Forgetting Death

Life has a curious way of making things happen whether you want them to or not. Call it fate, or destiny, the most likely outcome or, the will or a god, there is no way for you to escape the outcome. Ander stubbornly refused to believe that, even now as he rode a listless train through the unbroken green of Manchester, New Jersey. All around him people laughed and sang as they prepared for their summer holidays or whatever other happy memory was taking them from the gloomy inland to the sunny east coast. Ander wished that he could join them, but this was not a leisure trip for him. He was on the run from a stranger who had been following him ever since he left California a week ago. This whole affair had been so surreal, almost like this was all a dream, or a nightmare. Last Monday, during an especially soul-draining lecture by his biology professor, an inquisitive, sliver of a person in a dark coat came in and sat in one of the rows near that top of the lecture hall. Ander only remembered him in passing, since he was busy trying to stay awake. The professor had babbled something about poisons before the end of his class, and Ander was irritated that all he could remember was that. The rest of the lecture was a haze, interrupted by the wail of a bell signaling class changes. What was odd is, even though he could not remember the lecture, Ander remembered the stranger staying seated while everyone else shuffled down the lecture hall to turn in the previous night’s assignment. The stranger was also a solid rock when the professor collapsed in a screaming fit. 

It all happened so fast, shortly after taking Ander’s paper, the dry biologist rubbed one of his eyes, stumbled backward, and started screaming in violent pain before collapsing. The rest of the class tore through the hallways in a terrified stampede, but the stranger did not move. The whole experience unnerved Ander to the point where he could not think about anything else. It got so bad that he would catch himself subconsciously watching or listening for that dark figure. After three other near misses with fatal “accidents” Ander knew this stranger meant him harm. At all four instances, the dark figure was watching from some far corner. Once, as he was visiting a cafe, he noticed the stranger watching him from a balcony, shortly before two cars smashed together nearly on top of him. On another occasion, he was swimming at the YMCA when the stranger took a seat in on the pool deck near him, within seconds of leaving the pool, a stray wire fell into the pool from the ceiling, frying three helpless swimmers.  Ander didn’t know what else to do except run, his therapist had died in a fire after Ander had tried to explain what he felt, which showed to him that the stranger was trying to tie up loose ends. The stranger was trying to kill him, he was sure of it, but Ander was not going to make that easy. 

After a thankfully dull ride across the green of New Jersey, Ander found himself walking off a dingy platform onto a gravel road which led away to the left. Ahead of him, down the road a large, silver bulk loomed on the horizons. It looked like a giant silver, unskinned football which seemed foreign on the rolling green over which it dominated with its impressive size. Even now he could vaguely see the ant sized shadows of works and travelers milling around this new form of transportation which had shocked the world he lived in. The sight of this bulk made him feel happy and safe, a feeling which strengthened when he saw that he was alone. Without another moment, he grabbed his valise from a rusty luggage cart and trotted down the gravel towards his goal.

Ander had not planned originally to buy passage on one of the new zeppelin airships which everyone was so excited about, but as he read about a ship bound for Germany that evening he realized Lady Luck was offering him an olive branch which he took without question. It seemed too easy and his current odds told him something was going to go wrong. He wasn’t going to worry about that right now, with freedom in sight he had accepted his past life was gone and he wasn’t going to dig through the ashes looking for reasons why he was running or who he was running from.

Halfway down the road a hoarse voice called out to him,                                                   

“Where are you headed to friend?” Ander turned to see the weather-worn, grizzled face of a farmer in a rusted pickup. The man's kindness left Ander stammering like an moron for a few seconds,     

“I’m just headed down the road,” he said, motioning towards the airship. The farmer squinted,

 “Oh that thing,” he pursed his lips, “hop in I’ll take ye down.” Ander gratefully slid into the passenger seat, as the engine sputtered into life. The gravel crunched beneath the bald tires as the pair crept forward. The driver was still squinting at the zeppelin as they drove, he was mumbling to himself about something that Ander couldn’t hear.                                                   

“You know, people are all talking about these fancy airships, but by heaven you’ll never see me in one, they’re not safe!” He thumped the steering wheel with his right hand like an animated preacher.

“What do you think?” He said. Ander had stopped listening. In the cracked glass of the side mirror, the same dark, thin figure stood on the side of the road. He didn’t do anything drastic, he just stood by the roadside, arms folded. Then he waved, a single, emotionless wave.

Ander’s veins turned to ice and his heart was beating faster than the pistons which were humming in the truck’s engine. Without warning, he ripped the steering wheel from the hands of the aged farmer and pushed the bow captive driver's foot to the floor. The driver cursed but Ander didn’t care,            

“I am sorry but I need to get away from here.” Ander explained, taking off down the towards the high zeppelin. Gravel and dust flew up in a cloud behind them until the figure was obscured behind it.

Once he was sure that the figure was gone, he slowly let go of the wheel and accelerator. His hands were shaking, and he looked at his now visibly shaken companion. 

“What in God’s name was that about?!” The driver asked, half angry half terrified at the whole event. Ander again found himself stumbling over his words, trying to make coherent sounds that fit in the right order to be words. After struggling for what seemed like a minute, he blurted out,      

“That man back there has been following me for a week now,” he panted “and every time he gets close, terrible things happen.” The driver did not accept this, but after Ander explained his week of near death experiences the driver fell silent. 

