I know what Death smells like.
I did some bad things when I was alive. Maybe because I thought I was invincible, maybe because I was just plain stupid. But one thing I know is, I wasn't expecting Death to catch up with me any time soon.
It happened while I was on the run. The police were chasing me, but they weren't the only ones I was trying to escape. I was on the run from Destiny and Despair and Delirium, keeping a bottle near me like a talisman for sanity. I was on the run from Dream, scraping the last of my blow from the corners of the bag to keep myself awake through the night. But most of all I was on the run from Destruction and Death—more specifically, my own.
Anyway, I guess I just had a few too many charms to keep the evil spirits away. I'm still not sure what did it—the booze, the drugs, the stress, or maybe it was just my time—but I finally fell asleep, and when I woke up there was this gorgeous girl standing next to my bed. She had kind of a strange gothic thing going, I thought, but she was bloody gorgeous.
"Hello there," I greeted her. I was surprised to find my speech wasn't slurred, or faster than usual, or displaying any of the other signs of fucked-upedness it usually did. Now I thought about it, my head was rather too clear. I did not like this. I did not like it one bit. And I told her so.
"Well, that's life," she told me with the oddest little smile on her face. I took a rare moment of silent reflection, building a pyramid of rocky thoughts until they gathered to this brilliant point:
"So…er…what are you doing here?" I asked. And she laughed. She actually thought there was something funny about that simple question. She was the one bloody showing up in a stranger's motel room. Who did she think she was, acting all high and mighty? Who did she think she was fooling?
"I am Death, Matthew Hawkins," she said in a kind, embarrassed-for-you-but-still-very-amused tone. "It's your time."
I won't lie, I just stood there for a minute. Stood there with my mouth wide open, this stunned look on my face. I'm sure I looked like a complete fucking idiot, but hey, what can you do? You gotta have moments like that sometimes. That's life.
"Aw, fuck," I shouted as soon as I could form a real thought. "You mean I'm dead, don't you?"
"That's exactly what I mean," she replied in that same patronizing voice.
I stood there and stared at my body for a minute. I looked like shit. The sheets were all crumpled up and I was all crumpled up underneath them and there was someshit coming out of my mouth I didn't even want to think about.
"Ah, well," I shrugged. "What did I have to live for, anyway? It's not like my life was going anywhere great. It's not like I was going to be the next fucking Einstein."
"Come with me," Death offered warmly, holding out her arms as if expecting me to fucking hug her, "I've got something to show you."
I thought for a moment, then said to myself, why not? And went over and put my arms around her. And that's when it hit me. The smell. Old-lady lavender and medicine aftertaste and late-night dive bars and blood and smoke. Bloody expensive perfume and sweet sweet earth and one too many cats and one too many beers. There was the smell of girls' hair, and new clothes, and hospitals, and that weird fluid that drips from fluorescent lights when they get too fucking old. There was that smell of summer, the familiar one you always recognize but can never place. There was crisp autumn air and yellow snow and car exhaust and damp spring breeze. She smelled like money and sex and love and flannel pajamas you'd been in all day. Metal. Pain. Fear. Joy. Movie theatre butter. A faint trace of pomegranite.
"Interesting," Death said.
"Wot?" I asked, distracted by the faint strong sweet sad smell of this gorgeous mystery I held for a split second in her life, the last second in mine.
"I want you to meet my brother," she said.
