Death's Apprentice

III

Death had woken Tristan up the next morning early. They dressed in their room and ate breakfast provided by the restaurant on the bottom floor of the hotel. Tristan found eating food to be difficult. He had tried food before, but it was never forced upon him in the form of a meal. Death insisted they eat to keep up their disguise.

Tristan picked at and adjusted his clothing. He couldn't seem to get used to all the garments on his body. His shoes squeaked on the wooden floor. His hat bothered him. The shirt rubbed his skin. Death noticed the apprentice messing with his clothes at the table. He reached his hand across the table to settle him. "You will get used to it," he whispered.

Death made Tristan carry the bag that contained their medical supplies. He had never seen Death handle the equipment before. Tristan had only read about the equipment. He was curious to see Death play as a doctor.

The two walked out of the hotel and onto the road to their patient's house. Tristan was itching to have more answers, but he knew Death would reveal answers to him soon enough. As if reading his mind, Death started to speak.

"You may not refer to me as Death. Call me Dr. Mortimer or doctor. The people we are seeing today are rich. Please do not gawk at their home. We are here on business."

"Was your name actually Mortimer?" Tristan asked, "Before you became Death?"

"No, I don't remember what it was. It was so long ago, and everyone calls me Death."

Death and Tristan arrived at the front door of a large home. There was dead grass surrounding the property. The place looked lonely. Tristan would have assumed no one was home except for the smoke that billowed from the chimney. Death interrupted his thoughts by giving a harsh rap to the door.

A few seconds later the door cracked open to reveal a middle-aged woman. She gave them a soft smile and opened the door wider.

"Hello, you must be Dr. Mortimer. We've been waiting for you," she greeted and stuck her hand out to Death. Tristan watched as he kissed the back of her hand. She welcomed them into the home and introduced herself as Mara.

"Ma'am, this is my apprentice, Tristan. He will be assisting me during our stay," Death introduced.

"How nice," she said, "Let me take you to Dolores' room."

The woman turned and proceeded farther into the house. She led them down a small hall and up a grand wooden stairway. Tristan tried not to gawk at the home as Death had asked. The inside was richly colored. It looked more alive on the inside than it did on the outside. Tristan noticed how quiet it was. No sounds echoed in the silent home.

Mara spoke suddenly, "Dolores is our only child. All our other children passed before their fifth year. She's almost sixteen and very sickly. Poor dear caught a cold or something of the sort a few months back and hasn't been able to shake it. We've tried our best to care for her in the absence of a doctor, but it seems she's getting worse."

Mara looked back to her company and Death gave her a brief smile. Tristan was absentmindedly looking at the banister hardly catching a word of what the woman said. He was too busy taking in the finely furnished home. Tristan suddenly felt the two before him pause.

He looked forward to seeing Mara opening a white door. Her small hands clutched the brass knob. The door creaked open slowly almost as if Mara was scared to open it. Tristan followed Mara and Death into the room.

The interior of the room felt cold. The window was open letting in some light but leaving most of the room feeling empty. There was purple wallpaper, wooden furniture, and a bed containing a young girl. Her head lay on a pillow and her eyes were closed. The blankets on the bed were pulled up to her chest and her arms lay crossed on top. Her dark hair splayed across the pillow. Tristan thought she looked still like a statue.