Death Takes Jericho

Jericho woke disoriented, in a room of starkest white. Curiously she peered up from the white cot on which she lay. The walls, floor and ceiling were all pure and spotless. The room's perfection wasn't marred by even a door. Absently, she wondered where her dingy apartment was. It's probably a dream, she thought. The notion was reassuring, and Jericho stood and stretched. She wasn't surprised to notice she wore a snowy, vaguely Victorian sleeping gown to match the décor of her dream. The silky fabric felt rich and luxurious against her skin, surely nicer than anything she had at home. It was flowing and free, and felt nice to wear.

It wasn't a doorway that appeared as much as an absence of light. A figure stepped forward from the abyssal plain. He is tall, Jericho thought absently. The figure was cloaked all in ebon black, and a heavy hood covered its face. He carried a highly polished, but seemingly well-used scythe in his left hand. The gap in the wall closed back into snowy perfection once again.

"Hello Jericho," the creature said, bowing its head in formal greeting.

"Hi," was all she said, impressed that her imagination was this vivid. It seemed almost to be real.

"Jericho, do you know who I am? Have you any idea where you are?" He asked his voice cordial and diplomatic.

"Of course. You are death, that's obvious. Halloween was only two weeks ago and at least half a dozen children dressed in the very same costume. And, obviously, I am dreaming," she said confidently, as if there was no doubt.

"Hmm," mused Death. "Yes, there is always resistance at first," he sighed. "Listen Jeri, may I call you Jeri? I need not be formal, it may make things easier." Jericho nodded absentmindedly. "Good, now Jeri, you are dead. Do you understand?" he asked.

"No," Jeri said, toying with the fabric of her dress, finding the gauzy, silky texture soothing. "I'm not dead, not that it really matters," she said.

"Oh?" death piped in slightly intrigued. "Why wouldn't it matter? Wasn't your life good, and full, surely you have no regrets…"

"Oh no, no regrets," she affirmed, "at least, not really." Jericho thought of her thankless job as a library assistant, and the dirty, small apartment she could barely afford, and her small, and boring life. "My life is normal, if a little lonely, but I can't complain. I'm healthy, and books keep company as well as people, I guess." Her lips curved slightly into a sad smile.

Death's gaze pored over the girl before him. She looks so cheerless, he thought. Very beautiful, though, like a wilting rose in a cracked porcelain vase. Dark hair, held up in a bun with wisps framing a small face with large dark eyes hidden behind spectacles. There is beauty here, indeed, if only veiled. The surprise was in the girl's acceptance, or if not acceptance, lack of fear.

"Is dying scary?" Jericho asked. Death's hood kept her from seeing his smile.

"No, child, death is just unbeing. There is no heaven, no hell, those are man-made institutions. You just cease to exist, it doesn't hurt. It may be a little cold for a moment, but then you feel nothing.

"Nothing…How nice, oblivion," Jericho smiled again her sad, weary smile. She looked like a girl, surely, but her eyes shown with age, and great sorrow. "This is well and good, Mr. Death, but this dream has to end soon, I'm due at the library at seven, Ms. McCormick will be very angry if I am late and don't organize the periodicals before she arrives."

Death sighed again. "Let me show you something Jeri, maybe you will believe me." He snapped his fingers, making a crisp sound despite heavy leather gloves. The lights dimmed in the room, and on the far white wall a movie was projected.

"That's me!" Jericho gasped in recognition! They both watched as the Jericho in the movie brushed her teeth in a grubby bathroom closet, and walk to her narrow bed, said a hushed prayer, climbed under threadbare blankets, and flicked off her bedside light. "That was last night! Where did you get this? What's going on?" A slight tone of panic began to creep into Jeri's voice.

"Be silent, Jericho, watch," Death admonished. The movie then focused on another diminutive, filthy apartment much like Jeri's. The camera seemed to sweep the shabby living quarters and panned on an actor sprawled on an old, sagging couch. Only, it wasn't an actor.

"That's Ms. Jenkins, my neighbor! How did you get in her apartment?" Death did not reply, he continued to watch the projected movie. The old woman in a ratty robe lay dozing on her couch in front of an ancient black and white television, a blazing cigarette held loosely betwixt her fingers. Jericho watched with dawning horror as the cigarette fell from her grasp onto a pile of ancient and faded T.V. Guides.

