Emily¡¯s expectations of what Death¡¯s home would look like.


    Suddenly, Emily heard music. It was a piano, waving it¡¯s sounds through the hallway like a ghastly echo. The notes were soft, light and filled with melancholy. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ That would be Xolotl. He is a master with the piano¡­¡± Emily was bewildered by that notion that a dog could be playing an instrument. ¡°But¡­ He¡¯s a dog. He doesn''t have fingers. How can he play the piano?¡±


    ¡°And when has that ever stopped him? Emily, you are in our world now¡­ You have to forget everything you know. Expand your mind to reach the near impossible and imagine that to be possible. Such is the world we reside in.¡±


    Emily kept quiet as she listened to the perfect music. To her, picturing Xolotl playing the piano like some reincarnated Chopin was mind-boggling. She knew that all of this was crazy. Nuts. But again, this was just another factor she had to accept. ¡®Forget everything you know, expand your mind¡¯¡­ she thought. Might as well do that.


    ¡°So. What do you want to know?¡± Death asked as they walked.


    ¡°OK. Um, well, how do the Reapers do their jobs? There¡¯s like seven billion people in the world. At least a thousand people die a day-¡±


    ¡°One hundred and fifty thousand a day actually.¡± ¡°Oh, fuck me¡­ Right, so like, how do they have the time to do anything?¡±


    ¡°You have just answered your own question. They do have the time. All the time in the world in fact.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t get it. How do you mean?¡±


    ¡°When I work in Antartica, Emily, (and yes I do Reap on occasion when the need arises), I would being able to freeze time. All the Reapers have that power with the use of the Memento Mori coins at their disposal. It is as simple as snapping my fingers. We have the coins upon us and channel our mind and spirit into halting time. That is how we stop it. But while Time is halted, Reapers do not. One second for you is hours to us. It allows us plenty of time to do what is needed.


    I once came across a fight between two brothers in the middle of a vicious snowstorm. They were fighting over the land that their father bequeathed them. They both killed eachother at the exact same time. Or so they thought¡­ In fact, the younger brother died half a second before the other. I froze time to collect the soul in-between the times of death, in accordance with the Schedule. Using the coin, I unfroze time. The timeline continued unabated with the deaths occurring exactly when they should.


    When crossing countries is required, a Reaper would sometimes freeze time and punctually arrive at the required location.¡±


    Emily thought back to her attempt to call the police on Donn, only for him to have her phone in his hand within that second before she could call for help.


    He used his coin to freeze time at his will. That was how he did it.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t there any consequences for that? Like shouldn''t messing with time be a big no-no?¡±


    ¡°How would you know? From television shows and stories?¡±


    Emily smiled bashfully. ¡°Well, uh- maybe?¡±


    ¡°I can freeze time as much as I care to. As long as I do not change the course of time throughout this action, there are no consequences. You watch films, do you not? You get hungry but you don¡¯t want to miss out on the story. So you pause it. You eat your food and when you are finished, you resume watching the film. It is the same function. I grant you, it is a grotesquely simple analogy, but the most understandable one for a human to comprehend.¡±


    ¡°That sounds abusive. To pause time like that whenever you feel like it.¡±


    ¡°Well, it works for our system. I am not one to question the ways that Time works.¡±


    ¡°But what happens if someone does, you know, mess up time by doing this? Or prevents a death by freezing it? Like a piece of masonry falling on someone¡¯s head. You pause it, pull the person out the way and un-pause it.¡±


    Death stopped as they reached a door to the outside of the building. ¡°Trust me on this, Emily. You do not want that to happen. One does not meddle with the Schedule.¡±


    Emily nodded quickly, unnerved by Death¡¯s hardened tone. ¡°Ok.¡±


    Death opened the door and stepped out onto a balcony.


    Emily joined Death as they both leant on the balcony¡¯s barrier. The balcony overlooked a cliff side that yawned underneath them and reached out to the purple sea which lay hundreds of metres below them. To Emily¡¯s right there was rolling fields of grass that expanded further and further, as far as Emily could see. Hills, glens, valleys and ridges carpeted the expanding world before her. And to her left, the House of Death¡¯s victorian architecture towered over her. It was so large and so majestic that it gave Emily the feeling that the building loomed over her. It was a giant looking down on an ant.


    The horizon was utterly breathtaking. The sun was setting and its rays of light reached through the clouds and coloured the sky in a rainbow palette to could have rivalled an acid trip. A gentle breeze of the rusty, flower-smelling air hinted its presence under Emily¡¯s nose.


    Death sighed. ¡°These sights bring me to such an equilibrium. It is good.¡±


    Emily leant on the balcony wall and observed the sights. ¡°Yeah¡­ it¡¯s really cool. Death? Do you have parents?¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Death replied emphatically.


    ¡°HUH?¡± Emily¡¯s mouth gaped as she looked at Death. ¡°Wait? Really?¡±


    ¡°This surprises you?¡±


    ¡°Well yes, it does. You''re DEATH. Like The Death.¡±


    ¡°We all come from somewhere, Emily. My parent is Creation. I have six siblings too.¡±


    ¡°Oh. OK. Who¡¯re they?¡±


    ¡°War, Time, Life, Fate, Peace and Knowledge.¡±


    Emily found herself speechless once again before find her voice. ¡°Mate, that¡¯s just¡­ wow. That¡¯s wild.¡±


    ¡°Yes. Indeed. Like myself, my siblings have their cohorts to spread out the work. Did you not notice how the Reapers are death gods in their respective homelands? I selected them from the roster of death deities that already populated your planet. They were then ordered to govern a continent that housed their country or race. War, Life and the other Elementals¡­ They all do the same with their own specialised teams of godly workers. War has his Mongers. Knowledge has their Curiosities. Time is armed with his Timekeepers. Fate has her Fortunes. Peace has her Solaces and Life has the Conceptions. It is a system that has worked for eons and shall continue to do so for eons after this very conversation has ended.¡±


    ¡°Whoa¡­¡±


    Emily looked back to the sea, perplexed by the things she was learning at such a fast pace. It really was all a system set in place to allow the world to turn at its axis at the right point in time.


    Suddenly, Emily felt quite small compared to the vastness of the machinations made by the deities. What role could she possibly play in this grand scheme of gods and souls and everything in-between?


    Then she squinted. She could swear that there was something hovering over the sea. It shimmered in the sunlight and then it became tangible and visible.


    It looked like a portal. A black hole in the air that was sucking in anything that came near it. And there were things going in.


    Emily realised that the things flying through the air were the hairs, the souls. There were trails upon trails of them, thousands upon thousands of the souls, lined up like curled clouds all round the two portals. The shine from the souls was a certain give-away.


    Underneath the portal, Emily could see another portal that sucked part of the souls as well. Emily pointed at the two portals.


