The next morning, Louis makes a rare appearance at breakfast because he has something to tell all of us. All of us, meaning, whoever is left: Lisa, Death, Love, and I. It's the first time Death and I have been in close quarters since Halloween, and I can't bear to look at him from where I sit across the table. Except now I'm the one that must be cold and distant; I'm the one that must make the hardest decision of my life.
Louis stands in the center of the room and meets each of our gazes for a few seconds before calmly declaring, "I'm ready to go."
We all blink at each other for a few confused seconds before Death stutters, "G-go? You mean...?"
"I mean, I'm ready to leave this plane of existence and embrace what's waiting for me on the other side," Louis says slowly, as if explaining the concept to a particularly dim child. Technically, there is a child in the room.
Lisa's eyes widen as she understands what Louis is saying. "But you can't! What about your books?"
"Oh, my dear," Louis's ancient gaze turns gentle, and he grasps Lisa's tiny hand in his wrinkly one. "When Cara gave me that interweb device, I thought that I would be happy for the rest of time. New books – thousands of new books – added every single day? I thought it was too good to be true! But it was, and after a while I came to learn something. You can read all of the books in the world – a task I now understand to be quite impossible – and still not understand a single thing about this ridiculous experience we call life. I can read all I want about the South of France, or controversial horse training techniques, but what about the human soul? What are we made of? Where do we go? I'll never know until I find out for myself."
"But..." Lisa's lips shrivel. Her voice trembles. "I don't want you to leave like Sarah and Paul. And all the others."
Louis tightens his grip and nods at Death. "I suspect no one really leaves this place for good."
Lisa throws her arms around the old man, her shoulders heaving with sobs, and I swallow the sudden thickness that had started to gather in my throat. Meanwhile, Love observes the situation without a single show of emotion, and conflict flits over Death's face.
"Are you sure, Louis?" He asks quietly. "You're ready?"
"As I'll ever be." Louis nods again at each of us, as if he's imparting a blessing, and pats Lisa's head. "I want to do it tonight, when the sun is setting. That sounds quite poetic."
With that, Louis strides out of the kitchen, leaving a heavy silence in his wake that's broken only by Lisa's stuttering tears. If she were alive, I'd hug her close and take her out for ice cream.
I can't say I'm not happy for Louis, but all of this feels so wrong, so sudden. Especially when Love is sitting there at the head of the table, cold as ever. She doesn't care, and Death isn't allowed to. How is that fair? My conversation with Love the night before was clear enough: I can't continue like this anymore. I can't be with Death.
Which means I can't be here.
Before anyone can see the pain and resolve change my features, I shove away from the table and stride out of the kitchen, taking the stairs two at a time up to my room. I didn't have that many possessions to begin with, so it doesn't feel too overwhelming as I pack everything into my duffel bag. But the physics of ghosts seemingly still eludes me, because when I turn and face the doorway Death is standing there. Not a single auditory clue that I was being followed.
I nearly jump out of my skin.
"Stop doing that," I say, avoiding his gaze. I start folding up a sweater with shaking hands: the same one that I wore when I first found myself on Death's doorstep. Why does it feel like both a lifetime and a single second ago when Mem first told me I could temporarily live here and renovate this historic mansion? And why do I feel like this house has changed me, instead of the other way around?
"What are you doing, Cara?" Death pleads. I don't have to look at him to find out that he already knows.
"Don't make me say it," I choke, still stuffing items into my duffel bag. "I want to do this painlessly, okay?"
"Painlessly." Death scoffs. "That's impossible."
"Then stop making it harder!" I whirl and look at him for the first time since we spent the night together. My first mistake. Chills break out across my body as I remember the pressure of his lips on my throat, his strong thighs against mine. In this moment, I want to damn the balance of the universe, and Death's role in it, and everything that doesn't have anything to do with us being together. But I still remember every word of what Love had told me. If I break, if I stay, I will be dooming Death to a fate worse than anything I can imagine.
