“It’s not a bad thing, but it helps me whenever somebody dies. Think about this. We come into life so easily — from somewhere, from the universe, from God. Why should it be any harder when we leave life? We come from a good place. We leave — and go to a good place. Does that make any sense to you, Jannie?”

She nodded and continued to stare deeply into my eyes. “I understand,” she whispered. “It’s like it’s in balance.”

She paused a second, thinking it over, then she spoke. “But Daddy, Christine isn’t dead. I just know it. She isn’t dead. She hasn’t gone to that good place yet. So don’t you lose hope.”

Chapter 52

THE CHARACTER AND TRAITS of Death were so much like his own, Shafer was thinking as he sped south along I-95. Death wasn’t brilliant, but he was always thorough, and he always won in the end.

As the black Jag raced past the exits for various small towns, Shafer wondered if he wanted to be caught now, if he needed to be unmasked, needed to show his true face to everyone. Boo Cassady believed that he was hiding, even from her, but more important, from himself. Maybe she was right. Maybe he did want Lucy and the kids to see who he really was. And the police. But especially the uptight and sanctimonious staff at the embassy.

I am Death — it’s who I am. I am a multiple killer — it’s who I am. I am not Geoffrey Shafer anymore; maybe I never was. But if I was, it was a long, long time ago.

Shafer had always had a natural mean streak, a vengeful, nasty way. He remembered it from his early years traveling with his family through Europe, then Asia, and finally back to England. His father had been in the military and was always a real “tough guy” around the house. He struck Shafer and his two brothers often, but not nearly as often as he hit their mother, who died of a fall when Shafer was twelve.

Shafer was large as a boy, and he was one “tough hombre,” a real bully. Other boys feared him, even his brothers, Charles and George, who believed that Geoff was “capable of anything.” He was.

Nothing in his early days prepared him for being the man who finally emerged once he joined MI6. It was there that he learned he was capable of killing another human being — and he found that he loved it. He had discovered his calling, his true passion in life. He was the ultimate “tough guy”; he was Death.

He continued traveling south on the interstate highway. Because it was late, traffic was light, mostly high-speeding trucks headed toward Florida, he supposed.

He mentally composed a message to the other fantasy game players.