Scary Out There Page 12

  “So, how old are you?” He wasn’t curious, and it wasn’t like he wanted a conversation, exactly. But the kid was here, so . . .

  The boy shook his head, a dark light crossing his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is what’s in your pocket.”

  Jeremy nodded, again wondering who this boy was and how he seemed to know so much about Jeremy’s life. “The ticket.”

  “I was referring to the flask. Mind if I steal a drink?” The boy grinned, and Jeremy handed over the flask, his hand paling in the night. As he tried to work out what the deal was with this kid, the kid took a swig from the flask and made a face. “That tastes like shit. Man, I wish I could get drunk. Even a nice buzz, y’know?”

  As Jeremy took the flask back, he said, “Wait. If you can’t even get a buzz, why would you want a drink?”

  The boy shrugged. Something about him seemed almost familiar to Jeremy, as if they had met before, if only briefly. “Don’t we always want what we can’t have?”

  Jeremy thought about his family, the long line of losers. All his life he’d wanted them to be anything but what they were. But it didn’t matter what he did. They would never change. “I guess.”

  “What about you? What do you want?”

  Moonlight gleamed off the water below. A soft breeze rustled Jeremy’s hair. He closed his eyes for a moment and whispered, “Peace.”

  “You just proved my point.” He shook his head, gently biting his bottom lip for a moment. “Life is chaos. It’s always been chaos from the first moment cells bumped into one another in that slimy cesspool and formed what we now call life. Even now, every cell in your body is bouncing around in existence. In chaos. You cannot achieve peace. It doesn’t exist, yet you just said that’s what you want.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “If life is chaos, then death is peace.”

  The boy looked at him, his dark eyes darkening further. He appeared both fascinated and repulsed by Jeremy. “You’ve got a lot to learn about the afterlife, my friend. But then . . . all of you do.”

  “All of us?” People. He meant people. But he’d separated himself from the group.

  “All of you. Every one of you who takes a razor to your wrist or swallows too many pills. Every one of you who jumps in front of a bus. Every one of you who stands on a bridge and thinks about jumping.” The boy shook his head again, his features filled with disgust. “You don’t know shit about what’s waiting at the bottom of that river. And if you think it means peace, then you know less than shit about it.”

  Jeremy pressed the opening of the flask to his mouth, tipping his head back. The crap inside tasted god-awful, but after a few more sips, his heart had settled into a calmer rhythm. The boy next to him finished his cigarette and flicked it over the edge. Jeremy watched the ember as it tumbled through the night air and was finally swallowed by the darkness below. He wondered if he would land the way he hoped, headfirst, knocking himself unconscious before the water consumed his body and filled his lungs. But even if he landed flat, it wouldn’t take long for his airways to be filled with cool liquid and for the fuzzy feeling of drowning to take over his senses. He pictured himself tumbling like that cigarette through the air, his ember bright, then suddenly extinguished. It would be beautiful.

  “Is that the best analogy you can come up with?” He locked eyes with Jeremy. “Seriously. Some crappy cigarette plunging into less than clean water—probably sewer runoff? That’s what you imagine as a beautiful death? No offense, kid, but you suck at metaphors.”

  Jeremy’s fingers trembled as he looked into the boy’s eyes. He knew those eyes. But how? “How’d you know what I was thinking?”

  The boy sighed. “C’mon, kid. Put it together. You know who I am. You know why I’m here. Don’t make me say it.”

  And Jeremy did know. He supposed he’d known for several minutes that he’d been carrying on a conversation with Death himself. The thing that surprised him was that he’d always thought of death as an act, a state of being. Not a person. Certainly not a teenager.

  “Not what you pictured, eh? Were you expecting a long black cloak with a hood? Maybe a sickle in my skeleton hand?” Death chuckled under his breath. “I’m that way for some people. I sprout feathery wings and appear in a basking glow of light for others. For you, I’m just a kid. Somebody easily disregarded. Somebody nobody would believe is Death.”

  “Bullshit.” It wasn’t bullshit and he knew it, but he didn’t exactly know what to say. So instead, he took a cue from Death and waited.

