Later that afternoon, after an exhausting session of planning for the Halloween Festival with Mem while she simultaneously managed a bustling shift at the Nest, she drives me back to Death's house along with my bounty from Gary's store. I'm half-inclined to invite her inside before I remember that she's not able to cross the threshold of the old house.
"Thanks for the productive day! I'll see you soon!" She calls through the window of Baby Blue before she backs onto the dirt road. I wave and force as convincing a smile as I can onto my face, the bags of cleaning supplies piled around my feet.
As harmless as most of the spirits here seem to be, there's still something unsettling about spending too much time around them. It almost makes me forget that I'm not one of them, that I'm alive, that I have an entire life waiting for me. The question is, do I want that life anymore? I still don't know.
And I suppose that's what makes me a lost soul.
Groaning under the weight of my many grocery bags, I stumble onto the front porch and barely make it into the dusty foyer without spilling everything onto the floor. I finally manage to transfer everything onto the crushed velvet sofa, half expecting Sarah to appear before my eyes and laugh in my sweaty, tomato-red face.
But Sarah doesn't appear. Instead, I hear a barking laugh from behind the kitchen door, which is soon followed by the lingering scent of fresh food. Biting my lip, I cross over to the door and peer inside.
All of the spirits are seated at the kitchen table – except for Louis, of course, who must be too busy reading to care much for conversation – with half-eaten sandwiches in front of them. Death occupies his usual seat at the head of the table, and I don't miss the way his eyes brighten when he sees me, distracted from whatever conversation I'd just interrupted. Beside him, Sarah puckers her lips and rolls her eyes.
"Cara! Where were you?" Lisa shoves back from the table and throws her arms around my waist in an invasive hug that makes my bowels feel like they were transported to Antarctica. I gasp as she passes all the way through me, and then the little girl twists her mouth apologetically. "Sorry. I keep forgetting."
"That's okay," I splutter, still catching my breath. "I ran into town early this morning to pick up some cleaning supplies."
"How did you sleep last night?" Sarah asks sweetly. My gaze swivels to hers, and the malice hidden behind her innocent facade sends my pulse racing with fury. She wants me to cave in, to run to Death and tell him that I can't handle staying here another night with his unruly residents. She wants me to be afraid. And even if I might be, I can't show it.
So I stare her down and say, in an even bubblier tone, "Wonderfully! Thanks for asking!"
Her gaze sharpens the slightest bit, but not enough for anyone else to notice. Fierce pride surges through me. I won this battle. If it weren't for the fact that I'm a completely mature adult, I would stick out my tongue.
"Please, join us for lunch," Death insists, motioning to the empty chair that Sarah just so happens to be propping her feet upon. Today, even though it's unseasonably warm outside, he's wearing a fuzzy blue sweater with the words THERE'S SNOW TIME LIKE CHRISTMAS stitched into it. Honestly, it's adorable, and almost enough to distract from his gorgeous face. Almost. "I wasn't sure when you were coming back, but I can whip up another sandwich really quick."
"No, I'm fine," I say almost instinctively, while my stomach growls loudly in betrayal. I am pretty hungry, but I can't imagine subjecting myself to the torture of enduring another meal with Sarah. There are only so many fake smiles that I have left in me, and I definitely don't want to cause another blow-up at the table. "Actually, there are a lot of things to unpack, so I might just..." I slide back towards the doorway, about to make my quick escape, when Death stands a little too eagerly.
"I'll help you!"
"Oh." For a moment, I don't know what to say. The other spirits watch Death with varying degrees of confusion. Paul actually manages to tear his gaze away from his newspaper for a few seconds, frowning. "Okay, sure. If you want."
He follows me out into the foyer, where I'd left my mess of cleaning supplies on the sofa. I stand there for a second, not sure how to begin. Should I tell him that I'd kind of used the unpacking thing as an excuse not to join everyone for lunch? No, that would come across as rude.
Before I can properly come up with something to say, Death crosses over to sit on the floor within perfect reach of the bags. I join him as he starts to remove the ridiculous number of things that I bought, resolving myself to more physical labor. "Wow, Cara. Look at all of this stuff! You weren't lying when you said you were serious about turning this place around."
"Well, that is why I'm here." I shrug. "And I don't lie about lye." I freeze, my hand halfway stretched out to grab a toilet brush. Oh my God. That was the dumbest thing I've ever said. I'm going to go crawl into a hole, now.
