Scary Out There (16 page)

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, Jeremy. 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.”

In the distance sirens blared. Fire trucks, Jeremy was almost certain.

Death remained very still. “Why'd you bring the ticket?”

“I don't know.” The words rolled off Jeremy's tongue without thought, without care.

“Liar.” A hint of admiration leaked through in his tone. Must take some big balls to lie to Death.

“I just thought . . . maybe if I chickened out . . .”

“You'd have another option.”

“Yeah.” But there was no other option now, was there?
What could he do? Walk back to the trailer park and lie on his filthy mattress, waiting for things to improve when he knew they wouldn't? No way.

Death climbed up onto the rail and sat on it. “What if I made you a deal?”

Suspicion filled Jeremy. He looked at Death warily. “What kind of deal?”

“Not one I've ever made before. But like I said, I like you.”

Jeremy didn't understand. “Why?”

“Because you called me a dick.” Death grinned.

Jeremy was starting to realize what a twisted sense of humor Death had. “What's the deal?”

“I'll jump for you. And when I do, it'll erase your past. It'll give you a new beginning. Then, when you get on that bus, you'll have no regrets. You can start over. A clean slate. No more trailer park. No more dish soap. No more Jeremy Grainger. You can be whoever, whatever, you decide to be.”

“But you're Death. Death can't die.” Jeremy furrowed his brow. “Can you?”

Death sighed. The sirens in the distance had already silenced. “You want the deal or not, kid?”

It was hard to resist. A new life? On his terms? It sounded exactly like what he needed. “What do you want in return?”

“That flask, for starters.”

That was too easy. There had to be a catch. “What else?”

“A promise.” Their eyes met and Death's tone grew serious
once again. “Never let the bastards get you down. Don't let anyone or anything dictate your joy or lack thereof. Get your shit together however you want it and live life on your terms.”

“Okay.” He pulled the flask out again and handed it over. As he did so, he noticed that Death was staring down into the water, just as he had been a moment ago. “What's the matter?”

“It's a long way down.” Death leaned forward even farther, until his fingertips turned white from holding him on the bridge. He met Jeremy's eyes and said, “Don't ever forget that.”