The Four Horsemen 4 - Death (9 page)

And normally Death would stick to the no-talking-about-Horsemen rule, but lately he’d been getting tired of the secrecy. As far as he was concerned, if the powers that be didn’t like him discussing the Horsemen with Pierre, they could come and stop the entire relationship. In a way, he hoped they would because he had grown weary of his whole existence. Maybe that’s why he’d chosen to take Pierre and try to sober him, instead of allowing him to die.
“Yes, the other Horsemen, or at least the last round of them. All three that were around when I was chosen to be Death are no longer Horsemen. While they were Riders, they chose to isolate themselves from mortals. I didn’t, and I’ve found I’m better for it, though still isolated in my way.”
Pierre took a piece of the freshly baked bread the waiter had brought over, and bit into it. Death could almost see the wheels in his head spinning. Death looked out into the restaurant, judging how well things were going that night by the smiles on the customers’ faces. Most of them seemed quite happy with the food.
Their waiter returned with their
hors d’oeuvres,
a very aromatic soup, and Death picked up his spoon to dip in.
“Why are you treating me like we’re on a date?”
Ah, now they were getting to the real questions Pierre wanted to ask. Death set his spoon down and picked up his glass, leaning back in his chair to study Pierre.
“Does it matter why I’m treating you like this?” Death motioned to the table. “We’re drinking excellent wine, about to eat a marvellous meal, and go for a stroll along the Canal St-Martin when we’re done.”
“What are you going to want from me when we get back to your apartment?” Pierre fidgeted with his silverware.
Death replaced his glass and reached across the table to cover one of Pierre’s hands with his. He waited until Pierre looked at him before speaking.
“I don’t expect anything, Pierre.” He paused for a moment then continued. “I was wrong. I do expect something from you.”
Pierre’s expression hinted at disappointment. “Should have known you were too good to be true.”
Snorting softly, Death shook his head. “It’s not what you think. While I do find you attractive, I won’t lie about that, I’m not expecting you to sleep with me in exchange for a nice dinner. I have never done that with any of the men I’ve slept with. This dinner comes with only one expectation, and it’s that you enjoy yourself. That’s all.”
“Yeah, right. You say that now, but when we get home, I’m sure you’ll be pointing at the bedroom, ordering me naked on my hands and knees.” Pierre stirred his soup furiously.
Shaking his head, Death let go of Pierre’s hand and leant back again, running his fingers around the rim of his wineglass. “I’m not sure who you dated before, but no one should be treated like that.”
“Not even a whore?” Pierre flushed, and Death figured he hadn’t meant to say that.
“I have bought the favours of a whore many times, especially before I died, and I’ve never treated them in such a manner. It hurts no one to be nice, even when it is understood there will be sex. It’s only right to treat your lover as you would want to be treated.”
Grimacing, Pierre glanced around, and Death made a decision. He flagged down their waiter.
“Box all the food up and have it delivered to my apartment.”
“Yes, sir.” The waiter didn’t ask any questions.
He stood and went to Pierre’s side. After Pierre stood, Death helped him slide his jacket on before they strolled from the restaurant, heading for the canal. He tried to organise his thoughts, not wanting to say anything that would upset Pierre unintentionally.
Pierre walked beside him, holding his hand, but not saying anything either. He was probably confused by Death’s actions, since from what he’d said so far, no man had ever treated him nicely.
“You have to value yourself higher than you do, Pierre.”
Death tightened his grip as Pierre tried to pull away from him. He stepped closer to the low stone barrier that kept people from falling into the canal, and leaned against it, tugging Pierre into the space between his legs. Death let go of Pierre’s hand to cradle his face. They stared at each other, and Death shook his head.
He lowered his head, brushing his lips over Pierre’s. Pierre moaned, but Death didn’t take it any deeper. Staying only inches away, he whispered, “You are worth more than you think, and we just have to figure how to make you believe that.”
“No one else has ever thought I was worth something,” Pierre confessed, his green eyes vulnerable instead of hard.
“Actually, I think there are a few who think that, but you’re so caught up in the louder voices, you can’t hear the quiet ones.” Death caressed Pierre’s face, trailing his thumbs over the man’s cheekbones.
Pierre was looking better, though Death could tell the need was starting to gnaw at him again. He’d gone far longer this time than ever before, and after this last hit, there would be no more heroin, which was another reason why Death wanted to leave Paris. It would be harder for Pierre to find a dealer out in the country.
