La Dama Muerte
Secret.
“I won’t forget you my friend,” Dorian muttered as Mark’s pale body slid into the huge burning oven. It was all so out of control. There were packs of people who came to Mark’s cremation but none of them seemed to care. The only people who cried there were Dorian and Mark’s mother. The rest of his “friends” just stood there and took this as social times.
Dorian sniffed away his tears and held Mark’s phone close to his heart. It still had his friend’s fingerprints embedded on the screen. He traced the scratches and flicked the phone open. His heart fell when he saw the picture on the wallpaper. Mark and Dorian looked up from the screen, their faces pressed against each other laughing joyfully.
The last call received was that from Hannabelle Muerte’s companion. His heart stopped beating. Knowing Mark, Dorian figured the number was saved onto the phone. He searched for it frantically until he saw the eerie numbers. “402-6060,” He murmured silently as he dialed. The phone’s dial tone sounded different. It sounded raspy and evil.
“James Graven speaking.”
Dorian’s heart stopped at the sudden low voice answering. His eyes widened as he desperately searched for the right words to say. “This is Dorian…” He finally uttered. The voice was silent this time.
“You shouldn’t be calling,” James harshly whispered. Dorian’s eyes widened in fear.
“Why not?” He asked defiantly, “Hannabelle was the one who introduced Mark to the stupid crack infested whacks!” He said loud enough to prove his point, but to keep attention away from himself. James sighed and lowered his voice even more.
“Look, kid, it wasn’t her fault,” James paused and sighed, “Okay it’s entirely her fault. I can’t tell you why it’s so important though. At this instant, millions of people are dying in the world. You’re lucky enough you even get to see Hannabelle.”
Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. What was that supposed to mean? He thought furiously. There are millions of people dying every minute in the world, but what does Hannabelle have to do with that? “You’re making it sound as if she’s Death or something…”
James hesitated as he took a ragged breath in. “Kid, I’ll meet you at the House of Blues at 8:00 sharp.” The line clicked suddenly, causing Dorian to flinch a little. The cremation would end sometime around six. Dear lord, please protect me, he thought.
Death sat soundly watching James get ready for his secret meeting while eating creamed strawberries. He felt her eyes watching him closely. He was afraid she’d ask him what he where he was going. The moonlight streaked into the room and he caught a glimpse of her face. She licked her lips to wipe off the sweet cream. His body tensed. “I have an appointment today,” She sighed and got up.
“You’re leaving?” James had dared to ask. She nodded slipping on her coat and veil. He figured she’d kill another person today. She told him once that she has other people working for her since she can’t kill all the people in the world at once. She also arranged deaths millions of years ago and thus, the word fate was created. She only appears to Death’s that can truly change the fate of the world. “When I come back, I expect you to be awake; I have a lot to talk about with you.”
James looked at her nervously as she headed out of the door. He hated it when she walked as if she looked blind. Her eyes never wandered and when they did, it was to seduce him into doing her errands. It had always worked because the rarity turned him on. But he always fell for women with beauty and an expected personality. Death was far from that. It was ugly most of the time, but it was beautiful. Not Hannabelle, the death of someone. James knew Death had used someone’s body, but their face was washed away.
“Death can not have a face,” She had told him once, “Or else the world will know who to fear.”
He slid into the car that waited for him. He told the driver his location and sat back looking at the Los Angeles scenery. This was the first time in a long time that he went out by himself. All other times he had failed because of the appointments. “House of Blues on 103rd ST. sir,” The driver said coming to an abrupt stop.
“Thanks Joe,” James muttered as he stepped out of the black Volvo. As always, the club was always full of girls whom had a tendency to stare at him. He could have sworn one of them winked at him. The bouncer recognized him immediately and unclipped the velvet rope especially for him. The perks of being Death’s assistant. “Hey, I have a reserved seat for James Graven,” He told the bouncing clerk who suddenly stopped at the sight of him.