    ¡°Are those what I think they are?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Those are the gateways to the Heavens and to the Hells. The pull of the light and of the dark. I mentioned this to you, did I not? The good and the evil in a soul are a matter of scale. The good is the equivalent of your element of helium. Evil is that of lead. The more of one defeats the strength of the other. The soul will then either fall or rise according to the amount it holds. That is how the portals sift through the trillions that come through the Deathlands. As you can see Emily, death is run by systems set in place many eons ago.¡±


    ¡°And what about the souls that are, like, perfectly balanced?¡±


    ¡°You mean Purgatory?¡±


    ¡°Okay, sure. Purgatory.¡±


    The figure of light swept out one arm across the sights of the sea and cliffs. ¡°This is Purgatory. The Lands themselves are that.¡±


    ¡°Oh, um¡­ How does that work?¡±


    ¡°The souls which manage to stay 50/50 in virtue and sin remain here to be purified of either accord. They are then incarcerated in Limbo, to roam the Deathlands for a time until their procedure when they are judged by their actions at a highly scrutinised level to truly evaluate their moral value. When they were to be ready, they would then travel to their appropriate place. The atheists¡¯ system is quite similar.¡±


    Emily nodded. She couldn''t help but be impressed by the pragmatism of Death. ¡°I get it¡­ You have a tight handle on everything here.¡±


    If Death had shoulders, Death would have shrugged at Emily¡¯s compliment.


    ¡°Of course. Otherwise, Chaos would reign. Think of the paperwork that the angels and demons would have to rectify if good souls ended up in the Hells and bad ones in the Heavens. Tempers would be raised and I would receive the full blame. Out of all the angry deity letters I have received, Buddha¡¯s are certainly the most inflamed. Ironic¡­ In fact, you would be surprised how many times my siblings and I get blamed for a mishap caused by upper management.¡±


    ¡°That sucks.¡±


    ¡°That is why I am strict on my Reapers. They cannot afford to make mistakes.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°Emily. Why did you ask about my parents? Are you thinking of yours?¡±


    ¡°¡­Yes.¡±


    ¡°And you want to know if Donn or Hel reaped your mother?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Donn did. He¡¯s a nice spirit. I assume he didn¡¯t tell you in order to spare your feelings¡­¡±


    ¡°¡­Oh. I get it. That¡¯s cool.¡± Emily became silent. Then she asked, ¡°Was there really no other way? Could she have stayed alive for a little while longer? She wasn¡¯t ill. She never took risks. She was happy¡­ I was happy.¡±


    ¡°Her time had ended. That was how she had to die. I am sorry, but such events happen across your world more times than you think. Donn takes no pleasure in reaping souls as pure as your mother¡¯s. But it had to be done. There is no justice in death, Emily. Only fairness. I do not spare anyone. Rich or poor, young or old. All are equal when you face me. You must remember that¡­.


    If it makes you feel better, be assured in knowing that your mother went directly to Heaven without a second¡¯s hesitation. Considering that she lived for a short while, her soul was the purest I had seen.¡±


    ¡°That does sound like my mum.¡±


    ¡°Indeed.¡±


    ¡°OK. And how about my dad? How is he? I left him in a bad way¡­ I hope he¡¯s all right. ¡±


    Death did not speak. So, she does not yet know. Good. Such as her timeline dictates that she cannot know. She learns of his death later. But in the living world. Not here. Very well.


    ¡°As I have said, Emily, your timeline has been besmirched. I cannot say what has occurred with your father. But I had not seen his soul here yet.¡±


    This was a lie. Hel had come before Donn¡¯s arrival, bearing Fredrick Davidson¡¯s soul. From the very same balcony, Death watched the father¡¯s much weighted soul sail directly for Hell.


    Thankfully, Emily bought the lie. She smiled. ¡°OK. At least he¡¯s alive.¡±


    Death nodded and changed the subject. ¡°I have a personal request to make of you, Emily Davidson.¡±


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Emily turned to Death.


    ¡°When you travel, watch over Donn. He has a young and sensitive heart. As you have witnessed, he is prone to bouts of unusual passion for a deity. He takes such feelings to heart and channels them into his work. For he had no more time to focus on what he truly wants. He has suffered greatly for this and I would not wish for him to be in unnecessary pain. To suffer greatly compels one to make terrible mistakes. Therefore, I would like you to watch over him and guide him as he guides you.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°Just be there for him.¡±


    ¡°Is it to do with Nephthys?¡±


    ¡°Ah. So you noticed.¡±


    ¡°It was pretty easy to see that. Whiro made that comment about her and Donn punched him immediately for it. I¡¯ve never see him so angry. Well, apart from the bit at the station.¡±


    Death laughed. ¡°Donn¡¯s an emotional child. But yes, his heart is yoked to hers. As she is to him. Not by my design, but the fates themselves seemed to deem it so¡­¡±


    ¡°But why? What happened between them?¡± Emily really wanted to know this. She was always one for intriguing gossip. But Death was not so inclined to indulge her.


    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that is something I cannot say. If Donn wants you to know, he should tell you himself.¡±


    ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll ask him. When he¡¯s ready, I mean.¡±


    Death turned to Emily and offered a blurred limb to her. ¡°I thank you.¡±


    Emily looked at Death¡¯s hand with uncertainty. ¡°I¡¯m not going to die if I take your hand, am I?¡±


    ¡°Rest assured Emily, you are quite safe. If I wanted to kill you, you¡¯d be dead without even realising it.¡±


    Emily grimaced. ¡°That really doesn''t make me feel assured.¡± Regardless, Emily shook Death¡¯s hand. It felt cold, but firm. ¡°Right, what do I do now?¡±


    ¡°Go to Donn. He is resting in his room, I imagine. I suggest you do the same before you leave. Fresca shall guide you.¡± Death pointed at Emily¡¯s feet.


    Emily looked down and jumped, spooked by the Clacker sitting by her feet. It was the same one that had nipped her finger and had stared at her all the while upon the boat. It still stared at her. Emily had no idea how long the little creature was there for. Fresca the Clacker stood up, clicked its jaws affectionately at Death and skittered to the door. Emily looked at the Clacker and back at Death.


    ¡°Good luck, Emily. You will need it.¡± Death nodded to her.


    Emily nodded back and proceeded to follow Fresca through the opened door and down the hallway.


    Finally alone, Death leaned on the balcony to study the souls drifting through the sky. Flying Clackers swopped through the sky, snapping their jaws at the invisible time residues left by the souls. A wyvern Clacker, with a griffon body and dragonfly wings, dove through the Clacker swarm and snapped at its food. Death watched the portals, hard at work since the day they began their tireless work.


    Death felt a tinge of remorse about the lie. Death was many things, but Death was not heartless to the love of children. Emily had loved her father once. He loved her just as dearly. Death knew this. The news of his passing would have broken her. She could not know of it. Especially since his soul had now gone to Hell. No. Death would not allow for it to be said.


    Emily will need her strength for what is to come. Donn and Emily both need to be ready. Even though they are not, they need to be. The tasks ahead of them will be arduous, maybe even perilous. I hope I made the right choice paring them together and allowing them to return back out there.


    Death felt uncertainty over such a decision.


    Death had never felt this before.


    Such a problem laid out for the old being. So much damage and danger awaited for them all. They all have to tread carefully. But Death had faith.


    Faith in the Gaelic Reaper and the human girl whom he had unwittingly bound his fate to.