There was a brighter gleam in Pierre’s eyes, and his skin didn’t have the underlying grey pallor to it anymore. There was still a faint hint of decay in his scent, but Death knew it would fade once the drugs were completely out of his system.
“Why do you care?”
It was the question Pierre had been struggling with since the entire situation had started, Death knew, and he finally might be ready to believe the answer.
“Because there was a man I loved very much, but I was too scared or too full of pride to admit how much he meant to me, and I lost him.” Death looked over Pierre’s shoulder for a moment, not seeing the people walking by. He was lost in the past, remembering a night much like this when he and Oliver had wandered down a street.
“What happened? Did he get tired of waiting and fell in love with someone else?” Pierre asked, his question shattering Death’s memories into a million sharp pieces.
“No. He died, and I was drunk in another man’s bed when it happened. If I had been with him like I was supposed to be, he wouldn’t have died.”
Death wanted to turn away from Pierre. Having the man stare at him was cutting into what was left of his soul. Yet he didn’t see any pity or accusation in Pierre’s gaze. There was a strange look, almost like understanding on Pierre’s face.
“I’ve been there. Drunk in another man’s bed when you were supposed to be with someone else. Of course, my mistake didn’t end with the other person’s death, but still, how were you to know he would die that night?”
Pierre was absolving him of Oliver’s death, but Death knew the truth. If he’d been there, Oliver would never have taken his killer to his bed because Death would have paid for the entire night with him. Instead, Death allowed another man to seduce him and convince him to go to his bed, and Oliver died at the hands of another man.
Death changed the subject. “I thought we’d go to the country tomorrow. I have a house a couple of hours away, and I think it might be good for you to leave Paris for a while. Also, in case someone has spotted you, they won’t know where you’ve gone from here.”
“No one knows who you are?”
They turned to head back to the apartment building. Death tucked Pierre’s hand in the crook of his elbow once again, only this time, it felt like they really were a couple, strolling along during a cool Parisian night.
“I’ve hidden my identity behind several aliases. Trust me, your parents won’t find us if you don’t want them to. They can’t even track my phone number.” Death glanced over at Pierre. “You’re as off the grid as you can be without living on the streets. Also, you’re not as strung out on drugs as you could be. Hopefully, by the time you decide to resurface and go home, you’ll be clean.”
“Are you sure you want to be stuck with me out in the country? At least here, you could leave and visit museums or something if I got too obnoxious.”
Death laughed loudly. “Honey, do I look like someone who would go to museums?”
Pierre studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “No, not really. You’re more the type of guy who goes out and does some sort of physical activity.”
“True. I have horses at my country estate. Do you ride?”
“Not as well as I ride other things.” Pierre winked.
“You’re shameless.” Death smiled. “Come along. We need to get some sleep. I want to leave early in the morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
They remained silent the rest of the way to their place. After locking the door behind them, Death hung up their jackets before looking at Pierre. The younger man stood in the middle of the living room, absently scratching his arm. Death leaned against the back of the couch, trying to decide if he should offer the last of the heroin.
“Are you okay?”
Pierre glanced over at him, then down at his arm. He clenched his hands before shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. To be honest, the symptoms aren’t so bad now. You were probably right to wean me off like this instead of forcing me to go cold.”
“I have one more baggie of heroin, Pierre. Aside from wanting to get you out in fresh air, and maybe spend some time alone with you, I wanted you out of the city so you’re not tempted to steal away and score some more.”
Scowling, Pierre stared at his feet for a moment. “I’m glad you added you wanted to spend time with me. Doesn’t sound quite as much like you’re babysitting me. You’re right to worry about me sneaking out. If I’m bored, I could end up doing that without even really needing to score.”
Death watched Pierre sigh and turn to head down the hallway.
“Keep the last bag. I’ve gone this long without it, and the withdrawals aren’t bad. I can handle them so far. Who knows? Maybe I won’t ever need that last hit.”
Death sincerely hoped Pierre was right, but he wouldn’t hold his breath. They would be able to breathe easier after a few months of Pierre being clean. He wandered to his room and packed before climbing into bed and falling asleep with Oliver’s image merging with Pierre’s.

