Mortuus paced around the room in front of his bed. His father's notebook was lying on his pillow, seemingly taunting him to read it.
He stopped pacing and stood before the notebook. As he looked at it, a dark presence began to fill his mind.
It was a presence he hadn't felt in a long time. A being that when it spoke, its voice was all around him.
Despite its loud and brain-splitting tone, Mortuus was the only one who ever heard it. Its heinous, mocking tone threatened to break his sanity.
"READ IT!!" The voice chanted like a devil on his shoulder. As he stared at the notebook, tears rolled down his bandages.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!!" Mortuus sobbed into the bed, slamming his head against the frame. As he did so, the voice faded, and so did he.
He woke up again, face down on the ground. In one hand, was his father's notebook, and in the other, a flask.
"You did it again, Mortuus." Death was floating just above him. He had seen everything, not that he had a choice. As the Angel of the Dead, he watched over the souls, even fractured ones like Mortuus.
"They're getting worse, Death," Mortuus said as he sat on the floor with a whiskey bottle while resting his back against the bed.
Death glided silently to the doorway, his skeletal hands crossed behind his back. He lifted his hand, instantly forming a scythe as he pointed towards the notebook.
Mortuus took another swig of the bottle before he opened the notebook. He flipped through the pages, a particular page catching his eye as he skimmed.
"Subjects have been noted to suffer from a condition I have named Lazarus Ataxia Syndrome after John 11:1-45," Mortuus continued reading, hooked on every word. "L.A.S. is observed as having memory problems, auditory and visual hallucinations, and disconnection to the central nerve system."
Mortuus looked up at Death, who only nodded grimly. No words had to be spoken for Mortuus to understand that he was experiencing Lazarus Ataxia Syndrome.
"There must be a cure, right, Death?" Mortuus asked the angel of darkness. He glided elegantly to Mortuus.
"I wish I could help you," Death spoke sorrowfully, "But I am not permitted to intervene."
Mortuus nodded and looked back in the notebook, hoping to find an answer. "L.A.S. has no known cure that I could identify—" Mortuus slammed the notebook shut and sobbed into his knees.
"I'm a lost cause." He cried. Death stood silently for a minute before speaking. "You did not culminate your findings."
Mortuus wiped his eyes and reopened the notebook. He skimmed the page, his face lighting up as he read. "-however, Marijuana has been found to delay its effect. This may have to do with its connections to the spirit realm."
Death nodded as Mortuus looked up at him. "Cannabis comes from the spirit realm. Your father knew this."
Mortuus pulled his pen from his pocket and looked at it. It made sense why he felt like himself with it.
He took a drag of the cannabis. A cloud filled the air around him as he blew smoke from his nose, or whatever was left of his nose anyway.
Mortuus stood up and walked towards his door. Death closed it as Mortuus attempted to leave. "Think about what you are going to do, Mortuus."
Death stood in front of him, blocking Mortuus from leaving. "This doesn't concern you, Death."
Instead of speaking, Death merely motioned to the revolver in Mortuus's trenchcoat. Mortuus knew he didn't need it but didn't feel natural without it.
Death stood there silently. Neither he nor Mortuus spoke, not that words would change it. Those who knew him were often shocked by how much Death hated killing.
Mortuus lifted his revolver over his head and popped the cylinder out, dropping the bullets on the ground. As each shell rattled and rolled at Mortuus's feet, Death nodded.
He vanished in a plume of smoke as usual. Mortuus turned the handle and stepped into the hallway, his boots clicking against the tile.
Mortuus nervously clicked the cylinder in and out of his revolver as he walked down the hall. The sound echoed eerily through the forsaken bunker's halls.
He lifted the sheet and stepped into nature. It was another beautiful day. To Mortuus, every day was gorgeous because every day was a new opportunity.
He walked through the forest, closing his eyes and listening to the birds. "If only people knew of this gift we have." He sighed and continued walking.
As he neared the forest's edge, a small bird gently perched on his shoulder. "Hello there, little one," Mortuus whispered gently to the petite bird.
It tweeted sweetly and rubbed against Mortuus's bandaged face. Mortuus lifted his hand and tenderly stroked the bird's feathers.
He removed some seeds from a pocket of his trench coat and gave them to the tiny bird. It tweeted and flew away with the seeds.
It wasn't uncommon for animals to climb on him. Animals always seemed to take a liking to him. Several times, a fox or other animal clambered onto Mortuus's bed in the middle of the night.
Mortuus chuckled and resumed walking to the town. As he entered, people greeted him with a smile.
"Morning, Mortuus." A boy said and high-fived Mortuus. It was Hansen Middleton, the shopkeeper's son.
"Morning, Hansen. I need to speak with..." Mortuus pulled a note from his pocket and looked at it. "Ms. Roberson."
Hansen pointed over at the church steps. She was sitting there quietly, writing in a notebook. Mortuus walked up to her.
"Annastasia, right?" Mortuus asked. She nodded. "I'd liked to know about Peter. Where can I find him?"
Annastasia pointed to the graveyard. Mortuus thanked her and walked over to it. As he pushed the gate open, he saw the grave.
"Peter Jacob Morgan. Born August 4th, 1981. Died on November 20th, 1998." Mortuus read aloud. It was a grim reminder of what he was supposed to have.
Mortuus turned and left the graveyard. He walked down the road and headed past the church. "Where are you going, Mortuus?" Death questioned as he appeared again.
Mortuus shrugged, "I can feel something here, like a force guiding me."
Death eyed him suspiciously. "Why is it guiding you to Subject-E3?"
Mortuus continued to walk. "I'm not. I'm visiting my mother." It felt wrong calling her that, and Mortuus knew it wasn't just because of who he was now.
"Of course. My mistake." Death said with a tone that revealed something more was there. Does Subject-E3 live close by?
As Mortuus stepped onto the porch of Peter's house, memories of abuse flashed through his mind.
Suddenly, the door flung open. "Who the hell are you?" a woman asked, a beer bottle hanging loosely in her hand.
Mortuus backed up. "Are you Peter's mother?" The woman nodded, her eyes fixed on the space behind Mortuus.
Death stood behind Mortuus, his hand gripping his scythe tightly. "I'm Mortuus," Mortuus said, his voice shaky.
Mortuus nervously removed his pen and breathed in. The smoke blew out through his nose. "Can I talk with you about Peter?"
She stood there without a sound before finally speaking. "Becky. My name's Becky."
Mortuus stepped inside with her. As he blew the smoke from his nose, Mortuus saw something was off with Becky.
Her eyes had that cloudy appearance, but they had faded into hazel. Her voice seemed to soften as well.
Mortuus didn't think anything of it. "Becky, can you tell me what happened to Peter?"
Becky nodded and spoke in a hushed tone. "It's my fault. The Stitcher never would have killed him if I wasn't me."
"These fuckin bottles ruined my life, Mortuus." She continued, tears falling. "But I could never bring them back."
Mortuus stood in front of her. He knew he had to say something, but nothing came to mind. "Addiction isn't your fault but recovery is your responsibilty, Becky."
"Let me rewrap you."
Becky nodded. "I can't tell you when I started, Mortuus. My mind hasn't been clear for years."
Mortuus nodded. He understood. Quietly, Mortuus grabbed the back of his dressings. Silently, he turned to her and kneeled in front of Becky while removing his coverings.
Looking up, Mortuus spoke, "I forgive you, Mom."67Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡJUv3hvFMXp
