Death Never Came

Death never came. I wrote to him so many times, each in the special white envelope with the black wax seal, his name written in bold, cursive letter, just the way he liked it. I dropped it off in the mailbox in which I had so many times before on the lonely downtown street. I’d wait around a while, see if I could catch him collecting the mail, but I never did catch a glimpse of him. I knew he received them, though, because through the gap of the mailbox I could see a dark empty inside each time I dropped one in.

I wrote to him without answer. At first, I wrote to him to know how he was. When he didn’t answer, I wrote to him about my life, and ever since, I’ve thought of it as a therapeutic way to cope with the lonely years that passed by with indifference. Another constant in life to help pass the time.

I remember the last time I saw him as I passed the quiet streets of the town. We had held hands, knowing that what was between us was coming to an end; not because we didn’t love each other anymore, but because of the danger I posed to him, and everyone. The more time I spent with death, the more I aged, becoming weaker once I passed my peak years. The more time Death spent with me, the more likely I was to die, and when I did, Death, too, would die.

It was clear I was Death’s soul mate from the very beginning. We connected and communicated in ways that I couldn’t explain. Looks and expressions aside, our feelings and thoughts were connected. When we touched, I could almost read his mind. I felt what he felt, his ideas became mine, and speaking became unnecessary and redundant.

When I reached my twenty-fourth birthday in physical appearance, I was almost killed at my own birthday celebration, and it was the night Death and I decided to step out of each other’s lives. For the greater good, we said as our hearts shattered. If I died, I wouldn’t want Death to feel the pain of existing without me as he wouldn’t wish the same on me. It was no matter of discussion; we knew we couldn’t be alive without the other. If I died, and Death so chose to die himself, what would become of the world? Would we all cease to exist? Would we all become immortal? Would the gods or god cease to exist as well, as they all had a potential to fall and be mortal?

They were all questions Death and I couldn’t answer, and fear of the unknown surpassed the fear of being without each other, for we knew that we wouldn’t truly be alone. The other would be alive somewhere in the world, and that would be enough for each other.

I gave a chuckle as a black cat passed in front of me, scurrying into the shadows as quickly as it came. I guess I’ll die now, I thought to myself. I found the street instinctively, having been there almost thousands of times. I traveled the sidewalk that bordered the graveyard and townhouses. Tall trees shielded the night sky, protecting me from the accusations of light. I reached the townhouse with the steps leading down to its main door, a place whose first floor was underground. It was dark, too dark to write, but I kept a candle next to the steps which I could burn to write my letter and use its wax to seal it.

I wrote and wrote for what seemed like hours. The sensation of being watched continued throughout the time I sat on the steps, the candle illuminating my face and the paper. One person passed by, a man who walked comically fast with his hands in his pockets. I signed my name on the bottom of the page and folded it neatly within the envelope. Tilting the candle, I poured the wax on the edge of the flap and stamped it with the seal. I waited patiently a couple of minutes for the wax to harden, watching it slowly dry. The wind picked up, chills running down my arms. Looking around,

I spotted with alarm a small light in the window of the apartment. Death had said that the apartment would always remain empty as it had been the one we had shared so many decades ago.
I pushed the letter into the mailbox and stepped slowly towards the window. There was a translucent white curtain hanging at the window, the source of light painting a cross on the cloth. I got closer, making out distinct shapes of furniture in the room. A pang of pain fluttered across my chest as I realized that some of the furniture from our time together remained. There were a couple of pieces that had been switched out, probably because of age. Did that mean someone was living here? Did death sell the apartment? No one in this time frame would keep the furniture Death and I had, would they?

I stood there listening for any sounds coming from inside, but heard nothing. I tried the door, and found it unlocked. I stepped inside, unafraid of what or who I may find. I closed it shut behind me and took a deep breath before turning to look at the room.

The space was just the same, I knew, but the changes in furniture made it seem different, not completely, but just enough to annoy me. The walls were the same color, the theme of the decorations was the same, but something was off. Something seemed like Death wouldn’t have put it there.

