When Darien Grey Met Death Part 2.........<regretfulhalo>

“Hello, Death.” said Darien Grey without a trace of surprise in his voice. “Hello, Darien Grey.” Replied Death in a melodious voice. As he grew older, it would be Death’s voice that Darien would try to recall the hardest. He would sit for hours in silence, trying to recall the deep soothing timbre of Death’s voice. He would struggle to find the memory of the peace he felt when Death spoke his name, and he would always fail.

“I suppose you are here for me, then.” Said Darien casually. “I suppose I am.” Said Death, with the trace of a smile.

Darien took a moment to look at Death, and although he would forget Death’s face later, he etched every feature in his mind at this particular meeting. The man was slim and lanky, but not small. The bones of his face were not petite like Darien’s were; in fact his jaw was quite square and strong. His eyes were not grey so much as they were silver, like a molten metal shifting and swirling and they were under straight white brows that matched the pale white hair on Death’s head. The hair was long and unbound, falling in straight lines without the slightest hint of a curl. Death’s mouth was full and his lips were quite red, and it seemed the ghost of a smile hovered at those lips constantly. Shivering, Darien wondered what Death could be so happy about.

His clothing was plain, but out of place. He wore a shirt like nothing Darien had ever seen, it was white, but without ruffles or long sleeves and it seemed to be made out of some soft material. He wore blue pants of a faded and hard looking material. His shoes were black and also odd. They seemed to have large soles on them and were made of a material that looked like leather, but not enough like it to be leather. When Darien looked back at Death’s face he saw that Death was smiling largely now.

“Do you like my clothing Darien Grey?” Inquired Death “It’s very strange. What kind of material are you pants made of?” Darien asked.

“This is a material called denim, the boots are leather like you thought and the shirt is a polyester cotton blend.” Death responded. Darien looked mildly shocked.

“You can read my thoughts?” He asked

“In a manner of speaking. It is a trick I learned when I took this job, but I don’t suppose that matters now. Are you ready?” Death asked, rather politely.

“Ready for what?” Darien asked.

“Honestly, did you think I was here to discuss my shoes? We have a long journey Darien and I’d like to get started. Another aspect of me has to be in the neighborhood later and I hate running into myself.” Death replied in a much firmer voice than he had been using before. He looked almost upset and Darien noticed that his eyes flared like the sun when he was irritated.

“I don’t think I am quite ready to die, thank you all the same Death.” Darien replied firmly and a trifle primly. He adjusted himself on the bed, trying to get feeling back in limbs that were all but lifeless. He fidgeted futilely for a moment while Death virtually glared at him.

“Not quite ready, did you say?” Death asked coldly. Darien shivered, it seemed that the whole world went dark. Dark as his dreams when he was locked in the fever, dark as night and pitch, dark as the underside of the world. Darien felt joy seep out of him, he couldn’t even recall a time he had ever been happy. He whimpered and because he was a boy after all, fey-marked or not, he felt scared and small. “I am sorry, did you say you were not quite ready?” Death asked again and this time his question was a hollow roar that filled Darien’s ears with the sound of fury. Darien would have cried out in pain if pain had been what he felt, but he found it so intense, that sound would not come and his mind could not comprehend that what he felt was unbearable agony.

It did not last for long, and when it was over Death seemed to look at Darien almost regretfully. He stared at Darien with a look of unbelievable pity, tinged with an edge of fear.

“You truly are not ready die are you Darien Grey?” Death asked hollowly. Darien trembled before him and did not reply, his thin frame shaking and his mouth working soundlessly.

“No.” The boy croaked when he could speak. “No, I am not.”

“Well,” said Death. “I guess that is all you had to say.”

He got up from the chair and moved towards the door, trailing coldness and regret behind him. He looked back at Darien, who was slowly falling back into a stupor. Death showed a raw emotion in that moment, one that might have been sadness, but since he is Death we can’t say for sure.

After his visitor had left, Darien fell back into fever but he did fall into the liquid night like before. He was vaguely aware of himself, and in his heart, he knew he would wake soon. His mother would find him there, drenched in sweat and she would weep like never before with the simple knowledge that somehow her son would live.

To be continued

What price do you pay for telling Death take a walk? I don’t know either, but we’ll find out together when I post the third part!

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