The Four Horsemen 4 - Death (5 page)

How do you know? Maybe I’m a ghost, and I’ve loitered around for just the right moment to haunt you?
“Because ghosts don’t exist. No soul lingers in the world after their shell dies. They are always escorted up to the gates.” Death closed his eyes. “Besides, if you were real, I would feel even more guilty to know you stayed around for centuries, instead of going to your rest.”
The silence in his head startled him, and he wondered what had quieted the voice. Was it that he’d admitted aloud to feeling guilty for what happened to Oliver? He’d admitted it from the moment he’d heard the news, yet he’d never allowed it to cripple him from living the rest of his life.
A soft gasp drifted through his flat, and Death went back to the living room. He ignored the fact he was naked. It wasn’t like Pierre would notice either way. Pierre lay flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling, a content smile on his face. Death shook his head in contempt. What could possibly be so bad in this mortal’s life he’d turned to drugs to keep the pain at bay? It wasn’t like the heroin was a permanent solution to Pierre’s troubles. The drug wore off too quickly, and the hunger grew too fast, which was why Pierre needed more and more to achieve his high each time.
Death grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and laid it over Pierre. He could always wash it afterwards. Death went to the kitchen and searched under the sink. Finally, he found the rubber gloves his housekeeper had thrown in there. After slipping them on, he returned to clean up after Pierre. He discovered a cap for the syringe to cover the needle and put it on. He stuck the spoon, lighter, cotton balls, and rubber tubing back into the bag they came from.
He placed them on the coffee table before double-checking Pierre still breathed. Pierre’s green eyes caught his gaze, and he frowned at Pierre.
“Why do you do this?” Death asked softly. “What demons haunt you to the point where you’d rather inject poison into your veins than face it?”
Pierre didn’t say anything, and Death didn’t expect him to reply. In the end, it didn’t matter one whit why Pierre chose to do this. Death’s need to help him stemmed from atoning for something he wasn’t even responsible for. He’d sober Pierre up and send him on his way, hoping he would never see him again.

A thud and a muffled curse brought Pierre out of his stupor just as the heroin high wore off. Need ate at his gut, and he jack-knifed into a sitting position. He moaned softly and scrubbed his hand over his face. Fuck! He felt like shit and was pretty sure he smelt like it as well.

After ensuring his head wasn’t about to fall off, he glanced around and frowned. Where the hell was he? It definitely wasn’t the hotel room he’d been in a couple of days ago. How long had he been out? Long enough for someone to find him and drag his ass somewhere else.

A thought straightened Pierre’s spine. Had he been kidnapped? Were the culprits right now trying to figure out how much of a ransom to ask for him? If they were, he wanted to tell them not to bother. No one would pay anything to get him back.

Pierre jumped and almost fell over onto his side. He braced himself on the edge of the couch and looked up. The man standing a few feet away from him was the oddest, yet most beautiful man he’d ever seen. Pierre figured the man would be about six inches taller than Pierre’s own six-foot. His shimmering grey hair was tied back at the nape by a dark string or ribbon. Lightly tanned skin attested to the fact the man probably spent most of his time inside, but his muscular build said he also took care of himself. Yet it was the mixture of sadness and coldness in the man’s all-black eyes that confused Pierre.

Why did he want to hug the man, and at the same time run away from him as fast as he could? Pierre had never had feelings like that before, and he quite willingly blamed them on the withdrawals snaking their way through his body.