The chauffeur drove the car smoothly up the sweeping driveway, and Death watched his house grow bigger while they got closer. They could have travelled using Death’s horse, but he thought Pierre might like a more conventional mode of transportation. The way Pierre’s eyes lit up when the classic Rolls Royce pulled up to the kerb told Death his choice was the right one.

“Yes. Why do you sound so surprised? I’m sure you’ve been in places far bigger than mine, and hung out with people far richer than me,” Death pointed out.
“Sure, but most of those places belonged to other family members. The people I hung out with didn’t own them. I’m guessing you’ve owned this for a long time.” Pierre shot him a quick glance.
Death nodded. “It’s been in my family for centuries.”
He couldn’t say any more than that with the chauffeur up front. He didn’t have a problem with telling Pierre the truth, but he wouldn’t risk something happening to his driver. Death looked at Pierre and sighed silently. He knew what he’d have to do once Pierre was ready to leave, and he didn’t like the idea of Pierre not knowing Death was in the world. Yet he had a feeling if he didn’t do it, Lam would come and wipe Pierre’s memory.
Maybe he should do it right now and return Pierre to his parents, but selfishly Death wanted more time with the younger man before he became nothing more than a faintly thought of dream.
The driver rolled the car to a stop in front of the sweeping stone staircase leading up to the oversized wooden doors. Johnson, the man Death left in charge of the estate when he was in the city, stood at the top of the stairs. Death smirked at the stereotypical image of a butler the man presented.
“Who’s that?” Pierre whispered as they climbed out of the car.
“That’s Johnson. He’s my right-hand man here at the estate. If you need something we don’t have, tell him, and he’ll get it for you.” He held up his hand to keep Pierre from saying anything. “Except heroin. He won’t be your dealer either.”
Pierre wrinkled his nose but didn’t complain or protest. They climbed the stairs, and Death shook Johnson’s hand.
“It’s nice to have you back, sir. I’m sure you’ll find everything is in order.” Johnson bowed slightly.
“Thanks, Johnson. This is Pierre. He’ll be my guest, and if he needs anything, please get it for him unless he asks for drugs. Those aren’t on the menu here.”
“Yes, sir.” Johnson faced Pierre. “Welcome to Almasia Estates, Master Pierre. I’m sure you’ll be happy here.”
There wasn’t a flicker of disgust or disdain in Johnson’s face because of Pierre’s status as a drug user. It was one of the reasons why Death liked Johnson. The man didn’t judge people on what they were. He judged them on their actions, and as long as Pierre treated Johnson with respect, Johnson would do the same.
“Thank you, Johnson.” Pierre offered his hand for Johnson to shake.
They shook as Death pushed the doors open and stepped into the foyer. It had been several months since he’d last been there. He’d spent Christmas in Paris, not wanting to deal with the memories going to the estate would have brought on. Pierre and Johnson followed.
The chauffeur put their bags just inside the door, where the footmen would carry them upstairs. Johnson dismissed him with a soft order.
“I took the liberty of putting Master Pierre in the Gold Room next to your suite,” Johnson said as Death stripped off his coat.
Death paused for a second before continuing like nothing was wrong. Could he deal with someone else being in that room? No one had used it since the fortnight Oliver had spent with him the Christmas before Oliver had died.
It’s time to let go, Gatian. I’m not going to come back, not even as a ghost
.
Maybe not a ghost, but apparently Oliver’s voice was going to haunt Death for a while. He grimaced before nodding at Johnson.
“Yes, the Gold Room will be fine.”
Johnson gestured towards the back of the house. “A light breakfast has been laid out in the Red Breakfast room, if you would like.”
Death placed his hand at the small of Pierre’s back, gently urging him to walk down the hallway. “My cook is marvellous, and I wouldn’t pass up anything she made.”
Pierre choked back a laugh.
Leaning over, Death whispered in Pierre’s ear, “We don’t stand on ceremony here, no matter what it might seem like. I want you to feel comfortable here, Pierre. So laugh, shout, and make as much noise as you want. Sometimes I think the silence can get too heavy.”
“Do people know what a gentle soul you have?” Pierre turned to look at him, and their lips brushed.
Death inhaled and stepped back. He was getting too close, and Pierre was seeing what Death had managed to keep hidden for centuries. Was it time to push Pierre away? Yet the lonely part of Death’s heart didn’t want the man to leave. He wanted Pierre to stay for a while longer.
“No. I’ve managed to fool them all into thinking I’m a hard ass.” He winked, diffusing the emotional moment.