    That was all Death could do as the being, shackled by the role fitted for it, watched the souls sail through the sky, free from all responsibility, worry and fear.


    The fleeting souls did not know how lucky they were.

 Chapter 6 - Tortured Soul

    David woke up in a fearful sweat. A tightness, one latched upon his chest, started to fade. He sat up in Fred¡¯s bed and wiped the sweat from his face. He sighed through his nose.


    Another restless night¡­ I¡¯m getting sick of this shit¡­


    He looked to the window. He could see a sliver of morning light appearing between the curtains and cutting through the dust in the air. He yawned, stretching his arms and his aching muscles. He threw his legs out of the bed and slapped the back of his head to shake off the sleep from his mind.


    He twitched in agony when he laid some pressure on his left hand. The bandage that he raided in Fred¡¯s bathroom provided much needed healing.


    He analysed his wound. It had stopped bleeding, but it felt very raw and smelled like pus. He gently peeled the bandage off to peek inside. There was a delicate film of white plasma covering the wound and a thin ring of scabs surrounded the damage. David was always credited himself as a fast healer. He slowly clenched his hand. It hurt, but he was able to do so. At least that¡¯s some progress.


    With a nod, David stood up and headed for a much needed shower.


    On his way to the bathroom, his right eye twitched and his vision of the past appeared before him with quicker ease. The afterimages of Emily were everywhere. Some Emilys were crouched on the steps of the stairs and huddled up in a crying position. Other Emilys were backing away from the larger Fred afterimages whose fists were raised. David turned away as the Fred afterimages began attacking the Emilys.


    David felt for Emily. And he understood her. What she must have felt when she was staying in this house¡­ That gut-clenching fear, every day and night¡­ Hell. Absolute hell. David placed his hand on the drywall of the landing and rubbed his palm on it. It had a corse feeling that triggered his own memories of staying in such a place as this one. David closed his eyes and thought of Fred downstairs. Lying there dead. He tisked and pushed the memories of his childhood back into his subconscious. He refused to address it. He dared not to.


    Much to David¡¯s pleasure, Fred had a standing shower cubicle. David stripped off his clothes, placed his phone in the empty sink (to amplify the sound through the ceramic echoing of the sink¡¯s bowl) and played a track from his playlist. It was Janis Joplin with her chilled track Kozmic Blues. He turned on the cold water and once he was certain that it was freezing, he stepped right in.


    He hung his head down and allowed the ice water to pound at his neck. He placed his hands on the waterproof wall and sighed as the water passed by his parted lips. His mind went back to his restless sleep. How many times did he have that same nightmare? How many more times would he have to suffer it?


    Try as he could, the memory resurfaced as he stared at his hands. His hands. He closed his eyes and allowed the pain to wash down upon him.


    It was his tenth birthday. No one had come because no one was invited. It was only David and his mother, Judith. He remembered that they were in the living room at the time.


    David was seated on the sofa. Waiting with such exuberant joy that one would smile when they saw him so joyful. They didn''t have time to buy a cake, so they made pancakes to celebrate. Pancakes with maple syrup. Those were his favourite.


    The small David smiled as Judith knelt by him. She stroked his hair back and kissed him on his cheek. She told him of how much she loved him. David replied in the same vein as he balanced his pancakes on his thin knees. He was very happy with it was just him and his mother.


    He loved his mother.


    Judith as everything that David imagined a fairy tale mother would be; kind, patient and beautiful.


    All he ever wanted was to find a cottage in England somewhere and runway with her. To live happily every after in peace and harmony- The front door opened and slammed. Both mother and son froze.


    David knew by then of what mood FATHER was in by the sound of the doors that he closed. Normal sounding closings marked for a brooding temperament.


    Slams spoke of a truly enraged temper.


    David¡¯s FATHER entered the room and stared down at them both. David remembered his FATHER¡¯S face. It was red and sweating. It was a hot summer after all. The cigarette, a permanent feature on FATHER¡¯S face, burned bright and hard and left a trail of grey smoke behind him. His eyes were swirling and unfocused. His beard was thick and black. And he was drunk again. He was breathing heavily as he stared down at his victims.


    What is this? What¡¯s all this? You have time to make some fuckin¡¯ pancakes?


    Judith stood up and raised her hands. She wanted peace. For David¡¯s sake, at least.


    It¡¯s his birthday. I thought we celebrate it. Would you like some? Come sit with us.


    You thought? You thought?


    FATHER stomped towards her and stood in front of David, facing down Judith. He knelt down and pulled the plate of food out of David¡¯s hands and held it up at Judith¡¯s face. And then without a warning, he flung it past her head and smashed it hard against the wall.


    WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I AM DOING OUT THERE!? I AM BUSTING MY GUT TO KEEP A GOD DAMNED HOUSE OVER OUR HEADS WHILE YOU MAKE... MAKE FUCKING PANCAKES!?


    David curled inwards and flinched with terror. He knew what was going to happen and braced himself. And Judith stood her ground. She didn''t flinch and stared down FATHER bravely.


    Do what you want. But please. Not in front of David.


    Don¡¯t you fuckin¡¯ tell me what to fuckin¡¯ do, bitch.


    FATHER flicked his eyes down to David. David dared not look up at him. To do that was to defy him. Never. He would never-


    FATHER¡¯S hand appeared in front of him. It was holding a ¡ê10 note.


    Get some milk, boy. Move it.


    David gingerly took the money out and squeezed past FATHER. FATHER turned around and slapped David at the back of his head as he made it past him.


    Hurry up!


    David nearly ran out of the house, not daring to look back at his parents still standing in the living room.


    Ten minutes flew by when David came back carrying only a carton of milk like he was told.


    He arrived at the house and he could hear her crying and him shouting.


    David¡¯s breathing quickened.


    No. Not again. Please! No!


    He rushed inside.


    I have the milk! He told me to get it! What did I do wrong!?


    David arrived at the living room. But they were not there. So where were they-


    There came a very familiar snap of leather and his mother screamed. From the kitchen. David rushed down the corridor and saw-


    Judith was on the floor. She was curled up into a ball of quivering flesh. FATHER stood over her with that brown, weathered belt in his hands. That belt had seen plenty of use¡­


    You will respect me, bitch.


    He raised the belt up and brought it down.


    Judith screamed.


    And David snapped. That was it. That was enough. Enough!


    David uncapped the carton of milk and charged for FATHER. David screamed shrilly at him.


    LEAVE HER ALONE!


    FATHER turned about, only to be blinded by milk thrown into his eyes.David leapt up and grabbed FATHER¡¯S neck with both hands and squeezed.


    FATHER whirled about and threw his son to the floor. David slammed onto his back and lost all the wind in him. FATHER bent down on top of him and grabbed his neck. He began to squeeze in return.


    I''ll kill you! I''ll kill you! You stupid, fuckin¡¯ little bast-


    FATHER¡¯S eyes bulged and his air caught in his throat. He lurched back and turned.


    David saw a kitchen knife sticking in FATHER¡¯S back. FATHER tried to reach for it. But he couldn¡¯t.


    Judith scrabbled back with another knife on her hands. She was crying and terrified.


