It's Your Time

“I’m not afraid of anything.” I said smugly while standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at the green water twelve feet below me, sloshing against the side of the precipice. 

           “Not even death?” My friend asked from behind me, chewing nervously on her already short fingernails.

           “Nope.” I said with undeniable confidence, feeling the breeze blowing through my long hair, the sensation of fearlessness coaxing my bouncing energy into calmness. I took a deep breath and one last look down, a smile growing on my face at the thought of falling through a rush of air and exhilaration and hitting the water with a satisfying splash.

           “Not even death.”

           At least, that was what I thought… until I came face to face with Death himself. Not once, not twice, but three times.

           I was seventeen years old when he came to me. I was alone in my small house, a house built before my parents were even born. It creaked and groaned at every step, every door hinge moaning, every window screaming when opened. It alerted me if someone was in the house, since it was impossible to remain silent. I was tapping through my iPhone, holding a secret e-cigarette which I could only pull out far away from the parental eye. I blew out a puff of flavoured smoke, the sweet citrusy odour tingling my nose.

            Suddenly, there he was.

           The white smoke cleared, and my entire body went rigid when I saw the figure that stood in front of my couch. It was tall, so very tall, and took the shape of a regular man in a dark suit. Yet it was his face that was most unsettling. Or, better explained, his lack of. There was nothing underneath the elegant panama hat he wore, nothing but a black shadow obscuring any facial features. The sound of my Vape hitting the ancient wood flooring broke the unsettling silence, and the freezing grip that fear held me in loosened. I managed a scream. The stranger didn’t even flinch; didn’t even move. He stood there, still as water on a windless day, his dark face pointed at me. I was still screaming when I leapt off the couch, running down to the basement, tears of fright pricking my eyes.

           The Winchester. The Winchester. The Winchester.

           It was the only somewhat-coherent thought that my mind was able to create. My father’s hunting rifle, a Winchester Model 70, was locked up in a cabinet in the basement. I fumbled it open and grabbed the rifle with shaking hands and whipped around, only to find the shadowed figure a couple steps away from me. I screamed again and held the weapon up, barely able to point it in the direction of the figure. I’ve only used it once with my father, but I could shoot if I wanted to. It was the problem of whether or not the gun was loaded that encircled my frantic mind.

           “D-don’t come any closer, or I’ll sh-shoot!” I yelled as fiercely as I could, my voice shaking and stumbling over the words.

           And to think I was truly fearless.

           The figure stayed silent, continuing to simply stare at me without eyes.

           “W-who are you?” I asked frantically, my voice cracking on the last word. I should have called 911 while I had my phone in my hand. In my panic, I left it upstairs. The faceless man cocked his head to the side.

           “You don’t know who I am, Bea?” The thing spoke.

           Icicles splintered my throat at the sound of my name. I couldn’t speak if I wanted to. Desperation and nausea clawed at my stomach.

           “I am Death.” The faceless man continued. “I’m sure you’ve heard of me before. I must say, you look rather frightened now, for someone who ‘isn’t afraid of death’.

           I didn’t know what to think. I raised the weapon higher, aiming right at the dark void of the face.

           “I’ve come to collect you, child. It is your time.”

           “No!” I yelled frantically as the figure began stepping towards me. “I’m only seventeen! I have lots of time left…I-I have a whole life to live!”

           “Only I decide that.”

           And then I pulled the trigger.

           The bullet whizzed through the figure, leaving whispers of black smoke where blood should have been. I reloaded the gun and shot again and again until the gun was empty of bullets and Death was doubling over, clutching his abdomen. Until he dissolved into dark smoke which curled up to the ceiling. I stood there, panting heavily, staring at the bullet holes scattered on the basement walls, the articulate sounds of gunshots still ringing in my ears.

           That was the day I thought I killed Death.

           For the next fifteen years, there was no sign of Death. It became apparent that shooting him didn’t make everyone immortal – people still died like before. But he left me alone.

           It was a brisk Monday morning when I kissed the kids goodbye and thanked their nanny, rushing out of the house. The chill of November hit me in the face, making me grind my teeth together. Cold, among other things, was one of the intolerable downgrades of living in northern America.

           We had one car which my husband took to work every day, so I had to press through the biting wind to the bus stop. There was the usual smatter of people there, each of them warming their hands with breaths and trying to still the chatter of their teeth. I fumbled with my entangled earbuds, my fingers immobilized by the cold. I looked up, trying to see if perhaps I could fit inside the already cramped bus shelter, when I saw him.

           He was walking down the street, hands in the pockets of his dress pants, looking down at the white stripes of the crosswalk as if he were any regular man. The dark suit and faceless head proved otherwise. 

           Death.

           The memories of my first encounter with him flashed through my mind, flitting from one to another like a tape reel. The utter, senseless fear. A curiously normal voice for a man made of shadow. The staccato of gunshots. It’s your time.

           I thought he was gone. I thought I had scared him away. Yet he had returned, along with the mind-numbing fear of having my life end so quickly. He crossed the street and began walking toward me, his face black as the night, nodding at me in greeting. If he had a mouth, I suspected he would even be smiling at me.

           The bus pulled to the stop, and I was all too quick to board it. I found a seat at the very back, afraid to look out the window where my looming fate was walking. My breathing erratic, I willed myself to calm as the bus drove on, leaving Death at the stop.