“Well, you do a good job of that as well.” Pierre slid into the chair Death held for him.
“It’s easier than letting people think they can walk all over you.”
Death took a seat and his footman served them breakfast. He smiled at the expression of being slightly overwhelmed on Pierre’s face. After the man poured the coffee and left, Death laughed aloud.
“Isn’t this all a bit much? Do they do this all the time?” Pierre waved a hand towards the table and plates.
“The first day I’m back, they do this. Tomorrow, we’ll be serving ourselves, and you won’t have to worry about anyone asking you if you need help getting dressed. Johnson just likes to show me the staff still knows how to serve properly.”
Death picked up his fork and took a bite of the waffles his cook had made. He practically moaned as they melted on his tongue. Soon the only sounds filling the room were the clink of silverware against china, and the moans as they ate the exquisitely prepared food. Finally, Death pushed his empty plate away and leant back, holding his coffee cup. He watched Pierre almost lick his plate clean, smiling as Pierre stretched and yawned.
“Are you ready to take a nap? We did get up rather early this morning. The tour of the grounds can wait until after lunch. Why don’t I show you to your room? You can rest, plus there’s a TV and a computer in your suite.” Death stood and motioned for Pierre to join him.
“What are you going to do?” Pierre peered into the rooms they passed on their way back to the foyer.
“I’ll be working most of the morning, so I can spend the afternoon riding around my estate.”
Pierre stopped and gazed at the ceiling in the foyer. It was a beautiful reproduction of the Sistine Chapel in Rome. After Death returned to France at the end of World War Two, he’d hired an artist to do it for him. It wasn’t nearly as perfect as the original, but no one stood very close to it, and he was satisfied with it.
“Is this the same house you owned when you were alive?” Pierre’s question was low as they climbed the stairs.
“Yes. I kept a hold of it. I’m surprised those in charge let me do as much as I did. I had been warned about not letting mortals know we existed; yet I never let anyone know what I was. They all assumed I was some eccentric rich man. Of course, if I’d been poor, they’d have thought I was crazy.” He rolled his eyes.
“Is your apartment building the house you used to own when you were mortal?”
Death led the way down the left hallway, trying to figure out if Pierre needed to know the truth, or if it really mattered any more. He stopped in front of the Gold Room, and clasped the doorknob in a white-knuckled grip. Something about his silence must have alerted Pierre to his struggle.
“You don’t have to tell me. I’m just curious. You know, you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in a long time, and not just because you’re a Horseman. Not that I’m entirely sure what they are.”
Death pushed open the door and stepped to the side when Pierre walked past. He breathed in Pierre’s scent, and the familiar cologne of mint drifted by his nose.
“The building used to be a pleasure house, or a whore house as you might know them. It was where the man I loved worked.”
His mouth open in surprise, Pierre blinked at him, and Death realised he’d said too much.
“I’ll leave you to your rest.”
After shutting the door behind him, he moved to the next set of doors and went into his room. He shut and locked them before stripping and putting on a pair of worn jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. Death dropped to the edge of his bed and scrubbed his hands over his face.
Where the hell had that scent come from? Death wasn’t even sure the cologne Oliver used to wear was still being manufactured or was Death’s mind playing tricks on him, making him see similarities that weren’t there?
He fell back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. This mural depicted the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as they burst from the seals. It was awe-inspiring and kind of scary, yet Death got an odd sense of security, knowing there were three others out there, going through the same shit he was.
“But they aren’t. At least, not anymore.”
“I wondered when you’d show up again,” he said, rolling his head towards the end of the bed where Lam stood. “What took you so long?”
The angel strolled over to the French doors leading out to a balcony. He didn’t open the doors, just pulled back one of the curtains. “You’re not the only one I keep an eye on.”
“You have a whole herd of unruly creatures to keep on the straight and narrow, huh? Of course, what would all those beings say if they were to find out who you keep company with?”
Instead of yelling at Death, Lam sighed and continued to look out the window. “It’s far more complicated than you’d ever be able to understand, Death. I’m not here to talk about my situation.”
“I can just guess why you finally decided to show up.” Death huffed as he sat up and climbed off the bed to join Lam by the window. “Are you here to punish me or to take Pierre away?”
“Why would I take Pierre away? As astonishing as it might seem, you’re good for him. When was his last hit?”