    FATHER fell onto his hands and knees and began to slowly crawl towards her.


    Judith waved her knife at him for some inane attempt to ward him off. But he was not deterred. David scrabbled to his feet.


    Judith saw him and yelled at him to run. Run away.


    David¡¯s small hands shook and his small heart thudded in his ears.


    He was just as scared as her. But no. He would not run. Not anymore.


    David roared as he jumped onto the man, for that was all FATHER was. Just a man who was attacking his mother.


    David grabbed the knife with both hands and yanked it out with a second roar. The man who was once FATHER gasped and dropped down onto his chest and wheezed out a cry for help.


    David straddled the man and roared for a third and final time as he lifted his blade in hand and struck it down with a final strike onto the monster¡¯s neck-


    David shot out his fist and punched the screen door of the shower so hard that it nearly came off its hinges. The pain from the blow snapped him out from his trance. David was breathing heavily and his eyes were wide and his teeth bared. His eyes opened and he was back in the world of the present. He turned off the shower and sunk to the bottom with his hand over his head. He battled to keep his breath down. His chest was tightening across his ribs. He seemed to be having a panic attack, caused by his trip down his memory lane.


    What the hell was that?


    That was nothing like the nightmares before. That felt so utterly real. As if he was truly there.


    His right eye made a twinge of pain.


    Ah, so that was it. The magic. So not only did it allow him to see the shadows of some pasts¡­ it also unearthed his memories¡­ but in such a vivid way¡­ David rubbed his hands together. He swore that that point that he could still feel the blood on them¡­


    He slapped his face a couple of times and pulled himself together. Come on then, on your feet!


    He had to get to work, he had no time to worry about his mind.


    He pulled off his left hand¡¯s bandages and allowed the wound to be washed by the cold water in the sink. It definitely looked better than before. Which was good enough for him. He applied a new bandage and searched for the remainder of the vodka to drink.


    After his arduous last night, David found some vodka and doused his hand in it. It stung like hell, he cursed and ranted but bore it with as much tenacity as one could stomach. Now, sterilised and washed, David had no other choice to let it heal alone. If he had medicinal stitches, he would have used them. But he did not and he was not about to go to any hospital.


    As David turned off the shower and stepped out of it, his mind inevitably drew towards the reminder of the body downstairs. He sighed with some small relief. He was glad of what he did. One less scumbag to worry about.


    David stood over the sink and brushed his teeth with Fred¡¯s toothpaste and toothbrush. As he flossed his teeth, David thought about what Fred had said about Emily¡¯s favourite city to go to during the holidays. Brighton. If she is coming back from whatever weirdo place she¡¯s gone to, she¡¯ll eventually turn up there. Hopefully.


    He finished his hygienic routine and got changed into Fred¡¯s clothes. No matter what their size was, David had the skill to fit into any type of clothing he wore. Clothes always looked good on him. He sighed with a smile when he found a pair of comfortable walking boots. Fred may have been scum, but he at last had a sense of style. David tried on the boots and immediately fell for them. Now to finally clean up the mess.


    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    With his earphones back in his ears and his phone turned up to maximum volume, David blasted California Soul by Marlena Shaw through his cranium.


    He raided the house for money and other essentials like beer and food. He finally found seven hundred pounds in Fred¡¯s bedroom cabinet. With his bounty stuffed in a rucksack and a newly lit cigarette in his mouth, David stepped down the stairs to the music.


    He reached the kitchen and found a tall candle.


    He headed over to the adjacent living room and, once melting the bottom of the candle, stuck it on Fred¡¯s coffee table.


    He absentmindedly stepped over Fred¡¯s corpse as he headed back to the kitchen, to where Fred¡¯s gas cooker stood. David nonchalantly turned on all the gas markers (he was careful to have his lit cigarette far from the gas as it arrived). The telltale hiss of gas escaped the cooker.


    With his work done, David walked away from the kitchen, lit the candle on the way and headed straight out of the door. It was a sunny day in London. He stretched his arms and smiled.


    Another glorious day. Now, off to see Father.


    He turned on his heel and headed away from the house.


    It was only seven minutes later when David heard a large explosion coming from the direction ofElsdale Street. He allowed himself a smirk as he continued his stride away.


    He was more than happy to leave that hellhole behind at last.


    David strode down Marylebone High Street. Venus by Shocking Blue matched his temperament. Its jaunty vibes and beating theme influenced his pace. He tapped his shoes and skipped along with the music as he paced down the street.


    He liked this part of London. Apart from the artisan shops and food stores that graced his eyes, there were always plenty of good looking women in this part of the city. From the opposite side of he street, he spied a particularly ravishing brunette seated on an outside cafe table with two women, talking and walking. He watched the woman as he strolled down. She was not tall, nor slim. But there was an aura of sheer beauty emanating from her. He liked it. He didn''t take his eyes off the woman as he walked. She was laughing and waving her hands in an eccentric manner that made David nod in approval. It was rare to see someone in the city who had a different point of view. No one spent enough time looking up or just smiling.


    Something small and icy cold tapped his nose. He rubbed his nose and looked up. To his surprise, it was hailing. And yet there were no clouds in the sky. It was a bright morning. David blinked and then shielded his eyes as the hail increased in volume. This drove people into shops and cafes, including the two women. David was himself about to rush along his route to get to the church but then the hail stopped.


    David looked back up and saw that there was no hail indeed. His eyes stared as he watched clouds suddenly shift over the street from seemingly nowhere. He squinted at this unusual cloud cover. His right eye twitched and his view of magic world was back. As if he commanded it to do so. David laughed to himself. This was getting fun.


    The mist of hundreds of colours returned and filled the world. Buildings were outlined and people, present and afterimages, crammed the streets and shops. The sounds of the world remained untouched. But David was staring at the clouds. They were not of the same colour. While the sky retained the similar mixture of colours as the buildings and people, the clouds were of a darker shade. A colour more closely related to black. And the snow- Snow? Yes, indeed the November snow that fell down shared the dark colour.


    Two women in the shop nearest to him were talking about the strange weather. He could hear them.


    ¡°Odd weather this week, wouldn''t you say Yvette?¡± one said.


    ¡°Oh, yes indeed. I hear from Terrance that he saw tornadoes in Ireland.¡± Yvette replied.


    ¡°Tornadoes in Ireland? Next thing we¡¯ll be hearing about are earthquakes in Kent.¡±


    ¡°I think there were some a few years ago. I bet you that the dead will be back while we¡¯re at it.¡±


    David laughed to himself. The dead have already come back, he thought as the memory of the undead pigeon arose in his mind. After turning up his lapels against his neck, David moved through the thickening snowfall that was quickly reducing his rainbow vision. He shook his head and shut off his magic. He couldn''t help but feel a small and growing sense of suspicion that the weather was somehow being affected by the craziness that he was involved in.


    David sighed and trudged on.


    My world¡¯s changing day by bloody day with all this magic mojo. The sooner I¡¯m down with this, the better. But first things first.


    He turned right so that he could reach St. James¡¯ Church by Spanish Place. He stopped off his music and stepped inside to gain some much needed shelter.


