Trent Jamieson - Death most definite

There's nothing.

I've lost her. I almost had her. We almost got a chance at a life together. I failed her and I failed my future. I sit in the tower, my knees pulled up to my chest, and sob.

Finally, I get up, wipe my hands on my jeans and step out of the tower. There's only so much grief I can allow myself. I am alive and I am still hunted. The storm's passed, gone on to drench someone else, or has dissolved into the ether. And it must have passed a while ago. The air is dry again.

By the tower is a bike, and on the bike, a note. If you're reading this then you are most probably alive. Welcome back, Steven. Now ride.

They'll be coming for you.

D

My watch says it's ten o'clock in the morning, Sunday. I've been gone since Friday. It's one of those beautiful days when the sky is so eye-searingly bright that it's almost beyond blue, and there's a warm breeze coming in off the river. I want to take pleasure from it, but I can't.

Besides, there's little pleasure to be had. I can taste Stirrers, they're filling my city. It's as though the air has thickened with some sort of grease. A bleak psychic cloud smudges the city as heavily as any stormfront. Tomorrow, if not tonight, things are going to tip into Regional Apocalypse. But that's not my biggest concern.

I quickly run through my possessions.

I've got Death's key to Number Four and my knife. I've still got an mp3 with about two hours worth of charge, as well as my phone, around $2000 in hundred-dollar notes and a couple of twenties. Oh, and a bike.

The world isn't exactly my oyster, but I've looked Death in the face and that counts for something. Well, I'm going to make it count for something. This is going to hurt Morrigan.

I ride out from under the cover of the trees and over the fallen-down fence, putting the iron tower behind me, then cycle into West End. It's an inner-city suburb, but leafy and crowded with shops and cafes. Made up of detritus and dreams, there's a vitality to West End, a sense of community. It's old Brisbane with tatty finery and make-up. Maybe that's why some of the shops are still open. People cling to whatever normalcy they can when the world falls down around them.

Two Stirrers walk down Boundary Street. Both smile at me while I slide my knife down my palm. "It's not going to make any difference," one says.

I stall them. It certainly clears the air here, though.

I walk into the nearest cafe and order a long black from staff who may have served more disheveled customers, but not many. The coffee is scalding and it strips away a little of the cold within me. It's far better stuff than they have in the Underworld.

Lissa's gone. There's nothing I can do about that, except get angry.

Coffee done, I buy a new shirt and a pair of black jeans, then a hat and sunglasses, to avoid attention and the increasing glare of the sun. I slip my old clothes into a bin.

Then I insert a new sim card into my phone and call Tim. There's no answer. I try his home number, it rings out. So does his work number. Morrigan has Tim without a doubt. I try Alex.

He answers the phone in a couple of rings. "Steve," he says.

"He's got Tim."

"The prick," Alex says. "The whole bloody city's going to hell here."

"Yeah," I say, "Regional Apocalypse."

Alex snorts. "Never liked that Morrigan. Always seemed too smug if you ask me."

"Listen, I'm sorry to pull you into this."

"Don't give me that shit. You're not pulling me into this. When my father died, Morrigan dragged me into it, willing or not," Alex says. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. As far as I see it, you're the only one who can stop this."

"Maybe, but I'm sorry anyway." Still, that realization makes it easier to ask him for the things I need.

Alex sounds a little surprised by the time I'm through with my list, but his voice is resolute. "I can get all of that. I'll see you at four. The Place?"

"Yeah."

I throw out the sim card and then ride as fast as I can to the Corolla in Toowong, hoping it's still where I left it. To my surprise it is, obviously not an attractive enough vehicle for anyone to steal. I open the driver's side door and sit down behind the wheel. The car feels so empty without her.

Working as a Pomp, you have a pretty good idea of the forecast, even if you don't know the specifics. But I'd never really understood until I'd failed Lissa so badly. There's always pain coming. There's always loss on its way. That's a given. Doing this job, you know it more than most. It makes you appreciate the little things all that much more. Sometimes that's worse, because the more you hold onto something the harder it is to let it go. Life and death are all about letting go.

That's the one lesson the universe will keep teaching you: that until you stop breathing, until you let go, life is loss, and loss is pain. Sometimes though, if you're lucky, you can find some grace. I'd seen it enough at funerals, a kind of beaten dignity. Maybe that's all you can hope for. Maybe that's all I can hope for.

I'd promised my parents that I'd do my best to go on, and that drove me, hard. Jesus, I'm lucky I had a chance to say goodbye, most Pomps don't even get that. Shit, I'd only managed because of Lissa. And now she was gone. Alex is waiting for me. He smiles, though I know he really wants to tell me that I look like shit. It's one of the ways he's different from his father. Don would have told me straight up.

"You got that aspirin?" I have a headache, but that's not what it's for.

He nods and passes the packet to me. I take a handful of the pills and swallow them.

"You sure that's a good thing to do?"

"It's not a good thing at all. But aspirin's the quickest way I know of to thin my blood," I say. "Have you got the suit?"

He nods. "Oh, and I got something else." He chucks a heavy black vest at me. I catch it with a grunt.

"What's this?"

"Something you didn't think of. It's Kevlar, the best I could manage."

"Good work."

"It won't protect your head, but it's better than nothing."

It's far better than nothing. The suit and the vest are even the right size. I don't ask how he managed it. I just change. The suit's an affectation really, ridiculous. But if I am going to my own funeral, if I am doing the work of a Pomp, then I want to be in a suit. I look at myself in the car door window. If it's at all possible I look thinner than I've ever been, but the suit fits well, partly because of the bulletproof vest. I almost look good. Even my hair.

Alex has managed to get me everything else I wanted. "Thanks. You did good."

"The CBD's virtually deserted." He grimaces. "I had to do a little bit of looting. For the greater good, I kept telling myself, for the greater good."

I shove everything in the sports bag (another item on the list) and dump that on the front seat. Alex is standing there, formidable as always, waiting. But probably not for what's coming.

Suddenly I'm telling him about Lissa. It's pouring out of me, and by the end of it Alex, Black Sheep or not, is looking at me sternly.

Then he grins, and chuckles. "You fell in love with a dead girl. Even I know that's unprofessional." Alex shakes his head. "But then again, Tim said you were always getting into trouble."

I laugh even though there are tears in my eyes.

Alex grabs my arm, and scowls. "Steve, if you have any chance of getting through this, and believe me when I say I want you to, you're going to have to put everything aside, or Morrigan's won. You're not dead yet, and that's got to count for something, don't you think?"

"I've let stuff slide all my life," I say.

"Yeah, but that's different. Stuff was never going to get you killed. Morrigan murdered my dad, Steve. He murdered your parents, too. Now we both know the score when it comes to death, but it still hurts. I'm still not even sure how I feel about it. But there's one thing I do know-Morrigan's trying to kill you, and he'll succeed if you lose focus." He pats my arm. "Maybe Lissa's out there. Shit, man, you've been to the land of the dead. You went there and you came back. Just stop and think about that for a minute before you face the end of days, eh?"