  Below, on the banks of the river, frogs were singing. It was faint and so distant, but if Jeremy listened close, he could hear them.

  Death sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. He squeezed his eyes tight, like he was just trying to get through another day at work—which, when Jeremy thought about it, he was. “If you’re hoping I’ll go on and prove it to you, you’re sorely mistaken, kid. It’s not my job to convince you who or what I am. It’s not my job to make you jump or to talk you out of doing so. I’m just here. Waiting. For you to make a decision.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “And you’re shaking.” His tone shifted then, briefly. It was stern, serious. He meant business. Never call Death a liar. “No reason to shake. You’re not afraid of me . . . remember? You sought me out. Well, here I am. So are you doing this or not?”

  He looked down at the water. He was doing this. That much had been decided before he ever even reached the bridge. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have questions. “What’s it like?”

  “What is what like?”

  “Death.”

  Death rolled his head to the left and looked at Jeremy with raised eyebrows. “Seriously? You’re asking Death what death is like?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I guess so, yeah. I mean, who would know better than you? If you are who you say you are, I mean.”

  “You’ve got me there.”

  “So. What’s death like?”

  Death sighed into the night air, giving the impression that Jeremy was making this night a lot longer than it needed to be. “Well, I’m a Sagittarius. I like puppies and long walks on the beach. I prefer classical music, which surprises most people. They seem to think I’d be into this so-called death-metal. But I can assure you that all that screaming and heavy drums do not carry my endorsement. But to each their own, I guess.”

  “Never mind.”

  “Well, what the hell did you want me to say, kid? I’m Death, remember?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I know that’s not what you meant. You meant the afterlife.” Death raised a sharp eyebrow at him. “I’m not explaining that.”

  The frogs below were still singing, but they paused for a moment before continuing their tune. “Why? Is there a rule or something? Or is it different for everyone?”

  “I can’t answer that because I’ve never experienced it. I don’t know.” He met Jeremy’s eyes again, folding his arms in front of him.

  Jeremy held his breath for a moment. If Death didn’t know, then who did?

  “I’ve heard things, have theories. But I am not the afterlife. I am Death. The moment when life ceases. It’s not my job to guide you through the afterlife—if there is one. It’s my job to wait for your brain functions to cease and then make note that you are no longer among the living.” He leaned away from the railing, in much the same way as Jeremy had when Death had first arrived. He was so nonchalant about the whole notion, so casual and matter-of-fact. He didn’t have any answers. Jeremy leaned back against the railing in shock. “I’m kinda like the midlevel filing clerk of existence. It’s not really as exciting as you mortals think.”

  Jeremy watched the water below with great interest. He couldn’t stop thinking about the cigarette. Tearing his gaze away, he looked at Death. “You won’t . . . take my life?”

  Death’s dark eyes darkened even more, until all that Jeremy could see within them was black and empty. “Death doesn’t come for anyone, Jer
emy. It just waits for you. All of you. For as long as it’s supposed to.”

  “How did you know I’d be here tonight?”

  “Are you kidding me? You’ve been planning for months. I listen. Through the chatter of thoughts that humankind flings out into the universe, I can tell when a cancer patient is nearing their final days. I can tell when a war is about to take another soldier. I can tell when a potential suicide has reached the point where they mean business.” Death smacked him on the shoulder. They were pals, he and Death. “You seem like you mean business tonight. Do you?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “You can’t talk me out of it.”

  “I’m not trying to. Like I said, I’m just waiting. That’s all I do.”

  “I have a shit life, y’know.” He spoke through clenched teeth. His eyes burned with angry tears.

  “I know.” Death’s voice was soft and hushed.

  “My mom didn’t want a kid, but got stuck with me. Now she drinks and runs around and where does that leave me? Smelling like goddamn dish soap when I don’t smell like dirt. No kids at school will talk to me, let alone sit by me at lunch. I’ve got no money, no nothing. I’m just a loser. And I think the world would be better off without me.” Against his will a tear escaped his eye and rolled down his cheek. It hung on his chin for a moment before letting go and dropping down into the depths.