    The great church of St. James had not changed since David was just ten years old. Grand, majestic and suitably Catholic in design and atheistic, it gracefully loomed over the praying persons who attended the hallowed grounds. There were not too many people in that day despite the bitter weather outside.


    If he had to pray, David would do it in no other church. It was the church that provided him and his mother the needed sanctuary in those dark times¡­ And the peace of such a place of worship soothed the fearful child instantly. And it still did for the adult that now stood within its hallowed chambers.


    David knelt in the aisle and crossed himself accordingly. He chose a seat at the front and there he waited for his chance to talk with the Father.


    He glanced to his left and saw that the confession booth was being used. He would have to wait.


    So he looked to his right and saw a young boy watching at him with curious eyes.


    David smiled and waved. The boy waved back with a wide grin and resumed his prayers.


    David cracked a smirk at the boy¡¯s innocence and closed his hands together himself for a moment to pray.


    To his credit and for all of his faults, David was a somewhat religious man. He held a good belief for Christianity while he had dispatched the ideas of magic with certain disdain. But while that was the case, he did not agreed with all of the Lord¡¯s teachings, especially the ones concerning forgiveness or turning the cheek.


    And now that he could see that magic was truly real, that the dead could be brought back and that there were forces out there beyond his control, David felt a keen sense of his existence whilst he knelt before the Lord.


    He closed his eyes and began his conversation with the unseen God.


    Hello, God.


    It¡¯s me again, David.


    I guess it has been quite a while since I last had a chat with you, right? Well, I can also guess that you may not be very happy with me and with what I have been doing. That doesn''t really matter to me though, to be honest with you¡­ I¡¯m not looking for seek forgiveness from you. No. I¡¯d never apologise for what I am.


    And I¡¯m not looking for you to accept what I have done. For it is something I had done and I had to do. It was my choice.


    I- I just can¡¯t sit by and watch people being hurt by those who never receive the pain in return. It¡¯s an injustice. That is all.


    Look, I¡¯m not asking you to say anything or provide me with the answers, okay?! I just- I just want to know that I am doing the right thing! I have killed a lot of people and I haven¡¯t been punished for it. Why won¡¯t you? If it¡¯s so wrong, why haven''t you stopped me? Why didn''t you stop him? I was happy. But not after that. I- I was ruined by him¡­


    Now I have to go hunt down her. And this girl¡­ she¡¯s like me. She had a bad childhood and no one to care for her. And now that she¡¯s free, I have to bring her back to Michael. I never hurt women, you know this better than anyone. In my whole life.


    David sighed and rubbed his face.


    But¡­ if I must deliver this girl, a stranger, to Michael to get a chance to bring my mother back? You know damn well that I¡¯ve got to try.


    Alright¡­ I¡¯m also here to ask that you can keep an eye on my mum. And keep another eye on my foster mums. I know they¡¯re happy being up there with you. I really hope they are happy.


    To his left, David could see the churchgoer leaving the confession booth.


    That¡¯s it. So, maybe next time, we can see if what I do next will justify what I had done¡­ Cheers.


    David whipped his hand across his head and body in a rushed penance, stepped up from his seat andquickly edged towards the confession booth.


    Another man was about to make his way towards the small wooden door, but David got there first. He put his hand on the door in a show of forceful ownership and stared down the other penitent man.


    The man, meek and weak in form and spirit, smiled at David pathetically and scurried away from David. David nodded with assurance and stepped inside.


    Father Daniels remained silent as David got himself settled into the kneeled position upon the small pew inside the booth. He clasped his hands together, rested his forehead on his thumbs¡¯ knuckles and spoke.


    ¡°Hello Father.¡±


    ¡°David. It is good to hear from you.¡± Father Daniels¡¯s voice was soft and warm, unchanged over theyears David had known him.


    ¡°Yes, Father¡­ Forgive me father, for I am sinned. It has been a few weeks since my last confession.¡±


    ¡°What are your troubles?¡±


    ¡°I have been harbouring dark thoughts again.¡±


    ¡°Is that so? What type of thoughts?¡±


    ¡°Vengeance and a moral dilemma¡­ Shall I start with the vengeance part?¡±


    ¡°Please do.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­ I¡¯ve been getting the vibes more often than before. Every time I see a man, I get so angry. I get so fucked off at them- sorry Father for the swearing - I feel so angry¡­¡±


    ¡°Understandable. Considering what you have suffered, anyone can feel such feelings. But it is not healthy to transfer the pain of the past and place it into your present and future.¡±


    ¡°I know that, Father. I do. It¡¯s just that¡­ That¡¯s all I have.¡±


    ¡°So why confess if you seem to be so comfortable with the anger?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not comfortable with- Look, I don¡¯t know¡­ I guess I just want to hear someone¡¯s opinion¡­¡±


    ¡°I am a man, David. Do you feel animosity with me?¡±


    ¡°No! No, Father- I mean not in the way I feel about other men¡­ You¡¯re a good man, you¡¯re one of the few good ones¡­¡±


    ¡°David. There are so many more good men out in the world¡­ if you continue to cloud your eyes with your bitterness and rage from your childhood¡­ you¡¯ll blind yourself to the benevolence surrounding you.¡±


    ¡°Uh, I don¡¯t think I¡¯m blind to good things, Father. I see women, good ones at that!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t disregard my advice.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not disregarding it. I¡¯m just sidestepping it.¡±


    Father Daniels sighed, then changed the subject. ¡°How many women have you been with then?¡±


    David hesitated.


    ¡°David?¡± Father Daniels asked.


    ¡°I¡¯ve¡­ lost count.¡± came a sheepish reply.


    Daniels tutted with disapproval. ¡°David¡­ you losing count only proves that you¡¯re happy with just that. Why are you still single?¡±


    ¡°I saw a girl just now, actually. She looked pretty.¡±


    ¡°Really? That¡¯s good. But please answer my question.¡±


    ¡°Ugh! I just don¡¯t feel comfortable with them. I mean, I like women, I really like women, but I don¡¯t feel settled with them at all! That¡¯s just how it is with me, Father. What¡¯s wrong with loving a girl, being with her for a bit and then heading off to meet other good-looking women?¡±


    ¡°I think you know what¡¯s wrong with that scenario, David.¡±


    David sighed through his hands and dug his elbows into the pew. ¡°Yeah¡­ Can we talk about something else, please?¡±


    ¡°Very well¡­ how are you feeling?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m feeling ok thanks, all things considering¡­¡±


    ¡°Have you been attending your sessions?¡±


    ¡°Not as often, Father¡­ But I don¡¯t feel the need to do so. Sitting around in a circle listening to people talk about how shit their lives have been doesn''t feel like therapy to me. No thanks.¡±


    ¡°It helps build empathy between people. Helps build self-esteem and trust.¡±


    ¡°Got enough of that to get me through the day, thanks.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough, David.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been visiting the cemetery as well. Her grave looks well cared for.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad to hear it. Now, David¡­ What about this moral dilemma you seem to be suffering from?¡±


    ¡°Oh boy¡­ Yeah. So, you know that freelance job I¡¯ve got working on, right? I got a call to go collect someone. But I- I feel that it doesn''t seem right to me. It kinda goes against what I have as a code, as a belief¡­ You know, it¡¯s like someone told you to denounce God¡¯s existence. It¡¯s the same feeling. It goes against your grain. You wouldn''t just do it without hesitation.¡±


    ¡°I understand your feeling, David. An interesting analogy to use as well. Are you questioning the existence of God?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ and yes. Maybe¡­ Father, I get that there¡¯s a lot of suffering and cruelty in the world. I¡¯m not exactly an innocent type of man either. But so far, I¡¯ve had no punishment coming my way¡­ Why is that? Either God doesn''t care about what I did or do in my life, or he isn''t there to even care¡­¡±


    Father Daniels leant back in his chair. He was very quiet as he carefully regarded David¡¯s statement. David stayed quiet in a similar fashion, awaiting for the Father¡¯s words.


