Death Dancer

Chapter Seven

With the sun now rising in the sky, it felt wrong to curl back up into bed, even if that was the one thing I really wanted to do. Instead I grabbed a blanket and crashed on the sofa. By the time the sun was high up in the sky I had woken up somewhat refreshed and ready for the day.

But nothing happened, no pull or house calls. Not that I was expecting Death to take me up on my offer of coming to see me.

I found myself with my laptop open in front of me, scanning my family and friends Facebook profiles. There were hardly any new pictures since the last time I checked. It was comforting though, to see the one or two that had been posted with smiling faces.

I clicked onto a familiar name, my own face staring back at me. My eyes bright and alive. I scanned my page, now filled with memories and condolences. It was strange, looking back through my pictures. There was a sadness bubbling inside of me, a grief for a past life I could no longer live. But that is what It was. A past life. I was someone new, living a new life with new friends in a new place, with a new job. In a way, I had been reborn.

A notion flitted across my mind, and I closed my profile, opening up the death statistics for the area. I looked over them, realising they were missing the biggest statistic I needed, attempted suicides. The people I saved would not be written down. There were six other suicide dancers in this city, not including me. The amount of undocumented attempts would be vast.

Dagon had said that once I became more experienced, I would feel more pulls.

As though the world knew I was thinking about the people I had talked to, my phone pinged with a text from Olivia.

I smiled as I read it over, our TV binge session moved to the following weekend, as she had decided to stay with her family for a few more days. Things were going really well she said. My heart swelled with happiness for her. I text her back, telling her as much.

I had slept away half the day, so the evening loomed faster that I had expected it to. I had taken to twiddling my thumbs on the sofa, not really knowing what to do with myself.

I decided that food was in order, though I was not hungry, the smells and taste of food was something that I was beginning to miss. I grabbed my purse and headed out onto the street below me, to the little supermarket on the corner. I grabbed everything that looked tasty, not really giving much thought to the type of meals I could make with them.

I heaved the bulging shopping bags onto the counter in my open kitchen, stepping back once I had decanted everything, wondering what the hell I had bought and what the hell I was going to make.

I was half way through my cooking extravaganza when someone knocked at my door. With a stained apron and my hair tied in a wild bun on top of my head I swung open the door, my smile for a greeting dropping into a wide mouthed gape as I saw my interruption of the evening.

"Hi." I stuttered out.

He only nodded in reply, shuffling his feet as he pursed his lips.

"Do you want to come in?" I asked, snapping from my daze, realising the amount of courage if must have taken for him to come and see me.

"Uh, sure." He replied, as though he was shocked I had asked.

"I was just making dinner! Would you like some?" I asked, smiling proudly at the mess of pots, pans and chopped food scattered across the kitchen.

Death raised his eyebrow, his gaze travelling slowly around the kitchen as though cooking food was not something he was used to.

"You do know that It is not necessary for either of us to eat, right?" He said, leaning against the counter.