Another thought surged into my mind. Had he been living here this entire time? Everything seemed clean, no dust collected on the tops of the furniture. I shivered, scared that my questions may have unwanted answers. Was I ready to see him again?

I drifted off towards the kitchen, trying to find proof that someone may be living here. I opened the fridge, food staring back at me. There were foods that Death liked, just as many as foods he didn’t like. It was a strange feeling to be somewhere I used to live yet it be so unfamiliar.

The small dining room was impeccable. There was no dust, indicating that it had been either cleaned recently or been in continuous use. The tight stairs called to me. In previous times, they used to be lined with books, next to which Death and I would sit and read to each other passages in books that were meaningful. Candlelight would flood the pages in a beautiful glow, and he always looked most at peace on the steps here. Occasionally, he would rest his head on my lap and I would play with his hair while we lay there. I would be the first and oftentimes the only one to drift to sleep. He’d pick me up and carry me to our bedroom, softly laying me down.

I passed these and several different little memories as I climbed the stairs, dark as ever. Once I had knocked over a candle and spilled the hot wax and fire on the step. Death had been quick to put it out. The burn mark on the wood forever remained there until I moved out, and I couldn’t help but reach out and touch the place it had once been. No trace of it could be found; maybe he’d replaced the steps.

I entered his study first. It was the same, maybe a little tidier. Pieces of decorations lined the tops of open spaces, something Death would most definitely not have done, but the floor-to-ceiling bookcases remined. On his desk there were a few papers strewn about. I picked up a letter addressed to Mr. Seth Cavil. My fingers tingled and my heart beat faster. I put the letter down, not being able to hold it any longer. Why was this Seth Cavil living here? Was he the one receiving my letters? The letter slid off the desk and landed on a book by the floor on Egyptian mythology, certainly something Death would have read.

I turned and hurried out of the office. I found the bedroom, the sheets neatly made. A small vanity table stood next to the doorway, full of carefully organized makeup and jewelry. I had purposefully left small items here and there when I moved out for Death to find and have, knowing he wouldn’t try to contact me after we said our final goodbyes. Among these items was a necklace he had gotten me for our five-year anniversary when I was eighteen, a simple silver chain with a complex design pendant whose shadow could convert into different images as you twisted it, and the proposal ring he had gotten me for my twenty-fourth birthday, the same day of the announcement of our engagement. I found neither of these in her collection. I breathed a sigh of relief. Death must have found the two and kept it, I thought to myself. I was glad it hadn’t fallen into the hands of the wrong person.

I walked into the closet, and paused with my heart in my throat. It smelled of his cologne, and the majority of the clothes that hung were of dark colors, a label he had come to appropriate with his association to death itself. His shoes were the same size as they had been, his style just the same but with a modern twist. Getting the same tingling sensation as I had in the study, I left the closet and the bedroom.

The last door in the hallway was shut. I hesitated before opening, knowing that whatever was inside would hurt most of all. Like death had had his study, I had my own room in our apartment that held most of my things. I had been old fashioned and chosen to have my own dressing room, way before clothes were modernized to be less time consuming and difficult to put on for women. I missed the way he would look at me when I emerged from my dressing room, made up and perfect to go out with him. He would curl my harm under his and place my hand on the crook of his arm with his on top, leaning forward to kiss the top of my head.

The door knob and hinges creaked the same as they had all those years ago. My fingers trailed absentmindedly to the table near the door to strike a match and light a candle, but all they grasped was air. A switch sat on the wall, waiting to illuminate the room. Let there be light, I chuckled to myself. How new electricity had been to me when I first encountered it, and how convenient.

The room had been better off empty. I would have been able to cope with the sight to see it such a sad state then its reality. Art supplies, canvases, the hobbies of someone else stood there, offensive and alien to everything that had occupied the room before. Someone else’s life, someone else’s belongings in something that should have been mine forever.