Death again snapped his fingers and the film fast-forwarded to a scene of an apartment building caught in flames. Another shot taken in Jericho's room, smoke filled, and the angelic face of Jericho pale in slumber. "I will spare you the gruesome footage of your death, I do not want to disturb you. You didn't suffer, you didn't even wake up. Others were not so lucky; I have to deal with them soon after you. But first we must get you situated."

"Why?" Jericho asked, her voice breaking, and a solitary tear leaked from her eye, wetting her lashes.

"Why not, Jeri? 'Death Be Not Proud' I'm sure you've heard the poem." Death was pleased to urge a small smile from the poor girl. Before approaching her he had read on her track record, just another hard luck case. She wasn't a bad person, by no means, but life was never fair, and often enough the good ones got the short end of the stick.

"So, what happens now?" Jeri asked, wiping the tear away with her hand. If this was really happening she might as well be brave, she thought.

"Well, there is the paperwork, and some forms you will need to sign, to make it legal. You're just stating that you accept your demise, and you're not going to sue Death Inc. Believe me, with no paperwork, we'd have lawsuits until kingdom come. So many people don't want to die." Death chuckled abruptly.

"What happens if I don't sign anything?" Jericho asked, a hint of shrewdness entering her voice.

"No Jeri, you don't want to do that. That's a very, very bad choice to make. Instead of being unmade, you'd retain your soul, but it would become corrupted. You would become what we call ghosts; you would wander the earth in misery. It's wearying, and distressing, it's definitely not what you want. Although, it is your choice.

"But…. but," Jericho stammered, her eyes brimming with tears. "There are so many things I haven't done, so many books I haven't read! Oh this is terrible!" Jeri sniffled, and tears spilled down her face as she wept quietly. Oddly enough, Death was touched. He went to Jeri and put his arms carefully around the mortal.

"Hush now, my girl, it will be alright. Shhh, shhh, don't worry, it will be okay, I promise. There will be no harm, I will not hurt you." With gloved hand Death stroked Jeri's head and soothed her gently. She clung to him, her small body wracked with sobs that shook her and rocked her body against him.

"But there are so many things undone…so many, I had never even a first kiss, no chance at love, or a family of my own, oh this is terrible…" Jeri leaned her forehead against the chest of death, and valiantly swabbed her eyes free of all tears. "Okay then, Mr. Death, we might as well get this over with, no use prolonging the inevitable." Jeri straightened, ever the brave soldier.

"Do you tell the truth, Jeri? Are you truly pure? Not even a kiss?" Death asked, disbelief plain in his voice. "A girl as exquisite as you? I find that very hard to believe, especially in this day in age! Surely you are pulling old Death's leg."

Jericho shook her head. "Always too busy with school, and then work, and boys never went for me much anyway, they copied homework, but never paid much attention to me. It was always the cheerleaders, or Abby Karcher in eleventh grade who put out to nearly every guy in the graduating class…"Despite her pass at a joke, the heartbreaking sorrow so naked in Jericho's voice proved to death, that she spoke true. The immortal's heart was touched.

"Such delicate lips should not be wasted…could I have the pleasure?" Death cleared his throat, "It would cross one "to-do" item off your list, for what it's worth," he offered. "It cannot change things, but if it would bring small happiness to such a radiant flower, can I not oblige?" Death shrugged.

"I suppose it would quell some of my misery, a small part. But, Mr. Death, is it against the rules to…" Jericho looked slightly sheepish, the apples of her cheeks reddening lightly. "You know… 'Fraternize' with the clientele?"

"Jeri, I'm death, I own the company. I make the rules." Death had to smile, the girl wanting to follow rules, even when doomed to dissolution. "Turn away for moment, Jeri, so I can remove my hood." Jeri's eyes got large with fear. "No, Jeri, not a skeleton, you touched me, I am flesh. Now turn." Jeri did as she was bid. She faced the wall over the cot in which she woke; she fidgeted nervously with the hem of her gown. "You can turn back around now, Jeri, all is as it should be."

Jericho gasped at the transformation. With the cloak's hood thrown back, Death was a normal looking man. He was pale, with high cheekbones. A mortal man would look sickly, being as pale as Death, but the immortal pulled it off, looking both handsome and strong, as well as sensitive, and delicately beautiful with his lily-white skin. Away from his face fell long dark chestnut hair, glossy and clean, drawn back into a knot. He was peering at her from warm, unfathomable eyes of deep sepia. At her blatant shock Death smiled, showing white, even teeth.

