Part 42 (1/2)

The words brought a smile to Death's face. ”Always liked that one.”

”It is cool,” Tony agreed.

”I like 'Angel of Death', too.”

”That's you?”

Death nodded slowly. ”Yep.”

Tony supposed it was. He never gave it any thought before. He thought some more. ”You hurt us.”

”That's not me though,” Death raised a finger. ”That's another guy. I end the hurt. I end the suffering. I step in like a referee when a fighter has had enough. When the fight is over. That's when I come in.”

”So, who is the other guy?”

”He's an a.s.shole.”

”What's his name? Agony? Suffering?” Tony threw out, trying to remember the names of the Riders of the Apocalypse. Or was that Hors.e.m.e.n?

”Close,” Death studied the whiskey in the bottle. ”Pain.”

”So, Pain is the a.s.shole?”

”What do you think?” Death said simply, looking Tony in the eye.

”Yeah, so what's your point? That you're a cold-hearted b.a.s.t.a.r.d that'll let people suffer on their way out?”

”I get blamed for Pain's work!” Death spat out, his hands going up. ”I get blamed for the pain! I don't hurt people. It's not my job. I end the hurt. But I always get the f.u.c.king blame for the suffering. I'm sick of it! Just so G.o.dd.a.m.n sick of it! It's not me who speeds on icy highway after a quart of Crown Royal. It's not me who decides to stick their d.i.c.k in an industrial vacuum. And it's not me who does Russian Roulette with an automatic. None of it is me. I don't starve kids in Africa. I don't drown thousands in tsunamis. I don't initiate genocides. I don't make you grow old. But I end it all! Any and all suffering. And I always hear the same s.h.i.+t! 'Why did they have to die? Why did Death take them? They were so young. There's too much Death in the world. I hate Death!' I mean, Jesus Christ, if it were up to me, I'd take everyone in their sleep when it was time.”

”Then, why don't you?”

”Because...” Death rolled his head in frustration. ”I didn't design the system.”

Tony's brow crunched up ”System?” Tony knew the man-Death-had said something he wasn't supposed to.

”Nothin'. Forget about that,” Death said.

”I wanna hear about that.”

”No.”

”Alright then answer me this...” Tony paused for effect. ”Why do we have to die?”

Death leaned forward as much as he could. ”Alright, alright, you wanna know why you die? Why you have to die? You wanna know why anyone dies? It's a lesson to those who are still alive. That's why you die. Why anyone dies. Every pa.s.sing is a lesson, and when you finally cross over, there'll be someone waiting to ask you a question.”

This sounded serious to Tony. ”What?”

”What have you learned?” Death informed him.

The look of confusion on Tony's face made Death frown. ”Look. There are things that your science will never accept. Never explain. Life and Death are two of your biggest questions. Why are you here? The answer is there... Some people find it. Some have to wait until they cross over. You all cross over. You will cross over. I'm just p.i.s.sed off about taking the blame for something I don't do. I don't make people suffer as they cross over. People live; eventually, they'll experience pain blinding enough to summon me to take them to the other side. When that happens, I take them. And that's all I do. People should f.u.c.king love me.”

In that moment, Death took another swig of whiskey. It was a deep drink, one from the movies where the actor is usually chugging tea. But this wasn't tea.

”You ask a thousand people how they want to go, what do you think they'd say?” Death quietly began again, his lips glistening with residual booze. He didn't wait for Tony to answer. ”They'd say 'in their sleep' or 'quick' or 'without pain'. There are people praying for me to end their suffering. People praying to end others' suffering. They say, 'they should just die. Why don't they die? They should'. But... you know about that, don't you.”

Tony did not say a word. He reached for the bottle, and Death pa.s.sed it to him. Tony took a long, burning drink and stopped only when this throat and guts choked him to submission. When he lowered the bottle, he was looking at the floor and the old rug covering it. He thought of his mother.

”Don't you?” Death repeated, quiet but firm.

”Yeah,” Tony answered.

”Yeah, thought so,” Death said, he held his hand out for the bottle. Instead, Tony took another drink and coughed when he was finished. The grimace on the man's face made Death smile.

”I can see Ol' Jack doesn't like you.”

”I like him,” Tony winced and handed it over. Outside the wind battered the cabin and sang through the broken window. ”Why do you take so long then?”

Death took a deep breath and studied the bottle of Jack Daniels. ”There's a long line up. And everyone does their best to survive. It's instinct. You're programmed to survive at any cost. Some can go against the programming. Most fight. Hope. Pray. And...” Death never took his eyes from the bottle. ”I can be a b.a.s.t.a.r.d. When they are ready to go... I'm supposed to take them. If they fight, I let them wait. Just like a parent with contrary kidsa parent that knows better but decides that the kids need to be taught a lesson. I'll let them suffer longer. Even when they... they've had enough. Even after they're more than ready to go. To cross over. Just for spite.”

”You let them suffer longer. On purpose,” Tony charged him in a low tone.

Death took a moment before answering. ”Yeah. Sometimes.”

”Maybe it's time for a career change man,” Tony reflected.

”Yeah,” Death agreed, thinking for a moment. ”Maybe.”

Outside the snow continued to fall, and the wind blew harder. Daylight faded. And if either Death or Tony had taken the time to look out the window, they would have seen the snow thickening in bl.u.s.tery chunks, reducing their visibility. Just beyond that, where the snow became a grey sheet hiding everything, dark forms gathered.

And began to ma.s.s.

Chapter 55.

Stickman drove the grey Sunbird with a growing sense of direction, as if he were hooked through the front grill and something incredibly powerful were pulling him in. And there was perhaps one of the most beautiful pa.s.sengers in Lucy sitting beside him. Every now and again, his eyes would stray to her legs covered in tight black jeans. He wished it wasn't winter. He could check out what was upstairs if she weren't wearing her leather coat. And she had removed her toque to reveal her black hair with a ribbon of white just to the side. The woman was hands-down s.e.xy. And she was friendly, too. He thought they had gone through the usual Q and A quite well. She laughed at his jokes, and she said that his accent was cute.

The Stickman liked.

He had turned on the radio for some driving music. The news had eventually come on, and when it did, she went quiet. It was beginning to bother the Stick. He found that, only after being exposed to that sunny smile of hers, and her smile was so gorgeous, he wanted more. He wanted to make her smile.

”Anyting wrong, me love?” Stickman asked her.

Lucy shook her head.