She is Fatal to Death (Standalone Story)

Chapter 48 (Goodbye Punch)

Renata

She sighed as she sat in the tub, soaking in the warm water—alone, as Tahoma was on an evening run. She looked up at the plain bathroom ceiling, ears ringing with silence. Well, there was the sound of the radio from the kitchen. Soothing jazz. Occasional blues. The droplets falling from the faucet. Chirping crickets.

She closed her eyes, intending to enjoy these sounds, but her mind had other plans in mind.

Flashes of her old life made their way through her thoughts. Her old city apartment. The nights where she'd simply fall into her bed, having worked through endless piles of emails, filing documents, struggling not to fall asleep as she stared at the screen for hours on end. That delicious protein shake shop she'd visit every other Sunday. The midnight runs to whatever fast food place her heart desired. She recalled her nights spent in bed with beautiful women, with beautiful men, finding satisfaction and comfort in all walks of life.

Scents of tea. Of cumin and burned peppers. The sour taste of lime. Ice cold water. Hot summer days at the beach, indulging in purple snow cones and chili soaked chicharrones de harina.

So many luxuries and treats she enjoyed but never truly appreciated as she should have. And now they were gone. They belonged to a different person from a different time, before she had become familiar with the cold.

And while it was gone, while Death no longer loomed in Renata's bones, deep in her gut, at the very bottom, right at the center of her entire being, there was this smallest piece of it. Like dust collecting in the crevice of the floor, never to be reached or touched again. It wasn't an echo, more similar to a phantom of a feeling.

In these moments of quiet, she could sense that little bit of lingering, painful wisdom. Having become what she did, having experienced what she experienced, nothing like that could ever fully be forgotten. With this residual sensation, she could still sense things. More specifically Death, of course. Only if she focused really well, gave attention to that cold, sinking feeling could she tap in a smallest portion of what she was once plagued by.

Like some chilling warning, Keone's face came next in her vision.

She sat up, frowning. The water sloshed around her, hitting against the tile.

Urged by concern, she stepped out and wrapped herself in the big robe folded on the counter.

She listened to her instincts as she walked through the quiet house.

She padded across the wood and toward the back door. As she stepped out into the humid air, she looked directly at the small guesthouse, where Keone had stayed to himself for days now since they arrived.

And there he was. She watched as he quietly shut the front door and took a few determined steps forward until his eyes set on her. He froze, and she took the opportunity to close the distance between them.

She finally took note of his hiking boots and the straps slung over each shoulder. That cold feeling worsened as she studied his solem expression. "Going somewhere?"

He directed his hazel eyes to the ground—she much preferred them to the red. "I'm leaving."

She didn't expect him to say that. "You are?"