Death thought about it. “The day before yesterday. He seemed tired this morning, so I told him to take a nap. I did offer him the last baggie last night, but he turned me down. Said he could deal with the symptoms. We’ll see if he can deal with the boredom of being out here without wanting to shoot up.”
Lam laughed, and Death was struck by how beautiful the messenger angel was. Yet there seemed to be an air of sadness around him that hadn’t been there before. Before he could stop himself, he reached out and laid his hand on Lam’s shoulder.
“You do know if you need any help any time, I’ll be there for you. I’ve been a cold bastard most of the time we’ve known each other, and you have no reason to believe me, but I’m telling the truth. I will help you the best I can if you ever need me.”
Lam covered his hand with his own and flashed him a smile. “Thank you. I hope we figure out what the hell we’re doing before I end up needing your help.”
Death squeezed Lam’s shoulder before stepping away. “If you’re not here to bust my ass about Pierre, why are you here?”
Lam went to sit in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace. The angel crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. All Lam needed was a pair of glasses perched on the end of his nose and he’d look like the therapist Pierre always harped about. Death had the urge to lie down on the couch and pour out his messed-up soul to Lam.
“I’m here simply to look in on you both and make sure things are progressing. You seemed very determined to save him, and I know Pierre was looking for a reason to be saved. You just have to make sure he doesn’t become as dependent on you as he did on the drugs. The withdrawal symptoms, once you leave, could end up being worse than those from the heroin.”
“I know,” Death admitted, tugging on the hem of his shirt like a little kid. “I’m trying to keep him from getting attached, but what happens when I become more attached to him than I should be? I try to remain closed off to him, but he reminds me of someone I loved, and it’s messing with my mind.”
Lam tilted his head, a puzzled frown marring his perfect forehead. “I’ve never seen you like this, Death. Usually none of the souls you’re sent to take affect you like this. What is it about Pierre causing you to have doubts about your job?”
Death shook his head. “Oh, I don’t have doubts about my job. If you need me to go somewhere, I’ll go, but what if I don’t want to let him go? What if I want him to sleep in my bed with me?”
He paced the length of his room, not enjoying the fact he was spilling his guts to Lam, but he didn’t have anyone else to talk to, and maybe talking would help clear up some of the confusion in his head.
“Well, that does make things a little sticky.”
Death snorted, and Lam rolled his eyes.
“Grow up and pay attention. Death, you have to make sure you like Pierre for being Pierre, not this person you used to love. Using Pierre, even with the best of intentions, will only end up hurting him in the end.”
“I know that, and I also know I can’t keep him. He’ll have to return to his world soon enough, but I want him to stay here. I’ve always been a solitary man, guarding my privacy with jealous regard. Yet I’ve opened my world to him. Hell, I’ve brought Pierre here, when I’ve never brought any man except for Oliver here to spend time with me.” Death shoved his hands through his hair, tugging on the ends in frustration.
Lam hummed, and Death hated the sound. Silence built between them until Death wanted to scream at the angel, yet he controlled himself. Lam didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of Death’s confused anger.
Finally, Lam sighed and stood. The angel approached him and took his hands in his. “I wish I could give you the right answer, or even any kind of answer, but I can’t. There are powers at work here I don’t understand and don’t wish to know.”
Death reared back, staring at Lam. “What are you talking about?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?” Death glared.
Lam shrugged. “Can’t. I told you, there are other things in play here, and I’m not privy to them. Issues and stuff I wouldn’t be told about anyway. It isn’t my realm of work. Just tell me you won’t play with him. If you take Pierre to your bed, Death, make sure you’re doing it because you want him, not whoever has been stuck in your heart. Pierre deserves to be wanted for himself.”
“Yes, he does.” Death jerked his hands out of Lam’s and nodded towards the door. “You should leave. I have work to do before this afternoon. Excuse me if I don’t escort you out.”
He turned his back on the angel and stalked over to the door leading to his personal study. All he knew was his head hurt from thinking about this entire situation, and he was tired of it. Death would bury himself in simple business matters and forget his problems for a while.
Maybe if he did that, he could actually enjoy the afternoon spent in Pierre’s company. As he booted up his computer, he made a quick decision. By the end of the day, he would come to a conclusion. Whether it was to leave Pierre untouched and send him home, or whether he would welcome the young mortal into his bed. After he decided either way, it would be over, and he wouldn’t question himself any longer.