The clerk went plenty of shades red and stuttered, “Um, right this way sir.” She led him through the grinding bodies into a quiet suite with couples having candle lit dinners. He spotted Dorian. He excused the clerk to her disappointment and went over to the small round table.
Dorian sniffed away his tears and held Mark’s phone close to his heart. It still had his friend’s fingerprints embedded on the screen. He traced the scratches and flicked the phone open. His heart fell when he saw the picture on the wallpaper. Mark and Dorian looked up from the screen, their faces pressed against each other laughing joyfully.
The last call received was that from Hannabelle Muerte’s companion. His heart stopped beating. Knowing Mark, Dorian figured the number was saved onto the phone. He searched for it frantically until he saw the eerie numbers. “402-6060,” He murmured silently as he dialed. The phone’s dial tone sounded different. It sounded raspy and evil.
“James Graven speaking.”
Dorian’s heart stopped at the sudden low voice answering. His eyes widened as he desperately searched for the right words to say. “This is Dorian…” He finally uttered. The voice was silent this time.
“You shouldn’t be calling,” James harshly whispered. Dorian’s eyes widened in fear.
“Why not?” He asked defiantly, “Hannabelle was the one who introduced Mark to the stupid crack infested whacks!” He said loud enough to prove his point, but to keep attention away from himself. James sighed and lowered his voice even more.
“Look, kid, it wasn’t her fault,” James paused and sighed, “Okay it’s entirely her fault. I can’t tell you why it’s so important though. At this instant, millions of people are dying in the world. You’re lucky enough you even get to see Hannabelle.”
Dorian furrowed his eyebrows. What was that supposed to mean? He thought furiously. There are millions of people dying every minute in the world, but what does Hannabelle have to do with that? “You’re making it sound as if she’s Death or something…”
James hesitated as he took a ragged breath in. “Kid, I’ll meet you at the House of Blues at 8:00 sharp.” The line clicked suddenly, causing Dorian to flinch a little. The cremation would end sometime around six. Dear lord, please protect me, he thought.
Death sat soundly watching James get ready for his secret meeting while eating creamed strawberries. He felt her eyes watching him closely. He was afraid she’d ask him what he where he was going. The moonlight streaked into the room and he caught a glimpse of her face. She licked her lips to wipe off the sweet cream. His body tensed. “I have an appointment today,” She sighed and got up.
“You’re leaving?” James had dared to ask. She nodded slipping on her coat and veil. He figured she’d kill another person today. She told him once that she has other people working for her since she can’t kill all the people in the world at once. She also arranged deaths millions of years ago and thus, the word fate was created. She only appears to Death’s that can truly change the fate of the world. “When I come back, I expect you to be awake; I have a lot to talk about with you.”
James looked at her nervously as she headed out of the door. He hated it when she walked as if she looked blind. Her eyes never wandered and when they did, it was to seduce him into doing her errands. It had always worked because the rarity turned him on. But he always fell for women with beauty and an expected personality. Death was far from that. It was ugly most of the time, but it was beautiful. Not Hannabelle, the death of someone. James knew Death had used someone’s body, but their face was washed away.
“Death can not have a face,” She had told him once, “Or else the world will know who to fear.”
He slid into the car that waited for him. He told the driver his location and sat back looking at the Los Angeles scenery. This was the first time in a long time that he went out by himself. All other times he had failed because of the appointments. “House of Blues on 103rd ST. sir,” The driver said coming to an abrupt stop.
“Thanks Joe,” James muttered as he stepped out of the black Volvo. As always, the club was always full of girls whom had a tendency to stare at him. He could have sworn one of them winked at him. The bouncer recognized him immediately and unclipped the velvet rope especially for him. The perks of being Death’s assistant. “Hey, I have a reserved seat for James Graven,” He told the bouncing clerk who suddenly stopped at the sight of him.
The clerk went plenty of shades red and stuttered, “Um, right this way sir.” She led him through the grinding bodies into a quiet suite with couples having candle lit dinners. He spotted Dorian. He excused the clerk to her disappointment and went over to the small round table.