If I didn’t know better, I’d say the horseman doesn’t like watching his plague take this couple.
At the end of day two, hours after Pestilence left the house and never returned, I wander into Ruth and Rob’s room. The two of them are in bed, their bodies turned to face each other. Their hands are locked together and their eyes are pressed closed. From what little I can see of their skin—and what I can smell—the sores are already opening on their body.
“Lord, we ask that you might bring your horseman some level of peace, for he is struggling with his mortal coil,” Rob says, his voice strained and weak. “And we ask that you give strength to Sara, the girl you have placed at his side. She is upholding the role you have tasked her with, and she is doing so with grace, but nonetheless she is profoundly affected by her circumstances …”
I don’t hear any more than that. Like a coward, I flee the room. Their kindness was already too much, but this is something else altogether.
I can’t do this. Even as they’re asking their god for strength, I’m breaking because I can’t fucking do this. I can’t eat their food and sleep under their roof and watch them die horrifying deaths while they pray for me and Pestilence.
I want to laugh at that last one. They’re praying for the one man impervious to God’s wrath.
But is he? It’s a quiet thought, and an easy enough one to push away.
In the distance, I hear the door open, and then the heavy footsteps of the horseman. Of all the moments for Pestilence to come back, it has to be now.
He enters the guestroom silently, finding me sitting on the edge of the bed. A hand covers my eyes as my shoulders shake.
“Sara?” he says hesitantly.
I drop my hand from my eyes and instead stare down at it.
“Don’t let them die,” I say, my voice cracking. I can’t look at him.
He steps into the room, closing the door behind him. “What is this?” he asks.
“They’re good people,” I say, the words catching as they come out. “They don’t deserve to die this way.”
“Life doesn’t take fairness into account,” Pestilence says. “I assumed you of all people knew that.”
“Damnit, Pestilence, you saved me!” I say, my temper flaring. “You can save them too!”
There’s a long pause. Then, “I will not.”
I force myself to look up at him. I have to ignore the agonized look in his eyes.
“Please.”
He glances away. “That damnable word.”
I forgot how much he dislikes it until that moment. Guilt and heartache rush in. He’s going to kill them now simply because I said it. He’s going to enjoy it too.
But for once, that doesn’t happen. Instead, maybe for the first time ever, he appears torn.
I can physically see him pulling himself together.
“No,” he says, resolute. “Do not ask me this again.”
I stand up, my despair transforming into something hotter, meaner, as I stare down the sentient thing that could take away their illness.
“Or else what?” I ask, stepping up to him. I push at his torso. “Will you tie me up again? Drag me behind your horse until I’m within an inch of death? Expose me to the elements until I get hypothermia?”
He narrows his eyes. “All great suggestions.”
“Why save me but not them?”
“I intend to make you—”
“Suffer. I know. God, do I know.” I back away from him and sit down wearily once more on the bed.
He stares at me for a long moment, then he takes a step forward. I tense, and he must notice because he stops. Then, defiantly, he closes the rest of the distance between us.
Pestilence sits down beside me, his body dwarfing mine. I’m about to get up when he puts an arm around my shoulders.
I should be pushing him away. I should be yelling at him or storming out of the room. I should be doing a hundred different things. Instead I lean into his embrace and bury my head in his shoulder. My body shakes as I begin to cry great, heaving sobs. His other arm comes around me, and he pulls me onto his lap, cradling me against his massive torso. I take perverse comfort from him, even though he’s the very thing responsible for my grief.
He presses his cheek to my temple, holding me so tightly that I wonder whether he too is taking comfort from the embrace.
“Don’t be sad,” he says, his lips brushing against my skin.
I shake my head against his chest. What he’s asking is impossible. And yet, the longer he holds me, the better I feel.
I breathe him in. “I’m not going to be able to survive this.” I whisper my greatest fear to him.
Pestilence’s body locks up.
“You will,” he insists, “because you must.”
I pull away long enough to stare him in the eye. “I won’t,” I say again. “I’m going to die before you’re finished with this world.”
And then Pestilence will be the only one left to suffer.
Chapter 33
You can feel the end coming, like a wave rushing in. It moves over you, makes itself at home beneath your skin. It settles into your lungs and slips into your heart and eventually inserts itself into your mind. This terrible, awful thing called death goes from being a distant eventuality to a sudden certainty.
As the evening stretches on, Ruth and Rob need more and more care, and it’s somewhere during that time that I feel Death join our little party, lingering in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to collect these souls. The elderly couple must feel it too because even though they’re weak and in increasing amounts of pain, they manage to move into each other’s arms.
Pestilence stares at them curiously, as though he’s never seen anything like this before.
Their skin is old, their bones are old, their hearts are old. And they’ve loved each other for a long, long time. And yet it’s clear that even after all the years they’ve had together, this parting is too soon.
Far too soon.
My throat clogs. This is … personal. Really, really personal. And heartbreaking—and not for my eyes. I bow my head and eventually slip out of the room.
The horseman doesn’t follow after me, choosing instead to be an interloper. Five minutes pass, then ten.
What could he possibly be doing in there?
Finally, when it seems like an eternity has passed, I open the door again and peek in. Pestilence sits next to the bed, his large frame dwarfing the side chair. He watches the couple with a confounded look on his face.
Ugh, need to remember that this guy has zero social skills.
Slipping inside, I take his hand and tug him off the chair and out of the room. He appears just as confused by this new turn of events as he did about the couple he was staring creepily at.
“What is it, Sara?” he asks when I shut the door behind us.
“These are their last hours. I’m sure they want to spend them alone.”
His gaze wanders back to the closed door. “How do you know they want to be … alone?”
I can tell he finds my word choice strange—alone is traveling through a foreign land for weeks on end and never once speaking to another soul. It’s most definitely not holding onto another human being murmuring in low tones about things only lovers know.
Pestilence is staring at me, waiting for my answer.
How to put this? I never thought I’d have to explain something this obvious to someone else.
“I mean that they want to be alone together,” I say. “They want to share their final time enjoying each other’s company, not ours.”
The horseman is still looking at me with no small amount of confusion, so I elaborate. “We only get so many minutes alive,” I say. “When you find someone worth spending that time with, you don’t want to share those minutes with anyone else.” Particularly not your final few minutes.
For a long moment, Pestilence digests this. Eventually, he inclines his head. “Then I will leave them … alone.”
I peer closely at him. “Why were you watching them anyway?”
Pestilence doesn’t really like watching people die, for all the death he delivers.
He hesitates before saying, “They are in love.”