Coughing, choking, the chains tangle around his legs; he pulls them up in agony, the stabbing pains permeate his chest as the nail-studded band tightens around his heart...”NO!”
The animal panic faded as the remnants of the dream separated themselves from reality.
“Just a dream,” he gasped, “just a dream.” But the echoes of the pain stayed with him as he clambered out of bed, his head reeling slightly with the downward rush of blood. Stumbling over to the window, he forced it up a crack to let some fresh air flow in. He took a few deep breaths, hoping to scatter the lingering ache with morning air. Catching sight of the time on the cracked clock on the wall, he scrambled to the pile of clothes by his bed. The efforts of his search revealed a suit -only slightly crumpled- and one shoe. Fruitlessly throwing clothes everywhere relieved some of his frustration as the clock ticked down, but, he had to admit, did not help the situation whatsoever. The eight forty-five deadline ticked ever closer as further burrowing bore no fruit, making it a mission which he had to complete. Fight the dragon to save the princess...or more accurately, fight the murky depths of the room to save the job...He had missed work more times than he cared to admit, and the niggling thought that it may not be his job for much longer was ever worrying to him.
The missing shoe finally presented itself with five minutes to spare, and its owner proceeded to place the offending garment upon his foot with speed, along with the rest of the clothes. Dusting down the jacket, he staggered against the wall as his heart wavered slightly in its usually-steady march. Maybe a doctor was needed-his heart was giving him more and more trouble these days...not that it would be anything serious. He was only thirty two, for Heavens’ sake. But a doctor’s appointment would be a good idea. Making a mental note to call the clinic that evening, he strode out the door, only to be reminded, by a passing car splattering his once-white shirt with muddy water, that it really wasn’t his day today.
His colleague, watching the clock, sighed and prepared for another day covering up for the other.
Ten minutes late, out of breath and thoroughly dispirited, he reached his workplace, the shining letters above the door spelling out the name of his prison and deliverance. Though all the clients saw was London Bank. A grand name for such a small bank, not particularly well-known or well-populated. Slipping in through the back entrance, he met his colleague, exchanged a hasty thanks to him for covering up, and tried to avoid his boss as he found his station, marked by a nameplate reading John Watts. Ignoring the pains in his chest, which had gradually become stabbing knives, John concentrated on serving his first client.
“Hello madam, how can I help you today...”
As he went through the routine of cashing in and making small talk, his attention was taken by a well-dressed man making his entrance. He looked too smart for the room he was in, and exuded a certain aura of...was it malice? And was it a coincidence that the lights had flickered as he entered? John couldn’t put his finger on it, but the man certainly was...different, in some way. He had a sort of look about him, one that seemed to give the owner an impression of smug venom, as if he knew secrets the others did not. Knew, and was planning to use those secrets...
The man passed over to John’s colleague, and turned to talk to him. John coughed slightly as his heart bubbled and sputtered, shooting fresh waves of pain through him. He nodded away his satisfied customer, and watched the man in the absence of anyone else in the building. He seemed to be slightly agitated, and was gesturing with his right hand. John’s colleague was nodding helplessly, and shrugged before pointing over at John. The man turned, and for a second looked wildly triumphant. It must have been a trick of the light, but in that instant, his eyes seemed to glow flat black. John started back slightly as the man made his way over, a bloodhound scenting prey. His predatory grin set John’s abused heart pounding. Upon arriving at John’s station, he took a sharp intake of breath, seeming to draw all warmth from the air by his very presence. He spoke, his voice low, a flat monotone.
“You are John Watts?”
“Y-yes. How can I help you sir?”
The man smiled at that, but his smile would be more accurately described as a grimacing show of teeth, devoid of all friendliness or mirth. He extended a hand slowly, revealing long fingers and sallow skin. John swallowed, his gaze fixated on the man’s flickering eyes. He slowly reached out his hand, his heart beating a taboo. Don’t-shake, don’t-shake. His hand came into contact with the grip of the other, a trapped rabbit meeting a fox. Just that light touch sent chills through him. The man’s grin became slowly wider, a glistening contortion of teeth. He dropped John’s hand, and stepped back, nodding his head slowly. The relief John felt was quickly drowned out by his heart, stabbing faster and faster, becoming the only feeling inside his mind.
He became aware of the room spinning, his gaze skipping from one corner to another. The only thing that didn’t fade was the stranger’s face, looking down at him...wait. Stop. Looking down? How was he on the floor? People were shouting, yet John heard none of it. The spinning room was fading, his heart the only thing tying him to the world. Looking at the stranger, he smiled. For he recognised him now; saw the grey skull, the suit which had melted to grey robes, and the wide, empty eye sockets that saw nothing and yet saw all. And he knew. So as the pain in his chest reached a crescendo, John waited. He accepted it, and knew his fate. And as the pain subsided to silence, John smiled.
For Death is an uninvited guest indeed, but one whom everyone will meet, and meet in peace. An enemy... And yet a friend.