    David hated men.


    That has been a sure factor of his life.


    But there was only one man that he had respect for and regarded with understanding, even though he did not trust him with the truth. That was Father Daniels.


    It was Father Daniels who came to his rescue all those years ago.


    It was Father Daniels who ensured that David¡¯s mother also escaped the same hellhole and allowed her to spend the remainder of her years in reasonable comfort.


    It was Father Daniels who helped David find his foster parents.


    And it was Father Daniels who helped David hide the body¡­


    David spent every agreeable moment of contact with Daniels as he grew up.


    He sung hymns at Lent, Easter and Christmas.


    He observed communions and baptisms take place with Daniels leading the ceremonies. He watched the prayers, the weddings, the confessions and sermons that took place in the church. He even helped Daniels with the renovations for the church.


    But as David grew older, with his three mothers all subsequently passing away from illness or time, David began to distance himself from Daniels. Daniels was the last living person that linked David to his old life. Being friends with a reminder of his pain was a hard burden to bear. Yet he owed a debt to the Father, so he couldn''t stay away forever.


    Daniels coughed, bringing David back to his attention.


    ¡°God does exist, David. This is how I know: There is beauty in the world. Not in just the people. You just only have to look to nature herself. Look to the leaves in spring. The birds of the summer. The foxes and squirrels of the winter. There is wonder in that. Such wondrous simplicity and perfection, it¡¯s hard to not be in awe of it. There is also wonder in food, in music, arts, sport and science. They all sustain human life in so many ways, its almost impossible to list all the far-reaching benefits. All of which allows for certain event stop transpire. All these years ago, I remember taking a walk around North London.¡±


    David nodded. He knew what point Daniels was going to make. ¡°I get it.¡±


    ¡°I walked around that area for no reason at all. I had no preconceived plans to be in that area. But I still went there because I decided to. And when I took a turn down a quiet suburban street, I heard you crying.¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­¡±


    ¡°I heard you calling for help from that house. I immediately tried to open your front door but it was locked. I called to you. Then you unlocked it. I came in and found-¡­ I did what I did to help you. I got you out. I helped your mother. I found you suitable arrangements for you both. And years later, when your mother was at her final moments, I ensured her comfort was as good as it could be. Now, no one else came to your cries apart from me.


    No one heard you nor came to your suffering. Just me. And only me.


    Something like that does not happen by chance. The designs of nature, food and art are not random either. There is a higher plan in place for us all. God has a plan and the wonders we see in the world are reminders for us to have faith and have love for the world we are lucky to be born in. Have faith, David, in the story that you are in. It may have started badly, it doesn''t mean that it should end in the same fashion.¡±


    ¡°And what about the world¡¯s suffering? What about my sins?¡±


    ¡°The suffering? If you see such suffering, David, then go out and rectify it. Help those who cannot help themselves. Stop the evil and make things better. Help when you can. And as for your sins¡­ God has not punished you, David, for I believe that you have a part to play in your life. It is how you choose to act it out and what your choices will be. That is your chance to repay God for the second life you have retained and that he has given you. Does that answer your questions?¡±


    ¡°Yeah¡­ I guess it does¡­ Is that what you believe, Father?¡±


    ¡°If I did not, then I should go and hang up my robes to retire¡­¡± Daniels chuckled.


    David also laughed. ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    ¡°Right, my boy. I do not see a need to give you a ¡®Hail Mary¡¯ or an ¡®Our Father¡¯ to perform for penance. Just go to a pew and pray to your mother¡¯s soul and wish yourself a plentiful day. Then leave with a lighter heart and try to be a good human being¡­ That is all one can do. I know that you can do that. I have faith in you. I always have.¡±


    David nodded slowly. He was certain in his decisions now. ¡°Alright. Thank you Father. Goodbye.¡±


    ¡°Stay in touch, David. You¡¯ve been gone too long. Go with God, my boy.¡±


    David nodded, crossed himself and left the booth.


    Feeling a tad fatigued from his conversation, David moved to a pew and sat down as per to Daniels¡¯ request. He clutched his hands together and remained quiet. He thought of his mother and hoped that she was not ashamed of him for his actions. He hoped that she understood why he did what he did. Maybe when she came back, she would be happy¡­ David looked up and stared at the stain glass windows around the altar.


    His right eye started to twinge every so slightly. He twitched his eyelid and rubbed at the itch forming there. When he brought his hand away, he saw the stain glass windows. And he stared ever harder. The figures in the windows, the saints and angels and cherubim, all were staring back at David.


    Their eyes were hard and cold as they bored down upon the perplexed David with their judgement.


    David switched his head and saw that statues. Before they were lifeless, frozen in place by the pillars that lined the great hall. But now, now they were all looking at him. Their faces were contorted with anger and some even pointed their hands at him with accusatory grimaces. David began to shiver.


    What is this? Is God and Heaven really here in the church? Are they finally coming down here to make me answer for my crimes? Was this it? No. No!


    David closed his eyes and rubbed at them.


    It¡¯s the eye. It¡¯s only the magic. Making me see what he wanted to see. It¡¯s a lie. It has to be.


    David opened his eyes and looked about him.


    The stain glass figures and the statues had returned to a state of normalcy and people in the church were looking at him with glances at his odd behaviour. David¡¯s heart thudded against his ribcage and sweat formed on his head.


    He wiped off the sweat with his wrist and sank into the pew. David took a deep breath and released it slowly. He had to get a grip. He could not mess up now. In fact, he was wasting time. It was time to find Emily.


    David slapped his knees and rose to his feet. Only for a strong hand to place itself on his shoulder and forcefully push him back down to the pew.


    David whipped his head up at the man who would think of pushing him around and his face went white with shock. As if he had seen a ghost.


    The man who stood by him in the pew line was the same height and the same build.


    He even looked the same. He was dressed in the same clothes as that night, only they were scorched from the fire as was his skin and hair.


    David was rooted to the spot with a fear that he thought he¡¯d never feel again since he was ten years old. He stared and stared in silence. Strength left his body with the speed of falling sand.


    He knew that man. He knew that man because he had killed that man.


    But he was there, standing before him with a blank expression.


