Death Fell in Love

When Death fell in love, it wasn’t fast, but it was all consuming. He had never felt an emotion, other than something akin to boredom and unsatisfaction. Death tried to ignore this new tingling. There was no room in his job, in his life, for unwanted emotions. When Death finally allowed himself to believe in the emotion, he was feeling it consumed every part of his being, bubbling up in his empty chest, right where a beating heart would be.

It was nothing at first, just a pop of color amongst his monochromatic life, a whisp of red hair catching at the corner of his vision as he floated above the world. After a month, he found himself searching for that color and the girl it was attached to. His chest tightened and ached until he saw a glance of her hair or the brightness of her smile.

He began to procrastinate in his work, giving families a few more precious moments with their loved ones, just to find her in the world. She was quickly becoming an obsession for him; he would do anything to savor one small glance. When he found her, he would stand there over her shoulder for hours unnoticed, unsatisfied with only a quick look. He was her silent guardian angel; nothing would happen to her under his watchful gaze. A small piece of him wished that she knew he was there and yet another piece of him shuddered at the thought. He belonged to a place completely apart from her, a place no one could see but one they experienced often. The thought of the world being robbed of her light, her laugh, her beauty, made something ugly flutter deep inside Death.

After three threats from his superiors paired with the threat to clip his wings, he stopped visiting. He went back to ferrying souls to the afterlife, cherishing the small memories he had of her. He devoted himself to his work, trying to keep his yearnings at bay. If his wings were clipped, he wouldn’t become human; he would simply not exist anymore, and he would never see her again. He was not dead, but he was not quite living either. He could never be what she needed. Who was he compared to her? He, who wore darkness like a glove and only existed to protect the souls of those who were once vibrant and alive. He was intrinsically part of the universe, neither good nor evil in his own right, no matter how people viewed him. He simply existed.

He pondered the thought that she would one day see him. Would she be scared? Could he blame her? Darkness ebbed and flowed around him, falling off his shoulders to form his translucent wings and dripping off his scythe in constant motion. His long cloak hid his skeletal frame. The hood pulled low over his sunken eye sockets and paper-thin lips gave him the ominous look that the mortals often depicted him as. Some twisted part of him wanted her to push back his hood, gaze into his sunken eyes the way he wished to gaze into hers.

What would she see?

A myth?

A monster?

A man?

Death knew this would never happen. He was not naive enough to think that her wonder-filled gaze would ever meet his.

With these thoughts, Death left his perch atop the bell tower of Notre Dame. A clergyman had taken his last breath. It was time to return to work. He did his best to leave his thoughts of her atop that bell tower, but they fluttered down and followed him like an obedient puppy. Two years passed before he saw her again. This time it was an accident.

He was pulled to a hospital. This was not an unusual place for him, especially the ICU. At the end of the hallway, an old man was lying in a bed. He was bad off. Death had seen this a lot. It was the body’s natural failure. He hovered in the corner, watching the man’s wife flutter around and clean the already sterile room. She glanced at the monitors every few seconds, the frown lines creasing her face deeper with each pass. Her phone began to ring. On the third chime, she stepped out of the room to answer. Death used the solitude to try and connect with the man’s soul; he could tell how tired his body was, but he was stubborn, a fighter, his soul was not ready to give up. Death was unsure why he’d been called here if this man wasn’t ready to leave yet. There were many more people closer to death that would need his attention soon.

A few moments later, the man’s wife entered the room with a young woman behind her. The same woman who held his would-be heart. She was older now, but her beauty still shined. As her eyes took in the room around her, the heaviness on her shoulders multiplied. Her freckled face held a smile, but Death could tell it was not real. He’d seen this a thousand and one times over; on her face he couldn’t stand it. Her voice was quiet when she spoke and the woman, Death presumed her grandmother, encouraged her to speak up over the machines.

“Go on, Riley. You can give him a hug. It’s okay.”

“Hi, Popa.”

The old man squinted his eyes open and tried to smile through the pain. The mask covering his face prevented him from speaking very easily, but it helped his lungs receive the air they couldn’t get on their own. He waved her over, and she obeyed tentatively, clearly afraid to hurt him.

Death floated in and out of this room for a week. Riley was there every time or nearby in the waiting room. If Death couldn’t see her, he could feel her; it was the same way he felt his shadows, a constant companion. Death found himself visiting this man more often than needed just for the chance to glimpse the only love he’d ever known. It was overkill at best, illogical at worst. Isn’t that what they say though? Love makes you do illogical things.

Death was glad he visited every day because after three days the doctors delivered the grave news the family hoped to never hear. Jackson “Owen” Corbin (Popa) was not going to make it much longer. Death unfortunately agreed with the doctor’s opinion. He could see that the color of Owen’s — as he preferred to be called — soul was fading. Time slowed even more for Death, as a loud thumping overtook his hearing. The more the doctors spoke, the faster the thump became. Death looked to his love; she was picking at the skin around her fingers as she stared straight ahead at the wall. Death was shocked to discover that the thumping was Riley’s heart. He could see the brightness of Riley’s soul fade with every thump.