I didn’t feel the tears until they fell on my cheeks, turning as cold as my heart felt. The window ledge remained the same. Pillows called to me, asking me to sit and look out and be comforted by the sight, but not even this was the same. Light everywhere changed the scenery that lay before me. New buildings, new shadows and people, the stars hidden by the city light’s reflection, the ocean no longer only illuminated by soft moonlight, but by ugly yellow pink lights of industries by the oceanside. I felt anger at the life I had deserted, at the happiness I felt, and how my life seemed to be fulfilled with Death by my side.

I sat by the window and let the tears fall, held in for so long, sobs shaking my shoulders, until I couldn’t cry anymore. I held myself in a tiny ball, watching cars drive up and down the streets of the city I loved so much. Charleston had changed morally for the better but I missed so much of the old charm it used to have. The old buildings, the cobblestone streets, Death, all gone so quickly despite having all the time in the world.

“It took you longer than I thought,” Death said from behind me. A sob welled from inside me, but I just held myself tighter, not letting it leave me. I knew what he meant. It took me longer than he thought to find that he was here.

“You never responded to my letters,” I said.

“No, I didn’t.” I turned to face him, my face a mess, but relaying a message to him words never could. He looked at me and didn’t turn away. He looked older than I remembered him. Seth had chosen to take form in whatever age I was, but today, he looked to be in his mid-thirties, and it suited him. He leaned against the door frame, sighing.

“You could have at least told me to stop, then,” I responded, grabbing a handkerchief out of my pocket and fixing my makeup.

“I didn’t want you to stop. It was my way of knowing you were alive and well,” his voice was barely above a whisper, always deep and stony, yet calm.

“What are you doing here, Death? I thought you wouldn’t come back-”

“It’s Seth, now,” Death interrupted.

“What?”

“I’ve decided to go by the name Seth.”

I laughed at that one. “How appropriate, the Egyptian god Seth of death and destruction, and oh-so-close to Death. Clever.”

He smiled a kind smile. “Thank you.” He breathed in and I waited for him to say something. “You never wrote me someone’s name to keep alive.”

I wasn’t expecting this, not yet. “No, I didn’t.”

“Why?”

I sucked in a deep breath. “I didn’t let myself get attached to anyone as much as I did you. It was much easier to hope for you again than give up completely.”

“Rosaly…” he said. Just then, a figure came up behind him, and my heart grew heavy; so heavy it began to hurt. Each beat it gave resonated painfully within me as I realized the worst that could have happened was happening.

“Hello,” the blonde woman said, smiling coldly. “Who is this, Seth?”

Seth paused, gauging my reaction. “This is Rosaly. Rosaly, this is Anani, my wife.” At that my heart burst into a million pieces. Someone I had waited so long for, someone I knew was meant for me, moved on and built a life with someone else while I waited pitiful and lonely to continue mine with his.

A soft “nice to meet you” escaped from my lips. It was all I could regard to her without breaking.

“Could you give us a few moments, Anani?” Seth said. Anani nodded kindly, realizing who I must be, and closed the door behind her.

He came over to the window and crouched. He stared up at me, making me feel like a disobedient child. “I didn’t know you waited for me, Rosaly.”

“Of course, I did,” I whispered.

“Rosaly, I’m aging.”

It was a wild concept to me. How could Death age? Death was immortal, and could control his age.

He read my mind, “Ever since I met Anani, I’ve lost control of being able to change my age, and that was the moment I realized, it’s my time. It’s time for all of us.”

“So you’re just going to condemn all of humanity just because you fell in love?” I asked rudely.

“Rosaly, this is different. I don’t know anything. I don’t know if I can die. All I know is that I am whatever Anani’s age is. That, and that I still care about you and your well-being.”

“After a century of dedication to you, Death, you tell me you fell in love with someone else. A century, Death! Why couldn’t you just let me die?”

