Breath (25 page)

Bill said, “But . . . you know everything.”

“I know many things, William. Maybe even most things. But not everything. I certainly don’t know what happens when I die.”

“How could you not know? You’re
Death.
”

“I know what happens when
you
die. I know what happens when living things die. But I’m not a living thing, not like you. When something that’s eternal becomes finite . . . well.” He smiled tightly. “That’s one for the philosophers, don’t you think?”

“I . . .” Bill floundered. “I was positive all life would die when you died.”

Death laughed softly. “A little white bird tell you that?”

“Um. Sort of.”

Missy had no idea what they were talking about, and she didn’t care. “So you really had no idea what would happen to you? Heaven, hell, somewhere in between?” She smirked. “Nirvana, maybe?”

“I don’t exactly have a user manual for this role, Melissa. I’ve had to learn what happens as I go.”

“Boy,” she said dryly, “that sounds familiar . . .”

“Why do you think I’ve let the Horsemen learn the hard way? Personal experience has shown me that works the best. And you’re such quick learners.”

She lifted her chin. “Here I thought it was because you were a sadist.”

“In some ways,” he said, looking over to where Tammy lay. “Yes, I might have taken all life with me when I died. I might not have. But it’s moot. I’ve decided to live.”

“Because now you have new hope,” she said lightly, pretending that she didn’t care. So what that she’d loved him and he’d thrown her away? She was used to the ones closest to her hurting her the most. Her wrist throbbed, but she ignored it. “Well, good for you. Enjoy that hope. Before you leave, how about you magic us off this island? You sort of took away our only means of transportation.”

“Yes, and I apologize for that. It may please you to know that the horses are happy.”

She glowered at him. “My horse was happy when he was killing rats.”

“And now the warhorse has discovered a different sort of happiness. All of the steeds have.”

“Even yours?” Bill asked.

“That’s a . . . unique situation,” he replied, looking at Bill. “And it’s one I will attend to shortly. But yes, Melissa,” he said, turning to face her again, “I will take you back. I’ll take you home, if that’s your wish. You’ll return to your lives. But first, there’s something I have to do.”

She rolled her eyes. “Priorities.”

“You could say that.” He smiled at her, and she was struck by how empty it was. His smiles always used to have layers of meaning—humor, anger, curiosity, so much more. There used to be a sense of whimsy to him, even when he was darkly serious. But now he was empty, cold.

And seeing him that cold slashed her like a razor.

Her snark failed her. Mouth dry, she asked, “What do you have to do?”

And Death replied, “I have to die.”

Bill’s shoulders tensed painfully. His first thought was this had been just a tease, just some warped game Death was playing with them. But then he realized what the Pale Rider was saying, and it was enough to steal his breath.

Death died. A lot. And now it was time for him to die again and be re-formed.

There was so much he wanted to say, but all he could manage was an ineffectual “Oh.”

“You can’t be serious,” Missy shouted hoarsely. “You just said it was moot because you decided to live!”

“And I have, Melissa. And that means first, I have to die.”

“It’s like the harvest god,” Bill said numbly, remembering school lessons from long ago. “Born in the spring, rules in the summer, sacrificed in the autumn, dead in the winter. Then born again in the spring.”

“A little less frequently than that,” Death said. “But yes, that’s close.”

“That’s
stupid.
” Missy was crying, but Bill didn’t think she was aware of the tears streaking her face. “You can’t die!”

“I can,” Death said, his voice surprisingly gentle. “I don’t want to. It hurts, more than you could know. More than I ever want you to know.” He lifted his hand and caressed Missy’s cheek, once, just a small touch, but it was enough to double her tears and set her shoulders shaking. “But this form is done, Melissa. It’s held together with the cosmic equivalent of duct tape, and it’s still falling apart.”

Bill had known that Death was hurting, but he’d had no idea there had been physical pain as well. All he could say was, “I’m sorry.”

Death flicked a humorless smile.

“There has to be another way,” Missy said, anger and sobs turning her words into weapons.

“There isn’t.”