           “Beatrice.”

           I jumped at the sound of my name, turning to the man that sat in the seat beside me. He lowered the yellowed newspaper he was reading to reveal the lack of a face underneath a black panama. I shrieked, gaining the attention of everyone on the bus. I received quizzical glances, irritated looks, several eye rolls, but not one gaze landed on the figure beside me. The rest of the world was oblivious of his existence. I muttered apologetically to the bus, trying to look casual as I hugged my purse to my chest.

           “W-what do you want?” I asked Death, my voice barely a whisper.

           “Before you receive any explanation, I must ask you to obey my instructions.” Death responded. The voice coming from a mouthless face unsettled me.

           “Are these instructions on how to die? Because I can’t die. My kids need me.” 

           “Firstly, as I said fifteen years ago, it is not your choice. Secondly, if you would like to avoid living only thirty-two years, then I suggest you do as I say.”

           His voice was serious, but not vile. The fear of dying that twisted my insides was so strong I felt my eyes fill with salty tears.

           “What do you want me to do?” I asked shakily.

           “You will get out of the bus on the next stop, far as it may be from your destination.”

           I nodded fearfully, forcing my hand to pull the yellow string by the window. The automated woman’s voice sounded through the bus, announcing the street name. I exited the large vehicle when it stopped, Death on my tail. I tried to ignore his dark silhouette behind me.

           “Explain yourself.” I demanded, swivelling around to face Death. He stood there blankly.

           “Eventually you’ll understand. Remember – everyone has a time. Yours just didn’t happen to be today.”

           “Don’t give me this wise-guy prophecy crap. Why did you come to me today? Why did Death come to me, appearing on the street out of nowhere after I believed you were gone?!”

           I was growing exasperated, hungry for answers and tired of seeing the black face of death in my life.

           “Eventually you’ll understand.” Death repeated with a sigh, making me look away impatiently with his cryptic demeanour. I let out a breath to calm myself and turned back to face him, but all I saw was the swirl of black smoke Death had dissolved into as he left me once more.

           I began to walk home, rummaging through theories and explanations on Death’s appearance, when I heard sirens in the distance. The loud rumble and blare of a firetruck sounded as it sped on beside me in a red flash, passing me towards the opposite direction I was going in. On its tail were Police cars and an ambulance, their deafening alarms quieting as they got farther and father. My phone buzzed with a notification.

           Streets closed due to bus collision.

           I clicked on the notification, a feeling I couldn’t quite place collecting in the pit of my gut. I turned on the live newsfeed, where a woman with a large microphone stood in front of a mangled bus, worry creasing her brow as she spoke.

           “…standing on the intersection of Garrison and Longdrive, where a UPS truck and a public bus collided just minutes ago. Police counted three survivors out of fourteen passengers, eight injured and–”

           I turned the newsfeed off, the familiarity of the street and the bus that I had been on not even an hour ago settling on my shoulders. Shock and realization hit me like a ton of bricks.

           Death didn’t come to take me away.

           He came to save me.

***

           I watched the clock tick in the hospital room, the white walls and scent of disinfectant giving me a slight headache.

           3:47 a.m.

           My eyelids began to droop, my heartbeat and breath slowing. I glanced over at the chairs lined up against the wall, my children and grandchildren sleeping in their seats, heads rested on each other’s shoulders. Even through my weakness, the view made the corners of my mouth lift.

           A figure in the other corner of the room steered my attention away from my family, and I smiled at it.

           “I thought you’d never show up.” I said, my voice weak and raspy. The figure stepped into the dimmed lights of the hospital room, its faceless head nodding in greeting.

           “So, we meet again, Beatrice.” Death said, making me smile. “I figure by now you know why you’re still here?”

           “I had plenty of time to give it thought.” I said, laughing weakly. “My guess is, you really aren’t death itself, are you?”

           Death breathed out a low chuckle.

           “I see age has made you wise, Beatrice. You’re absolutely correct.”

           “So, you cannot control death, but you can stop it from happening.” 

           “I know everyone’s time. When it is up, I come to collect them. When death chooses to take someone too early, I can choose to delay it.”

           “One may call you a miracle, Mr. Death.” I said, incompletely sure if I should still call him so.

           “Or just simple luck.” He mused. My eyelids flitted shut from tiredness.

           “What I haven’t managed to find out, however, is why on earth you came to me the first time.”

           Death hummed a sound of understanding, and I could tell both of us were thinking of that disastrous moment with the Winchester.

           “You were a reckless teenager, Beatrice.” Said Death, and I nodded with agreement. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do. “However, after my visit, you realized how very afraid you were of dying so soon.”

           My eyes opened as realization touched me.

           “You stopped risking your life.” Death continued. “You stopped jumping into unknown waters. Quit reckless driving. Drinking behind the wheel.”

           I understood. Mr. Death had saved me more than once.

           “I suppose I should properly thank you, Mr. Death.” I said, knowing that through my constant fear of him, I never got to do so.

           “It’s what I do.” He said. “Tell me, Beatrice, are you still afraid?”

           I closed my eyes once again, a smile fluttering across my thin lips. I hadn’t felt so fearless since the day I stood on that cliff, looking danger right in the eye and jumping into it.

           “No.” I said softly, relaxing into the bed as I let out a satisfied breath. “It’s my time.”