Deathless

Chapter 53: Jackson

The knocking on the motel door comes again, and I groan. Clanging repeatedly against the wood, the sound attacks my pounding head. The white noise of daytime TV churns in the background, scraping inside my ears. My tongue is coated in fur and opening my eyes hurts, actually hurts. There's no air in this room, the place stinks of fast food, booze, and me.

"Jackson Mort!"

The TV screen is hazy at first, but slowly my eyes focus. I can see a shiny-faced cook on the screen pulling a perfectly baked banana bread from a glossy oven. Did Millie like banana bread? I'd never asked her, why hadn't I asked her that? Everything—every random sound, smell or mindless chatter on the TV makes me think of her. She haunts me, and I can't escape it. I don't want to.

"Jackson, open up now, or I'm sending in a legion of Hellhounds, maybe some Ghouls too." Jeanette's voice shrieks through the door. I don't move. My whisky-soaked head is heavy, my throat as dry as the floor of a birdcage.

"Go. Away," I croak.

"I will literally bring an army of Death Wardens to break down this door. I can, you know, I have an actual army at my disposal."

Sighing, I lean my head back into the musty cushion, my body curled up on the small settee. I'd slept through the daylight hours and now trying to move has every muscle screaming in protest.

"Open this door now!" Sighing, I haul myself up, stumbling slightly when my foot hits an empty beer bottle. Cursing, I keep walking. The blinds are drawn, and the faint light hitting the room is blueish and dull. I open the door, leaning against the doorframe as the whoosh of hot air crashes into my face. Jeanette's open mouth slams shut, her lips pursed tightly as she looks me over.

"You look like shit," she says before clicking her tongue. "I'm not sure what you're trying to grow on your face, but it looks like roadkill." She glances down at my bare chest distastefully. "Have you given up on shirts as well as life?"

"You look amazing," I say, my throat coarse. She shakes her head and barges past me into the room. She looks good, her hair styled in perfect victory rolls, her pencil skirt pressed to perfection. Heels clicking against the floor. I follow her in with a sigh. She assesses the room or the wreckage that used to be a room. Now it's covered in empty bottles, unwashed clothes, and booze-stained sheets. Mounds of empty takeaway containers are scattered about the floor.

"Wow, and I thought you looked bad."

She spins on her tip-toes and appraises me again, this time her eyes soften.

"I've been worried about you. We all have. Do you have any idea how many people I've had out searching for you? Even Death... even your dad couldn't find you."

I shrug, looking down at my bare feet scuffing the threadbare carpet. I'd come here straight after Millie's funeral, and before that, I'd kept myself hidden. Her funeral was sad, painfully so. Roisin had wept, her boys the only thing keeping her steady. Her friend Chloe had told stories of their childhood, fat tears forming white tracks on her cheeks. I'd stayed at the back, hidden in the shadows. Where I belonged.

"Figured it was a good time to learn how to use my powers." I look at her face, meeting her eye. "How did you find me?"

The corner of her lip twitches.

"Pure luck. A reaper spotted you when the old man on reception passed on."

"I didn't want to be found, Jeanette. Now, please, leave me alone."

Her hands slam to her hips.

"That's not really an option, given you broke almost every one of Scythe's rules and still haven't had your punishment. You need to come in."