When I told him I couldn’t stay, he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he seemed relieved. His expression softened as he extended his hand out between us.
In the small movement, the remaining forgotten moments blocked out in Death’s presence come rushing back. My confusion, my wiped memory—all of the forgotten time had nothing to do with my parents.
It was all Death’s fault.
Leaning over, the Angel of Death whispered to me, “When the time comes, this will be your most powerful weapon.”
In his outstretched hand, an intricately carved wooden box materialized. The same wooden box gifted to me in my dad’s will.
Before I have time to sit with the revelation, things shift again. This time, I’m standing beside my father in the middle of my bedroom. He sits on my bed, staring at a picture of me. His fingertips trace my face as tears drop onto the glass’s surface. My heart bursts open, and I reach for him, only to have my fingertips grasp at thin air.
Suddenly, the small resurrection room door bursts open, practically swinging off its hinges.
Dad’s head jerks up. He stares at the door with wild eyes, his body trembling and his mouth agape. I turn to look at the younger version of me and she smiles, vanishing before my eyes.
As I turn back to my dad, he’s on his feet, making his way to the small doorway. Fear and apprehension are splattered across his features, but he pushes through all of it, walking down the ancient wooden steps. I follow him, just as curious as he is because I have no idea what he’ll find, though I should have guessed.
At the bottom of the steps, he turns the corner slowly. His eyes float to the small altar table in the center of the space. Two large pillar candles are lit, glowing brightly. Confusion flashes across his face as he walks up to it, setting down the photo frame in between them. However, just beyond, stands the young version of me. Dripping wet and shivering, she looks up at my dad with his confusion mirrored in her eyes. In her hands is the wooden box.
Without hesitation, my father races forward, practically tripping over himself to get to me. He drops to his knees at my feet, wrapping his arms around my body. As I watch, the memory of his warm arms encompassing my cold, wet body had been the most beautiful feeling in the whole world. If love had a sensation, that was it.
However, the moment wasn’t meant to linger. At least, not for me.
Though my dad couldn’t see him, the Angel of Death placed his hand on the back of my head—wiping my memory. He left me behind with nothing but a wooden box and a bunch of questions that would haunt me for years.
Dominic was right…I had leveled up the last time I was here. But it didn’t happen alone.
It came in the form of a gift from Death himself.
Chapter 17
Clear the Sins Away
As soon as the revelation of the box comes to me, a force stronger than a hurricane whisks through the memory. It wipes it away like someone clearing a drawing board and it carries me right along with it.
I try to grasp on to something, anything, to keep my bearings, but it’s no use. The force sucks me into the vortex and I’m lost within in it. At first, I’m terrified, but a voice breaks the chaos telling me to let go…
I don’t know why I should trust it, but I do. The worry and terror fade into the background and I release. I release all that I am to surrender to what is.
Whatever it is I’m meant to be.
For a few blissful moments, there’s nothing but peace.
With a jerk, I bolt upright in the middle of the resurrection chamber, clutching at the dirt and coughing up the metallic taste of blood. Everything about the box and the Angel of Death lingers with me, holding me like a vise. I need to talk to him—demand some answers.
Beside me, Dominic rolls over, gasping for his own breath.
“It is about time,” Abigail hisses, clutching at her chest as if her heart could actually beat. “I was certain I would be mourning your loss—and believe me, the irony was not lost on me.”
Though her words are an admonishment, relief is clear across her face.
My mouth is dry, sucked of all moisture as I try to speak. The only word I seem able to croak out is, “Sorry.”
Looking to my left, Dominic rights himself and shoots me an apologetic shrug. “So, that happened.”
I narrow my gaze and ball my fist. “Ugh—” I groan, pushing him in the shoulder so he tips back over.
He clears his throat. “But it worked. Right?” His voice is just as hoarse as mine.
“Not the point,” I say, scrambling to get to my feet. My body feels like lead as I struggle to stand. Everything in the realm of the dead came easier. Moving, changing space and time—it was all so much lighter. But like a dream, the memory of it fades quickly, becoming nothing more than a distant memory.
“What took you?” Abigail asks, eyeing Dominic with disdain and suspicion.
He raises his hands in the air, but stays on his ass. “Hey, I was just doing what had to be done,” he protests.
Abigail’s forehead creases and she turns her hard stare to me.
“As much as I hate to admit it, I think Dominic’s right,” I say, inhaling deeply.
Dominic’s eyebrows shoot up and he points to me. “See?”
Abigail doesn’t look overly amused as she presses her lips tight. However, I’m acutely aware that something has shifted. I’m even surprised she hasn’t.
“Wait a minute. You can see her?” I say, turning my astonished stare on him.
He glances between me and Abigail, then nods. “Yeah, I guess I can.
