The Four Horsemen 4 - Death (6 page)

Pierre didn’t have a problem going to a hospital because the moment Death left, he’d check himself out and go to a different hotel. More than likely, he’d call up his dealer and get more shit delivered wherever he ended up.
He gasped when the horse leapt off the edge of the roof, and he stiffened, waiting to plummet to the street. Instead a bright light blinded him, and he lost all feeling in his body. Maybe he had imagined all of it. Maybe he really was dead, and now he would be finding out what was out there after death.
A jolt rocked through Pierre, and a gentle breeze caressed his skin, so they must have arrived at wherever they had been going.
“What the hell are you doing here? I thought we were never going to see each other again. And why am I the one everyone comes to visit?” An accented voice filled his ears.
Pierre groaned while feeling returned to his body and pain rocketed through every nerve ending. He tried to curl into a ball, but something held him in place. Struggling, he fought against his restraints.
“Stay still. We can’t have you hurting yourself before we even know what’s wrong with you.”
It was the strange voice that spoke to him. Pierre swallowed, trying to make his tongue work, or at least get the words he wanted to say out.
“Come on. You have to open your eyes.”
The authority in the voice forced Pierre to do as he was ordered. He opened his eyes and stared up into the serious gaze of another handsome man.
“There you go. Now, my name is Aldo, and I’ll be examining you. Of course, you have to understand I’m not a practicing medical doctor. I tend to deal with infectious diseases, but my friend here seems to believe I can help you.”
“The only real help he needs is to stop being an addict. I just want to make sure nothing’s wrong from the overdose he had earlier today. He got some bad drugs, and I need to know if it’s messed up his mind or whatever.”
Pierre rolled his head to one side. Death stood in the corner, arms folded, a disgruntled expression on his face. Turning back to Aldo, Pierre tried to smile, sure it was probably more like a grimace.
“Where am I now? This doesn’t look like a hospital or a rehab centre,” he pointed out.
Aldo smiled. “You’re in Tuscany, where my partner and I have a home. We usually live in America, but we’re on vacation. Given the fact I haven’t seen Death for several months, I’m surprised he knew where I’d be.”
Death grunted. “Just because you’re no longer a Horseman, doesn’t mean I don’t keep track of you.”
“Wait a minute.”
Another voice joined in, and Pierre managed to tilt his head enough to see another man standing in the doorway, holding a black bag in his hand. The newcomer was blond and younger than Aldo.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to have anything to do with the others once they return to be mortals. Also, does he know what you are?” The blond nodded in Pierre’s direction.
“Thanks for bringing my bag, Bart.” Aldo held out his hand to take the bag from Bart.
“Of course he knows what I am. Whether he believes me or not is another story. More than likely, he still thinks this is all brought on by the drugs.” Death shrugged. “I don’t know and really don’t care.”
“But isn’t it against the rules or something for you to reveal yourself to any mortal?” Bart gestured between Death and Pierre.
“What are they going to do to me? Punish me? Remove me from my position?” Death dropped his gaze to the floor. “They’re welcome to do that. It’s not like I love my job so much I can’t imagine not doing it. Personally, I’d rather find out which gate I’m going to walk through, instead of this annoying version of limbo.”
“You used to be a Horseman?” Pierre asked Aldo as the man set the bag on the table next to him and opened it.
“Yes. I used to be Pestilence. I figure I can tell you that because Death’s already spilled everything.” Aldo pulled out a stethoscope and tugged the blanket down from Pierre’s chest.
“Shit. When did I get naked again?” Pierre glanced at Aldo and Bart. “Why did I bother to even get dressed?”
He started to yank the sheet back up, but Aldo shook his head. Pierre looked at his hands and saw they were shaking again. He fought to clench them, but he couldn’t get them to obey his commands. Looking up, he met Aldo’s concerned gaze.
“How long has that been going on?”
“For a couple of months, but it’s never been this bad. I’ve never lost feeling or strength before. Does this have anything to do with the bad shit I got this week?” Pierre bit his lip, not wanting to say anything more. He had the impending feeling of regret.