    David recognised the wounds upon the man¡¯s face. There were two vicious stab wounds, one under his left eye and one across his nose. There was no mistaking it, no matter how much David denied what his eyes had seen. It was crazy. It was impossible. But it was true and as real as the visions of the vengeful statues, the undead animals and the unnatural weather that ruled over London. He had to accept it as truth or deny it and go mad.


    The man that stood by him¡­ It was Fredrick Davidson.

 November - 1604

    Before he stepped out of his home, John Dee searched for his handkerchief pouch. It lay by his bed upon the small wooden table. He found it and headed downstairs to the kitchen to find the fresh thyme that Katherine had brought in. He plucked off the leaves from the sprigs until he had a full pouch of the herb. Katherine had offered to help John with his clothes, but he refused politely. He wanted to do it himself. He wanted to have the agency. After taking up his cane for his jaunt and adjusting his cap upon his white wispy hair, John stepped out onto the brisk cold air of Mortlake.


    Mortlake, like many of the boroughs of London, was going through a change of religious attitude. With the coronation of King James, the schism between Catholics and Protestants began to narrow. As it turned out, the two ideals were seemingly united against the common threat of witchcraft. As it turned out, an enemy of Lucifer and his familiars is a friend of theirs.


    John heard of and had seen many groups of uneducated masses gathering under moonlight or by the fires of taverns to discuss the methods to be employed in their hunts for the heretical witches and warlocks. John had heard of his name mentioned a few times, but never acted upon. Whether he was considered a threat or not, his name still carried the weight of the Tudor dynasty. Only the Witch Hunters, sanctioned by the King himself, would have the right to apprehend him. But as John found out, they didn''t care for him either. And so John found himself to be a rare spectator to the hysteria and paranoia caused by his craft. John wrinkled his nose at the notion that unwashed fools would the audacity to think that their ape-like methods would seriously put a stop to the ever-marching of magic and to science.


    Nothing has changed. They are still ignorant and cruel. So human, so utterly flawed¡­ But try as the fools might, he thought as he crossed the borough on his way towards the Thames, they will fail. There are truly great forces at work that shall triumph in the end. And I shall be one of them.


    When the great city¡¯s river was in his sight, John brought out his thyme pouch and inhaled the scent deeply. He was certainly grateful for bringing the pouch. He reached the riverside and looked down at the churning water that rushed past him. Within its depths, John knew with dread that excrement, dead animals and waste would join in the river as it traveled further into the city. The stench was already in the air around him though. His nose wrinkled evermore and he inhaled a deep gasp of the fragrant herb. Such respite was sorely needed for his now heightened sense of smell. John started his walk along the Thames, heading east and his mind then began to wander.


    What a shame. This river at the start of its grand journey was clean, clear and good. But once it reaches humanity¡­ they mistreat it like a lame dog. They throw waste and burden upon it without so much as a care for its own well being. And the rest of us must suffer for such an atrocity¡­ Oh, God¡­this stench.


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    He took in another relieving breath.


    This smell¡­ It is the truth of the world. It is the corruption of sin. It is the evil of the universe. What is the river if not the purity and divinity of the universe? And mankind is the evil¡­ They call themselves pious to their family and friends, but in the face of God? Or true power? They would quail, they would cower before such kismet. It is people like me who are the pure. The chosen. We who can escape the prison of our sinful bodies through the acts of contrition and spartanism.


    And there¡­ There can we be accepted as divine. Through our understanding, not by our ignorance.


    With that thought, John reached up and scratched at the scar of the Monas Hieroglyphica upon his left breast. Maddeningly, it stung and irked him at various occasions during his days. He remembered carving the sigil into his own flesh as per to the instructions of Lucifer. And when he did, he swore that he felt a sudden change in his body. Everything began to register with him more keenly. He could smell the mud coming from Katherine¡¯s shoes when she returned. He could actually feel the softness of his bed when he went to sleep that night. And his mind¡­ his mind whirred on faster and harder than even before. Truly, the Monas had acted as a gateway to a world and had unlocked a potential in John¡¯s body that he did not know that was there. It powered him. It gave him life like sun did for the flowers.


    John nodded. Of course, as per the Gnostic Beliefs; if once inscribed a representation of the universe within his own mens - his physical form -, Man itself could ascend. John had thought that the mens was his home, his place of rest and learning. He had inscribed the Monas on the wood supports in his home without much success. He had carved in the sigil on the floor and the walls, in many sizes. None resulted in success. He had never thought to do so with his own flesh however. That was the key. Of course it was. The power and magic of creation originated from the human body and mind. Man, that was formed in God¡¯s image. Surely then, that is why Man have the power to control matter itself¡­


    A connecter of power was required, in which the Monas performed adequately. John had all he required, all that Lucifer had promised him.


    But John was not a fool. Before the cutting began, he had asked Lucifer if he was lying. Lucifer had cooly replied that he has never lied. He only spoke Truth.


    ¡°Truth,¡± he said, ¡°is a weapon that can be utilised if one knows how to handle it. Truth can cut deeper than any lie ever could. A lie brings feigned comfort. A truth smashes that comfort. So I swear to you, I speak the Truth. Always and forevermore¡­¡±


    John stopped by a stone wall and leant against it to watch the late autumn clouds drift over the city. He nodded in silent agreement with his memory of Lucifer.


    Truths are powerful. Lies are weaknesses. I have known many who used lies to exploit my great learning and skills for their own betterment. None more callous and foolhardy as that lad; Edward Kelley.

 October - 1555

    The flagstones were cold and damp. A thin bed of straw provided John with the only comfort he could ask for. Seated in the corner of the cell, John looked up to the small hole in the wall that poorly acted as a window with iron bars preventing any escape. Apart from the cracks at the edges of the door to his cell, the window provided the only amount of scant light there was. John leant his head against the stone wall and felt the condensation on the stone beginning to soak into his brown hair. His clothes were enough to protect him from the chill. But his arse was cold.


    How was it, he ruminated, that a cell can remain cold in the hot autumn? Is there a form of unearthly evil that permeates through these stones and holds back the love of God¡¯s sunlight? Could the cold evil in here be the despair that haunts the occupants within? Horrific. How long must I remain here?


    John had a calculating mind. He had counted the days since his incarceration. He watched the sun set and rise many, many times. With a small piece of chalk he had found in another corner of his small chamber, he began noting the days past. Notches trailed across the walls¡­ So far, John surmised that he was imprisoned for seventy five days within the Tower of London.


    Two and a half months in darkness¡­


    John suddenly released his breath and it was a shuddering sound. It shook his body and his mind alike.


    Am I going to die? Please, let that not be the case¡­


    He could still remember it. In the month of August, John was in the Mortlake market, seeking numerous herbs to use during his experiment. He was so close. He was close to achieving his goal to fulfil the Royal Decree.


    He required the herbs to calm his mind, to accentuate his thinking and ensure his calculations were infallible. They had to be. John was sought after to calculate the nativities of the Queen, her husband Philip and her half-sister, the Princess Elizabeth. Such an endeavour demanded great precedence and as such, John disregarded all other projects to complete this great task. If anything, John respected the monarchy. They were, in his eyes, appointed by the God-Above-All to rule over the masses of England. John ignored all requests for his talent and retreated into his mind to work.


