The Life of Death

by Lucy Booth

  She’s me. That girl dancing with the Devil on a hot July night. Blonde hair and bronzed skin. My successor. Doing what I do, tending to those who pass from this life into the unknown. Smoothing that directionless path. And my last death has become her first.

  It’s over. I’m free. Replaced to live my life. And I need to find Tom, my Tom. Find my Tom and start living that life. I turn back towards the bar, take one step, two. And see that second body lying on the grass ahead of me. The body of a girl. A silken blouse slides off one shoulder, legs clad in skinny jeans are bent unnaturally beneath her and a dark red sweatshirt has been bundled under her head in a makeshift pillow. I can’t see it, but I know it has a hood. Know it was too hot, too heavy for this weather. Three steps, four. Each step is now an effort. Breath held as intermittent stabs of pain jab at my abdomen. Lips pressed together and mind set against the dull ache. Ahead of me, a man crouches above the girl lying broken on the ground. Dark curly hair scrunched in a fist, navy blue eyes clouded in grief. For she is me, that girl on the ground. And he is Tom.

  Behind them, a tall, slim figure in a well-cut suit dangles a ripped and torn calico package from one finger, roughly torn from slim shoulders in a silken shirt. Unseen by those on the ground, He turns on His heel and walks briskly away to dispose of the very instrument which has brought so much panic and hate.

  One more step towards these two. One step, two. One more push. The scene around me flickers, the pain stabs deeper. My knee buckles and I fall to the ground.

  Cut to black.

  29

  A VOICE, THROUGH THE DARKNESS.

  ‘Hey. Hey. Can you hear me?’

  The voice fades. Trails away to be swallowed into the black.

  A hand taps at my face. A tap that softens to cup my cheek, to rub a thumb gently at my temple.

  A whisper in the black.

  ‘Hey. Come on. Open your eyes. For me. Open your eyes.’

  The hand drops away, knocked to one side in the shadows.

  A weight pins me to the ground. A searing shot of white hot pain as my leg twitches involuntarily causes sparks to fly behind closed lids and a mind to shut down. Black.

  *

  Blue lights flash through the dark. The voice is more urgent now. ‘Please! Wake up! Come on!’

  Lids flicker open. A face looks down at me with a smile. ‘There you are.’

  Tom. Leaning over me on this blood-soaked plain. Staring down at me, blue eyes wide and concerned. One hand is wrapped around my own. The fingers of the other gently tuck hair behind my ear. Fingertips trail across my cheeks, across my lip.

  ‘Hey, you.’ His tone is gentle. ‘I thought you weren’t going to wake up. I’m Tom.’

  I know.

  ‘You’re OK now. The paramedics will look after you. What’s your name?’

  Lizzy. Not Little D. No longer Death. I’m Lizzy. Lilibet. Bess.

  ‘Lizzy.’ My voice is thick, rasped. Choked with blood. My mouth dry, gritty. Talking hurts. Breathing hurts. A brutal return to sensation after hundreds of years of nothing but numbness.

  ‘Well, you’re OK, Lizzy. I thought I’d lost you there for a second. And I can’t lose you now – we’ve only just met!’ A throwaway comment to lighten the mood. But it hits home, oh how it hits home. He doesn’t know how close to the truth he is. I can’t lose him now. ‘Are you with anyone? You were just lying here alone. And I couldn’t leave you. Do you have any friends with you?’

  I shake my head. Wince. Any movement is a bad idea. Pain slices through.

  ‘You live around here? I’m sure I recognise you. I’ve been seeing this face for weeks now in the shop and on my street and, well, everywhere really. And I’m sure it’s you. I mean, it’s hard to tell, but …’ He’s gabbling, nervous. Attempting to keep me distracted from the pain. The paramedics try to move him but he won’t leave my side. So they work round him, inserting needles, bandaging the wound that slices across my midriff. My head feels heavy. Cushioned from the ground in a way the rest of my body is not. Every lump, every bump of that hard ground digs into my back, my legs.

  ‘Hampstead.’ A whisper. I have no home now, no place to belong, but that is where he’s seen me and for now that’s enough.

  ‘Same as me. I knew I’d seen you!’ His eyes are locked on mine, his voice softens. ‘I knew I’d seen you.’ A whisper.

  A cold fluid flows into my veins through the paramedics’ cannula. A cold fluid that softens the mind, blurs the edges. The pain ebbs, seeping from my core as the fluid works its way into my system. My head feels woozy, my eyelids heavy as I snuggle into the warmth of this morphinic blanket. Keeping my eyes open is more effort than I can manage, and I swoop, drift, settle. Tom’s voice a distant call – far from my ears, but so close to my heart. And I float gently into the softest grey.

  I wake in an ambulance. Tom’s face still close to my own. A drip hangs above me, swaying in unison with Tom and the movement of the ambulance.

  ‘Hey, you’re back.’ A whisper. He leans forward. Slowly, softly, his lips meet mine. Eyes close into the kiss. Soft, firm.

