Death had woken Tristan up the next morning early. They dressed in their room and ate breakfast provided by the restaurant on the bottom floor of the hotel. Tristan found eating food to be difficult. He had tried food before, but it was never forced upon him in the form of a meal. Death insisted they eat to keep up their disguise.
Tristan picked at and adjusted his clothing. He couldn't seem to get used to all the garments on his body. His shoes squeaked on the wooden floor. His hat bothered him. The shirt rubbed his skin. Death noticed the apprentice messing with his clothes at the table. He reached his hand across the table to settle him. "You will get used to it," he whispered.
Death made Tristan carry the bag that contained their medical supplies. He had never seen Death handle the equipment before. Tristan had only read about the equipment. He was curious to see Death play as a doctor.
The two walked out of the hotel and onto the road to their patient's house. Tristan was itching to have more answers, but he knew Death would reveal answers to him soon enough. As if reading his mind, Death started to speak.
"You may not refer to me as Death. Call me Dr. Mortimer or doctor. The people we are seeing today are rich. Please do not gawk at their home. We are here on business."
"Was your name actually Mortimer?" Tristan asked, "Before you became Death?"
"No, I don't remember what it was. It was so long ago, and everyone calls me Death."
Death and Tristan arrived at the front door of a large home. There was dead grass surrounding the property. The place looked lonely. Tristan would have assumed no one was home except for the smoke that billowed from the chimney. Death interrupted his thoughts by giving a harsh rap to the door.
A few seconds later the door cracked open to reveal a middle-aged woman. She gave them a soft smile and opened the door wider.
"Hello, you must be Dr. Mortimer. We've been waiting for you," she greeted and stuck her hand out to Death. Tristan watched as he kissed the back of her hand. She welcomed them into the home and introduced herself as Mara.
"Ma'am, this is my apprentice, Tristan. He will be assisting me during our stay," Death introduced.
"How nice," she said, "Let me take you to Dolores' room."
The woman turned and proceeded farther into the house. She led them down a small hall and up a grand wooden stairway. Tristan tried not to gawk at the home as Death had asked. The inside was richly colored. It looked more alive on the inside than it did on the outside. Tristan noticed how quiet it was. No sounds echoed in the silent home.
Mara spoke suddenly, "Dolores is our only child. All our other children passed before their fifth year. She's almost sixteen and very sickly. Poor dear caught a cold or something of the sort a few months back and hasn't been able to shake it. We've tried our best to care for her in the absence of a doctor, but it seems she's getting worse."
Mara looked back to her company and Death gave her a brief smile. Tristan was absentmindedly looking at the banister hardly catching a word of what the woman said. He was too busy taking in the finely furnished home. Tristan suddenly felt the two before him pause.
He looked forward to seeing Mara opening a white door. Her small hands clutched the brass knob. The door creaked open slowly almost as if Mara was scared to open it. Tristan followed Mara and Death into the room.
The interior of the room felt cold. The window was open letting in some light but leaving most of the room feeling empty. There was purple wallpaper, wooden furniture, and a bed containing a young girl. Her head lay on a pillow and her eyes were closed. The blankets on the bed were pulled up to her chest and her arms lay crossed on top. Her dark hair splayed across the pillow. Tristan thought she looked still like a statue.
"Dolores," Mara whispered, "Dolores. There's a doctor for you."
Dolores didn't stir. Tristan thought for a moment that they had gotten there too late, and she had already died. He chastised himself for such a thought. Death was never late. He was always on time.
Mara sat on the girl's bed and stroked her hair away from her face. Dolores shifted under the covers.
"Perhaps we should come another time. I would hate to disturb her," Death suggested.
Mara nudged the girl and said her name once more. Dolores moved and slowly opened her eyes. Her eyes were blue, Tristan noted. She took in her surroundings as her mother stroked her bangs off her pale forehead. Dolores sat up in bed noting the strangers in the room.
"Good morning," she said then looked at the clock on the bedside table, "Yes, good morning."
Tristan watched as she greeted Death with a kind smile and then turned to him. She smiled at him and stuck out her hand for him to shake it. He did. Death wasted no time in setting down his medical bag and beginning the examination. He pulled several instruments out of the bag. Mara fetched a chair for him to sit and examine Dolores.
Tristan stood not knowing what he should do. His arms stayed at his side trying not to fidget with his clothing again. That's when Death handed him a file telling him to record the examination process. Finally, this was something Tristan knew how to do. He had overseen death records and grief-keeping before coming here and knew his way around a document. The only problem was Death was moving quickly through the examination.
Tristan opened the file and began scratching down all the details he could record. Death checked Dolores's heart, lungs, eyes, mouth, ears, and reflexes then he stood up from his chair. Tristan watched as Death packed the instruments away.
"Here, Tristan, finish the examination, please. You'll find the examination questions at the bottom of the file," Death said gesturing to the chair. Tristan sat down and looked back to find Death and Mara had left the room. He turned back to Dolores.
"So, how bad is it, Doc?" Dolores joked with a fake frown on her face. Tristan gave her a small smile but found it difficult to joke about her situation. Tristan reopened the file and flipped to the examination sheet. The first one read temperature of the patient. He remembered how to take someone's temperature, but he had to find the right tool. He dug into Death's medical bag to find the glass stick with the numbers.
Dolores sat with the temperature-taker in her mouth. Tristan kept recording details about her appearance and mood. The room was agonizingly quiet until Dolores spoke up.
"You are Dr. Mortimer's assistant? Tristan, correct?"
"Yes," Tristan spoke in a quiet voice.
"Dr. Mortimer seems kind. I hope he stays a while,"
"Yes,"
"Is that all you say? Yes?"
"Y-no." Tristan paused. Dolores smiled at him.
"I'm sorry, I was just trying to talk. I'm sure you talk. I thought if you stuck around a while to help the doctor we might as well get to know each other."
Tristan nodded and cleared his throat trying to finish the examination.
"How much activity do you get? Are you often in bed?" he asked.
Dolores sighed then spoke, "I hardly leave this room. Mama says I'm too weak to even walk down the stairs. That's why I keep the curtains open, so I can see outside."
Tristan nodded and took note of her answer. Her answer had piqued his curiosity.
"You never leave the room? Why can't someone carry you downstairs or outside?"
"I guess they could do that, but they don't. Mama says the weather could make me worse."
"Some sunlight would be good for you," Tristan commented, remembering something about the healing properties of sunshine for the body, "I can ask Dr. Mortimer if he will let you out of the room."
Dolores smiled once more and whispered a thank you.
Tristan had brought the idea to Mara and Death once he left Dolores' bedroom. Mara was against the younger's idea until Death considered it. He told Mara it may be good for her health when the weather is better. More sun. More energy. A chance to get better. Mara finally agreed to the idea not wanting to go against the doctor's expertise.
After Tristan and Death said their goodbyes to the family, Death turned to his apprentice stating, "I think you should take Dolores out tomorrow."
He looked for any sign of disagreement in the apprentice's face.
"She can't handle the stairs yet, but you could carry her outside. I can set up a wheelchair in the garden for her. You can walk her around," Death said.
"What will you do?" Tristan asked.
"I have work to do. I will do the regular examination, but you will handle Dolores for most of the day."
"How can I help her? I'm just an assistant."
"Spend time with her. She has been stuck in that room for a while now and it would be good to have some interaction with another person, especially someone around her age."
Tristan nodded. He thought back to Dolores sitting in her dull room. He pitied her.