    But there was one who consistently badgered him for his advice. A man of his age, George Ferrys. He was concerned that his wife was unfaithful to him and had pestered John to discern whether his fears were based on truth or panic. John had agreed to a sum to assist the man, but that was before the request by the Queen herself came. John apologised to George and returned his money forthwith. George was angered by this. But John paid him no mind and resumed his work.


    When John found all the herbs he required, he made his way back home with a skip in his step. He had never been given such an opportunity like this before. Finally, he could show his worth and prove to one and all that he and his sciences were forces to be reckoned with. The courtiers would bow before him now. No one, save for the Tudors, will ever question his power.


    He turned a corner onto the street he lived on to be confronted by a troop of guards. They saw him and moved straight for him.


    John had no idea what this meant, so he stood his ground. It was then that he saw George Ferrys standing with them. He pointed at John and shouted.


    The guard came upon him and wrestled the surprised John to the ground. John shouted for the meaning of such mistreatment. A hard cuff across his head cajoled him to silence. John saw George standing back with his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. John flailed his feet at George to try and kick him, but failed as he was dragged away.


    John was shackled and hauled like a sack of grain across London. He was thrown into a cart and held down by guards. But he did not go quietly. He did not accept the mistreatment like a defanged lion.


    John yelled and shouted. He kicked and writhed.


    But as much noise as he had made, that counted for nothing against the strength of the five men in his charge.


    They crossed the river and arrived at the Palace of Westminster. John looked up and stared at the great building. The home of all law and order in the land. John was lifted from his cart and taken by more guards, all who were armed, into the building. They marched down various corridors until they stopped outside a pair of closed doors. They pushed them open and John was led inside.


    John knew exactly where he was. All he had to do to discern that he was standing in the Star Chamber, was by looking up at the ceiling and at the engraving of a painted golden star.


    He glanced down the vast chamber and saw a row of men seated at a long table at the end of it.


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    They were dressed in black robes. They were the Privy Council, the common-law judges who presided over all serious cases, civil and criminal.


    Sitting in the middle of the judges was an old man whom John knew very well. Edmund Bonner. His eyes were hard and lacking any warmth. His face was like stone. In fact, he looked more like a gargoyle than a man. He was the Catholic Bishop of England.


    An empty chair was called for and John was forcefully seated before the Council.


    The distance between himself and the Council was wide and made John feel quite small.


    John battled to keep his wits about him and under the greatest control.


    Questions were made, all pertaining to the accusations made by Master George Ferrys.


    The accusation of witchcraft. John denied this instantly.


    The accusation that John consorted with the Devil. John denied this too.


    The accusation that John was attempting to enchant the royal family through the means of his calculations pertaining to their birth calendars. John flatly denied this too.


    Bonner remained silent throughout it all. Then he leant forward and spoke.


    ¡°Do you believe in God, Master Dee?¡± he asked with a deep voice that belied his age.


    ¡°I do.¡± John said. ¡°I believe in the one True God. He rules over all the creations that he made and the planets and stars. He is master to us all and we are masters of ourselves.¡±


    Bonner leant back. He looked at John. Then outside at the window.


    ¡°You understand that if you have lied, that your soul is damned to Hell for perjury. It is an evil place where fools who join with monsters find no mercy.¡±


    ¡°I know. I am an intelligent man. I will not endanger my soul in such a manner.¡±


    Bonner raised his eyebrow. ¡°We shall convene upon your claims against those of Ferrys. It will take time. You shall be confined to the Tower until then. You are guilty, until you are proven innocent. We shall look to God to give us an answer. Be it in His wisdom to save you, He shall provide it to us. If not, you will be put to death by the stake.¡±


    Bonner waved his hand pitilessly and John was taken away. The swift trip to his imprisonment had ended and John¡¯s traumata had begun.


    Back in his cell, John placed his hand on the wall and considered his mortality. He didn''t want to die. He didn''t want to share the fate of the hundreds of Protestants who fell under the claw of the Star Chamber and that merciless bastard Bonner. He could still hear their screams as the flames licked and bit at their flesh. How the heat melted their skin and boiled their blood. The smell of singed hair stinging his nose and their howls for mercy piercing the heavens. John refused to die that way.


    If I must, he thought hastily, I will take my own life. I cannot die in such a way. I will swallow my tongue. I will take a guard¡¯s sword and run myself threw with it. Suicide shall send me to Hell, but I will not die to flames. I cannot. Oh, when will they release me from this torment? Am I innocent? Or guilty? What will it be? What?!


    John stood up and walked to the cell window to watch the clouds.


    The clouds, ever present and never wavering. Never dying. If only I could not die¡­


    The thought of dying. He had encountered it many times. At his father¡¯s deathbed, his friends¡¯, the burnings¡­ But he never considered his own.


    Memento Mori; ¡®Remember that you must die¡¯. I must die. I will die. I¡¯m no fool to that¡­ But I have so much left to do. I have so many discoveries and goals to achieve. How many great texts and books are out there in the world? Gathering dust and remaining hidden from man, hidden by ignorance? My purpose cannot be ended by the foolish notions of little men! No! No, it cannot! It will not!


    A rapping upon the cell door snapped John back from the brink of his musings. He rose to his full height and allowed whoever was at the door to enter. The door opened and two guards, the same ones who had detained him two months prior, stepped inside. One of them took out a key and unlocked the shackles from John¡¯s wrists and feet.


    ¡°You are pardoned without penalty.¡± the guard said. ¡°The Bishop has ruled out the possibility that you are a warlock and has decreed that you are free to leave with us.¡±


    If John had fallen prey to the inflictions of sodomy, he could have kissed the guard right there and then. He was free. But he held himself back and thanked the guards instead. He was led out of his cell and along the dark corridor. The moans of prisoners echoed all around him and John wished that the guards would quicken their pace so they could leave that accursed place.


    As they exited the Tower and crossed the main courtyard of the fort, they came across a group of guardsmen escorting a fellow prisoner. John stared. The prisoner was none other than George Ferrys.


    Like John, Ferrys was bound in shackles and his mouth was gagged.


    He locked eyes on John and his eyes widened. He began crying out against his bondages and tried to reach for John. But the guards pulled him away and John watched on as Ferrys was hauled into the dark shadowy maw of the Tower.


    ¡°He was accused and condemned for perjury. His sentence will be carried out tonight.¡± the guards told him.


    John said a quick prayer for Ferrys. He knew fully well that the poor man was going to need it.


    The gates clanged shut behind John as he stood on the road in front of the Tower. He took in a deep breath and sighed loudly. He smiled.


    He had cheated death. He had beaten the Council and survived. He was free at last. Free to enact what he had now decided to do.


    Turning towards to London¡¯s southern half, John made great strides. He had a lot of work to do. Before all of this had happened, his goal was to acquire true knowledge of the world. That was a worthy prize.


    But now¡­ what was the point of acquiring all knowledge if he did not have enough time to do it? So that is what he shall do¡­ make time.


    He shall discover a way to defeat the first and last enemy of mankind. He shall discover the secrets of eternal longevity and defeat Death itself.