“I’m not sure you’d call what I’m doing living, but I guess I’m still breathing,” he muttered.
“Breathing’s all some people need to start getting their lives back on track,” the man pointed out.
Pierre shrugged. “True, but my train derailed a long time ago. Not sure it’s worth the effort getting back on the path of normalcy.”
Snorting, the man bent and offered Pierre a hand. “There’s no such thing as normal, honey.”
He blinked but took the man’s hand. Pierre found himself standing upright for the first time in what had to be a week or so. The room whirled around him, and his stomach heaved. God, it would suck if he threw up since he was pretty sure he hadn’t eaten anything in just as long. He leaned into the man and felt him stiffen.
“Sorry. I probably smell like a garbage dump,” Pierre apologised before he tried to move away.
“My name is Death, and yes, you do reek to high heavens. There’s no way you’re going to be able to make it to the bathroom on your own, so I’ll deal with the smell.”
Death forced him closer again, and Pierre found he didn’t have the strength to argue. Not that he wanted to anyway. The warmth radiating off Death called to Pierre at some deep, visceral level. All Pierre really wanted to do was snuggle close and soak up the man’s scent and realness.
Yet how did he know the man was real? How did he know anything happening to him was real? It could all be a long-term hallucination brought on by the bad heroin he’d got.
“Are you real? What kind of name is Death? Didn’t we meet before?” Pierre’s tongue ran with all the questions.
As they walked from the living room to the bathroom, Death didn’t say anything, and Pierre wondered if it was because he held his breath against the stench rolling off Pierre. If he had the energy, he’d be totally embarrassed, but he couldn’t bring himself to be mortified. He’d wait until he could think clearly for that particular emotion.
Pierre propped himself on the counter while Death got the water going. It was only when Death turned to stare at him that Pierre realised he was naked. He glanced down and winced.
“Where’d my clothes go,” he demanded.
“You weren’t wearing any when I arrived, and I didn’t have time to dress you. I’ll bring some of my clothes for you to wear.” Death motioned to the steaming bathtub. “Get in whenever you want. I imagine a bath would be easier for you than a shower. Less having to stand, and you’re not as likely to hurt yourself from falling or anything like that.”
“Okay.” He climbed into the tub cautiously, not wanting to slip or do anything to give Death another reason to be disgusted with him.
He settled in the hot water, cringing at the burning sensation as his skin started turning red. There was a bar of soap and a washcloth on the side of the tub, and he snatched them up. It was amazing Death hadn’t thrown him into the gutter or an alley when he’d found him like the rest of the trash.
Pierre glanced up from his scrubbing while Death returned to the bathroom, holding a few pieces of clothing. He watched as the other man set them on the counter next to the sink.
“They’ll probably be too big for you, but they’ll work for now. Eventually you’ll need to call the hotel, have them pack your stuff and send it here.” Death started to leave.
“Wait.” Pierre bit his lip as Death shot him a glance over his shoulder. Something about the man made Pierre hesitant to ask him any questions. “Where did you find me? Was I wandering the streets or something?”
Death braced his shoulder against the doorframe and tucked his hands in the pockets of his slacks, bringing Pierre’s attention to the intriguing bulge under Death’s zipper. Swallowing hard, Pierre jerked his gaze away as desire rushed through him. Unfortunately, the drugs kept him from getting a hard-on, or maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t show how attracted he was to his rescuer.
No way would a guy like Death want a whoring druggie like Pierre. It didn’t matter that Pierre came from a rich family and had somehow managed to make his way through university for a degree. For most people, all they saw were the track marks and hazy film over Pierre’s eyes. They chose to look at the way he flaunted his body for his john.
“I found you in your hotel room. You were dying from a bad batch of heroin, and I came to take you for judgement.” Death didn’t seem to notice Pierre’s flare of attraction.
“Judgement? Did I get in trouble with the law? To be honest, I don’t remember doing anything except going to my hotel room and calling my dealer.” Pierre ran the cloth over his arm. “I don’t remember leaving or breaking anything to make them call the police on me.”
“Not that kind of judgement,” Death interrupted him. “I’m Death, the Pale Rider, and I came to escort your soul to the gates to be judged worthy or unworthy.”