“Rosaly-” he cut himself off. I could see tears in his eyes, mine already welled over and fresh on my cheeks.

“Death, I want to die. I don’t want to go on when all I’ve known is a lie. All I’ve felt, everything hurts now. You found someone to age with, and I’m still lost and alone.” I couldn’t go on. A thousand more feelings and thoughts that didn’t make sense were rising inside me and I couldn’t handle any of them.

“Death, please, kill me.”

Death shook his head softly, and took my hand in his. Electricity, whether painful or just adrenaline, I wasn’t sure, shot up my arm. This was the first time since we said goodbye that he had touched me. How long had I dreamed that I would see him again? Smell his familiar and welcoming scent? Feel absolutely invincible by his side? It seemed like an awful nightmare that someone else was able to feel all those things every day, and never have to question when or whether they would continue to for the rest of their life.

Anani appeared at the doorway carrying a tray of steaming tea. Death beckoned her over and forced a cup into my trembling hands. A short exchange of looks passed between them, and Anani again left the room. I felt a strange form of gratitude at her small kindness.

Looking back, I never resented her. I knew that what they felt was true and real, and maybe I just saw her as a victim of the situation, too. We all were, and Death was, unfortunately, the one victim that damned us all. I knew he felt guilt for putting us all though this ordeal of fear and uncertainty, but in the end, no one could be blamed for what happened but fate itself.

“Would you like me to call you a cab?” Death asked, politely ushering my leave after I finished the cup of tea in silence.

“No, it’s alright. A walk will clear my head.”

Death nodded, understanding, and stood up from his crouch. He procured a hand for me to take, and I took it, wincing at how badly I didn’t want to let go. Tears threatened once again, panic at never seeing him again, and fear that my long-held hope would give me nothing to look forward to.

He wrapped my hand securely around his arm like he had done so many times before. I wanted to cry at the gesture. Anani emerged from the bedroom and gave my arm a short squeeze of reassurance. I managed a small smile for her behalf, but couldn’t stand to look her way another second.

At this point, Death was almost carrying me down the narrow steps. I felt light-headed and weak. I knew I wouldn’t make it home safely in this state, so I figured I would call a cab a few blocks down from the apartment, but I found one waiting for me already at the front door. Anani must have called one for me. I thanked her in my head.

“Don’t stop writing,” Death pleaded as he turned to look at me. We were outside on the steps, where I had left most of my belongings in my excitement to go into the house. I made to reach down, but Death was faster and collected it all for me, handing it to me gently.

“I don’t know, Death…” Words escaped me at the moment, and it was all I could say, and the closest thing to affirmation I could promise.

“I’ll try my best to be here for you, as will Anani,” he said, solidifying the fact that they were a team now. I knew I would have to respect her position by his side, no matter how painful it was.

“Thank you,” I said. He pulled me into a soft hug, not a big one, but one that gave me closure nonetheless. He walked me to the cab and pulled open the door for me. He leaned down the passenger side window and gave the man directions to get to my apartment. The driver nodded, rolling up the window. Death stood with his hands in his pockets as the car drove away, with no expression clear on his face. I would miss him so much, and I couldn’t hold myself together anymore.

My sobs were quiet so as not to disturb the driver, but I could tell he knew it was bad. He didn’t speak the entire route, but played soft music to drown out my crying so I wouldn’t be embarrassed.

So much kindness being passed down to me just made me cry harder.

The driver reached my townhouse in less time than I thought. The bus ride that I had taken to Death’s apartment took longer, and while most nights I enjoyed the scenic route through my beloved city, tonight was a night I just wanted to get home. I wanted to see the least amount of people as possible. I went to pay for the fare, but the driver informed me it was already taken care of. Either Death or Anani had probably paid the driver in advance, and I was again thankful at their kindness.

I opened my apartment. I threw my keys in the bowl next to the door. I kicked off my shoes in what I thought was the direction of the closet in the darkness. I climbed into bed, and slumber soon overtook me between sobs.