But beside me, Death laughs, deeply – almost as if he's surprised that he has the capability of it.
I think it might be the best sound I've ever heard.
"I never pegged you as a comedian," Death says, smiling as he starts to organize the products into neat rows on the floor. I quickly catch on to his organizational strategy and follow suit, sorting everything by room then surface.
"That's because I'm definitely not," I insist. "Trust me. Some people don't find me amusing in the least."
I must have laid on the frustrated tone a little thick, because Death pauses in his sorting and glances at me. "Want to talk about it?"
I freeze again, my blood running cold. "Talk about what?"
"You know what." He full-on stares at me now, and when I remain silent he says, "Sarah. I heard about what she was doing last night."
"Oh." I shake my head, unsure whether I'm mostly relieved or ashamed. I should have expected that Sarah's crusade to terrorize me all night wouldn't have remained a secret forever, especially with Lisa's room being right next to mine. "Look, she's just trying to scare me. I won't let it bother me."
"I know you won't, but I promised that I'd stand up for you. You haven't done anything wrong, and she shouldn't be treating you like that." Death's fingers flutter restlessly, and I feel something deep inside of me crack just a tiny bit to know that he cares so much.
But at the same time, it seems that Death's – attention? affection? pity? - towards me is precisely the reason why Sarah is acting so vindictively. In fact, it seems an awful lot like jealousy. And I can't give her any more ammunition to use against me in the coming days.
"You haven't said anything to her about it, have you?" I ask, grimacing.
Death shakes his head. "Not yet."
"Good. Do me a favor and just...let it go?"
"I don't understand..."
"She's trying to create a problem. Making it into a bigger deal is exactly what she wants." I laugh. "Trust me, I know how these things work. Let me deal with it alone, okay?"
"Okay," Death concedes, but a muscle ticks restlessly in his jaw. He goes back to unpacking the bags, slower now, and doesn't meet my gaze. Great; I've made it awkward. He's clearly trying to reach out – to help me – and I turned him away.
"So," I start, desperate to salvage the conversation. "What's Sarah's deal, anyway? Why is she here?" How did she die? is what I really want to ask, but that doesn't seem appropriate.
Death sighs; or at least, it looks like he sighs. Dead things don't breathe. "Sarah, just like the rest of my residents, had a very tough life. She's also a very private person, so forgive me if I don't feel at liberty to say."
"Oh, of course. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
"It's no problem. I expected you to be curious." Death shrugs. "The others are much more open about how they ended up here."
"Really?"
"Louis, the older gentleman upstairs? He was a librarian in the late 1700's, obsessed with the idea of reading every book in the world. Well, we both know that's impossible. He passed away from a heart attack in his 90's, but that still wasn't enough to dissuade him from his goal."
"No shit," I say. Death nods and smiles a little, tilting his head back.
"Paul was an assistant manager at a bubblegum manufacturing plant. He claimed to have come up with a revolutionary concept for edible gum and was promised a promotion if he could pull it off. But before he could make it to the office to present his idea to the executives of the company–" Death smacks his fist into the palm of his other hand. "Car accident. That was about fifteen years ago, but he still hasn't gotten over it."
"Oh my God. Poor thing." My eyes widen, remembering how preoccupied Paul had been with his presentation, how Lisa told me he still carries around his briefcase and rehearses alone in his room. I hadn't realized how troubled all of the spirits here are, trapped between their living dreams and mortal fates. I almost don't want to ask my next question, but morbid curiosity wins out. I lower my voice to a near whisper. "What about Lisa?"
Death's eyes soften, and it's such an achingly human expression that I nearly move to grab his hand. "Lisa was with her parents at the beach one day. She was still learning to swim, and they turned their backs for a moment. The waves had turned rough, and before they even realized it..." He clears his throat and I feel tears prick at the corners of my eyes. I shake my head, letting him know that he doesn't have to finish this story. Unfortunately, I know how it ends.
"I'm sorry." I'm not sure who I'm apologizing to. It's not like Lisa was Death's daughter. But from what I've seen over the last few days, he treats her like one.
"Dying isn't easy on anyone, but each of my residents needs special attention and care. More than the average person," Death says. "Some of them stay for years. Some for a few days. But all of them are searching for the kindness that they never received in life. It's the least I can offer them."
