Death Becomes Us

Chapter Twelve (Pt. 1)

Room 560 is a standard issue hotel room, its appearance resembling countless others that I had set foot in through the years. Dull, bland, comforting, and familiar. It is a place that feels safe, secured away from a supernatural world that has continued to follow me despite my mortality.

But I have pushed Marcus away from my side now and with him, hopefully, everything else from my time as Death. The door shuts behind me and mechanical tumblers lock into place as if to finalize our parting of ways.

My fingers slip away from the door handle and I shuffle further into the room, with every step ignoring the feeling that I had recently chopped off a limb and had left it in the elevator. I approach the windows at the far end of the room, pulling back on scratchy curtains to reveal a view of the brown brick office buildings across the street. The glow of the active night market seeps in from the left side and past that the sparkling black current of the Potomac.

Below I catch sight of the group I had encountered outside of the elevators; one of the men is hailing a cab while the others attempt to fix themselves. I watch them pile into a taxi van and then I turn back to my room, feeling the weight of Marcus's departure still dragging on me. I feel heavy, drained, and I gradually come upon the word to describe this emotion; guilt. I don't like the feeling of guilt. It's not as pleasant as the others.

Restlessly I wander around the room, fiddling with a lamp on the side table, turning the TV on, and opening empty drawers. I enter the bathroom and turn on the lights, jumping slightly when I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror above the sink. He is a stranger, a human that I don't recognize and yet I feel like I have known him all my life. I press a hand to the mirror's glass and lean in to inspect my eyes, searching for the ancient man Elizabeth had seen there. A flicker of him appears and I grimace at the glimpse of faceless Death waiting for me to return. Ticking clocks whisper in my ear and I realize that no locked door and no banishing of Death's temporary master could protect me from the supernatural already inside of me.

Abruptly I turn away, gripping the edge of the sink to control the tremors traveling down my body. The ticking doesn't stop and I stir towards the shower, turning it on in an attempt to find a sound that will drown out the clocks. A stream of water pours from the large shower head, cascading like rain and slipping away down a drain set in the floor.

Clouds of steam shortly warm the room and I strip away my clothes, submerging my naked body in the heated water. I gasp, my abdomen tightening and a shiver raising goose bumps all along my taught skin. The shower beats over my head, my face, my chest and, gradually, its steady sound becomes the only thing I hear. I close my eyes, listening to the rushing water, allowing it to wash away all the fear, regret, and guilt left behind in Marcus's absence.

I do not know how long I stand beneath the water before I turn the shower off, but when I emerge my skin is reddened and the room is hazy with steam. The mirror can no longer show me my reflection and I leave the bathroom with a towel wrapped firmly around my waist and my clothes held beneath an arm. Despite the warm shower or perhaps because of it, my body feels heavy and slow with a weariness that guides me beneath the white comforter of the bed. My eyes close of their own accord the moment I rest my head on a pillow and for the first time in my life I feel peace.