Death Is My Frenemy (Book Three)

Chapter 11: Drapetomania

"Are you--"

"Don't ask me it. Don't say it."

"I just want a confirmation--"                                                                             

"Remember who's the oldest one in the room and shut up."

My mouth went into a straight line.

"So," Death said, casually making a gesture with his long arms. "Tell me. Before I rip your organs out and eat them with a shard of glass as a utensil. Why must you hide in from me in places I'm a little too big for?" He tried to jerk his head towards the ceiling and ended up banging it. He frowned.

I blinked. Alright, so clearly he's changing the subject...could I press and risk my life? Or should I keep my mouth shut and plan future investigations?

I would play along for now like a good little human.

 "Why must you find me?" I gave him a wary look.

"I can't help myself." I could feel Death's forceful stare before I even saw it. He started to curve around to me, making a weird noise in his throat that I didn't feel comfortable hearing. I hurriedly moved away and we started to circle. "I've never been so hungry in my life as I am right this second," Death grumbled.

"Then eat me."

"You think you're so cute with your little comebacks," Death snarled. "Always have a little comback, don't you?"

I'll give him little. "I am quite adorable. And if I don't say something back, you'll demand attention in uncanny ways."

He grunted.

Hands on hips, I took in the man/ creature/ liar occupying the room with me. Up close, I could see a thin amount of skin between his hair and makeup that looked tan. He as hunched over a little in the low ceiling fun house because was so tall. His hood was down and bunched up around his high collared jacket, revealing the skull makeup he plastered onto his face and the thick Mohawk on top of his head. Death's eyes were dreadfully black, cold, and reminded me of two wise cat eyes. Something shifted around them like multiple layers, made me imagine that the shape of them should have been more narrow, more exotic, and more green. The layered parts of his eyes I was seeing had to be an illusion.

His nose also appeared to be distorting as well as the angles of his jaw. I knew it wasn't really Death's face in front of me, but someone he had probably eaten for lunch. And it wasn't David Star.

"Who's this snack on your face? He's kind of hot," I said. "I bet he's even cuter under all that layered on paper Mache." I tried to ignore the fact that Death's fingers felt like claws against my soft neck.

Death's lip twitched. It wasn't a smile. "A little of this. A little of that. It might have been a random guy I saw on the way here, doesn't have to be someone I killed. I believe his name was 'None-of-your-goddamn-business'"--his opened wide and he let that hang in the air--"but then again, I was never good with names. Too many to count, you know? I forget their names...they forever remember mine."

He lifted an eyebrow up. How mature. A sexual joke. Who's the oldest in the room, now?

I shifted my gaze to his hair. It was that kind of hair that was so thick it's depth seemed endless. I knew his hair would be soft, too, had it not been formed with gel. It was a bit strange to see a Mohawk. But then again, Death had formed a red Mohawk on his illusion before. "He has cool looking hair, at least." It was somewhat a compliment.

Someone as old as Death has got to have one of those rat tail hair styles or a leather tie holding together long silky black hair.

"This is  my real hair," Death said bitterly. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he heard the pony tail thought. I knew he did. "And it's a Fohawk. Mohawks are taller."