  Death whispered, “Then why are you up here and not down there? If you’re so worthless, why haven’t you jumped yet?”

  “Because I’m afraid.” Jeremy’s bottom lip trembled. The water below looked both terrifying and soothing. Confusion filled him. What was he doing out here? Was he really talking to Death about whether or not he’d jump? Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he was still asleep.

  “Trust me. You’re awake.” A small smile touched Death’s lips. “What are you afraid of?”

  Jeremy wiped his eyes with his hand. “Pain, mostly.”

  “But not just pain, am I right? It’s never just a fear of pain that makes any of you hesitate.”

  Hot anger burned at Jeremy’s core. “Stop lumping me in with other suicides. I’m not a number. I’m a person.”

  “Don’t bullshit yourself, kid. You’re a person if you don’t jump. If you do, you’re just a statistic.” There was that tone again. Jeremy winced to hear it. But just as quickly as it had come, it was gone again. “So, what else is it, if not just pain that you’re afraid of?”

  Jeremy shook his head. “It’s stupid.”

  “Try me. I bet I’ve heard worse.” Death smiled a knowing smile.

  Jeremy really wondered why Death ever bothered to ask anyone anything. “I’m afraid I’ll miss out.”

  “On what?”

  “That’s exactly the problem. I don’t know. Just . . . that I’ll miss out. What if I’m wrong? What if I jump and then find out things would have changed, would have gotten better if I hadn’t?” A sigh escaped him, warm breath on the cool night air.

  “So do you want to die or not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then jump.” Death leaned toward him and pointed down to the water, his voice filled with impatience. “Find your balls and step off the bridge. There’s a big fire just outside of Spencer. I’m due to meet two people there.”

  Jeremy’s fingers tightened on the rail, but he wasn’t certain why. He was pretty sure that Death wasn’t going to push him. “Will it hurt?”

  Death shrugged. “Probably. Shit, I don’t know. I’ve never died before.”

  To the left an owl hooted into the night. After it quieted, Jeremy said, “Y’know, for Death, you sure don’t have many answers.”

  “Death never brings answers, kid. Only more questions.” To that end, he pulled out his watch again, checked the time, and emitted a small groan before putting it away again. Right. He had a schedule to keep.

  “Doesn’t it bother you? Seeing so many people meet their end?”

  “Of course it does. I’d be a heartless prick if it didn’t. But mostly it sickens me. So many people just throw it away, toss their life in the trash in a desperate search for something else that probably isn’t any better than this and might be a whole lot worse. People seem to think that answers will be given to them when Death comes. They don’t get that, just as my job is to wait, their job is to search for their own purpose.” He took a deep breath and blew it out. As if on command, the frogs below went completely silent. “It just pisses me off, is all.”

  Jeremy shook his head. “I don’t have a purpose.”

  “So jump already. I’ve got places to be.”

  “Stop saying that!”

  For a moment, Death grew quiet. It was almost as if he wasn’t used to people standing up to him. After a while, he reached into Jeremy’s pocket and withdrew the ticket. As he scanned the print, he said, “Why Saint Louis?”

  “Because.”

  “You packed pretty light. I’m betting you’ll jump.” He withdrew a package of Twinkies and pulled open the cellophane on one end.

  Busy day, Jeremy thought. Death had probably missed his lunch hour. “Why would you bet that? I don’t have anything to pack. So I didn’t pack anything.”

  Death took a bite of one of the Twinkies, and without swallowing, said, “What would you do? In Saint Louis, I mean.”

  Jeremy didn’t know. He didn’t know anything anymore. “Probably kill myself.”

  “Long bus ride just to delay the inevitable, if you’ve made your mind up about that.” Death shook his Twinkie at Jeremy the way someone else might wag their finger. “Or is that a hint of doubt I detect ebbing from you?”

  Jeremy wished, not for the first time, that Death couldn’t read his thoughts like pages out of some dirty magazine. “I just . . . wish I had a reason to live. Just one.”