Why hadn’t he just left Paris once he’d realised his lover wasn’t going to show? Why hadn’t he headed home and called his therapist? Instead, he’d allowed his impulses to take control again and drag him back into the depths of addiction. Why couldn’t he be addicted to exercise or shoes? Why did he have to crave something that could kill him?
Aldo examined him without asking any more questions or answering Pierre’s. It was like he wanted to check everything out, cover all his bases, before he made any sort of guess as to what was wrong with Pierre.

Death watched while Aldo examined Pierre. He asked himself why he’d brought Pierre to Aldo. It wasn’t just because Aldo was a doctor and it could keep Pierre out of the hospital. Maybe it was because he didn’t have any other friends. Even though he lived in one of the busiest cities in the world, Death didn’t know anyone there. Not even the tenants in his building.

He’d got remotely close to the other three Horsemen. Yet those men were living a mortal life again with their lovers, and he was left behind to continue being the one Horseman all mortals feared. Death had always said their fear didn’t bother him. While saying out loud how much he didn’t care was easy, it was more difficult for him to admit, even to himself, he did mind.

As Aldo, Bart and Pierre chatted amongst themselves, Death stared at the tiles under his feet. How many times throughout his life had he been thought of as cold and uncaring? When he was mortal, no one thought he cared about anyone except his sister, and even then he’d never really shown how much he’d loved her. Well, shooting a man because he’d raped her had to prove the lengths he would go to in protecting her.

Emilia had never questioned her place in his heart. She’d given him trouble and, at times, pushed every button he had. Yet she was the one he’d talked to when he’d learned of Oliver’s death. The one who held him as he’d cried that night, yet in the morning, he’d forbidden her to speak of Oliver ever again.

I still don’t understand why you refused to have my name spoken in your presence. No one except Emilia knew who I was.
He refused to answer. No point in making Aldo or Bart think he was crazy. A pair of bare feet came into his vision, and he glanced up to see Bart standing in front of him.
“Aldo wants to talk to Pierre alone, so I’m going to take you to the veranda and pour you some wine.” Bart took hold of Death’s arm and started to lead him from the room.
Death turned and gazed at Pierre. “Are you okay with this?”
Pierre raised a thin shoulder in a slight shrug. “Do I have much choice? If I’m really in Tuscany, without having a clue how the hell I got here, I can’t get back to Paris without money. I’m kind of at your mercy.”
“You’re not.” Aldo glanced at Death, who nodded. “If you truly wanted to leave, we could get you back to Paris, but I think you want to know what’s wrong with you before you return.”
Pierre rolled his eyes. “Sure. Whatever. You can go have a drink while the doc here plumbs the depths of my neurotic brain.”
“If you need me, call out and I’ll come get you.”
Death allowed Bart to lead him from the room onto the veranda. He took a seat, stretching his legs in front of him. Bart poured him a glass of wine and handed it to him before taking the seat next to him. Death sipped and nodded as the wine danced on his tongue.
“This is good wine, Bart.”
Bart waved in the general direction of the grape vines running in straight rows out from the backyard. “They know how to make good spirits here. It’s a local wine.”
He hummed slightly as he sipped again. He let the alcohol soothe him, even though it wouldn’t have any real effect on him. Bart didn’t say anything at first. They just stayed silent, letting the night sounds ease them.
“Why did you save him, Death? What is it about this man that caused you to break the rules?”
He should have known that Bart wouldn’t leave it alone. Death turned the glass in his hand, watching the dark wine slosh from side to side. Should he talk to the man? It wasn’t like they considered each other friends or anything. Hell, he hadn’t seen either of them since Aldo became mortal again.
“Pierre reminded me of someone I knew when I was mortal. I couldn’t save my friend, but maybe I can save Pierre.” Death dipped his head, not wanting to meet Bart’s gaze. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Bart snorted. “You don’t want to talk about it, but I think you need to. Whoever your friend was, he must have meant something more for you to risk getting in trouble with the powers. We don’t know what they could do to you for not letting him die and revealing yourself to him.”