  He pulls back. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’ Reaches up to rake his fingers through dishevelled dark curls. ‘What am I doing? I’m so sorry. It’s too soon. You’re stuck in an ambulance and I’m … I’m sorry. I just feel like I know you. And …’

  I smile. Eyes locked. Reach my finger up to hush, to shush. ‘Please. Don’t. Don’t apologise …’ Will him to dip his head again, to brush his lips once more against my own. To kiss him back, to feel the heat of his breath against my face, his fingers twisted into my hair.

  ‘I couldn’t leave you.’ He smiles down at me. ‘Not there, not alone. And I won’t. Leave you, I mean. Not until you’re in and they’ve got you safely tucked up. You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.’

  That’s fine by me.

  A wave of morphine and once more I sleep. No longer the black of pain, of death behind these lids, but the dove grey of peace, of tranquillity, of calm. He’s here. With me. And he wants to stay.

  *

  A shadowy figure seen through sleep-smeared eyes looms over Tom’s shoulder. Swaying with Tom, with the movement of the ambulance. Tailored suit, crisp white shirt unsullied by the events of the evening. For the first time in over four hundred years, a blemish marks that porcelain cheek. Our bond is broken. He gazes down at me, at my inert body on a narrow bed. Arms bound in place by unseen shackles. The machine that monitors me speeds up its rhythm. Urgent, relentless, warning beeps. But no one can see the cause. No one but me. A medic appears beside me, moves Tom down the bed. Checks my levels. Oxygen low, dropping. A mask pressed over my face. And He stands, swaying above me. And He stares.

  Cool air floods into my lungs. Gulping breaths. Tom’s fingers twisted through my own.

  ‘You did it then.’ He speaks. ‘Finished the job and got the boy. I must say, you’ve made it look positively easy. Give or take the odd … hiccup, shall we say?’ My body is paralysed as I stare up at Him. I can feel the pain in my abdomen starting to nag, feel the morphine in my system starting to seep away in His presence. Why is He here? Our time is through, my job is done. Will He never leave me alone?

  ‘Why are you here?’ Still my voice rasps, grates through crushed cords.

  ‘I wanted to say my goodbyes, Little D. Or should I call you Lizzy? We’ve had a long ride the two of us. And all good things, as they say, must come to an end.’

  ‘But we said our goodbyes. We’re done. You can leave me alone now. Please.’

  This wasn’t part of the deal, Him hanging around after I’d fulfilled His demands. I glance at Tom, willing him to notice, to shove this man out of the way, to protect me from this presence that is no longer wanted, no longer needed. But he remains at the foot of my bed, reaching up to hold my hand in his, oblivious.

  ‘But Lizzy! I said goodbye to Little D back there. To my partner for all these years. She’s the one I’ll miss. But now I’m leaving you, Lizzy. The girl I met in that Scott
ish market square on that freezing cold day. You don’t look all that different, truth be told, with that blood smearing your face, shackles holding your arms. And that hunted look in your eye. You’ve never been able to disguise that, have you? I suppose you smell a bit better than you did back then …’ He leans to peer out of the tiny window etched in the back doors of the ambulance.

  I glance once more at Tom, internally screaming for him to notice. But still he is oblivious. To him I lie sleeping. Eyes closed, pain muted, the monitor beeping a more regular tone. Hurt but safe. Safe but sleeping.

  ‘Anyway, I digress. The thing is, Lizzy, this will be our last goodbye. All good things must come to an end. And then, after our last goodbyes, you really will be free of me forever. Once I give you up, little one, you really are on your own. And I can’t help what happens to you. Alice!’ He calls through to the front cab.

  The blonde girl appears at His shoulder, ducking through past the drip.

  ‘I don’t believe you’ve met, have you?’ He asks Alice. Then turns to address me. ‘I think Alice was a little busy when you saw her last. I thought it was only right you should meet your successor. Then you’ll know her when your time comes, Lizzy.’

  We eye each other, Alice and me. My gaze is wary. I’m open, vulnerable. Unsure. She is confident, arrogant almost, retaining the louche demeanour I saw earlier, looping a long slim arm through His and smirking down at me. They stand united, He and His female twin. She reaches up to His cheek. Dabs at a drop of blood with her fingertips before sucking it clean between smiling lips.

  ‘So, that’s me.’ He says, smiling down at me. ‘Done.’ He leans down, brushes a cold kiss against my forehead. A damp trace from His lips lingers against my skin, but with bound arms I can’t rub it away. My lip curls, my fists clench. Skin crawls under cotton sheets. My head presses back into the pillow – mere millimetres of distance between my face and His, but those millimetres are miles when they’re all I have.

  ‘Goodbye, Little D … Lizzy. Congratulations. You won. Enjoy him while you can.’ He nods in the direction of Tom, who has my fingers pressed to his lips. ‘Have a good life, Lizzy, it’s been a pleasure.’

  And with that, He’s gone. Leaving Alice to sway with Tom, to sway with the movement of the ambulance. Fade to grey.

  A jolt. The ambulance comes to a stop. Doors open and bright light floods in. Tom lets go of my hand, steps aside to allow the paramedics to lift the bed on to its wheels, to unhook drips and gather tubes and get me out of there.

  And still Alice is by my side. Looking down at me with that twisted smile on thin lips. The medics swim around me in slow motion, Tom stands alone at the open door to the ambulance.