She cocked her fist as if to punch Death again, but he caught her hand and held it, stroked it with his thumb. She looked up at him and said nothing, but she must have thought something loudly, because Death’s smile softened.

“I know,” Death said.

Even though Bill couldn’t hear Missy’s side of the conversation, he felt like an eavesdropper. He turned his back on them and went to Tammy’s side. The woman who’d been the Black Rider was still unconscious, but at least she was breathing easily. Sleeping, Bill assumed, as Death had said. Bill took Tammy’s hand and held it, tried to will strength and health into her frail body. He wished he could help her be healthy. He wished he’d been able to know her better when they were Riders. But Tammy had been Famine and Famine only; there had been no hint of the person she’d been before she’d taken the Scales.

“It’ll be okay,” he told her, knowing she couldn’t hear him, but he said the words anyway because they needed to be said. “This part is bad, but it’s going to pass. You’ll get through this. We all will. And then, well, there’s a whole world out there.” He squeezed her hand. “You’ll see. It’ll be okay.”

And he knew that his words were true. It would be okay.

This isn’t okay,
Missy thought angrily.
There has to be something else, some other option.

There isn’t.

She knew he was right, and she hated him for it.

You don’t hate me, Melissa, no more than you hate yourself. But I’m sorry to cause you so much pain.

Shut up.
She buried her head in his chest and hugged him fiercely.
Just shut up and hold me.

Cold arms wrapped around her and held her tight.

You stupid, sorry excuse of a Horseman,
she sobbed.
I don’t want you to die.

I know.

And then the floodgates opened as her thoughts came out in a jumble, one atop the other.
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I wish I was enough for you, that I could be your hope. I wish there was something I could do to make it better. I wish you didn’t have to do this, wish you didn’t have to hurt so much. I wish.
With her next thoughts came images in her mind, so vivid it was like she was looking at snapshots in a photo album.
I wish we could be together, you and me, doing stupid things like eating ice cream in the summer or climbing up on the roof of my parents’ house and counting the stars at night. I wish we could hold hands and walk on the grass and watch the sunrise. I wish you could really understand what it means to be in love. I wish I was the one who could show you about being in love. I wish you were happy. I wish I could make you happy. I wish. I wish.

“Missy,” he murmured. “You do all that already.”

She sobbed louder.

Every time you’ve held my hand,
he said to her,
I’ve felt the heat of your skin even through your gloves. I’ve felt you, Missy. All this time, it’s been your passion that’s enamored me. As I’ve slowly grown colder, it’s been you striving to keep me warm. To show me what it’s like to be human. Every time you laugh, every time you hurt, I feel it. I understand it a little more. Every time we’ve kissed, you’ve heated me more than you could know. Maybe that’s what love is for me, Missy—that feeling of heat. It’s quieter than passion but louder than contentment. It’s . 
.
 .

Love,
she said, hugging him tighter.

And though she wasn’t looking at his face, she could hear his smile when he replied,
Love.

“I love you,” she whispered, “you stupid, sorry excuse of a Horseman.”

A feeling like frost on her chin as he tipped her head up and gazed at her. And finally, she saw something beyond the empty blue of his eyes.

She saw love.

That’s what she told herself: It was love shining in the depths of his eyes. Maybe she was lying to herself, because how could one such as Death understand something as human as love? But if it was a lie, she didn’t care.

“Thank you,” he murmured. And then he kissed her, softly, chastely, on the lips.

When he pulled away, she could still feel him pressed against her; his chill had seeped into her and threatened to freeze her heart. So she did the only thing she could do: She pulled him back to her and kissed him properly, fiercely, telling him with that kiss just how much he meant to her, how he’d saved her long before he’d almost killed her—how being with him, working with him, had shown her more about life than she’d ever thought she would have known.

It was a good kiss.

Afterward, she looked into his eyes and saw herself reflected there.

“Thank you,” he said again, warmer this time. He touched her cheek once more, then stepped away. He cast a glance at the guitar he’d dropped on the sand, and he picked it up, slinging the strap around his shoulders.

