Chapter Thirty One

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The pain woke him. He'd thought the pain of recovery was over for good, but as John sat up he recalled the Collector had stabbed his leg. Another day, another new kind of pain. The room was dark and he was alone, but he heard voices mingling with Mam's downstairs and saw the shadow of piled up boxes looming on the other side of the room. 'You idiot, should've taken a fucking weapon,' he mumbled to himself. Something white caught the moonlight on his bedside cabinet, and when he realised what it was, saccharine bliss and a hint of dread filled him. Sweet morphine. His finger trembled as he reached for the tub and tipped four--no, six Vicodin into his palm.

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The radio played in his empty room, John laughed and watched his hands dance before his eyes as though detached. Why were fingers so interesting? His body seemed to move of its own accord to the music. Even the dull ache in his leg couldn't stop the groove or the fact that his fingers were the centre of his universe right now. Thoughts came at a million miles an hour and left as fast as they came, faces came and went but nothing mattered except his fingers. Thoughts of dancing naked around a fire with his friends appealed to him as another wave of music soaked into his body. Man, he'd love to be able to play the drums! The funky rhythm!

And still his fingers danced, hypnotising snakes before his vacant his eyes.

SEMILA LEANG

Semila sat at the end of his bed shaking her head. John, for some reason, seemed fascinated with his fingers. She guessed it was the morphine, but what could she do? She peeled away the blankets covering his legs and removed the bandage to view the wound again. The neat stitches that pulled the wound together looked almost alien against his white skin. At least there was no infection, either human or otherwise.

She ran her finger around the wound, and spoke in a soft, gentle voice. A hint of colour returned to the skin around the deep knife wound and Semila smiled. It had to be done a little at a time so it seemed natural. It'd cause such a stir if the wound healed in only a few days. And so she pulled the blanket back, adjusted the edge. They had all the time in the world now.

'What goes on in that mind of yours John?'

Of course he didn't answer, only twitched his hands and stared vapidly at them. Semila looked around the room, then rubbed her hands together. She reached over to place her hand on John's forehead. A cough from behind her forced her to stop. She turned and bowed. 'Anubis.'

'I have tried that already,' he said, 'there is nothing but darkness.'

'You favour him?' Semila swept a strand of hair out of his face and put her palm on his forehead while Anubis walked around the bed to face her.

Death cocked his head. 'I suppose I do, I find him...different...exciting.'

Semila raised an eyebrow. 'Would you take him when the time comes?'

Death looked her straight in the eyes, she tried to defy him but lowered her gaze at the force of his person without meaning to. 'My apologies Anubis, I was just trying to gauge your love for John.'

'Love? There is no love. That is something I cannot do.' Death sighed as he sat down. 'There is, however, an attraction.'

'Attraction?' She frowned and he smiled at her confusion.

'I am the Angel of Death, I was the first and will be the last. It is my job to deliver all to their finality. I can tell you John is a first, he is a saver of life, maybe even in his own sense an angel.' Death placed his hands in his lap and fell silent.

Semila snorted.

'Come here girl,' Death said as he beckoned her towards him, 'I will show you what he can do.'

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