"I am not a horror, no. The hood is for effect, merely. Jeri, you are fortunate, not many see me unmasked, I do this not just for anyone." Death stepped closer to Jeri, their bodies almost touching. She lowered her head, not able to meet his eyes. Gently Death took her face in both his hands, cupped between leather-clad gloves, and tipped her face so their eyes met. "You are the first mortal I have kissed in more then a century, Jericho, you are lucky. The last was a viper of a woman, thought to buy her freedom with her body. No Jeri, it does not work that way, you are dead, and this is only a gift I bestow upon you." Death dipped his head and closed the gap between them, placing his lips mildly upon hers.

Surprisingly Death's lips were warm, and firm, but yet ever so gentle. His kiss was tender and sweet, and he seemed so feather-light with his touch that Jericho wondered if Death was afraid to harm her. She found herself lost in the very touch, tears leaked silently from her eyes. Tentatively she placed her hand on Death's neck, pulling herself closer to him. Their kiss grew impassioned, and with care the Lord of Fatality parted Jericho's lips with his tongue. Death explored the warm cavern her mouth, making sparks contract in her lower belly. Jericho felt completely safe, and leaned up, into the kiss, her mouth ambitiously closing on his.

After an incalculable amount of time, Death pulled away. They were both breathless and could only look at each other with wonder. "My lady, you have been kissed by Death." His face was solemn, but there was a twinkle in his nut-brown eyes.

Jericho touched the pads of her index and middle finger to her lips, and pressed them to Death's. "That was an experience to end life with. In fact, you could say, it was to die for." Jeri laughed softly, touching her hand to Death's cheek. Death clasped his own covered hand to hers relishing the feel of her skin on his. "Death, can I remove your gloves? Please, I mean, I would like, if it were no trouble, to feel your hands on my skin, to hold them. I mean no disrespect, I just..." Jericho looked down shyly.

"Jericho, my hands are not for mortal's touch, they would chill you. Even my kiss has stolen from you, precious warmth." Death shook his head.

"But, why does it matter? My life is over anyway…" Jericho tugged at the fingers of Death's glove, removing it, and tossing it aside. His hand was pale, his nails cleanly trimmed, it looked like any other hand. Timidly she kissed the palm of his hand, it felt warm and smooth, perhaps Death was mistaken.

"You are precious, my child, so full of wonder and grace." Death brushed a strand of hair behind Jericho's ear, and rested his hand naked on her face. Jeri sighed contentedly and leaned into Death's touch. Death freed his other hand from the leather glove and reached to the back of Jeri's head, releasing her hair from it's bun, leaving the wavy tresses to cascade against her back. He ran a trembling hand through the dark cloud of hair. "So beautiful, so very beautiful" he murmured appreciatively. Death placed a kiss upon Jeri's forehead.

"I have forgotten how potent a mortal woman's touch can be, especially the pure…Lady, you beguile me. I have sent billions to unbeing, but your radiance shadows the memory of so many, and already you grow pale from my touch."

"I…I don't want to die." Jericho said, breaking the embrace. "You must understand, I was raised Christian, I always thought of life after, I do not want my existence to end, I cannot even bear to think of it, it's terrible! I…I want to stay with you."

"I cannot give you back your life, sweet lady. Believe me Jericho." Death reached to take her hand. "You are special. No one may have ever told you, but I am immortal, I have wisdom beyond ages, and I know you are exceptional of heart. The world has darkened to lose you. But there is no place for you here. There are rules that must be followed, even if it sorrows me." Death delicately kissed Jeri on her Cupid's bow lips.

"You are kind, Death, very kind to me. I believe you; I know you have your job. But still the thought of perishing terrifies my completely." Jericho tried to bury her face in his chest, struggling to get as close to him as possible.

"This is a way, fair one, to immortalize you. It would take a sacrifice, Jericho. It is for you to decide. It is not immortality in the way you would think, but you would not perish, I swear." Death offered.

"A sacrifice, Death? What more can I sacrifice then my body, my soul?" she asked, muffled into the folds of his cloak.

"You are pure, your soul chaste, you would have to taint yourself with Death. You would have to give yourself to me," he said. Jericho shrank back slightly, surprised at the cost. Conflict flittered across her face.

"Will…will it hurt?" she asked cautiously, biting her lower lip.

"A little, perhaps, but I would make it as painless as I can, and perhaps allow you pleasure as well. It is a hard choice to make, you have to decide for yourself the road you choose to travel. Let me only say I would be blessed, and honored to receive your virtue." "And I will not expire? You promise to me?" Jericho's eyes were trusting, but broken, as if any promises had already been destroyed to her.