The driver took more time than Ander did to process the truth. 

“So this person is out to get ye?”  Ander nodded in with a stupid, childish insistence that normally was part of his nature. Fear does strange things to people, that much was for sure. He knew that the driver did not believe him, since the wrinkles in his dry forehead furrowed out from his face. Those lines came from years of distrusting strangers, and they were as of a measure as any for how much someone trusts you. Ander felt calmer when he saw the wrinkles relax and a smile creep onto the farmer's face. 

“We best get you to that ship,” he said, “you don’t want to miss your way out of here.” Ander’s mouth became a waterfall of thank yous he was sure sounded more annoying than profound. The grizzled farmer laugher, a hoarse and squeaky laugh which was oddly comforting. The sun was setting as they turned onto a side road which led to the large silver bulk, now partially obscured by a group of small brick and concrete buildings.

“Well son, just another turn and you’ll be on your way.” He said with another smile. Ander wished he could be like that happy farmer, but he knew that this would never be the case.

The stranger was waiting for them around the next bend. The duo in the truck had been talking about normal things when the figure jumped out into the road in front of the entrance to the zeppelin dock. Ander screamed again, clutching the seat back with his hands, while the driver swerved and tried to get around the dark figure, it was no use. The air around Ander spun wildly and he was smashed into the straw seat cover as the truck hit a ditch and rolled across the field beyond. He felt like they were in the center or a hurricane of metal glass, which stopped abruptly after crashing in a rock. Ander blacked out. When he awoke, he was laying on the ceiling of the truck, next to the lifeless body of the poor farmer whose crumpled form had been pushed through the windshield. Ander screamed again, and scrambled to find his valise. He had to get out of here, the figure was trying to kill him, he was sure of it now. After he had freed himself from the shattered truck, two sounds caught his attention. First, there was a far off buzzing of engines starting up, reminding him of the urgency which had drawn him to this point. The second was a calm, refined and articulate voice which called to him from his left.

“Really Sir, this whole running thing is getting quite old.” Ander froze, and looked over to see polished black shoes and trim gray pants, both of which were covered by a black frock coat. He screamed again, and ran off toward the now moving gray bulk with inhuman speed. 

Ander didn’t stop until he found himself in front of a closed ticket booth, which he slammed with his left fist,

“Open up please, for God’s Sake open up!” He  cried. “ My name is Ander Sterben and I need to get on this ship!”  He could hear the tears welling up in his voice as he desperately screamed to no one. The weight of glaring, cold eyes pulled him from the glass, and the same voice echoed again, closer this time.

“Compose yourself, this is so unbecoming of someone in your position!” The stranger scolded, “Come now, it's time to go home.” The stranger was right behind, glaring at him with black, pupil less eyes. Ander turned and ran, throwing up a gate that led out onto an empty grass field. He could hear the sound of people shouting as he did so, but the scene in front of him caught his attention more. The silvery airship, the one he was hoping to take to freedom, was sailing off into the sky without him. He tried to chase it, but four, firm hands gripped his arms and started to pull him back towards the brick buildings.

“No!” He screamed, “I need to get on, that man is trying to..” An explosion cut him off, and the rough hands let him go. Ander watched in horror as the airship exploded and fell, slowly out of the sky. He was speechless, it was like the whole world had stopped. 

In a moment of strange amazement, he realized that it had stopped, or at least part of it. All around him people were running by him, but they could not move faster than a slow jog. The huge flaming bulk also fell slower than seemed natural. The whole scene seemed like a surreal nightmare. Then that same voice scoffed from behind him,

“Now look what you’ve done!” It chided, “This ship was supposed to crash in Germany, not here.” Ander turned to see the same stranger glaring at a pocketbook and pocket-watch. He could not speak since all of the questions seemed to cloud out his own thoughts,

“Wha….wha….what?” That was all Ander could stammer out. The stranger walked towards him and stopped, bowing reverently before continuing his lecture. 

“Every time you take one of these ‘vacations’  you throw off the entire schedule,” the stranger seemed less ominous than he had been before, now he seemed more like a secretary or book-keeper than a killer. “ It’s like you’re gone for so long that you forget your role as Death.” Ander was now more confused than ever, and the black-eyed bookkeeper responded with a sigh. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black, ballpoint pen, which transformed into a cruel, metal scythe in his hand. 

“This should help you remember.” He said handing it to Ander, “haven’t you wondered why your german professor was so curious about your last name ‘Sterben’” Holding the formidable weapon in his hands, the memories came flooding back to Ander’s mind.

He had chosen the name with such great care, to make sure that inquisitive souls would not catch his disguise and betray him. Ander Sterben had been one of his best characters. He was so convincing, that the actor had become the character. Death shook his head and laughed,

“What can I say,” he smiled, “ I liked Ander.” The black-eyed bookkeeper rolled his eyes and groaned. Then he shrugged, looked up at the tall, robed form of his master and waved towards the flaming wreck,

“Come along sir, those souls will not reap themselves.”