Death dismissed Bart’s worries with a wave. “I have a way to ensure he doesn’t remember anything about this entire adventure. The only thing I want for him is to be sober and strong enough to fight his addiction. My friend’s death doesn’t have any more to do with this than me wanting to be there for someone.”
“I didn’t get a chance to hang out with you and talk, so there’s a lot about you I don’t know. Yet I’m pretty sure you’ve never wanted to be there for anyone, especially after you became a Horseman.” Bart poked Death in the arm.
When he looked over at the mortal, he nodded and held out his glass. Bart poured more wine into it.
“You don’t know me, Bart, and that’s the way I want it. I don’t want to be friends with you or Aldo. All I’m asking is Aldo check Pierre out. If there are serious problems, I’ll take Pierre to the hospital. The only trouble with that is, Pierre will check himself out as soon as I turn my back, and buy some heroin.”
“What makes you think, once you get Pierre clean, he won’t just fall off the wagon at the first sign of trouble? It happens, and to be honest, I’m not sure Pierre is interested in getting clean. He strikes me as a man who has a lot of problems.”
Death sighed. “Maybe if we give him better coping skills, he’ll stay away from the stuff.”
“Did your friend die from a drug overdose? Did they have drug overdoses when you were human?”
“Very funny. As long as there have been humans, there have probably been overdoses of some kind or other.” Death grimaced. “And no, my friend didn’t die of an overdose. He more than likely died of a broken heart.”
Death noticed Bart leaning forward to hear the last part as he muttered it. Christ, he really didn’t want Bart wondering about Oliver or the reasons why Death was the Pale Rider. He didn’t plan on confessing any of his sins to the mortal. Death’s life wasn’t any of Bart’s business.
“A broken heart? There’s a story there, I’m sure.”
“Not one you’re ever going to hear,” Death stated when he pushed to his feet. “I’m going to check on Pierre and Aldo. Make sure they aren’t getting in trouble with things.”
“You’ll have to spill your guts at some point, Death. It won’t matter who you tell. It’s the only way you’ll ever be free of being a Horseman,” Bart pointed out while he followed Death back into the house.
“What makes you think I want to be free? How do you know I don’t love this job?”
Bart burst out laughing. Death glanced back to see the mortal bent in the hallway, arms wrapped around his stomach, laughing hysterically. Death leant against the wall, his arms folded, and shrugged as Aldo came out to see what the noise was.
“I think your lover finally went over the edge, Aldo. You might want to consider getting him help.” Death pushed past the other man into the room.
Pierre sat up on the table, his legs dangling, and his hands braced on either side like he was holding himself up by sheer force of will. His skin was grey under the hint of a light tan, and his auburn hair was soaked with sweat. Pierre bit his lip as he looked up at Death through his eyelashes.
“The need is getting bad, isn’t it?” Death guessed while he moved closer.
Pierre lifted his shaking hand to brush some of his hair off his forehead. “I’ve felt worse.”
Aldo snorted when he returned. “I’m sure he has. Okay. I’ve already told Pierre this, but I figured you probably want to know as well. I couldn’t find anything that would have a lasting effect on Pierre from the bad stuff he got. The shaking in his hands and the weakness he’s feeling is more than likely from coming down from his last high.”
Death nodded, grinding his teeth together while Aldo helped Pierre get dressed. Why did he want to tear Aldo’s hands off? Was it because he touched Pierre? Death didn’t understand where the possessiveness came from. It wasn’t like he planned on seducing Pierre at some point.
He barely suppressed his shudder. No way did he want the skinny man in his bed, not with how he reeked. Even under the freshly showered scent, Death could smell the stench of sweat, fear, and death. Pierre was rotting from the inside as the drugs raced through his bloodstream. He didn’t think he could look past the lingering aura of self-loathing hanging around Pierre.
“Are you ready to take him back to Paris?”
Death blinked and came back to the room when he met Aldo’s gaze. He nodded and reached out to pick Pierre up in his arms.
