"I'm sorry. I-I didn't know it was anyone's room," I splutter, attempting to clean up the mess that I'd made in front of the door. I'm pretty sure one of the onions rolled under the porch, never to be seen again. The young girl – Sarah? – just watches me as I struggle, her head tilting further with curiosity. I can't help but notice her simple beauty: the way that her blonde curls fall around her shoulders, the fathomless dark brown of her irises. She wears a pink Hello Kitty shirt that's a few sizes too big and a pair of sweatpants that drag on the floor.
For a moment it seems that she wants to cross the threshold and help me, but she's frozen on the other side of the door. Mem wasn't lying; Death and his spirit residents cannot leave.
So that must mean that this little girl is dead.
"Where's Mem?" She asks, tilting her head in the opposite direction as I finally find a way to cradle all of the groceries in my arms. Her nostrils flare. "You don't smell dead."
I feel the blood rush out of my face. How am I supposed to respond to that?
Luckily, I don't have to. "Lisa?" D – Death – walks through the kitchen door and stops once he sees the very strange scene unfolding at the front door: little Lisa in her Hello Kitty pajamas, holding the door open while – across the threshold – I slowly fold under ridiculous amounts of sandwich makings, egg cartons, and boxes of pasta.
There he is, in all of his gorgeous glory, standing right in front of me in another old t-shirt. It should be illegal to look that good with bedhead and a five o'clock shadow. Despite myself, despite knowing that I'm staring Death in the eyes, I feel the breath flee my lungs in a sort of hopeful way.
Get a hold of yourself! You are not going to swoon over Death, I scold myself. He stares at us wordlessly for a few moments before remembering himself.
"Lisa, give Cara some room, why don't you?" He rushes towards the door as if to help me. Then, remembering that he also cannot cross outside of the mansion, he stops and flexes his fingers restlessly.
"I got it," I say quietly, my cheeks heating when he says my name.
The little girl — Lisa — stands quietly in the middle of the grand front room as I drag everything inside and set it on the floor. Death reaches for one of the heavier bags at the same time that I go to grab it, and a jolt shoots through my arm when his hand passes through mine. I yank it back like I'd burned it on a hot stove.
"Sorry." He grimaces. I try to wipe away the shock and fear that must be all over my face.
"All good." I clear my throat. "How about I grab the items in the bags, and you take the rest?"
"Sounds like a plan." The corners of his lips quirk upwards in a devastating smile that leaves me flustered and confused all over again, and he twists to address Lisa over his shoulder. "Go tell the others that breakfast is ready, okay? Cara and I will be in the kitchen."
Lisa hesitates, as if she's bursting with more questions to ask, but then her eagerness to please Death takes over and she nods, taking the steps two at a time. As I watch her reach the second floor and disappear, part of me wishes that she hadn't left me alone with Death. I drop my gaze.
"Sorry for showing up with no notice. Mem brought me here to grab my things." I nod towards Mem's beloved Baby Blue, still visible through the open door from its parking spot in the front yard.
"Don't apologize." Death bends down and picks up an armful of the groceries that had come free of their bags, and I do my best to avert my eyes from the bulge of his bicep. Doesn't mean I succeed. "I'm glad to see you again."
I follow him into the kitchen, not sure how to respond, and for a while we silently unpack the groceries and file them away. Already, a pan of untouched scrambled eggs sits steaming on the stove top, and I think of how Death had sent Lisa to collect "the others" for breakfast. I lean against the kitchen table, which is set for five. Five ghosts.
"She's a cute little girl," I say, choosing my words carefully. "Is she yours?"
Death slowly closes the refrigerator and turns around. I can tell that he's choosing his words with great tact as well, both of us stepping through a wide-open field littered with landmines. "Lisa isn't my child, but I take care of her."
Mem wasn't lying, is the first thing that crosses my mind. But instead of saying as much, the words that tumble out of my mouth are, "So you really are Death." It's hard to tell exactly what expression falls across his face, but somewhere in there I can detect relief. Maybe he wanted to tell me the truth all along.
"I take it you had a conversation with Mem?"
"You could say that." I cross my arms over my chest. The sun starts to break through the stained windows and paint watercolors on the kitchen table, and all I can think is that I hope this is just a dream. Maybe it will feel like one when I leave Neverton and return to my old life in New York. Somehow, I can't imagine reconciling those two parts of myself: the one that stays, and the one that runs away.
"Are you angry?" He asks.
"No," I say, almost instinctively, but I can feel it burning in my chest. Anger. "Actually, yeah, a little. Why would you lie to me?"
Death chokes out a laugh. "You saw how you reacted when you realized what I was! How on Earth could I make you understand the truth without scaring you to death? Or making you think that I was crazy?"
"Sending your little ghost lady minion after me definitely didn't help," I snap. "Do you know how many nightmares I'm going to have about music boxes now?" Death's eyebrows pull together.
