Death's Ledger

Chapter 14 - A Chicken To Ride

The State of Valentine is a mental list of all the times I've felt completely mortified. On a good day, I forget this list even exists. On a bad day, I find myself cringing as I hopelessly revisit each item in a never ending loop. As I stared down at the towel at my feet, I realized this encounter had skyrocketed to the top of my list of embarrassing moments. I didn't think things could have gotten worse, but here I am. My list was growing by leaps and bounds and I'm not even alive.

Not more than ten or fifteen minutes had passed since my encounter with Death and I had already run through my list four times. My memory flashed back to a time where I sang the wrong lyrics to a Beatles song, 'She's got a chicken to ride and she don't care.' It was wrong, so wrong, but I was desperate for a distraction. I still felt him there. Felt his eyes on me. His hands. Heard his quiet voice. My heart leaped as if hands were still on me. I felt dizzy and cold and I didn't know what was wrong with me.

A knock at the door shook me from my momentary daydream. I hoped it was Blaire. Instead, a stranger's voice said, "Are you done in there?"

Realizing how long I'd been gone, I nearly flew across the small bathroom and opened the door. A young girl with pigtails and very pale skin stood there. Her dress was cut short and the color was a pale sort of blue. She looked as out of place as I did. I walked past her and out of the bathroom with shaky legs.

The suite was filled with collectors standing shoulder-to-shoulder, leaving little room for moving about. I stood near the front entrance for a moment, slowly breathing in and out.

Come on, Sage, I thought, putting a hand on my forehead. Pull yourself together.

I felt it then, a sort of pull that pushed me through the crowd at the suite's front door, eager to get outside. Outside, I was nearly alone, passing only a random person now and then. I turned down the hall, walking slowly toward the stairway with my arms spread wide as if I was about to grip the handrail. Every now and then I would feel it, a quick little pulse telling me that I was being watched.

Watched by Death.

When I finally gripped the railing, I started trembling at the notion, remembering each touch. The voice that both taunted and tempted me. Scold myself as I might for those wanton thoughts that surged in me, I could not rid myself of them.

I let out a groan and shook my head. He had done something to me, but the feeling wasn't like an illness; it felt more frightened than sick. My mouth was dry to the point that I could barely speak. My hands were shaking, I couldn't keep control, and I felt so weak I thought I was going to faint. I had never before felt like this.

The problem wasn't that I wished I didn't feel this way. The problem was that not only did I enjoy this feeling, but I wanted to feel it all over again. And more.

My knees threatened to give out, so I sat on the top step of the stairs and rested my head against the post, looking up. The sky had never seemed bigger, the stars brighter. I felt like a small speck on the face of the earth, perhaps the only speck, alone and defenseless in the endless In Between.

At Death's touch, exhaustion sucked the energy from my limbs, my body, at an alarming rate. The reason for my being there had evaporated, and the threads of my thoughts flapped uselessly in my head, eluding my attempts to concentrate on what was really happening. Death was feeding off of my energy and I had nearly collapsed. Somehow, I managed to pull myself together. Correction, he allowed me to pull myself together.

Blaire appeared beside me after what felt like a half hour. She laughed at me above the noise. "Hey, Spazz. You don't look so hot."

I nodded. "I'm dead, what's your excuse?" I said, grinning. Nothing like a good ol' Sage Valentine zinger to throw off one's best friend. But I mean, really, I was fine. I was 100 percent, absolutely fine.

"Escaping," Blaire said, playing along.

If she only knew. "Ah, now you're speaking my language," I retorted.

She held out a hand for me to take. "Nolan's ready to see me," Blaire said. "I haven't told him you're here, but I told him someone wants to see him. I heard he's in a particularly good mood."

I felt a tiny prickle of hope. I might yet be able to escape the serious consequences of losing a soul.