When the doctors left, Riley fled the room almost instantly, the thumping following her down the hall and out of the building. Death floated behind her, aching to make her feel better. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, to comfort her. She sat on the bench, clasping her shaking hands together as her breath came in broken sobs, her heartbeat becoming more erratic the less she breathed. Death hovered in front of her. He was utterly still compared to her shaking. He did his best to make it better. He tried to push a piece of his shadows toward her for comfort, but it only brought a chill that made her shrink into herself more.

“Please don’t take him,” Riley pleaded, her voice a whisper, inaudible to anyone but him.

“I don’t want to,” Death answered truthfully, even though she could not hear him. For once in his existence, he hated his job. He didn’t want to bring Riley any pain, and though he was not the cause of Owen’s illness, he knew Riley would blame him nonetheless. That fact shattered something inside him.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye.” Another broken sob escaped her chest.

“No one ever is,” Death responded again. He stayed there as she sobbed, choking on the influx of air her lungs could not accept and expel at a normal rate. Agony washed over him as he watched the endless stream of tears flow down her face. This was the hard balance of the universe he had to uphold. What was the point of living life if you don’t die? Death knew better than anyone that not having an end gave existence no purpose. His job was the only thing that had ever given him a purpose, before Riley appeared, that is. Death almost couldn’t handle the grief etched into her face.

Almost.

With one last longing glance, he left Riley to her thoughts and continued with his work.

Riley wasn’t there the day Death came for Owen; Death was thankful for her absence. Owen’s soul surrendered easily. One last shuddering breath. A beat of silence. Then screams. His wife cried as she clutched his hand, kissing it softly in one last goodbye. Owen was with Death now, a young man again with an old familiar look of mischief in his eyes and a chip on his tooth peeking though a half-crooked smile.

“Howdy.” He extended his hand. “Jackson Owen Corbin. Friends call me Owen.”

Death wondered in that moment what Owen saw of him. What made him extend his hand and offer this otherworldly being kindness.

“Owen Corbin. It’s good to see you out of pain. Are you ready to go home?”

Owen glanced down at his family, his gaze lingering on his wife who had stood to kiss his forehead before excusing herself from the room. The love shining in Owen’s eyes compelled Death to speak again. “She will be okay. They will all be okay.” Death wasn’t sure where the words of reassurance came from or why he needed to say them to Owen, but he did. When Owen smiled at him again, offering a small nod this time, he knew he had said the right thing.

“Yes, I agree. They have each other. I’m ready.”

The journey passed in silence; Death led Owen to his blissful afterlife without incident. The unsavory creatures lurking in the shadows knew better than to come after a protected soul. Once Owen was delivered safely, Death found Riley. He couldn’t help himself. A longing to check on her had settled on his chest. She was at work beginning her cleaning tasks for the night.

Death watched as she saw her phone ringing, the very thing she had been dreading all week. Her panic was palpable as she answered the phone. Death willed her lungs to accept a full breath, yet they disobeyed, continuing to malfunction. Her day ended in a blur of phone calls as she tried to latch onto someone for comfort. She was completely unaware of the comfort that Death wished to provide. He didn’t understand it himself; comfort was not his job, and yet he wanted to fold Riley into his arms and keep her safe from the pain. His broken little dove.

Riley dragged herself home and shut off her phone. Death was never more than three feet away from her. He could feel the pull of another job, but he ignored it. He no longer cared if his wings were clipped. In this moment, Death realized Riley was more important than anything. He stood behind her as she swayed in the middle of her room. She was alone, aside from his presence that she was unaware of.

Silence crackled around the room. In the blink of an eye, Riley had collapsed on the floor. Her body folded in on itself as she screamed in agony. Her lungs failed her again. The icy claw of anger, another new emotion for him, gripped his spine. He cursed himself for his role in her suffering. Riley’s heart echoed in Death’s ears once again. He could hear it breaking with every sob that wrecked her tiny body. In one last effort, Death tried to push his essence toward her to offer even a miniscule amount of comfort, but it did nothing but make her shudder.

With a guttural growl of frustration, an idea Death had never tried overtook his mind. Instead of pushing his shadows outward, he pulled them inward. He focused on giving himself a real form, a fully fleshed out body, a complete face with grey eyes instead of his normal empty eye sockets. His long robe morphed into a tailored suit, serving to give his body a more defined shape.

The energy crackled around him enough to draw Riley’s attention. Terror was etched into the lines on her face, but terror, even if it was of him, was better than her despair. She pushed back from him, her back hitting the wall behind her with a loud thud. Death stood in the center of the tomato soup-stained cream rug rigidly still. He didn’t want to scare her more. Slowly, he crouched down to her level. When she didn’t flinch or scream, he folded his legs crisscross underneath him and peered at Riley.

