Death Becomes Us

Chapter Seventeen (Pt. 2)

Turning, I flee from the gallery even when something inside me rips away, back to where she stands. I stumble onto the streets of Arlington and run into the night, feeling the dull jabs of pain from my feet smacking into the cement sidewalks. Foreign buildings rise around me, sharper and clearer the farther I go until they are the only things that are real to me.

It is like a dream is shattered, the entire day steeped in a foggy cloud that had hindered my judgement. I run from the dream, shedding the jagged fragments fighting to cling on and I focus on the pounding of my feet. Sweat gathers in a thin layer on my brow and my breaths sing with needles of pain, but I can't stop. Stop now and I might return to the dream. Forget to focus on the pain and my thoughts will return to her.

Within it all, rising from the back of my mind, is the ever present ticking of clocks. They grow louder in her absence, in the distance put between us, reminding me of my true purpose. I am running towards them, towards their pain, and their suffering. The human race presses in around me, but at the same time I am alone. I am alone with the ticking and no one can see me.

The buildings thin, falling away as the street I follow slopes upwards. Clusters of trees become more numerous. People, too, begin to congregate. Traffic picks up beside me, the suspended road and sidewalk rumbling with their passing. The ambient haze of DC's city lights bobs ahead of me, beckoning with wispy arms and promising sanctuary. The Potomac peeks through a line of trees below and then the roadside forest is gone so that only the river is underneath.

Reaching the center of the Roosevelt Bridge I feel my legs buckle and I catch myself on the railing. I hold myself up and force another step, but I have hit a wall and exhaustion forces me to stop. I can't control the shaking and each breath splits my chest. Doubling over on the rail I suck in great lungful's of air, coughing when my heaves become too rapid. My clothes are molded to my body with sweat, salty drops running into my eyes and mouth, falling to stain the cement.

The ticking remains, constant, beating like drums and racing through every fiber of my being. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, TICK, TICK, TICK, —

'What are you running from?' a voice wonders, unexpectedly drowning out the clocks.

I whirl around, my back pressed into the thick railing bands as I search the busy roads, certain that I will find someone there with me. The only people in the near vicinity are those across the bridge, separated by six lanes and paying no attention to the stranger gasping on the side. Those on my sidewalk are too far away to speak, but wariness keeps me looking and I am unable to rule out Donovan's influence being nearby.

'Don't be stupid,' rebukes the voice. 'Every time Donovan tried to influence you, he was here in some form or another. Can you see him?'

Another frantic search of the bridge again comes up empty.

"No," I murmur.

'And his phone was thrown away earlier, so why would you think Donovan is involved?'

The voice—my voice had a fair point. Every encounter I had had with Donovan involved some form of physical presence, whether in the flesh or with a phone call. Which meant I had asked the question; a question I had yet to answer. What am I running from?

Well, isn't it obvious? I am running from Elizabeth, because I am afraid of what would happen to her if she stayed with me. She was in danger from the moment we met, from the moment I first saw her. The pictures she had taken were proof of that. If I had stayed with her, if I had given in to that desire—

'What would have happened?' the voice asks. 'Achieving intimacy? Knowing Elizabeth Barrow on a deeper level? She would have touched you like you have always longed for and more. The fear of danger has only ever been voiced by Marcus, yet nothing has happened to prove him right.'

Perhaps I stopped something from happening by leaving. She could be safe now and I can make sure she is safe until I am Death again. I just need to run far enough away or—I stop and look down at my heaving chest, pressing a hand to my left breast. My heart beats against it, faster as I consider another option.

Or I could end this now. I could call on Marcus and give up my last day to be restored as Death's master. It would be easy, a simple solution. James would disappear and Elizabeth would be safe from me, but when I open my mouth to say his name only a strangled sound escapes.

I glance back the way I came, peering up at the rising cityscape of Arlington. If I look hard enough I can see the building that holds Elizabeth's gallery. My pulse jumps and my scalp prickles as I see that the light is still on in the room.

'She's still there,' the voice says gleefully and I am caught up in its excitement. 'So what are you going to do about it?'

I tear my gaze away and turn back to DC, forcing myself to continue moving. It is like trying to walk through congealing gel, every step becoming harder to take. In the same moment I see myself returning the way I came, drawn by the distant light of the gallery. It is like a dream clashing with reality, but even as I open my hotel door I am unsure if it is real.

Sitting on the end of the bed, I lean over onto my knees and hold my head as I stare at the hotel's red carpet, imagining that I instead stand in front of the gallery door. My mouth and neck still tingle from the fervent touch of her lips and when I close my eyes I can feel her as if she is with me now. The lapel of my jacket carries a whiff of her scent and even with the Potomac between us I find my resolve to stay away shaking.

My eyes tightly shut, I fall back onto the bed and wait for sleep to take me, anticipating the place where anything can happen without consequences. The heavy thoughts list away to the edges of my mind and I sigh deeply, giving into it and falling, falling, falling...

W7