Chapter Nine: Facing Death

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"I'm sorry

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"I'm sorry. I-I didn't know it was anyone's room," I splutter, attempting to clean up the mess that I'd made in front of the door. I'm pretty sure one of the onions rolled under the porch, never to be seen again. The young girl – Sarah? – just watches me as I struggle, her head tilting further with curiosity. I can't help but notice her simple beauty: the way that her blonde curls fall around her shoulders, the fathomless dark brown of her irises. She wears a pink Hello Kitty shirt that's a few sizes too big and a pair of sweatpants that drag on the floor.

For a moment it seems that she wants to cross the threshold and help me, but she's frozen on the other side of the door. Mem wasn't lying; Death and his spirit residents cannot leave.

So that must mean that this little girl is dead.

"Where's Mem?" She asks, tilting her head in the opposite direction as I finally find a way to cradle all of the groceries in my arms. Her nostrils flare. "You don't smell dead."

    I feel the blood rush out of my face. How am I supposed to respond to that?

    Luckily, I don't have to. "Lisa?" D – Death – walks through the kitchen door and stops once he sees the very strange scene unfolding at the front door: little Lisa in her Hello Kitty pajamas, holding the door open while – across the threshold – I slowly fold under ridiculous amounts of sandwich makings, egg cartons, and boxes of pasta.

    There he is, in all of his gorgeous glory, standing right in front of me in another old t-shirt. It should be illegal to look that good with bedhead and a five o'clock shadow. Despite myself, despite knowing that I'm staring Death in the eyes, I feel the breath flee my lungs in a sort of hopeful way.

    Get a hold of yourself! You are not going to swoon over Death, I scold myself. He stares at us wordlessly for a few moments before remembering himself.

    "Lisa, give Cara some room, why don't you?" He rushes towards the door as if to help me. Then, remembering that he also cannot cross outside of the mansion, he stops and flexes his fingers restlessly.

"I got it," I say quietly, my cheeks heating when he says my name.

The little girl — Lisa — stands quietly in the middle of the grand front room as I drag everything inside and set it on the floor. Death reaches for one of the heavier bags at the same time that I go to grab it, and a jolt shoots through my arm when his hand passes through mine. I yank it back like I'd burned it on a hot stove.

"Sorry." He grimaces. I try to wipe away the shock and fear that must be all over my face.

"All good." I clear my throat. "How about I grab the items in the bags, and you take the rest?"

"Sounds like a plan." The corners of his lips quirk upwards in a devastating smile that leaves me flustered and confused all over again, and he twists to address Lisa over his shoulder. "Go tell the others that breakfast is ready, okay? Cara and I will be in the kitchen."

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