The Four Horsemen 4 - Death by T.A. Chase Read Free Book Online

the hospital. Shaking his head, Death stood and glanced around his flat.
“What? Your accommodations not fancy enough for you? I would think you wouldn’t want to go to a hospital or rehab centre. They’d ask too many embarrassing questions and expect you to get clean the hard way, cutting off the heroin altogether.” Death held up his hand, holding the rest of the drugs. “At least here, you know you’ll be getting some more at some point.”
He glared down at Pierre. “You won’t have to worry about me asking questions you don’t want to answer. I’m not your psychologist or therapist. I don’t really care why you do what you do, whether it’s the drugs or selling yourself when you don’t have to. There are millions of humans in the world with your exact same story.”
Death’s chest hurt when Pierre managed to rasp out a harsh chuckle.
“I was always told I wasn’t anything special. I guess everyone was right.”
Death bit his tongue and turned away while he suppressed the overwhelming urge to deny Pierre’s words. He couldn’t think Pierre was anything more than a druggie too weak to deal with the world around him.
Is that what you thought of me?
“You weren’t a druggie. You were simply a boy who made some choices so you could live,” Death mumbled under his breath when he walked away from Pierre. “He has the means to live without destroying his soul.”
Really? Just because he has money, his life should be perfect? You were a shining example of how untrue those thoughts can be.
“I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t understand why you’re talking to me now, when I’ve never heard you in all the centuries since you died.”
He stalked into his guest bedroom and made the bed. Pierre would be taking a shower before Death let him touch anything else in his flat. After finishing in the bedroom, he went to the bathroom and hesitated before he started the shower. If he wanted Pierre to clean up, he probably should have done it before the guy shot up.
Shaking his head, he went back into the living room where Pierre sat, hunched over, holding the spoon in one shaking hand and the lighter in the other. Death whirled around and went into his bedroom, stripping his clothes off and throwing them towards the corner. Pierre could just stay in the living room for the night. Death wasn’t going to be around while the mortal pushed more poison into his veins.
Standing naked in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, he stared out at the Eiffel Tower shining, a bright beacon in Paris. The Latin Quarter where Death lived bustled below him, even during the latest hours of night. He smiled, remembering a time when there wasn’t much here, and what had been here were pleasure houses.
After he’d died, it had taken a little bit of manoeuvring to get his wealth. He’d managed to get most of it, leaving some for his sister, but he’d kept an eye on her. Emilia had done well for herself. She married an English lord and got out of France before the Revolution. At least he didn’t have to escort her soul to the gates for judgement. It was difficult to do that with some of the others he’d known during his living years. None of them recognised him, and he thanked the higher powers for that.
Why were you worried about them knowing who you were? You never liked any of them when you were alive. I remember you lying in bed with me, and how you sneered at the aristocrats, even though you were one of them.
“I was never one of them. I had money but no title, so I was considered less than they were.” He thumped his forehead against the cool glass. “Why am I answering the voice in my head? You aren’t even real.”
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