  “Twinkies are pretty good.” He shoved the rest of the Twinkie into his mouth. When Jeremy looked at him, his mouth was full of yellow spongy cake and cream. Without swallowing, Death said, “What? They are.”

  “You know what I mean. One person who cared about me. One small glimmer of possibility for a good future. Just something to hold on to.” It was all Jeremy had ever wanted. Just one thing to hold on to.

  Death swallowed the Twinkie in his mouth and started sucking the white filling from his fingertips. “Well, right now you’re holding on to the bridge. That’s something. You haven’t jumped yet. Maybe you start with the bridge and then keep going, see what else there is to hold on to.”

  The metal of the bridge was growing warm in his hands. He’d been holding on to it a lot longer than he thought he would be. “And if there’s nothing?”

  Death shrugged, as if the answer was obvious. “Then Saint Louis has quite a few lovely bridges.”

  “Look. Could you just leave me alone for a while?”

  “Afraid not, kid. I mean, I can become invisible, but I’m always here, and always waiting. Just the way it is.” He held out the open cellophane package to Jeremy and said, “Twinkie?”

  Jeremy stared at him in disbelief. He was standing on a bridge, and Death had just offered him a Twinkie.

  Death moved his hand closer and said, “They’re amazing. I promise.”

  What do you do when Death offers you a Twinkie? You take it.

  Dumbfounded, Jeremy said, “Thank you.”

  As Death wiped his fingers on his jacket, he said, “So, what was the moment for you?”

  “What you do mean?”

  “Look, you suicides are all the same.” He eyed the uneaten Twinkie in Jeremy’s hand and said, “You piss and moan about how awful and tragic your life is and how no one understands you. And you each have a moment that pushes you over the edge. What was yours?”

  Jeremy shook his head. It took him a moment to respond. “Some dick on a bridge gave me a Twinkie.”

  Death chuckled. “You’re a funny guy. I like that.”

  Jeremy stood there for a long while, listening to the night. One hand holding a Twinkie. The other hand holding the rail. “It was the
dish soap.”

  A silence fell between them. One that stretched on for several minutes. It was Death who broke that silence. “Wow, you have exceedingly low standards, kid. I was expecting something akin to Poe or Plath, and you give me a commercial that appears during soap operas.”

  “My mom doesn’t buy laundry detergent. She says dish soap is cheaper and does double duty. Plus, I think she’s screwing the guy who manages the dollar store, so she gets the dish soap at a discount or free or whatever.” He went cold when he spoke of his mom. His heart felt hard at the very thought of her. There was a time when he’d actually punched a kid for insinuating she did certain things for financial benefit. But that was before he was willing to look at his mom with honest eyes. “That damn dish soap. I hate the way it smells. It’s almost medicinal. I mean, it’s better than having clothes that smell like BO all the time, but it so obviously smells like cheap-ass dish soap, y’know?”

  He didn’t know, or maybe he did. He nodded anyway.

  “So, a few weeks ago, I reached under the kitchen sink to grab a bottle. I’m standing there in a towel, my dirty clothes soaking in hot water in the kitchen, and all I want is to scrub them with some goddam dish soap and hang them up to dry so I can go to bed already. Only when I reach under the cupboard, there wasn’t any dish soap left.” His jaw tightened as the anger he’d felt in that moment washed over him once again. “And I started crying. And I realized that I didn’t give a crap about the stupid dish soap, but that was the only way for me to be just a little bit normal, and that I’d never really be normal. And that’s when I decided I was sick of trying. I was just sick of trying to keep pushing forward when the best I could ever hope for would be that there would be some stinky-ass dish soap under the sink when I reached for it. And I knew right then that I wanted to die.”

  Death didn’t speak. He merely stood there, watching Jeremy with intense interest.

  Jeremy shook his head and took a bite out of the Twinkie in his hand. “That’s pretty sad, right? You’ve seen starving kids and war and crap, and I’m whining about goddam dish soap. But . . . you asked, and that’s my answer.”