Pierre laughed and ended up in a coughing fit. Death made no move to help him as he struggled to breathe. When his throat opened, and he could fill his lungs, he collapsed against the back of the tub, eyes closed and hands draped over the edges. Pierre concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, and hoping his heart kept beating.
He’d forgotten Death was even in the room until a muffled curse brought his attention back to the other man. After opening his eyes, he saw Death had straightened and stood with his hands clenched as if he struggled to keep himself from rushing over to Pierre.
“What I was going to say before the coughing fit was I know how that would have ended. I haven’t been worthy for anything or anyone for a long time.” Pierre fished the cloth out of the hot liquid. He lathered it up with the soap before rubbing it over his chest.
“It’s not for you to say whether you are worthy or not. None of us really know how we will judged in the end.” Death pursed his lips and stared at the floor.
Pierre wanted to kiss those lips. Were they as hard as they looked or were they soft and gentle? Shaking his head, he came back to the conversation.
“Aren’t you afraid of being judged?” Pierre splashed in the water, enjoying the sensation of being clean.
Death grunted, and Pierre thought that was the only response he was going to get. He was surprised when Death moved over to the toilet and put the top down so he could sit. Pierre didn’t mind having someone in the bathroom with him. A few of the johns he’d had liked to watch him clean himself before sex. Something told him Death wasn’t like that. Oh, the man might be gay, but he didn’t strike Pierre as the type of guy who saw people as objects to be used. Actually, Pierre bet Death didn’t really think about people at all.
The grey-haired man struck Pierre as being a loner, wandering through the world without connections or relationships to tie him down. Much like Pierre was until he’d met Joseph and thought all his dreams were coming true. He should have known better. Dreams were for good people, not for wastes-of-spaces like him.
“I must have been judged because I’m doing this instead of spending eternity in Heaven or Hell.” Death’s vague wave encompassed more than just the room. It seemed to signal the entire world in a way.
“Okay. You said I was dying, and you came to take my soul to be judged. Your name is Death, right?”
Death nodded and rested his elbows on his knees, waiting for Pierre to work it out for himself. There was something familiar about those strange eyes, yet Pierre couldn’t remember where he’d seen them before. All he knew it wasn’t Death he’d seen.
“Are you saying you’re one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?” Pierre chuckled. “You must have gotten into my stash if you believe that.”
Death tilted his head, studying Pierre with an intense expression. “Do I look like someone who would use drugs to dull my life?”
Pierre dropped his gaze to stare intently at the track marks on his left arm. “No.”
Of course, there was no way of knowing who needed help to get through the days of their lives. It wasn’t like people wore neon signs alerting others to their drug use. Pierre had run across some perfectly normal men and women who were the biggest druggies in the world, but no one would ever know.
He peered through his lashes at Death and accepted the fact Death definitely didn’t have the personality for addiction. No, Death seemed more like the kind of person who bulled his way through life and didn’t allow weaknesses to overcome his determination.
“Did you ever love anyone so much you would have done anything for them?” Pierre wanted to slap his hand over his mouth because he’d never meant to ask that question. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I have no right to know.”
The glance Death gave him stripped Pierre down to his deepest darkest soul and left him bare. Pierre didn’t know what Death saw there, or even if the man saw anything at all. At times Pierre thought he was empty inside.
“I’ve loved one man in my entire existence. I didn’t realise how much until it was too late. Maybe if I had been given the option, I would have given my life for him.” Death surged to his feet. “Call me when you are finished, and I’ll help you out of the tub. I’m going to put some dinner together. I’m sure you’re starving by now.”
“Yes, sir.” Pierre ducked his head.
Well, the conversation went as well as could be expected. Pierre still wasn’t sure he believed Death about being a Horseman and taking Pierre’s soul to judgement. At the moment, it didn’t matter. He could function, even with need gnawing at his very marrow.
Pierre finished cleaning off, washed his hair and drained the tub. He didn’t bother calling for Death to help him. He was a big enough burden as it was. It wasn’t like he hadn’t cleaned himself up after binging before, and while it might take him a little longer, he wanted to get dressed without Death glaring at him.
