And Then Death Greeted Me

AZRAEL

The next time he pops in, pale lips a twisted rendition of a smile, I don't even condescend to look at him. I have my laptop resting on my outstretched legs, courtesy of my mother, and my earphones are tucked in between the folds of my hijab. From the corner of my eye, I see he's wearing a suit today. No more playing dress-up – he's clearing up the pretence. I don't know if I should yell in happiness or in fear.

At least, whatever happens, it'll be the end of this. One way or the other.

'Like my outfit?' he says, preening like a peacock.

Maybe he's still playing dress-up, even if it's a different kind. The fabric is a deep green velvet, and the lapels are embedded with pearls. 'You look good,' I say grudgingly.

None of the other girls acknowledge him in any way. It's as if he's not even here, and I'm talking to the wall. Or maybe they don't see me talking at all.

He raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. 'Good? I'll take any compliment, but that just seems a little flat.'

I manage an unlikely smile. Still, the heaviness has yet to lift from my heart. 'Go away,' I tell him, as blandly as I can manage. 'I'm watching Broadchurch, and David Tennant's got a Scottish accent.'

I hope no one actually thought he'd follow my advice. Of course he doesn't go away. It'd jeopardise his life's work – confuse Vernice Demir until the day she dies.

'D'you like the Scottish accent?' he enquires.

'I like any accent,' I say, rolling my eyes.

'You look miserable,' he says. 'Even when you're smiling.'

'Thanks,' I say. 'I've missed your brutal honesty.'

'I'd call it constructive rather than brutal.'

'And I'd call it unnecessary and unasked for.'

'Vernice,' he chides. 'What's gotten into you?'

His scolding shames me. I duck my head, avoiding his gaze. 'Nothing's gotten into me.'

'Farley will call you back,' he says. 'Or reach out some other way. It's not helping you to work yourself up so much over her.'

A red flush creeps up my neck. 'I don't think she will. Reach out, I mean. I doubt she even cares. Who was I to her, anyway? Just... just something to help pass the time.'

He clucks his tongue in disapproval. 'She never gave you that impression, did she? All the time you were together, did she ever make you feel like you were just a hobby or an occupation? She went out of her way to protect you, Vernice, even if it was from herself.'

My breath catches in my throat. 'Don't say that.'

He ignores me, railing on. 'You say you don't blame Farley, but in the same breath you believe she triggered your fall. You've weaponized her actions to shield you from your own.'

'Then I suppose I'm the one to blame,' I say bitterly.

'What about Chris?'

'What about her?'

'She was your number one, wasn't she?' he asks.

I don't answer.

'She was your best friend, your crutch to lean on, your light at the end of the tunnel. What made it so easy for you to abandon her, after all that?'

I almost choke on my own tongue, I'm so shocked. 'How – how dare you. What gives you the right to talk to me like that?'

He gazes at me, his eyes wide and pleading. 'I'm trying to help you see.'