Death in the City (8 page)

A woman screamed in the crowd and fainted, and everyone rushed the stage at the same time, a cloud of senseless noise rattling among them. As they pushed and pushed, fighting to get up on the stage for whatever reason (for, as Death found, humans are quite unnaturally unreasonable) a torrid fray broke out. Death stayed behind the crowd as Kevin was one of the last to jump in. They fought, threw chairs, pushed, punched, and clawed at each other. A lone woman ran back and forth behind the crowd hooting like an owl as a few people decided to use their chairs not for fighting but for dancing upon. Soon everyone was tired of battling and began partying, piggy backing, and shouting obscenities instead. All the while, Kenny Silverman stood on stage marveling at his followers, who, since the poison was incredibly strong but unable to kill them, were unquestionably drunk.

Death took in the moment and saw his chance to slip out the back door. Even from the street he could hear the LightScribe Gate Group’s party commencing and getting out of hand. He hurried back to his apartment so he could change into a suit and start growing his hair back. The singing, chanting, and hollering slowly died out behind him.

A Callback for Death

MAN WITH BAC OF 9.4 LIVES TO SEE NAME IN RECORD BOOK

Winchester – When Winchester Police arrested Steven Brums, 39, Thursday night, he had a Blood Alcohol Content level of 9.4%, a new world record.

Brums was picking flowers in his neighbor’s garden when police found him.

“We got a call about a man severing agapanthuses on private property,” Chief of Police Alfred Writ said. “When we picked him up, Brums was shouting incoherently and trying to light himself on fire by rubbing two sticks together.”

When Brums’ BAC level showed 9.4%, the officers assumed the testing equipment was faulty. “We ran seven more tests all with the same result,” Writ said. “How this guy isn’t dead is completely out of my grasp.

When reached for comment, Brums greeted reporters with repeated shouts of “Carl Perkins” and an a capella version of “Daniel” by Elton John.

Meanwhile, doctors are trying to isolate Brums’ blood to see why he is still alive.

Brums was charged with destruction of property and lying to police about having written the song “Daniel.”

Death was lying down in his room, pondering the stars and the universe, when he decided he needed a drink. He walked out into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of orange juice. No sooner did he put the cup to his lips when the door of Brian’s room opened. A cloud of smoke plumed out the doorway and filled the entire apartment, trailing with it Brian and three very greasy looking Egyptian teenagers. The one closest to Brian, who had a mohawk and a sweatshirt that was four sizes too large for him, came face to face with Death and began sniffing his hair. Death reeled back into the cabinets, hitting his head.

“Oh…yo,” said Brian vaguely, casting a glazed expression toward Death. “Uh, what’s up?”

“Nothing really,” said Death. “Say, Brian, as a human, do you ever think about dying? Does every person think it’s all that bad? I mean, which would be worse, being dead or living forever while your mind deteriorates? Do you ever wonder if dying is really the enemy of humankind, or if it’s something to embrace, like an old friend? Does death make life that much more special, or is the prospect of it just too depressing?” Death was out of breath by the time he finished, but he was happy to get his musings out into the open.

“Yeah,” said one of the Egyptians, a taller man with a ducktail haircut and square sunglasses. “Yeah, man. I always think about that.”

“I..” started Brian, losing his train of thought as he stared at the ceiling. “Hey, Derek, someone called for you. Some chick named…uh…”

Death raised an eyebrow and looked at Brian intently, eagerly waiting for him to finish. As Brian placed a finger on his chin and looked at nothing in particular, Death said hopefully, “Sheila?”

“Sheila who?” asked Brian. He looked at one of his friends, who shrugged.

“Was it Sheila who called?”

“Wait, what?” asked Brian, leaning back and laughing. “Oh, yeah, that. Yeah it was Sheila. She called for you. Sheila. Hm.”

Brian led his friends to the couch where they all sat down and began listening to music on his laptop. “Yeah, dudes,” he said as the dreadful tunes ravaged Death’s eardrums. “In ten years, you wait. Drake is gonna be legendary. Our kids will listen to Drake and we can all say we were there when he was big.” As Brian’s friends nodded in agreement Death went back into his room and shut the door, muffling the inane noise. He dug Sheila’s number out of his jacket pocket and dialed it with shaking fingers and trembling internal organs.