"Closure," I breathe. Death glances at me, almost as if he'd forgotten I was sitting there. In his ancient eyes, mingled with the lingering sorrow, there's a loneliness so deep I could get lost in it. I recognize it because it's inside of me, too. A hospital room. An empty studio. A subway train.
What must it be like to hold the fate of every single soul that will ever exist in your hands? To be their final witness, and to be despised for it?
"You're not what I expected, Death," I say, specifying, "In a good way." Death meets my gaze and smiles, revealing perfect white teeth and dimples so deep that I could swim in them. I forget how to breathe. Curse your face for being so beautiful and untouchable.
"That's the greatest compliment I could ever receive. Though I admit that I don't hear it often."
"Well, you should! You're not an evil, cloaked demon creature like everyone thinks."
Death smirks. "Thanks for that."
"No, really! It's like that song, 'Don't Fear the Reaper.'" He stares at me blankly, and I slap a hand to my forehead. "What? You've never heard that song? 'More cowbell?' There's a whole skit about it on SNL with Will Ferrell?"
Death blinks. "What on Earth are you talking about? What's an SNL?"
"Oh my God." I groan and pretend that I'm tearing my hair out. "Someone needs to catch you up on pop culture, stat."
"Come on, you can't judge me based on one random song!"
"I can't?" I raise my eyebrows and lean towards him, glee racing through me. It feels nice to be the one that's doing the teasing, for once. "Why should I listen to a guy who's wearing a Christmas sweater before Halloween?"
"Okay, that went too far!" Death laughs and pouts, plucking the glittery fabric over his chest. "Mem got this for me. She gets all of my clothes."
"So she's responsible for the pug shirt, too? She must be taking the piss."
"She's taking the what?"
"It's a saying! Geez, I gotta get you out of this house." I laugh and slap his shoulder, but my hand passes through in a rush of cold, bringing me crashing back to reality. I don't realize the weight of my words until I see the smile slip away from Death's face. It's like watching the sun disappear behind a rain cloud.
Because that's impossible. He will never be able to leave this property or pretend at having a normal life, and I will never understand what it feels like to have the weight of entire lives upon your shoulders.
"I shouldn't have said that," I say, leaning away so that the charged air between us doesn't make me say something else that I regret. My fingers still buzz from the cold; his cold. "I wasn't thinking."
"That's okay." Death tries to smile again, but it's sadder than before. "Why don't you tell me about your trip to town?"
"Okay," I say, surprised that he would even care, and soon the cleaning supplies are all but forgotten in a messy ring around us. I tell him about the mix-up at Gary's Fix-It-Spot and how kind the old shopkeeper had been; I tell him about the hallucinations I had thanks to Mem's coffee; and, finally, I talk about the way that she had offered me pay in exchange for helping out with the Halloween Festival. His eyes light up at the last part.
"That's amazing, Cara! The Festival is legendary around here."
"So I've heard. People really are gaga for Halloween in Neverton, aren't they?"
"Yeah." Death looks down at the floor and fidgets with the carpet. "You know, there's something I haven't told you yet about Hallo–"
Suddenly, my pocket vibrates with a text and I open it, expecting a sarcastic message from Mem. Instead, I feel as though a tow truck has slammed into my ribs when the contact reads Dad.
"What's wrong?" Death asks, sensing my immediate unease.
"It's, uh..." I say, distracted as I glance through his message.
Hi Cara. I know ur angry, Analia told me you 2 talked and im going to respect that you need space. Just plz be safe and call me when ur ready.
I let out a slow breath through my nose. It's not that I'd never expected to hear from him again, even though he still barely understands how texts work, or cell phones in general. I was just hoping that I would have more time to think of something to say. At least Analia didn't tell him that I'm dead in a ditch somewhere.
"Who is that?" Death asks.
I swallow. "My Dad." I shut off the screen, leaving him on read. If I were a different version of myself, I would be shaking in shame, my brain screaming BAD DAUGHTER. BAD DAUGHTER. But I'll never be that version of myself again, the one that could never even imagine Dad with another woman. The version that never walked into that doctor's office, or took that crowded subway train.
"You know, we can talk about it. If you want," Death says gently. I sit still and stare at my hands, willing them to stop trembling. All I can do is shake my head no. Because I've realized something today: I enjoy talking with Death way too much to ruin it with my messed up life.
So we continue to unpack the grocery bags in loaded silence, until everything is put away and Death quietly excuses himself through the back door. The garden is always waiting.