His entire body trembled while he tied the drawstring on the sweat pants Death had left him. Pierre took a step, and it was like Death was clairvoyant. The man appeared just as Pierre’s strength gave out and he collapsed to the floor.
“Idiot,” Death muttered when he swept Pierre into his arms and carried him out to the dining room. He placed Pierre in a chair, stepped back and stared at him. “Is your brain still messed up? What part of ‘call me when you’re done’ didn’t you understand?”
Pierre fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt. “I didn’t want to bother you anymore than I already have.”
Death ghosted his hand over Pierre’s wet hair before turning away. “It’s too late for that. I’ll bring you some food. Oh, and when the need gets to be too much, tell me. I want to see how long you can go before you absolutely need another hit.”
“You have more?” Pierre started to surge to his feet, about to go after Death and beg for the stuff.
A quick glance from Death froze Pierre where he crouched, half out of the chair. The cold touch of those black eyes sent a shiver down his spine, and Pierre dropped back into his seat, not willing to risk what might happen if he laid a hand on Death.
“Yes, I do, and no, you can’t have it until I’m willing to give it to you. We’re going to wean you off the shit before you really do end up killing yourself. You might not think you have anything to live for, but I’m betting there’s more out there than you’ve ever imagined.”
Pierre rolled his eyes. “I didn’t take you as a pep-talk person.”
Death snorted. “Not usually, but maybe I’m getting soft in my old age.”
“Dude, you can only be a few years older than me, so that doesn’t make you ready for the old folks’ home.” Pierre fidgeted with the hem of his shirt again.
“You have no idea how old I am, or how many times I’ve seen people like you destroy themselves for no reason, except life didn’t go their way.” Death disappeared into what Pierre assumed was the kitchen, given the mouth-watering smells emanating from it.
Pierre glanced around the room. Death wouldn’t hide the drugs in obvious places. More than likely he’d hidden them in his bedroom, figuring Pierre would never go in there. Pierre settled into his chair with a smirk. As long as the prize was heroin at the end, he could out wait the man. Death had to leave the apartment at some time, so Pierre would search through his stuff then.
“Here’s your dinner.”
Death strolled into the dining room carrying a tray filled with steaming food. Pierre’s eyes widened at the sight.
“I can’t eat all of that,” he protested with a shake of his head.
“Eat what you can. I don’t think you’ve eaten for several days. I’m surprised you’re even able to move or anything.”
Pierre shrugged. “I’m tougher than I look.”
Death set the plates in front of Pierre before taking a seat across the table from him. Pierre picked up a fork and glared at his shaking hand. He tried to scoop some of the food up but couldn’t get it. His hand shook badly, and it was almost like it wasn’t obeying him, no matter how hard he concentrated.
In frustration, he tossed the fork down and fought the urge to scream. Death studied him with a frown.
“I think you might need to be checked out by a doctor. I should have taken you to one when I removed you from the hotel room. You’d already had a bad trip with the tainted heroin.”
Before Pierre could protest, Death stood, walked around the table and swept him up in his arms. As much as Pierre wanted to convince Death he didn’t need to see a doctor, his energy drained out, and he rested his head on Death’s chest.
The dull ache of need presented itself when he wasn’t thinking about other things, but he’d felt worse during his rehab time. A thought hit him when Death shouldered his way out onto the roof.
“Why don’t you see if the doctor can make house calls? I’ll be fine if you have to run out and get him.”
He blinked innocently while Death looked down at him.
“I’m not stupid. You think you can find the drugs if I leave, but I want you to know I’ve hidden it all some place you’ll never be able to find it.”
Death whistled, and a grey horse materialised out of the shadows. Pierre jerked in surprise.
“I thought I imagined it during my trip, but he did come out of nowhere.” Pierre glanced up at Death’s chin. “Am I really awake? Maybe this is all a dream and I’m in a coma somewhere.”
“It’s possible,” Death muttered while they approached the horse.
Pierre squeaked when Death set him on top of the stallion, and before he could slide off, Death swung up behind him. Death wrapped his arms around Pierre’s waist, pulling him back against Death’s broad chest. A bunch of arguments rose in Pierre’s throat, but he couldn’t find the strength to speak them.
“Where are we going?” Not that he had any way of stopping Death from taking him anywhere.
“We’re going to see a doctor. He’ll let me know if there’s anything seriously wrong with you, and whether I should take you to a hospital.”