"Ghost lady..?" Then, understanding dawns across his face and he squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the tips of his fingers into them. "Sarah. Of course."
"Sarah? Who's Sarah?" I ask, my voice rising with hysteria. "Lisa mentioned her earlier. She said I was sleeping in her room." All my life, I've always hated feeling like the dumbest person in the room. And right now I might as well be walking around with a dunce cap glued permanently to my head.
"Sarah is one of my residents," he says. "She's a bit...troubled. She was probably just trying to frighten you away."
"Well, it worked." I purse my lips, self-conscious. It's bad enough not feeling wanted at home, but I'm a freak among ghosts and immortal beings, too? "I'm clearly not welcome here, and that's fine. I just want to grab my things and I'll be out of your hair."
"Wait," Death says, leaning forward and grabbing for my wrist. His fingers pass through in a rush of cold, and I frown.
"You've got to stop doing that."
"Sorry. Habit." He steps closer to me , and if I weren't already leaning against the table I would back away. No one has ever looked at me so openly, laying themselves bare, and every part of me screams that it's not sincere. No one is ever that vulnerable, not really. "I don't know how much Mem told you, but the spirits that live here are all on the same journey. They're frightened, or confused, or are just holding so tightly to something that they can't move on, and that's why I'm here. To provide them with a soft place to land, to remind them that someone cares, and hopefully to pass them on to the other side."
"What does that have to do with me?" I squeak. Death measures his words.
"I just want you to know that you are welcome to stay here. I know I still have some explaining to do, and that the others will need to do some adjusting, but...I've never met a living human before; not one that can see me, or enter this house. And, frankly, it's kind of freaking me out."
"Me too," I whisper, and my flustered brain can only focus on the fact that, in his own strange way, he is asking me to stay. No one has ever asked me to stay.
"At least we agree on that." Death smiles a little. "Look, I'd never force you to make a decision one way or another, but I can't help feeling that there's a reason you came here. A reason that you can see me when no one else can."
"And what would that reason be?" I scoff. "That I'm a lost soul?"
His eyes pierce into mine, and for the first time it feels entirely possible that I'm standing before an eternal being, one who holds the only chisel that might break through all of my carefully-constructed walls. I immediately glance down at the first thing in front of my face, which unfortunately happens to be his chest. His shirt today reads, CARTER FAMILY ANNUAL SEAFOOD BOIL, 2017. A hysterical laugh bubbles up into my throat and spills out of my mouth, and I cover my face with my hands.
"Oh, no. Don't cry," Death immediately says, but I can't tell if my shoulders are shaking with incredulous laughter or overwhelmed tears. Probably both. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"It's just so absurd," I choke out, swiping at my face. "I mean, you and those ridiculous shirts, and that little ghost girl that opened the door, and Memory having to deliver groceries to your house, and I can see you, and–"
Suddenly, I hear a noise at the kitchen door. In any other house I would have attributed it to a breeze, but when I turn around there is a young woman standing there. She has razor-short purple hair, full lips, a nose-ring, and an expression that is anything but welcoming. She looks like she might be my age, perhaps a few years younger.
"Sarah, meet Cara," Death says, a bit too cheerfully. I turn my tear-stained face to her and attempt to clear my nose. So this is Sarah. I can't picture her at all inside of a bedroom that's trimmed with pink frills and ballerinas. In the mosh pit of a punk rock show, maybe.
"She's alive," Sarah says, staring straight at me.
"That's true," Death says.
Her eyes narrow. "She's human."
"Yes."
"She doesn't belong here."
"She can make that decision for herself," I say, rising up to my full height. But no matter how much venom I squeeze into my voice, no matter how big I try to make myself, I still feel like a child dabbling in an adult's game. Sarah has scared me out of my bed in the middle of the night. She has chased me down the street in my pajamas. She can pass through walls, transform her shape. Sarah and the other spirits here have all of the power over me, and she knows it.
But there's still one thing I have that they don't. A pulse.
And, for some wild reason, it makes me want to stay and prove her wrong. Maybe I'm a lost soul, but I'm not nearly as lost as you. I'm alive, and I can leave any time I like. My shoes make heavy sounds as I stride across the tile and stop mere inches in front of her. I watch her eyes narrow, her lips tighten. "It's nice to meet you, Sarah. I was invited to stay for breakfast, if you don't mind."
Sarah's mouth falls open in an offended "O" shape and she glances to Death for confirmation. When he nods his head, I feel a fierce surge of satisfaction race through me. For whatever reason, I know that Death has my back. And that's a pretty damn good feeling.
As Sarah crosses over to the stove top and aggressively spoons a heaping serving of scrambled eggs onto her plate, I excuse myself to go to the restroom and slip into Sarah's room. At least all of my things are still where I left them.
I slide the piece of paper with Mem's phone number out of my pocket and add her to the list of contacts in my phone. Then, I type up a message for her and press send.
Hey Mem, it's Cara. Don't wait up for me, okay? I think I may stick around for a little while