  She leans down, taking one of my hands in hers, cupping her free hand around my cheek. Brings her lips to my forehead. I’m frozen, locked inside my own head. Words won’t come, I’m paralysed in body and mind.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she breathes. ‘But you made your choice, Lizzy, and you chose to make a deal with the Devil. But He always wins, my darling, He always wins.’

  Me. Her first task to oversee the death of my last. Her second to seal the deal and finalise the sale of her soul to my nemesis. Me.

  ‘I have no choice, Lizzy. I’m so sorry. I have no choice.’

  I find the strength from somewhere, deep within. A stamina and strength I didn’t know I had. My body goes rigid, legs kick against straps, arms strain against shackles. I try to scream. Struggles that go unseen, a throaty gurgle that goes unheard. Tom, the medics, the nurses that wait patiently by open doors oblivious to this final fight. I have to get up, I have to get out. But she’s in control. I’ve been there, I know this. She holds all of the cards.

  But I won’t let her. I can’t. You can. And you have to. Hywel, Rose, Ellie, Stephen. Lives lost in my quest for my own. And now that is taken from me before it’s even begun.

  Her face has softened, filled out in the cheek. Older. More familiar. Laughing lines crinkle at the edges of her eyes, and she smiles down at me, peaceful, beatific, calm. A face that morphs as I look at it, as blonde hair darkens and blue eyes melt into a chocolate brown. A face that settles into one I haven’t seen for four hundred years, a face last seen slumped at the stake in a cold market square. The face of my mother, looking down at me on that narrow bed. Her hand is held over my mouth, her fingers press gently at my nose.

  My mother leans forward. Presses her lips to my cheek, to the top of my head. ‘My darling girl,’ she breathes through a kiss. ‘I’ve missed you so very much. Through all of these years.’

  The machines beep. Long pulses, shorter beeps. A Morse code to warn them, to save me. Bodies flow around me, reattaching the oxygen, pumping my chest, desperately trying to stem the blood that flows freely from my chest. My body fights against her hand, my head twists from one side to the other to free myself from her grasp.

  But it’s too late.

  With her free hand she smooths my hair, reaches to take my hand. With one hand she cares, with the other she kills. A searing pain shoots through to my very core. The injuries I’ve sustained leave me gaping and exposed. No one could survive them, I’ve been kept alive merely by His desire to see me suffer. To give me hope and snatch it in the very final seconds.

  Strange noises come from my chest. Blood gurgling into my lungs. Breath wheezing as if from the bellows of a cracked accordion. I feel like I’m drowning. Lungs tight, they won’t fill. They can’t.

  One final kiss. ‘I’m sorry.’ A tear, drops onto my face. Mingles with my own to track down my cheek.

  One final squeeze, holding her hand in place against my struggling body, the world around me morphs and warps. Everything blurs, as if a heat haze fills this tiny space. From a distance, I can hear a man calling my name again and again. Lizzy. Lizzy. Lizzy. I feel my shoulders being lifted into an embrace, feel my head fall back on my neck. She is gone, slipping away from me and on to the next. Whirling and morphing from one woman to the next to the next. Herself and yet never herself. She will learn. She will see.

  The very edges of my field of vision are darkening – a looming shadow encroaching by the second. Until all I can see is Tom in the very centre. His face hovering over mine. Lips lowered to mine to breathe air into lungs filled with blood. The aperture is closing, a darkness that seeps into my vision blocking my view of everything except his face. Until slowly, gradually, even that is absorbed into an eclipse. And with his name breathed from cracked lips, slowly, quietly, softly, gently … my final death.

  Fade to black.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  AND THANKS

  Lucy is unable to thank those many people who helped her and encouraged her to write and complete her novel, but it would be remiss of us (Lucy’s family) if we failed to acknowledge the great support she received from her friends, colleagues, doctors and carers at the hospice.

  There are so many people to thank and her friends know how grateful we are, but we would like to specifically thank:

  Lucy’s university friends: Karen, Dave, Rachel, Christine, Van, Adam, Mariel and Slim.

  Lucy S & Little Beth for being as daft as Lucy was!

  Kyna, Sally and Jill.

  Her colleagues at Rattling Stick, particularly Ringan and Katie.

  School friends: Nikki, Juliette and Kate.

  The 175 crew: Deep, Steph, Walks and Fodes.

  Dr Emma Spurrell, the chemo nurses, Helen and all the doctors and nurses at the Whittington Hospital, who were unfailing in the care they gave to Lucy.

  Dr Adrian Tookman, Glynn Thomas and their colleagues at the Marie Curie Hospice in Hampstead for treating Lucy with such care and kindness in her last days.

  Lucy’s literary agent, Rachel Mills, without whose help this book would never have got to publication.

  Lucy’s godchildren: Anna, Jude, Otto and Noé of whom she was so proud.

  And the rest of Lucy’s friends, too many to name, who supported her (and us) through a time we wouldn’t wish on anyone.
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  We thank you from the bottom of our hearts for looking after our Luce.

  Alan (Pa), Jackie (Ma) & Analie (Fanners)

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