Page 67 of Dead Serious Case 5 Madame Vivienne

Not really knowing what to do with myself, I wander into the living room and stop abruptly when I see Death standing there as if he’s been waiting for me. At the sight of him, a small crack appears in the numbness.

“Where’s my dad?”

Death stares at me with those piercing ice-blue eyes, his expression calm. The crack widens slightly and I feel irritation seep in. How dare he stand there looking all composed in his immaculate and expensive-looking suit, not a single jet-black hair out of place on his stupid, perfect head. How dare he look so calm when my whole world has collapsed in on itself.

“Where’s. My. Dad,” I repeat slowly.

“He’s where he’s meant to be,” Death says. His voice bears a hint of something I don’t currently have the rationality to identify. “I told you before, Tristan. Your father has nounfinished business. He crossed into the light, just like I said he would.”

“He didn’t just cross into the light,” I snap. “You came for him. YOU.”

“Tristan,” Danny says softly as he reaches for me, but I pull away as the crack widens into a furrow.

“You told me yourself you don’t collect all souls, only certain ones, so why did you come for him? Because I’m sure it wasn’t for my benefit.”

Death stares at me.

“Why?” I demand.

“Because they asked me to,” he replies.

“Who did?”

“Does it matter?” Death asks as he studies me. “He’s safe and if it helps, he’s with your mother.”

The stab of pain hits me dead centre in my chest and the furrow rips open into a chasm. A white-hot lava flow of pain, anger, and resentment flood in.

“Helps?” I shout. “HELPS?” My voice gets even higher. “How the fuck is that supposed to help? You never even gave me the chance to say goodbye. Even Bruce got to see his ex-boyfriend who was responsible for his death. They got to make their peace with each other before he went into the light. I didn’t even see the fucking light! He was just… gone…” My heart stutters and my voice fails me as a wave of grief nearly drives me to my knees.

“Please,” I whisper desperately. “Please just let me say goodbye.”

“Tristan,” he says, the only outward sign of emotion a tiny furrow between his brows. “It’s not my call.”

“Then take me to whoever is in charge,” I demand, my renewed anger fuelling me.

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“NO?” I spit. “Then how the hell does it work? Because I have done everything that was expected of me and I’ve asked for nothing in return.”

“Tristan, you were chosen for a reason.”

That does it. “Fuck you! Fuck you all and your fuckingreasons!” My head pounds with fury. “No one asked me what I wanted. No one asked me if I wanted to be drowning in ghosts twenty-four seven, never having a single moment’s peace or privacy. I can’t even make love to my boyfriend without first checking that there isn’t some dead person wandering around wanting my attention. They wake me in the middle of the night and they interrupt my conversations constantly, to the point where everyone refers to me as ‘that guy who talks to himself.’ They’re everywhere! I will never have a normal life again andnobodyasked if I was okay with that. So Fuck. You. All. I’m done being your puppet. Find someone else whose strings you can pull. I quit.”

“You can’t,” Death says in that same infuriating tone that makes me want to punch him in the face. “You can’t switch the sight on and off when you feel like it.”

“Watch me,” I reply, coldly furious.

Death frowns. “I can see there’s no use trying to talk to you right now.”

“Get out,” I grit out from between clenched teeth.

“Tristan.” Danny carefully tries to intervene, but I’m too far gone to listen to him. I’m fucking enraged.

“GET OUT!” I pick up the nearest object to me, not even realising what it is until I’ve launched it through the air.

Death steps neatly out of the way and it crashes into the weird memorial portrait of Viv, smashing the glass and knocking it off its hook so it crashes to the ground and the frame breaks apart. It’s only when I stare at the ground that I realise the itemI launched was my beloved little Victorian ceramic anatomical heart, and I want to howl.

“Tristan,” Death says and the little pity laced into his voice just makes me snap.