“One for the road,” he said.

Then he played the opening to his final song. Missy had known what it would be, what it had to be, and as Death sang “All Apologies,” she began to cry again, silent hot tears that stung her eyes. This was his true apology—to her, to the other Riders, to everyone and everything.

And she forgave him.

She listened as Death said goodbye to the world in the only way that he could, and when he was done, she wiped away her tears. When he offered her the guitar, she took it from him.

“This won’t take long,” he said.

“For us, maybe,” Missy said. “What about for you?”

He smiled at her and didn’t reply.

Bill’s voice, cracking at the seams: “Is there anything we can do?”

Death’s smile broadened. “Thank you, William, but you already have. See you soon.”

Then Death bowed his head, stepped sideways—

—and vanished.

It was only a second that he was gone. It was the longest second of her life.

A slap of wind, hard enough to rock Missy backward. And then a man appeared next to her, wearing a flannel shirt and blue jeans, his hair wavy and gray. His eyebrows were arched and almost wicked; his smile, sardonic. He seemed both older and ageless, and was so very different from how Missy had always known him. Yet something about him was still the same.

His eyes,
she realized as she stared at that weathered face. His eyes were the same bottomless blue eyes that she’d seen the first time she’d met him years ago on her doorstep. Death’s eyes never changed.

“Wow,” Bill said. “It’s really you?”

“It’s really me.” The voice was different—deeper, more resonant, an actor’s voice rather than a singer’s—but the infectious grin was absolutely all his. He held his hands out and did a pirouette. “Good?”

Missy’s voice didn’t want to work, so she nodded.

“It’s different,” Bill said. “But yeah. It’s good.”

He came to a halt, his arms out, as if waiting for applause, and then he chuckled and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Always takes some getting used to,” he said, but Missy didn’t know if he was referring to himself or to them.

Before she could stop herself, she marched up to him, pulled his head down to hers, and kissed him.

And
kissed
him.

It was a very good kiss.

When she finished, she looked up at him and smiled. “It’s really you.”

“Told you so.”

“You’re warmer,” she said, brushing her fingers over his lips. “Warmer than ever.”

“Perk of a new cycle. New form, new warmth.”

“Um.” That was Bill. “So. Sorry to interrupt. But what happens now?”

“A question for your question.” Death winked at Missy, then gently pulled away until he was standing between her and Bill. “Want a job?”

Missy heard a gasp, and she didn’t know if it was hers or Bill’s.

“I could re-form the Horsemen,” Death said amiably. “Four Riders of the Apocalypse, together again, working to keep everything in balance. Life, death, the occasional game of bridge.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Interested?”

Missy exchanged a look with Bill. Even though they couldn’t read each other’s minds any longer, they both turned to Death at the same time, and together they gave him their reply.

The Pale Rider smiled. “I had a feeling that’s what you’d say.”

Marianne Bixby opened the door to her college dorm room, and she grinned. “Hey! Wasn’t expecting you.”

Bill smiled sheepishly and held up a carton of mint chocolate-chip ice cream. “Had an urge.”

“For ice cream?”

“That too.”

She opened the door, and he walked inside. “Roommate?” he asked, tossing the ice cream onto her desk.

Marianne shut the door and grinned at him. “Out for the night.”

“Classes?”

“Not until tomorrow afternoon. Well, look at you,” she said, doing just that. “I thought it was just the lighting outside, but it’s not. You dyed your hair!”

He hadn’t. But he wasn’t surprised that the white streak was gone. “You like it?”

She cocked her head and considered. “Yeah. It’ll just take some getting used to. Why’d you do it?”

“Needed a change. Speaking of which . . .” He smiled hugely as he spread his arms wide. “I’m a free man.”

She arched an eyebrow and smirked. “If this is a breakup, it’s got to be the worst one on record . . .”

“I quit my job.”

“Mister Impulsive!” she said, giggling. “The hair, the job—”

“The ice cream.”

“Oh, I was getting to the ice cream.” She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’m glad you quit. You were working too much.”

“Tell me about it.”