“I can walk out to wherever you parked your horse,” Pierre quipped, obviously willing to overlook the way he couldn’t even hold his head up.
“I don’t park my horse anywhere. He comes and goes as he pleases,” Death mumbled, ignoring the inquisitive glances Aldo and Bart shared.
“Are we going back to Paris? To your place?” Pierre laid his hand on Death’s chest, and Death tried to forget how it felt to have someone touch him.
Oliver had done that when they lay in each other’s arms. He’d rested his hand over the exact same spot and commented on how much he loved feeling the beat of Death’s heart. Little had the poor boy known Death didn’t have a heart, and he would die cursing the man’s name.
I didn’t curse your name when I died. I did call for you, though.
“Thanks for adding to the guilt,” Death whispered under his breath when they walked out onto the veranda where Death’s horse waited for them.
Pierre rocked his head to the side, giving him a better angle to gaze up at Death. “Who are you talking to?”
“No one, just the voices in my head.”
Pierre nodded like he completely understood what Death was talking about. And maybe the man did. No one really knew what happened inside his own head during his trips.
“Sometimes they’re the most annoying voices you’ll hear all day,” Pierre commented. “I’m constantly yelling at mine to shut the fuck up.”
“Oh, really? Well, I’ll remember that.”
Aldo took Pierre from Death so he could mount, but the doctor stopped him.
“What are you going to do with him?”
“I’m taking him back to my place in Paris, then when the hunger gets so bad, he’s clawing at his skin to make the pain stop, I’m going to let him have some more. Not as much as his last hit, but not so little his body goes into shock.” Death stared at Pierre for a moment before glancing back at Aldo. “His body isn’t strong enough for him to quit cold turkey, Aldo. It’s not like I want to be his drug dealer or anything like that.”
Aldo frowned. “Where did you get the drugs? I assume heroin is his preferred poison.”
There was no way Death would mention Day bringing him the stuff. He didn’t want to be involved in the whole convoluted relationship between Day and Lam. He knew Aldo would pitch a fit if he found out Day had any kind of fingers in this problem.
“I know people,” he hedged and climbed astride his horse. He held out his arms for Pierre. “Let me have him. He’s going to need another hit when we get back. You’re positive there’s nothing permanently wrong with him that I should take him to a hospital to deal with?”
Aldo nodded and frowned as he stepped away. “I can’t be a hundred per cent sure since I don’t have any equipment here, but I’d say he should be fine once he’s off the drugs.”
“I’m going to do my best to get him sober,” Death vowed.
“Then what? Are you going to dump him somewhere without anyone to support him? He needs a support system in place to help him when the craving hits.” Bart encircled Aldo’s waist with his arm and settled beside Aldo like he belonged there.
Which Bart did, Death admitted to himself. Somehow fate or whatever people wanted to call the higher power had done its job and picked the right person for each of the former Horsemen. Death doubted there was a person in the world who would fit him and his wants. Hell, the last time he thought he’d found the right person, he hadn’t been there when Oliver died.
No one had been there when Death died either, so it was fitting they’d both died alone. Only Oliver didn’t deserve to die that way. Death shook his head. He couldn’t keep dwelling on those thoughts. It didn’t pay to relive his past, especially when he couldn’t fix it.
“I’ll do my best to make sure he’ll have friends who won’t lead him astray. Unfortunately, Pierre has money, and that doesn’t always lend itself to having friends you can trust.”
Death tucked Pierre against his chest and nodded at Aldo.
“Thank you for doing what you could. I’m sorry to have bothered you while you’re on vacation.”
Aldo hugged Bart closer and smiled. “Anytime, Death. You know I won’t turn you away after all you did for us.”
Death held up a hand before nudging his stallion with his heels. The stallion snorted but took off in a trot. They wound their way through the rows of grape vines until they reached a flat area where the horse could gain a little speed before it leapt into the air. A flash of light and a boom of thunder echoed around the countryside, and Death disappeared into the darkness.