Daemonum

Sleet hits the ground with increasing strength, lightning dancing across the sky and leaving a blinding impression behind my closed eyelids. A cacophony of metal and screaming roars in the air around me, filling my mind with images of death and gore as I lay on the frigid asphalt, face turned to the sky.

I don't want to die.

The thought is crystal clear; it's like the lightning overhead, chopping right through the storm clouds in my mind and proudly announcing its presence.

I don't want to die.

The moments before the accident are unclear, just a drowning memory lost among a tidal wave of panic and adrenaline. Focusing on anything outside of survival is a herculean task, but one I have to manage if only for the sake of consoling myself.

There was someone in the road; it's the only conclusion I can come to. I can't remember a face, or a body. All I can remember are eyes, wide and afraid, and the lightning reflected in them as the glass of my windshield parted in a thousand pieces around a body.

Now, the sounds of crunching metal are slowly coming to a stop around me. All that's left behind is the distant rumble of thunder and the wailing of sirens.

I can't breathe.

I suppose death is a fair price for the murder I undoubtedly just committed, but death is not gentle. It's hard to face, and it hurts, and I want nothing more than to resist the never ending blackness that's rushing towards me.

I try to keep breathing.

"If you are able, open your eyes."

I don't know what I expected death to sound like, but it's nothing like that. When I finally manage to comply with the request I've been given, I can only stare;

Above me, lighting is reflected in a dead man's eyes.

I stare, lips parted in surprise as the stranger crouches and presses light fingers to my neck, near where my pulse is undoubtedly slowing.

"What is your name?" The spacing between his words is strange, but he is an enigma; a dead man with rain slick hair, talking to me as if we're strangers who bumped into each other in the street.

"E... Emma," I choke on my own words, coughing and spluttering. What little oxygen my body is able to process is precious, and I gasp for air. Above me, the dead mans lips tighten into a pale line of concern.

"Do you know what you've done, Emma?" He questions, eerily casual given the circumstances. His hands roam my body, steady as those of a medical professional. He's pressing, prodding, most likely evaluating the severity of my wounds. I'm too far gone to feel much, now, and  I don't even flinch. The stranger seems to understand that I won't be answering any time soon, and continues;

"You sacrificed your life in place of my own, a very noble choice." His stormy gaze meets mine for a brief moment before flickering down to the pavement beside my head. I'm not sure what he's talking about, but I cling to his every word. He's the only thing left anchoring me to reality. "You are dying now, Emma."

"I d... d-d... don't w...." I try to speak but my throat constricts, catching my words and trapping them.

"You do not wish to die, I know," Whispers the stranger. He touches my cheek with only his fingertips, and I absently notice that his knuckles are bleeding. The touch is tender and brief, his hand quickly falling to hold my shoulder and gripping it with a careful force that I can hardly feel.

"I owe you my life," He says. The strange lilt and hesitance of his words is soothing, and I allow my eyes to drift closed once more. "I wish to pay my debt to you, but I must have your consent. Do you understand? You must tell me yes,"

I can do nothing but open my mouth; no sound passes my lips.

"Emma, I implore you. Say yes," He whispers, his expression tortured. The exhaustion is winning out over my determination to stay alive. But, as I slip into unconsciousness, I manage to stutter the one word my savior asks for; yes.