Page 21 of Death's Obsession

I nod and shuffle my feet over the worn carpet until I reach the first room on my left with the smudges around the handle from opening the door straight after working construction.

Dread sits heavy in my chest. There’s a nagging feeling at the back of my head that something bad is going to happen. You’re just working yourself up, I tell myself. The ring is giving me anxiety just as much as it’s giving me comfort.

I hang my head back and stare at the ceiling, trying to muster up all of my confidence and my energy while also mentally preparing myself for whatever venom might spill from his lips. I imagine my Faceless Man standing behind me while whispering words of encouragement, giving me the strength I need to go through with this.

I take a fortifying breath, then knock. When he doesn’t respond, I call, “Evan.”

Biting the bullet, I grasp the old-fashioned door handle and push the door open slowly, inch by inch. He doesn’t stir at the sound, still buried beneath the duvet. So I let myself in and close the door loudly behind me in the hopes that it will wake him.

I’m too anxious to go any further, so I press myself against the door. The idea that I could easily swing it open to run adds some calm to my dire situation.

His room is the same as always. Sort of. Hanging on the back of his chair is a baby blue cardigan, the one that the girl with the obsidian hair was wearing. A two seater green couch is squeezed between the door and his computer setup that’s littered with old take-out packets. I zero in on the tube of lipgloss hidden within the mix of rubbish, and the matching baby blue scrunchy hanging off the handle to the closet. I wonder what I’d find if I opened and looked inside. More things that belong to the obsidian girl, perhaps?

What little light that streams in makes the whole situation more gruesome. Like God knows what is about to happen and he’s filling the sky with gray clouds just for cinematic effect.

“Evan,” I whisper. Just wake up so we can get this over with, goddamnit.

He doesn’t even stir.

“Evan,” I say louder this time.

Nothing.

I force myself to move toward him, clearly needing to shake him awake. Why couldn’t this be easy? I’m going to wake him up and he’s going to be mad about it and it’ll make this whole thing so much worse. I just have to keep telling myself that I need to say those five words, and this can all be over.

When I near the bed, ice rains over my skin from the sight of a rolled-up brown parchment sitting innocently on top of a sleeping Evan.

Has the Faceless Man been sending Evan letters too? No, I doubt it. Evan thought I was insane when I kept saying that he was leaving me notes. Why would Letum leave me a letter at Evan’s? I shudder involuntarily from calling him something other than ‘the Faceless Man’.

I will my hands to stop shaking as I reach for the letter and try to get my breathing under control. I wouldn’t be surprised if Evan woke up just from the sound of my thundering heartbeat.

I can barely unroll the letter with how violently my fingers are shaking. The weight of the ring suddenly feels like it may as well be a boulder. Why did I think a band would bring me comfort when the man who gave it to me sends my anxiety skyrocketing?

Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, I reopen it to read his note. Then I read it again. And again. All while everything around me comes crashing down. I keep hoping the words will say something different. Keep hoping that it is just my mind playing tricks on me. Each time I reread it, bile creeps higher and higher up my throat.

I slowly reach to move the duvet, hoping what the letter says isn’t real. I look up from the letter and stagger back.

“No,” I gasp, bringing my hands to my lips to stop from throwing up. “No, no, no, no.”

Evan’s vacant eyes stare straight at the ceiling, his blue lips are parted ever so slightly, like he’s still taking his last breath.

I read the letter one more time.

The fates have not yet called upon his soul. I decided that he lost it the second he laid his eyes on you.

My heart splinters and shatters and twists. Every atom, every cell, every bit of tissue in me feels like it combusts. My body seizes. And I scream.

Chapter seven

Lilith

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

This is all my fault. Everything that’s happened. He’s dead. Evan’s dead.

I don’t hear Nate thundering through the hallway before the door flings open, slamming against the wall.

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