Three rings, then a loud “Hello?” from the other end.

“Hi,” said Death. “Sheila? It’s Derek.”

Sheila gasped loudly and as Death tried to quickly recover from being startled he heard Sheila drop the phone and scramble to pick it back up. “Oh my God, Derek it’s you! I knew you’d call back, I knew it. OhmygodOhmygodOhmygod!”

Death laughed at Sheila’s wild antics, a quality he truly enjoyed. “Yup, it’s me. So I got your message from my roommate, and—“

“
That
was your roommate?” interjected Sheila. “He tried to sell me some sort of pizza with a ‘special topping.’ He’s wild!”

“Yeah, he’s…something,” said Death.

“But anyways,” started Sheila. Death could practically hear her bouncing around and throwing mad hand gestures into the air as she chuckled. “I wanted to see if you wanted to go to dinner with me.”

“Oh,” said Death, “yes, of course.”

“HURRAY!” screamed Sheila, making Death jump backwards. “I’ll make reservations at The Beehive for eight. Know where it is? It’s on Maine Street. Right next to that crappy FreePay place. Don’t be late, Dee-Dee.” And before Death could answer she hung up the phone noisily. Death hung up too, and suddenly he felt like dancing. A real date, with a real person. He was fitting into city life no problem now.

In the evening, Death sat on the couch watching a Pirates baseball game with Brian. “Yeah, I know I’m from Boston, but I like all the Pittsburgh teams. Don’t know why,” said Brian as though Death had inquired about his choice of fandom. “I mean, the Sox games aren’t even that good. Fenway Park is, like, the worst. I’ve never actually been before, but my brother has, and he said it was terrible.”

Death did not quite know what Brian was talking about, but he nodded anyways. He was too busy straightening out his suit nervously and thinking about how he was going to conduct conversation with Sheila. Finally, when Brian was in the middle of talking about best mixers for vodka, Death had to leave.

“Remember to put on your rain jacket,” said Brian as Death took a step out the door.

“Is it raining?” asked Death.

“What? No,” said Brian enigmatically. Death shrugged and walked out the door.

Soon Death was outside the Beehive at 7:45. “DEREK,” screamed Sheila, rounding the building and running towards Death with outstretched arms. Death sidestepped her as she ran past him. She turned around with her hands on her hips. “Hi, Derek, I’m so glad you made it are you hungry do you like my dress you look nice nice weather we’re having huh?”

“Yes,” said Death. Sheila was wearing a blue dress that was far too small, and her round face was smiling as usual beneath her platinum blond hair.

“Goody. Goody, goody, goody,” she said. “Well come on, let’s go in.”

Death followed Sheila into the restaurant and they were led to a table next to the bathroom. The restaurant was circular with a large centerpiece that resembled a beehive. Death examined the odd piece before realizing that it actually was a gigantic nest of African honey bees, buzzing furiously around it and dive-bombing diners.

Death and Sheila sat down, ordered drinks and bruschetta, and their date began.

“So,” said Death, happy to be with Sheila again. “How have you been?”

“Good, great,” said Sheila. She talked so quickly and animatedly, which Death found vastly amusing. “You wouldn’t believe what my roommate said. She said that she was going to the Caribbean next spring. The Caribbean, can you believe that, Derek?” Death thought back to his many trips there, the last time being when he reaped an old woman on a cruise ship.

“It’s very nice there,” said Death.

“I want to go, at least before—oh!” In the middle of her sentence a group of bees swarmed her, diving one by one at the top of her head. “Oh, get out, get out! Isn’t this place great, Derek? It was listed in Gordon Ramsey’s restaurant guide. That means it’s good. Oh!” One of the bees launched into her cheek and planted a large stinger on it. She looked to be on the verge of tears as she threw her arms around, bouncing the empty plates about. Death waved his hand above her head and all of the bees fell to the floor, dead. Sheila looked impressed as Death flushed.

