Disclaimer: see chapter one
Chapter Three
They say a touch of Death can bring back life.
I don't really like that saying.
I've never liked having to give back things once they're mine.
I dropped in on the eldest son next.
Well, that wasn't strictly true. I was there for the mother; he just happened to be there. He just happened to witness it. He was the collateral damage that comes part and parcel of my job.
She was my main priority, but if I could get two for the price of one, I would. I was a professional bargain hunter before this, and I was rather good at that job too.
She, I knew I would collect. There was no doubt about it. Her breath rattled, her body trembled with the effort of keeping her alive. Her eyes were dulled, pained. Even her hair seemed limp and lifeless.
Animals know when their time is up, and the same can be said for humans. At a basic level, humans are animals, savage and tamed beasts.
She would not last the night, but she fought and struggled every step of the way. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier on her if she had just given in. Sometimes I wonder if the boy would have given up too, if she hadn't have fought.
Humans believe that white is meant to be a pure colour, untouched and unmarred, but that isn't true. I taint everything I come into contact with, and I don't discriminate against anything. She was blue, against a backdrop of white.
Sailor's colours.
Quite appropriate, since she was about to sail through the Valley of Death with me. Where she ended up, I did not know. I still don't know. It's not my business to determine whether a soul ends up in heaven (if it exists) or hell (if it exists). I just lead them on.
She saw me, knew everything she needed to know. I held out my hand to her, like I always do. Reluctantly, she grasped onto me. Ironically, I had become her lifeline.
A moment of understanding, and she pierced me with an icy gaze. No-one had ever stared me in the eye before. I was to take her, and leave the boy… leave her son, alone.
And then we set off on our perilous journey, leaving the boy crying over the meat-shell of his mother, in our wake.