Deathless

Chapter 52: Jackson

A hand squeezes my shoulder, and when I look behind me—Death is standing there. My father. He's dropped his true form. The onyx robes, laden with eternity and that all-seeing skull-face replaced by the body of a human man, wearing a dove-grey suit like a second skin. His face is solemn, drained.

He stretches forward, across me, and I watch as his fingers touch the white flesh of Millie's wrist, just on the pulse. The softest of sighs leave Millie's lips, her chest falling still. He pulls back, a look of anguish and guilt on his face. My body freezes and everything stops. The blood thunders in my ears, and my stomach crashes down to the ground. My world stops spinning.

"Hello, son."

I turn back to Millie, my breathing erratic, my body no longer under my control. A torrent of feelings clash and tumble, smashing together violently inside me. I take her hand, squeezing it tightly as if I have the power to force life back into her, to steal another moment, to steal an eternity of moments.

But she's gone.

"What did you do?" I turn, exploding off the bed. Death takes a step back but otherwise doesn't react. His face doesn't change.

"I'm sorry."

Turning, I glance down at her once again. Her face is peaceful, the fear that had been clinging to it a moment ago gone, only echoed in a tear lingering on her cheek.

"I was supposed to... it was supposed to be me." I can barely utter the words, the roaring in my ears too loud to think, to speak "What did you do?"

I launch myself at him before I even know I've moved, shoving him hard into the wall, my forearm pressed against his throat. He doesn't react, which angers me more and I press harder, feeling the crunch of bones, but still nothing. His face is calm, passive against the red-hot fury of my rage.

"I couldn't let you do it." His voice cracks under the weight of my arm, but I don't relent. I press harder.

"That wasn't your decision to make!" I yell in his face, feeling the heat radiating off my skin. His silver eyes remain soft, the sympathy in them worse than any violence Death could bestow on me.

"No. But I made it."

"Why?!"

"Because I'm your father!" Desperation flashes in the molten mercury of his eyes, bursting through his mask-like expression. His voice splintering under the weight of it. "I'm your father."

Something deflates inside, the storm fuelling me fades, and the waters of my soul turn still. I let him go, stumbling back and sinking onto the bed. Taking her hand once more, grounding myself in the feel of her skin, leaning closer to breathe in her scent.

"I've allowed you to push me away, to deny me, for nearly a hundred years. I'm not going to do that anymore, Jackson. You're my son and I'm going to be here for you, whether you want me here or not."

I say nothing, just turn my head to gaze down at her face. On her hair flowing around the pillow like an ocean, her dark lashes pressed against the pale silk of her cheek. How she's both Millie and not Millie at all.

"I needed to spare you this. I had to."

My pain is a physical, living thing. It grows and writhes, clawing at the underside of my flesh, ripping me apart from the inside out. The agony is unbearable, and I want to rip it out of me with my bare hands, but it's never going away. I feel it dig deeper into me with every passing second.

"Then why are you here? You should be with her?" I snap. He sighs, and I hear his footsteps on the carpet as he moves closer. He sits on the bed next to me, careful to keep his distance. I glance at his face but quickly turn away, seeing too much of myself there.