“That was wonderful,” said Sheila. “You big strong man. Oh look, our drinks are here, and the bruschetta.” A waiter in a tuxedo set two Cape Codders down on the table and went to put down a platter of bruschetta when Sheila snagged it from him and immediately began shoveling it into her mouth. “I’m show graud you warrant to car he,” she said as the waiter left.

“Uh…what?” asked Death, leaning in to hear her better. Sheila swallowed hurriedly, choking in the process, and then caught her breath again.

“I’m so glad you wanted to come here,” she repeated.

“I had so much fun at speed dating that I was happy when you called back,” said Death.

“Oh!” exclaimed Sheila, clapping her fingers together. “You are just such a
romantic
, Derek.” She stared into Death’s cold, dead, grey eyes and blushed, looking down at the table.

“What’s wrong?” asked Death, helping himself to a piece of the remaining bruschetta and a sip of his rather strong drink.

“It’s just…oh,” she clapped her hands over her eyes and uncovered them quickly, then said, “You’re just so handsome, is all. I can hardly take my eyes off of you.”

“Well…thanks,” said Death. No one had ever talked to him this way. “Say, Sheila, something’s been on my mind. I’ve been trying to see why humans think dying is so bad, but I can’t really understand. I mean, isn’t it natural? Why should you fear something so inevitable? A lack of existence wasn’t a problem before you were born, why is it such a big deal after you die?”

“What?” asked Sheila, looking up from her plate. “I wasn’t really listening.”

“Oh, I said you look nice tonight too.”

“Ohh, Dee-Dee,” said Sheila emphatically, swooning with her fists clapped together next to her face. “Oh, Derek, I think…oh, I think…this is so difficult for me to say.”

“Go on, you can say it,” said Death. “Go on.”

“It’s just that…oh dear.” Sheila wiped sweat from her forehead and ran her fingers through her hair, knocking out an extension in the process. “It’s just,” she said again, leaning in very closely and whispering, “I think I’m in love with you.” She leaned back and threw her hands over her eyes.

“Oh,” said Death. The heat of the moment forced these words out of his mouth: “I guess I’m in love with you too.”

“OH MY GOD,” screamed Sheila. Death jumped back and nearly fell out of his seat as the entire restaurant shot glares in their direction. “Oh, Derek, we’re in love we’re in love! I knew this day would come, I knew it I knew it I knew it!” Death laughed and nodded cheerfully. He could not quite describe the feelings that were swirling within him. He felt lighter than the air around him and his legs felt like they turned into rippling water and his head felt as though it could pop off and float away. Death was in love—a very human feeling indeed—and he was enjoying himself.

“That’s right,” said Death, laughing and nodding. The waiter brought two bowls of minestrone soup to the table with a very nervous look on his face. He set them down and quickly sidled away without a word.

“Oh, Derek, just think, you and I can get married,” exclaimed Sheila. “I can’t wait to get my dress. Then I’ll be Sheila Derek. Oh, that does have a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? Go on, say it with me. Sheila Derek. Mr. and Mrs. Derek Derek. Oh, this is so wonderful, I can barely hold still.” As though to illustrate her last point she shifted around in her chair, almost falling off several times before centering herself again.

“Ha, that’s right,” repeated Death. Being human seemed well within reach now.

“Oh,” shouted Sheila, throwing her hands into the air. “And our children! What should we name them? I like Damien Lyle for a boy, but I really hope we have a girl first so I can name her Lily Morgan. Lily Morgan Derek, my goodness it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Death. “Children.” This was all happening so fast and he was so elated that his mind could barely keep up with the words flowing out of his mouth.

“This is the happiest moment of my life,” shouted Sheila. Everyone in the restaurant was staring now, even the bees. “A marriage proposal! Oh, Derek, it’s wonderful, it’s magical, it’s just so--” She threw her hand onto Death’s, which he had placed at the center of the table. Since Sheila was being so scattered and ridiculous Death did not react quickly enough to avoid the contact. She stopped talking immediately, her eyes going wide, and quickly her entire upper body lurched forward and she landed face-first into her bowl of soup, spattering broth and vegetables all over the vicinity.