The only sound was that of my gasp. He was almost as tall as Death but built differently, his body almost paunchy although still strong. He had dark hair and black spots for eyes, his skin tanned and leathery. I’d guess him to be in his late thirties but for the look in his eyes, which seemed ancient. I couldn’t see his face. He had a black bandanna draped over his nose and mouth.

I pulled the blanket to me.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, locking it and pocketing the key. He carried a tray of food and two bottles of water.

I started to salivate at the smell of rice and chicken wafting from the takeaway box. I sat up straighter, unable to drag my eyes away from it. My stomach growled, and the man chuckled. As he came closer, I inched away but stayed on the bed with the blanket covering me. His eyes remained hard as they watched me, and he set the tray down on the nightstand.

He then produced a fork. A real fork, not a plastic one. “You get one chance with this. If you think you can try to stab me with it or do anything else stupid, I’ll whip your ass and dump your next meal on the floor for you to lick it off, understand?”

I swallowed, wanting the food, my gaze locked on the man’s. I nodded.

He held the fork out to me. I hesitated, knowing this was a challenge from the way he raised an eyebrow.

I reached out, intending on grabbing the fork out of his hand without touching him, but he had other plans. As soon as I was close enough, he snatched my wrist and yanked me toward him, twisting my arm as he did.

I cried out in pain.

“I’m not playing fucking games, we clear on that?”

“Yes! You’re going to break my arm!”

He tugged once more, smiling as he yanked another cry from me, then released me and set the fork down on the tray.

“Eat it all,” he said. He turned around and walked back out the door like our exchange was the most casual thing in the world.

Once the door locked behind him, I picked up the box and fork and opened the lid. Chicken and rice and even a side of broccoli. How thoughtful to give me my veggies. It was bland but warm, and I ate every last rubbery bite, forcing myself to slow down so I wouldn’t throw it up. My body needed this fuel. I needed it if I had any hope of surviving.

The stranger threw me. Was Death gone? Had he quit? Could you do that in his line of work?