"It doesn't have to be hard." He crosses into my room, stops only when he's inches away from me, and there's hope in his eyes. "We can still be together, even if we can't touch each other. We'll find a way around it."
"Death, no! Stop talking like this," I hiss, frantically searching the hallway in case Love is slinking around. If she overhears this, if Death falls in love with me...
"I can't, Cara!" He shakes his head. "Every fiber of my being is screaming that this is wrong, impossible, but I just don't give a fuck anymore. And I know you feel the same way. I know I didn't imagine that you–"
"I don't want to be with you, Death." The words feel like acid as they fly out of my lips, but the look on his face stings worse. My heart turns to dust and crumples, but I force myself to keep talking, even through the tears. I have to make sure that I hammer every nail on this coffin, even if the resulting self-loathing kills me. "I admire what you've done here, and I feel an affinity for you, but we can never be together. I deserve better. I deserve more. I deserve to be touched every day, by someone who can step into the sunlight. I deserve to be happy. I hope you can understand that."
I've never before looked into someone's eyes and known that I've broken their heart. It's an indescribable feeling that leaves me so empty I feel like I might float away. I wish I could; I wish I could never see the hurt in Death's eyes ever again. I wish I could cease to be myself.
I'm doing this for you, I want to say. If it were up to me, I'd never, ever, ever leave this house.
"Well..." Death swallows and turns away, doing a commendable job of hiding the pain that I know he feels. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you're looking for." What remains of my heart squeezes. "Do you need help packing?"
"No, I, uh...I think I should do it alone. Quickly. I don't want Lisa to see."
"Where will you go?"
"New York." I respond so certainly that I surprise myself. "There's a conversation I've been needing to have with my father." Anxiety spikes within me, but part of me knows that it has been a long time coming. Maybe that's the reason I came to Neverton and was allowed inside of this house in the first place; all of it was to prepare me for this culminating moment of truth. I never used to believe in fate or destiny, but now it feels inevitable.
Death nods, facing the opposite direction, and I watch his shoulders droop before he walks into the hall. He freezes, still facing the other wall, and shakes his head. "It's funny. For a second, I was so sure that..." He swallows, unable to continue.
"Sure that what?" I prompt. I feel like the lowest creature on the planet.
He shakes his head. "Nothing." Then he leaves so swiftly that it takes my breath away. I bite my lips to silence my sobs as I finish packing, tidying up the little guest room. My eyes are still clouded with tears as I sling my duffel over my shoulder, as I walk through the corridor. I take the long way to pass Lisa and Louis's rooms. I can't bring myself to say goodbye. When I descend the stairs to the foyer and cross to the front door, Love is waiting for me there. I'm not surprised. Somehow, I'd already been expecting her.
"You did the right thing," she says, and I think that I might detect pity in her voice. It infuriates me. "Even though it was hard."
"It doesn't feel right at all. I broke his heart."
"You know what they say: better to live with a broken heart than to not have one at all." She picks lazily at her perfect cuticles, careless. "You should go now, before anyone sees you. I'll see that the old man and the little girl are looked after."
"What about him? Who will look after Death?" I choke. Love remains quiet. "You need to promise me that he will be kept safe. That you won't do anything to him."
"I promise that, as long as you remain out of sight and out of mind, I will not be forced to take action." I'm still not completely satisfied, but I know that it's the closest thing to a reassurance that I'll get from the Immortal. I give her a short nod and turn around.
One final look. I allow myself one final look at Death's temporary home for lost souls, of which I found myself a resident for so long. The walls still shine with the new coat of paint I'd added to it; the floors and banisters gleam, polished and dust-free. The re-upholstered furniture radiates elegance. But right now, all of it strikes me as false, empty; far too perfect. Now I understand that this isn't a home for perfection, where everything has its own place and must be just so. It's a home for messy things: messy people, messy emotions, messy rooms, messy stories.
Which is probably why I fit in so perfectly.
"Goodbye," I whisper under my breath.
Love slams the door behind me.