They both stayed like that, studying each other as the minutes ticked by. Death finally got to see Riley look into his eyes as he looked into hers. What he saw was breathtaking. A wealth of emotion not often found in someone as young as her. Twenty years was nothing compared to his millennium, and yet she understood things Death would never be able to grasp. When Riley finally found the strength to speak, Death nearly choked on his non-existent breath.

“It’s you.”

He cocked his head to the side in a silent question.

“I saw you once before. I was young, I assumed I’d imagined you.”

“I apologize. I don’t understand. I have never shown myself to anyone before now.”

“You were there when my father died. Well, I suppose he was already dead, but we were in the hospital, and I saw you.”

Death pondered this for a moment. It was entirely possible she’d seen him. Young children often perceive the invisible spirts around them that adults can no longer see. A memory came to him then of a young girl with fire-red hair and bright curious eyes filled with sorrow as she clung to her mother’s leg. Death hovered over a body bag as young Riley peered at him; he had been told to ignore the humans that could see him. His superiors reassured him that their brains would rationalize it somehow, and he needn’t worry.

A nasty motorcycle accident had dragged Death to the hospital that night. The man zipped inside was a tough one. It rarely happened that a soul refused to leave its body but, in an accident as sudden as the man’s, it made sense. He wasn’t ready to go. Death didn’t realize in that moment the impact that this girl would eventually have on his life.

Riley drew his attention back to the present once more. “Who… who are you?” she hiccupped, wiping away her tears. The inflection in her voice hinted that she already knew who was sitting across from her.

“I’m Death.”

“I’m not dying.”

Death bristled at this thought fidgeting with his newly formed fingers. “No.”

“So why are you here?” Riley had folded her legs to her chest. She was guarded. Death was not surprised by this.

“You seemed lonely.”

There was a beat of stifling silence as Riley was reminded of the evening’s events. “Did you take him? Popa?”

“Yes. He’s safe.”

A deep breath escaped her lungs as she relaxed slightly. They sat together in silence. Death did not know what to do, but the silent company seemed to be helping. He took a chance to study Riley’s face once again as she stared at him. Stared at him wasn’t the right way to describe her expression. It was more like she stared through him. A war raged in her red-rimmed, emerald-green eyes. There was clearly an endless stream of thoughts in her head. Death could stare into her eyes forever; he had never seen emotions so vibrant and real. All he ever saw were hints of old emotions, ghosts as much as the souls that carried them were. Whoever said the eyes were the window to the soul was right.

Death was ripped from his study of Riley as another loud sob escaped her lips. She had turned her phone back on. When she raised her head and settled her eyes on him again, fresh tears streaking her red blotchy cheeks. It was clear she was looking at him this time. Her words were a whisper when she finally spoke.

“I hate you.”

It was not the first time Death had heard those words; it wouldn’t be the last time either. But from her, the words crushed his empty lungs and gripped his shadow made spine in an icy claw.

“I know.”

“I wasn’t ready.”

“You wouldn’t have ever been ready.” It was a fact. No matter when Death had come for Owen, Riley would never have been ready to say goodbye.

“Please…” The plea to bring him back died on her lips.

“I’m sorry.” The worst words of comfort in existence, yet all he could think of.

“Please…” She tried again getting no further.

“You’ll be okay.”

The silence returned. Riley unfolded her legs and crawled toward Death. He unfolded his legs, allowing her to rest her head in his lap. He did not touch her, simply let her lie there and take the comfort she needed.

“How do you know? It doesn’t feel like it’s going to be okay.”

Death thought for a moment. It would be okay because she would forget Owen eventually. Not entirely, but bit by bit things would fade. The memory of his voice would fade first, his mannerism next, and finally she would no longer be able to recall his face without the help of pictures. He said this to her and gently ran his fingers through her hair as she sobbed. It’s not what she needed to hear, but it’s all Death knew. He was factual. There was no room for emotion, and yet Riley had given him the chance to feel things he never would have otherwise. For that, he would always be grateful. Her sobbing subsided, and her breath evened out as she slipped into sleep.

Death had hoped that by speaking to Riley, his feelings for her would fade, that she would no longer consume his every thought. Unfortunately, he knew that was no longer the truth. Death knew that Riley held the key to his heart, and he also knew that he would never be able to leave her and return to his invisible place in the universe. This was the end for him, so he would cherish every moment of Riley he could have.

Death would never regret his love for Riley. They were two souls who had known more loneliness than most. If Death could ease that loneliness, even for the night, then it was all worth it.

There was no denying it, Death was in love, and for his love, he was willing to die.

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Kylie Daniell attends Stephen F. Austin State University in Nacogdoches, Texas. She is a junior undergraduate creative writing major with a minor in literature. She is set to graduate with a Bachelor of Fine Arts in fall of 2025.