"By my word I am bound, Jericho." Death bowed formally to her, as if to seal the deal. Jeri nodded thoughtfully.

"I accept then, Death. I am yours, to your will." The cold realization, and of acceptance swept over her, but she fought it, and stood proud, without crying. Death had to admire her, a hidden violet in the rocky crevice, so strong in the face of adversity…if this could be considered adversity. "So…what happens next?" Jericho inquired nervously.

Wordlessly, Death's lips closed on hers, shocking and delightful. His hands fell to her shoulders, rubbing them gently, enjoying the feel of Jeri's skin on hands too used to the neutral touch of gloves.

Jericho gasped into Death's mouth with the contact. No one had ever touched her so…so…possessively, with such power, but also, so tenderly. Her knees felt weak, her head light. She steadied herself with a hand on Death's chest, surprised at how broad and strong it felt, even under the thick cloth of his cloak. Breaking the kiss Jericho took a step away from him.

"Is this…right?" she asked. Her hair was slightly mussed from Death running his hands through it, and her diaphanous gown gave her a wild look, except for Jeri's eyes. They were filled with sorrow, and slightly worried. She bit at her lower lip in thought.

"Right, Jeri?" Death inquired. "What is right? What does right mean? You are a breathtaking creature, but you also have a clever mind. Who is here to judge you? Only me, Death, and there is no dishonor in that. I am the end gatekeeper; there is nothing I haven't seen. Humanity as a whole should be ashamed. I can see your heart, Jeri, as I see the hearts of all I unmake. You are unusual in the way that your heart is unscratched. There is no mark of deception, or malice. You are unique. So, is this right? Surely there can be no harm; I could not bear to wound you. But, Jericho, you must decide. Your discomfort would spoil any magic produced, and mayhaps a worse fate could occur."

"Worse, Death? Worse than Death?" Jericho blinked, and then smiled, a brilliant bloom that lit her face. "A fate worse than Death, after death?"

"As striking your smile is to me, this is no matter to be so brazen about." Death turned away so that only his profile showed. "There is something worse than being unmade, worse even then being condemned to walk the earth as an eternal spirit. It is too terrible to even mention. To speak it would chill your very heart with terror, and never would I wish it for you. Just trust me that it is not fate ever to be chosen. There must be no uncertainty in your action. Jeri, you must be brave during all. There may be moment in which you may take fright, but you must remain fearless and steadfast. If you cannot take this route, I think no less of you. Remember, you must want this with your whole heart, no less. I will let you think on this before your decision must be made." And with a grand gesture of his hands, Death glided to the far side of the room.

Peculiarly, Jericho felt care for the strange creature called Death. Creature? Wasn't he just a man? she asked herself. She glanced at his tall frame, so much bigger then her own height. His eyes were muddy pools of sorrow; watching her impassively. They were eyes very much like her own, only a few shades lighter. Looking at him so closely, so intimately, made thinking more difficult. Thoughts were replaced by urges. These urges were not completely understood by her, but gathering to create warmth in Jeri's lower belly. Although strange, she didn't find this feeling unpleasant, only the inability to get her mind straight.

Turning her back on her watcher made Jeri's mind clear, but there was an element of loss as well. At least I can consider this properly, she thought. Jericho was wrought. She had held her virginity dear, as the one thing she prized that only she could give. There was much pride in it, she thought. There was a brief memory of a boy, blonde with a turned up nose speaking harshly to Jeri because she refused to "make it" with him. Another flash of image, her mother warning her to not get a reputation for herself. A last, and very painful memory urged itself into her mind's eye. It was her old library, dimly lit in its after hours. Jericho and a handsome man sat at a table crawling with books. She was looking surprised as the man held for her a small velvet box with a ring inside. The man seemed to be pleading with her, but Jericho stood, eyes streaming, shaking her head, and left the man, the box, and the ring sitting in the near dark. Had she chosen, these years to be alone? Jericho asked herself. Had she saved herself, for herself only? She felt foolish, and struck with desperate loneliness tear began to caress the sides of her face.

"Why do you cry, my angel?" The close whisper of Death flittered into Jericho's, making her jump and shiver. She spun around and stood almost pressed into the heavy dark material of his clothes. "I wanted to let you decide, but your tears made my decision. Not just your tears, but your sorrow."