Episode 4: Contract

I walked toward the elevator, my steps slow and deliberate. I had never ridden one before. The polished metal doors gleamed under the artificial lighting, reflecting my curious expression.

The elevator attendant, a young man in a neatly pressed uniform, pressed a key into the panel. A faint hum vibrated through the floor as the machine came to life, and for a moment, my breath hitched. The sensation was strange, unfamiliar yet exhilarating. Humans and their inventions were fascinating.

When we arrived at the 55th floor, the attendant pressed another button, and the doors slid open with a soft chime. He gave me a small nod, wordlessly signaling that I should step out. I smiled at him, and the poor man's cheeks darkened with a blush. Humans were so transparent.

Will's secretary, a prim and professional woman with sharp eyes, looked me up and down, her gaze sweeping from my feet to my face.

"You are?" she asked, her voice clipped and efficient.

"Me," I answered simply. She blinked, taken aback by my response. After a moment's hesitation, she pressed the intercom, her voice carefully composed as she announced my arrival.

The heavy doors to Will's office swung open, revealing a vast space bathed in the golden light of the morning sun. William Sinclair stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored suit, gazing out at the sprawling cityscape below. His reflection in the glass was a study of power, sharp, poised, and in control.

As I stepped inside, he turned, his piercing eyes locking onto me. His expression flickered with disbelief.

"You're just a kid," he scoffed, raising a brow.

I laughed, the sound light and mocking. "A kid? I have existed for eons."

"This is madness," he muttered, shaking his head as if trying to dispel the absurdity of my presence.

I watched him intently, and in an instant, he crumpled to his knees, clutching his chest as the familiar, excruciating pain took hold once more. He looked up at me with a mixture of fear and anger, as if I were the source of his suffering, as if I had cursed him.

Then, unspoken but lingering in the air, came the question he refused to voice.

"Yes, Will," I answered before he could speak it aloud.

His breath came in ragged gasps. "Yes… what?!" he managed to choke out between the pain.

"Yes, that is the answer to the question you've been asking yourself recently," I said, stepping closer. "When you almost drowned at ten, when you were lost in the blistering snow during your senior year, when your wife passed… You always wondered, always doubted."

William's eyes widened in horror. His grip on his chest tightened, his knuckles turning white. "Am I dying?" he rasped.

"Yes," I said simply. Then, placing a hand on his forehead, I eased the pain.

His breathing slowed as the agony subsided. He remained on his knees for a moment, stunned, before slowly rising to his feet. He studied me, as though seeing me... truly seeing me... or the first time.

"And are you… the Reaper?" he asked, his voice low, hesitant.

I tilted my head, amused. "Ripper? Like Jack the Ripper? No, no, no." I chuckled. "I am a Death God. Deces, Anubis, Yama, Thanatos, Shinigami… Your kind has given me many names. But never a serial killer."

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Are you here to take me?"

"Right now?" I asked and William nods.

"No, not right now, not yet." I said, flashing him a mischievous smile.

His brow furrowed. "Not yet?"

I nodded. "Yes, not yet. I plan to spend some time here."

His jaw tightened. "Spend time?"

"Yes." I clasped my hands behind my back. "You will be my benefactor. The more I enjoy my time here, the longer your extension."

His expression darkened. "What if I refuse?"

I sighed, shaking my head. "This isn't negotiable, Will. I'm not asking. I'm telling you." I smiled again, but this time, there was a sharpness behind it. "Plus I wanted you to teach me."

He exhaled sharply. "Teach you what?"

"Teach me how to live. How to be alive. Since I am without passion, without madness… It was Death, you once said."

He narrowed his eyes. "You have flesh. You're dressed in that black attire like anyone else. Isn't that enough?"

I tilted my head. "Why? Do you want to die that much?"

Silence stretched between us as he contemplated the question. "It wasn't like that. But how could you teach someone how to live?"

"You sure can, I heard all your teachings last time," I said.

"So you mean as long as you enjoy being here, I will have time?" he asked again.

"Yes, Will."

"Well then, fine," he muttered. "Let's make a contract."

"A contract?" I echoed, intrigued.

"Yes." He straightened his posture, regaining his composure. "Like a business deal. Every agreement needs terms, needs rules."

I smirked. "I make the rules. When I get bored, we go."

"Nope." He shook his head. "I can't rely on your word alone."

I studied him for a long moment, then chuckled. "Alright, Will. Let's make a contract."